“You know Murdock. Man of few words,” Meryl said.
Man of few words, indeed. I never thought I’d see Murdock like I did the night before—lost and confused. He always kept control of his emotions—even his anger, which could be formidable. To see him so helpless and riddled with guilt hurt me because none of it would have happened if he had never met me. He would have never had a case that involved Vize. It always came back to Vize.
“Can you ask Zev where Vize is?” I asked.
She cocked an eyebrow at me. “Where the hell did that come from?”
I shrugged. “Because Zev knows. The night Murdock disappeared, Zev wouldn’t tell me, and I could tell damned well he knew where to find the Hound. I think when Sekka died, Zev took over hiding Vize, and the only other person present when she died was the Hound. Vize is the Hound. That’s why Zev wouldn’t tell me.”
“But you told me the Hound was one of the Dead,” she said.
I nodded. “I also told you he had something funky going on with his essence. I’m betting he’s wearing a glamour.”
Meryl considered the idea, then I felt the flutter of a sending in the air. A moment later, I felt another. “Zev said he’s busy,” she said.
I snorted and ate some popcorn. “That tells me I’m right. I’ll be talking to Zev again.”
In addition to all the troubles in the Weird, film crews had descended on the neighborhood, using the commissioner’s death as a prism to view the conflicts he was involved in. By midafternoon, a contingent of solitaries rejoicing at the commissioner’s death had managed to alienate the general public. I supposed their position was inevitable. Bad timing, to say nothing of poor taste, but inevitable. Solitaries in the Weird had suffered under the commissioner’s leadership of the police force. But they did themselves no favors by dancing in the streets over his death.
When the governor called in the National Guard, the situation had gone national. CNN fed live images of tanks and trucks stationed at the Fort Point Channel bridges at Summer, Congress, and Old Northern. The mayor and governor assured everyone they were precautions and would enter the neighborhood only if the situation deteriorated.
I reached for more popcorn and paused. Meryl was wearing an old sloppy sweater of mine with an open neck. A purple spot in her cleavage showed above the collar. I pulled her sweater down a few inches. Near the bottom of her right breast, a red circle of teeth marks showed against purple-and-blue bruising. “Did I do that?”
Meryl tucked her chin and looked down. “Well, I’m not that limber.”
I slumped against the wall. “Hell, Meryl, I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “I’ve had worse. It’s a little out of character for you, though.”
I was horny as hell when I got back to my apartment and found her sleeping in it. When she woke up, we went at it like rabid cats on a hot summer night. At least, I did. The need was . . . I didn’t want to finish the thought. Something in my brain had clicked off. It hadn’t mattered who was in my bed. A need consumed me, and I wanted release.
Meryl adjusted her sweater and ate some popcorn. My stomach clenched. “Did I go over the line?” I asked.
She shook her head. “You would have known that last night, if you had. I’m making an observation, not an accusation. Trust me, if I hadn’t been having fun, you’d be in the hospital.”
I closed my eyes and dropped my head on her shoulder. “Something dark’s inside me,” I said.
“Something dark’s inside all of us, Grey. It’s only a problem if we let it too far out,” she said.
“What happens then?”
She pushed popcorn in my mouth. “No one shares popcorn with you, except maybe a big burly guy named Bubba. If you’re lucky, he’ll like butter.”
I twisted my neck to look up at her. “You have a knack for being flip and comforting at the same time, you know that?”
She grinned. “It’s not a knack; it’s a talent.”
I rolled up from the futon and opened the fridge. One benefit of having a small apartment is being able to reach for beer practically from bed. “We’re low on Guinness. Do you want to make a packie run?”
“Whoa! Check this out,” Meryl said.
The local news station had jumped to their helicopter camera. Black smoke billowed from a building on the far end of the Weird. The helicopter hovered, moving in a slow arc to keep upwind from the pall. Thick flames reflected from beneath, coloring the snow-covered streets a lurid orange.
I handed her a beer. “That’s Tide Street.”
She took a swig. “Yeah, tomorrow’s Herald is gonna read, ‘Hel Burns.’ ”
As I sat on the bed, a sending hit me so hard, it gave me a sharp pain. Get out of the apartment now. They’re coming for you.
“Did you get a sending just now?” I asked. Meryl shook her head. “Someone warned me to get out of the apartment.”
“Who?” Meryl asked.
Sendings usually have personality signatures on them, telltale touches of essence from the person who sent them. “I don’t know. It was stripped. Someone doesn’t want to be known.”
“Do you trust it?” she asked.
I drank some beer. “It was pretty strong. People don’t waste that much essence for a sending.” I paced along the foot of the futon. I glanced at the smoke on the TV screen. “I don’t like that it came as soon as that happened.”
Meryl slipped to the edge of the futon and leaned down for her boots. “So, let’s go watch the fire. Can’t hurt.”
I wandered into the study and pulled on a heavy black wool sweater and a knit cap. My boots were under the desk. When I leaned in to drag them out, I heard a deep rumble, and the lights went out. “Should I be freaked out by this?” I called out.
“Give me a sec,” Meryl called back. I carried the boots into the living room. Meryl was mostly dressed for outside, but she paused, hand palm up, with a ball of blue light filling the room. Her eyes shifted back and forth as the soft flutters of sendings tickled my senses. Her eyebrows shot up. “Wow. The power plant blew up.”
The old Boston Edison plant overlooked the Reserve Channel, not far beyond where the fire on Tide Street was. It serviced the general area, straddling the Weird and Southie. “Who’d you ask?”
She released the ball of light in order to pull her boots on. “No one. A bunch of people sent.”
I retrieved my daggers from the head of the futon and slipped them into my boots. With everything going on outside, being unarmed was not the way to go. Meryl pulled her cloak around her. “You know, sane people don’t go for walks after a curfew when the neighborhood is blowing up,” she said.
“Yeah, well, sane people don’t get warnings to get out of their apartments because someone’s coming for them either,” I said.
A ripple went through the air, and my ears popped at a sudden release of essence. Meryl pursed her lips. “Um . . . your security wards just died.”
I nodded, scanning the apartment with my sensing ability. “All of them. All at once. Let’s go.”
As I opened the apartment door, glass shattered behind us. Meryl whirled, a wall of essence flaring out of her. The yellow barrier slammed against a Danann fairy climbing in the window and knocked him outside. The sound of running echoed in the stairwell. I leaned over the stair railing, then ducked back into the apartment. “We’ve got armed brownies coming up.”
Meryl held her hands out to either side as she powered a barrier on the broken living-room window and pumped essence into the window wards in the study. “I’m getting Danann hits on the roof. What the hell is going on?”
Basement. Elevator shaft. Now.