“Tina, there’s more—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. You’ve only said it like a hundred times. ‘There’s more to demon fighting than glory. It takes study and hard work and blah blah blah.’ And I get it, honest. But see, if Monster Paul picks me, I can have what I want now. I mean, I know I’ll have to rehearse and all, but that’ll be easy compared to learning about demons. It won’t take seven years. We’ll be on the road in a month.” Her red eyes widened. “On the road. Doesn’t that sound, like, amazing? I’ve never been out of Massachusetts. The farthest my family ever traveled was, like, Cape Cod for vacation.” She spun a finger in the air to show how little she thought of that. “Monster Paul travels all over the country to give concerts. He even gets to perform in no-rights states. And there’s this rumor he’ll do a world tour next year.”
“So you’re telling me you don’t want to be my apprentice anymore.” The pang I felt surprised me. Three months ago, I would’ve jumped for joy.
“I didn’t say that. What I was thinking was that fighting demons could be, like, my safety career.”
“Your safety career.”
“You know, like a Plan B. Something to fall back on if I get tired of traveling the world and being rich and famous and stuff.”
“It doesn’t work that way. Either you’re committed or—” I didn’t get to finish the sentence, because Jenna ran into the room. Her outfit matched Tina’s, but because Jenna was on the pudgy side, rolls of green flesh bulged out in places where they shouldn’t.
“Tina, we’ve gotta go!” she said. “Brendan just texted me and said the line is already three blocks long. He’s saving us a place, but—Oh, hi, Vicky. Are you trying out, too?”
I shook my head. “I can’t carry a tune.”
Jenna snorted. “Like that matters.” She snapped her gum, then tugged on Tina’s arm. “Come on.”
Tina got up and followed her friend but turned around in the doorway. “Are you mad?”
I shook my head. “No, Tina. It’s up to you to figure out what you want to do with your life. Go to your audition. But if you decide you want to learn demon fighting, we’re going to have a talk about commitment.”
“Yeah, okay, whatever. Thanks, Vicky!” She blew me a kiss and was out the door.
AFTER TINA SKIPPED OUT ON ME, I THOUGHT ABOUT CALLING Daniel to see if he still wanted to meet for dinner. But it was already almost eight. By the time we decided where to go and actually got there, it’d be past his bedtime. Or his dinnertime, anyway. And with everything that had happened in the past twelve hours—Difethwr’s return, T.J.’s death, weird creatures showing up in my apartment (or maybe in my dreams)—I wasn’t in much of a mood for socializing. If Daniel had any information from the lab guys, he’d call.
I liked Daniel. Maybe a lot. He was brave and smart and loyal. I liked the way a cloud of butterflies started fluttering in my stomach and other interesting places whenever I saw him. But that was the problem. Until I sorted out my feelings about Kane, it wasn’t fair to start something with Daniel. Plus, if I called him now, after saying I was busy tonight, I’d sound desperate. There was a whole list of good reasons not to pick up a phone.
A little voice in the back of my head called me a coward, and I told that little voice to shut the hell up.
Really, the only person I wanted to see right now was Axel. He might not be the most emotional guy around, but T.J.’s death had shaken him. I wanted to check that he was okay. So when I left Tina’s place, I returned to my apartment to pick up the equipment for tonight’s job, got the Jag out of the garage, and drove to Creature Comforts.
After I’d cleared the checkpoint, I could see something going on up the street. I pulled over to the curb and got out. Parked in front of Creature Comforts was a white van, CHANNEL 10 ON-THE-SCENE NEWS emblazoned in huge red letters on its side. Floodlights and a camera pointed at a dark-haired woman wearing a red parka, white earmuffs, and a white scarf: Lynne Hong, a sharp reporter with a reputation for her in-your-face style. She clutched a microphone in her mittened hands and nodded to a young guy holding a clipboard. Beside her stood Sykes.
The Goon Squad cop towered over the petite Hong. He wore a brown suit with a crooked red tie and squinted against the bright lights, looking like he wanted his sunglasses. At least the artificial light wouldn’t damage his eyes.
The assistant with the clipboard went back to the van and stood beside the cameraman. Hong smoothed her hair and watched the assistant, waiting. “In ten,” he called and began counting down. I moved closer to hear what they were saying.
After “one,” Hong furrowed her brow into a serious-reporter look and addressed the camera. “Tonight, your Channel 10 On-the-Scene News Team has exclusive coverage of a shocking tragedy that occurred in the New Combat Zone earlier today. With me is Brian Sykes, a previously deceased police officer with Boston’s Joint Human-Paranormal Task Force. Officer Sykes, tell us what happened.”
Sykes nodded and opened his mouth. “An employee—” His voice cracked, and he licked his lips nervously. He cleared his throat and tried again. “An employee of this establishment, Timothy John Stillwell, known as T.J., was found … was found dead at approximately seven thirty this morning.”
“Yet there’s been no official announcement of a death. Why is that?”
“It’s because T.J. was a PDH—um, a previously deceased human. Despite Massachusetts law, the police commissioner refuses to recognize the legal rights and protections afforded to the previously deceased.”
“Quite an inflammatory statement, Officer Sykes. Do you have evidence to support it?”
Sykes pulled at his necktie, leaving it even more crooked. “Two detectives—human detectives, I mean—stopped the JHP’s investigation and commandeered the forensics team.” He looked at Hong as though that explained it.
“Can you prove that Commissioner Hampson authorized the actions of these men?”
“They said …” Sykes’s words trailed off. Hong let the silence hang for a few seconds and then changed the subject.
“What caused Stillwell’s death?”
Sykes blinked and looked like he wished she hadn’t asked that question. “At this time, unfortunately, we … uh … we don’t know.”
“But you believe it was murder?”
“I do.”
“And why is that?”
“Because …” Sykes ran out of steam. He shut his mouth, opened it, shut it again.
The reporter pressed on. “Do you have any suspects?”
“I … We …” Sykes tugged at his collar again. Then his expression darkened. “No. There are no suspects because Commissioner Hampson shut down our investigation.”
Hong faced the camera. “Tonight, many questions remain. Was a zombie in fact murdered here? If so, how? And why are Boston police refusing to investigate? Reporting to you from the New Combat Zone, I’m Lynne Hong.”
Sykes turned toward Hong like he wanted to say something, but she was already moving toward the van. The floodlights went out. Sykes stood there, blinking rapidly.
“Okay, guys,” Hong said, “the real story’s with Hampson. I’ll try to get him on the phone.” She whipped out her cell phone, pulled off a mitten, and hit some buttons. She slid the phone under her earmuff and spoke for a few seconds. Then she snapped the phone shut and shook her head. “He’s not at headquarters. I know where he lives; it’s on Marlborough Street. Let’s get over to the Back Bay and see if we can catch him on camera.”
They clambered into the van, which took off with a screech toward the checkpoint into human-controlled Boston.
Sykes, standing in front of Creature Comforts like a giant abandoned child, stared after the vehicle. I walked over to him. “That was gutsy.”