Thin smoke had started to rise off her head and shoulders. I could see it clarly in the growing light.
"Get out of here! Go!" I shouted.
She turned and ran, shouting over her shoulder, "Tonight, sunset, right here!"
A second later, she was out of sight.
• • • •
I went home. What else was I gonna do? I ate, showered, and got into bed. Despite being exhausted, I didn't get a lot of rest. My mind was like a madhouse in an earthquake – each inmate demanding my attention – Karl, McGuire, the IA clowns, Prescott, Rachel, the witchfinders – and Christine. Especially Christine.
Had she made it back to her resting place, before the sun turned her into a screaming torch? I'd had the police radio in the car on while driving home, and there'd been no reports of unexplained combustion anywhere. She was okay. Probably.
But what if she had stayed a minute longer this morning? Would she have burned, while I stood helpless behind the chain link fence and watched? Would her screams be echoing inside my head right this second? Is that why I saved her from leukemia – so she could die like that today, or tomorrow, or next week?
I guess I've spent worse mornings trying to sleep. But not recently.
After a while I got up. I changed the sweaty bedding, did a load of laundry, and cleaned Quincey's cage. As I did that last chore, I told him about the latest developments in the case. Quincey doesn't say much, but he's a good listener. And sometimes it's good to talk about stuff out loud – helps me organize my thoughts, and lets some of the psychological pressure off. And I know I can trust Quincey to keep it to himself. As a reward for letting me bounce some of that stuff off him, I put some raisins in his bowl along with the food pellets. He really likes raisins.
Around noon, I made some scrambled eggs. I wasn't hungry, but I didn't want low blood sugar making me slow and stupid later on. I'd been slow and stupid enough already.
I left for work about 12:45, and I was two blocks from headquarters when I noticed the woman standing on the corner. She drew my eye because she wasn't staring across the street at the crossing light, like people usually do. She was turned sideways, looking into the oncoming traffic stream, which included me.
Driving a familiar route doesn't require a lot of concentration. I was thinking about the case, but a tiny part of my mind whispered, "Hey, I know her."
Which was of no particular importance, but it aroused my curiosity. I focused my attention on the woman and suddenly realized that I was looking at Rachel Proctor.
I hit the brakes, which meant that the blue SUV behind me damn near ended up in my trunk. The driver stopped in time, but his blaring horn was designed to show me he wasn't too happy about it all.
All of that registered dimly, like a voice you hear from three rooms away. I was focused on Rachel.
She locked eyes with me and nodded, once. Then she turned and walked away.
Rachel had gone down a side street, so I put on my turn signal and waited for the traffic flow to take me to the corner. I've got a portable flashing red light that I could have put on the roof – that would have allowed me to cut around, as well as shutting up the honking, bird-flipping idiot behind me, but I didn't want to draw attention to myself, or to Rachel.
I finally made the turn, and saw Rachel a couple of hundred feet ahead, walking along at a good clip. I came up alongside her and tapped the horn, but she ignored me. I was looking for a parking space when she turned into the big parking garage that serves that part of the city. At least that solved my prom of what to do with the car.
I had to stop and get a ticket – even a badge won't impress an automated gate – and by the time I was inside I'd lost sight of her. I cruised the ground level slowly, my eyes darting everywhere. No Rachel.
Nothing to do but go up. Second level – nothing. Third level – nada.
Only one more place to go.
I saw her as soon as I reached the roof level. She was leaning against the retaining wall that stops careless drivers, or suicidal ones, from driving off the top of the building.
Plenty of room up here; most people parked on the roof only as a last resort, since it's not sheltered – maybe that's why Rachel had chosen it. I slid the car into a parking slot, got out, and walked toward her. She stood, arms folded below her breasts, watching me approach.
"Rachel, you took one hell of a chance, showing yourself like that," I said. "The police think you're a cop-killer, and you've been around the force long enough to know what that means."
"It means they will shoot first, and ask questions probably never," Rachel said.
Except it wasn't Rachel.
The voice was deeper than Rachel's, the intonation somehow different. I looked closely at her face and saw subtle differences in its shape and form from what I remembered. But the big difference was the eyes.
The gentle gray eyes of Rachel Proctor were gone, replaced by the bright blue eyes of a madman.
I swallowed a couple of times and tried to keep my voice under control as I said, "George Kulick, I presume?"
Rachel's head inclined a few inches. "None other."
Getting emotional about what he had done to Rachel, and might yet do, was a waste of time, so I just said, "What do you want?"
The eyebrows went up in an exaggerated show of amazement. "A man who gets right to the point, and a policemen, no less. How unusual!"
I had nothing useful to say to that, so I kept quiet. But wizards are sensitive, so I wouldn't have been surprised if he could feel the hatred coming off me, like heat from a freshly stoked stove.
He nodded slowly, as if confirming something for himself. "As to what I want: I want the man who killed me."
"Sligo, you mean."
"He did not bother to tell me his name. But I will know him, when we meet again. I want him in my power, so that I can make him suffer as I did. When I have paid him back in full measure for my pain, plus considerable interest, then perhaps – perhaps – I shall allow him to die."
"I want pretty much the same thing," I said. "Without the histrionics."
His eyes narrowed. "Why? Because it is just another case you must solve?"
"That would be enough," I said. "But it's a lot more. Sligo is planning to work a spell from the Opus Mago to do... I don't know what. But it's gotta be pretty powerful, because the recipe calls for five dead vampires. That ring any bells with you?"