That’s when the solution came to me. I groaned. It wasn’t one I liked, but it would get the job done.
I went back outside and waved hello to the boy as he practiced jumping off the steps. “Was Dave home?” he asked.
“No.”
The boy nodded. “He usually isn’t.”
That, at least, would be helpful for this next crazy plan. I left the boy and walked around the side of the building, which was mercifully deserted. There, clinging to the outer wall, was the most rickety fire escape I’d ever seen. Considering how rigid California safety standards were, I was astonished that this hadn’t been reported. Of course, if it had, it didn’t seem likely this building’s owner would’ve been quick to act, judging from the rest of the conditions I’d seen.
Double checking that no one was around, I stood in the fire escape’s shadow, hoping it more or less concealed me. From the messenger bag, I produced one of my charms: a necklace made of agate and crow feathers. I slipped it over my head and recited a Greek incantation. I felt the warmth of magic run through me but saw no ostensible changes. Theoretically, I should be invisible for those who didn’t know to look for me. Whether that had actually happened, I couldn’t say. I supposed I’d find out if someone came by and demanded to know why I was climbing into an apartment via the fire escape.
Once I stepped onto it, I nearly terminated the plan. The entire fire escape squeaked and swayed. The scaffolding was so rusty, I wouldn’t have been surprised if it disintegrated beneath my feet. I stood frozen where I was, trying to work up the courage to go on. I reminded myself that this could be my one chance to find Marcus. The boy in the parking lot had confirmed he lived here. I couldn’t waste this opportunity.
I gulped and kept going, gingerly moving from floor to floor. When I reached the fourth, I stared down in amazement, unable to believe the fire escape was still intact. Now I had a new problem. I’d figured out where Marcus’s studio was, and it was one window over from the fire escape’s landing. The distance wasn’t that great, but on the narrow ledge between them would feel like miles. Equally daunting was the fact that I’d have to get through the window. It was shut, which made sense if he was in hiding. I had a couple magical amulets capable of melting glass, but I didn’t trust myself to be able to use them on the narrow ledge—which meant I had to see just how good my aim had become in PE.
Still conscious of the precarious fire escape, I took out a small pouch of powder from my messenger bag. Sizing up the distance, I threw the pouch hard toward the window, reciting a spell—and missed. The pouch hit the side of the building, throwing up a dusty cloud, and began eating away at the stucco. I winced as the wall dissolved. The spell eventually burned itself out but left a noticeable hole behind. It hadn’t gone all the way through, and I supposed given the state of the building, no one would probably even notice.
I had one pouch left and had to make it count. The pane was fairly big, and there was no way I could miss this time. I threw hard—and made contact. The powder smashed against the window. Immediately, a reaction spread out and began melting the glass. It dripped down like ice out in the sun. Now, watching anxiously, I wanted the reaction to go on for as long as possible. I needed a big enough hole to get through. Fortunately, when it stopped, I felt confident I could make it inside—if I could get over there.
I wasn’t afraid of heights, but as I crept along the ledge, I felt like I was on top of a skyscraper. My heart was in my throat, and I pondered the logistics of surviving a four-floor drop. My palms began to sweat, and I ordered them to stop. I wasn’t going to come all this way just to have my hands slip at the last minute.
As it turned out, it was my foot that slipped. The world spun, and I frantically flung my arms out, just barely grabbing the inside of the window. I pulled myself toward it, and with a surge of adrenaline-fueled effort managed to hook my other leg inside. I took a deep breath and tried to quiet my pounding heart. I was secure. I was going to make it. A moment later, I was able to pull myself up and swing my other leg around the ledge, tumbling into the room.
I landed on the floor, my legs weak and shaky as I worked to steady my frantic breathing. That was close. If my reflexes had been a little slower, I would’ve found out exactly what four floors could do to the human body. While I loved science, I wasn’t sure that was an experiment I needed to try. Maybe being around dhampirs so much had helped improve my physical skills.
Once I’d recovered, I was able to assess my surroundings. Here I was, in the exact same studio I’d seen in my vision. Glancing behind me, I sized up the mission, verifying I had the same vantage. Yup. Exactly the same. Inside, I recognized the mattress on the floor and the same meager belongings. Across the room, the door leading out had a number of very new, very state-of-the-art locks. Dissolving the outer doorknob wouldn’t have done any good.
“Now what?” I muttered. I’d made it inside. I didn’t have Marcus, but I theoretically had his apartment. I was unsure what I was looking for but might as well start somewhere.
First, I examined the mattress, not that I expected much. It couldn’t hide belongings like mine could. It could, however, hide rats and God only knew what else underneath it. I gingerly lifted a corner, knowing I must be grimacing, but there was nothing underneath—alive or otherwise. My next target was a small, disorderly pile of clothes. Going through someone’s dirty laundry (because I assumed it was dirty, if it was sitting on the floor) wasn’t much better than looking at the mattress. A whiff of fabric softener told me that these clothes were, in fact, recently washed. They were ordinary guy clothes, probably a young guy’s clothes, which fit with Marcus’s profile. Jeans. T-shirts. Boxers. As I sifted through the pile, I nearly started folding them and had to remind myself that I didn’t want to leave any sign of my passing. Of course, the melted window was kind of a dead giveaway.
A couple of personal items sat nearby, a toothbrush and deodorant with a scent inexplicably called as “Ocean Fiesta.” Aside from a rickety wooden chair and the ancient TV, there was only one other form of comfort and entertainment in the barren room: a battered copy of The Catcher in the Rye. “Great,” I muttered, wondering what it said about a person who owned no other personal possessions. “Marcus Finch is pretentious and self-entitled.”
The studio’s bathroom was claustrophobic and barely had enough space for a single shower stall, toilet, and dripping sink. Judging from the mildew on the floor, a good deal of water sprayed out when the shower was used. A large black spider scurried down the drain, and I hastily backed out.
Defeated, I went to investigate a narrow closet door. After all my work, I’d found Marcus Finch but hadn’t actually found him. My search had revealed nothing. I had limited time to wait for him, and honestly, if I were him and returned home to a melted window, I would promptly walk out the door and never return. If he ran, I’d have no choice but to keep scrying and—
“Ahh!”
Something jumped out at me as I opened the closet door—and it wasn’t a rat or a roach.
It was a man.
The closet was tiny, so it was a miracle he had even fit inside. I had no time to process the spatial logistics, however, because his fist shot out and clipped me on the side of the face.
In my life, I’d been slammed up against brick walls and bitten by a Strigoi. I’d never been punched, however, and it wasn’t an experience I wanted to repeat. I stumbled backward, so surprised that I couldn’t even react right away. The guy lunged after me, grabbing my upper arms and shaking me as he leaned close.