Broken (21 page)

I’d reached a contemporary station morning show, complete with giggling hosts, when Jeremy rapped at the window. I opened the door and climbed into the back as they loaded the groceries into the rear hatch.

Back to the hotel. As we walked into the lobby, Nick was telling us about his trip to Cleveland last week, where he’d sat in on labor dispute talks at one of his father’s factories.

Clay looked over at Antonio. “What’d he do to deserve that?”

Antonio laughed. “It wasn’t a punishment. He volunteered.”

I nudged Nick. “So what’d you do…that you haven’t told him about yet?”

“Ha-ha. I volunteered with no ulterior motive. I told you I’m trying to learn more about the business.”

“So how’d it go?”

“It was…interesting.”

“In other words, boring as hell,” Clay said as we passed the lounge. “In Cleveland, no less.”

“Cleveland’s not that bad—”

“Jeremy!” a woman’s voice called.

We all turned, tracking her to the lounge. There, in one of the oversized armchairs, a woman was getting to her feet, hand raised in a hesitant wave, an even more hesitant smile on her face. She wore a yellow sundress that showed off a generous portion of bare leg. Red hair tumbled down her back in that sort of artless, sexy tangle you usually only see on cover models.

“Jaime,” Jeremy said, and headed toward her.

She stepped forward…and tripped over the suitcase she’d propped at her feet. Jeremy lunged to steady her, and we all hurried forward, except Clay, who let out a small sigh before bringing up the rear.

Jaime regained her balance with mumbled apologies, her face going as red as her hair. She reached down for her suitcase and bopped heads with Jeremy, who was already picking it up. More apologies.

“Hey, Jaime,” I said, walking forward. “This is a surprise.”

Behind me, Clay made a small noise, as if it wasn’t a surprise to him at all. Jaime’s gaze swung to mine and, with a soft exhale of relief, she sidestepped Jeremy and hurried over to me.

“Elena. God, you look—”

“Huge?”

“I was going to say ‘great.’ So how’s the baby? Kicking yet? Keeping you up at night?”

“Not yet,” I said. “I—”

“What are you doing here, Jaime?” Clay asked.

I glowered at him.

“What?” he said. “If no one else is going to ask…”

“I’m sure you’re all wondering the same thing,” Jaime said. “I had a late show last night, and didn’t get Jeremy’s message until the wee hours.”

“So you hopped on a plane to deliver your reply in person?” Clay asked.

Jaime only laughed. “Something like that. Actually, I’m planning a Toronto show this winter, and I’ve been meaning to check out potential venues. I hate relying on staff for that—they always get a place that fits all the requirements but…” A small shiver. “Well, there are things they can’t check. I’ve done one too many shows in a spook-infested auditorium. Anyway, this seemed like a good time to visit. I can offer my services to you guys while I’m here, and save you some money on long-distance phone bills.”

“Great,” I said. “Maybe you can contact—”

Jeremy motioned for me to wait before he interrupted. “Let’s take this conversation upstairs, where we can talk privately…and get Elena a proper breakfast.”

Jeremy bent to lift Jaime’s carry-on bag, but Clay and Nick stepped forward, one grabbing the suitcase, the other the carry-on.

“Jaime, you remember Antonio and Nick?” Jeremy asked.

She did. Last winter, the five of us had gone skiing in Vermont at the same time Jaime was doing an appearance at a nearby resort, and we’d spent an afternoon and evening together. As I might have expected, Nick had been keen to get to know Jaime better, but once he’d realized her interests lay elsewhere—and where they lay—he’d backed off.

We laid out a spread of bagels with cheese, blintzes and fruit in Jeremy’s room as we talked things over.

“So you guys could probably use some on-scene necro help to deal with the zombies,” Jaime said.

“This might be more than you bargained for,” Jeremy warned her. “Did you get a notice about the cholera on the plane? That appears to be connected. And the reason I called you last night was to say that these zombies aren’t as easy to kill as we thought. This might not be the sort of thing you want to get involved in.”

She managed a smile. “Because I have a bad habit of needing rescue every time I
do
get involved?”

“There is that,” Clay muttered.

Jaime waved me off before I could jump in. “Clay’s right. My track record sucks. I always end up playing damsel-in-distress.”

“No,” Jeremy said. “You’ve had some bad luck, but only because your skills made you a target.”

“And the bad guys love to pick on the defenseless necromancer. This time, though, I swear I won’t get kidnapped or possessed.”

The corners of Jeremy’s mouth twitched. “All right, then. If you’re sure you want to—”

“I do.”

“Then I’d welcome the help.”

Antonio, Nick and I chimed in with our agreement, but Jaime’s gaze swept past us to Clay.

“Long as you’re here, you might as well stay,” he said. “Hang around and do your stuff until we can use you.”

“What Clay means is—” I began.

“Exactly what he said,” she said. “If Clayton says I can stay, I feel almost welcome. Now, let’s talk about zombies.”

“Controlled zombies,” she said after I finished. “Don’t ask me how that’s possible, but that has to be the answer. Remember I said I’d make some calls? Well, I didn’t find out much that seemed helpful at the time, but I did learn a few things about controlled dimensional zombies. Like ones controlled by a necromancer, they can’t be killed until that control is severed. Instead of just staying alive, though, they disintegrate, and their soul returns to the dimensional holding tank. If the door’s still open…”

“They walk back out.”

“Logically, these shouldn’t be controlled zombies. But if it looks like a duck and quacks like a duck…It would also explain why that one at the truck stop was so quick to follow you.”

“His controller sent him after me,” I said.

“Right. The controller must want the letter back, and he’s convinced the zombies that getting it will benefit them.”

“Would they need that incentive?” Jeremy said.

“It would help. Zombies have to do what their controller says, but they do a better job when properly motivated.”

“Like any worker,” Antonio said.

Jaime smiled. “Exactly. They still have conscious will, if not free will.”

I pushed off the end of the bed and crossed the room to stretch my legs…and get another peach. “But we’re back to the original problem with the controller theory. The portal was created a hundred and twenty years ago. To still be alive, that sorcerer would need to have found the secret to immortality, which, unless I’m mistaken, is unlikely to the point of impossible.”

“Could something like that be passed on generationally?” Jeremy asked.

“Like ‘I hereby bequeath control of my zombies to my son’?” She paused. “I suppose it’s possible.”

I nodded. “If so, then it would also make sense to pass on the portal itself…or the device that contains it.”

“Patrick Shanahan?” Clay said.

Jeremy nodded, and explained who Shanahan was.

“Shanahan could be it,” Jaime said. “If his grandfather commissioned the theft, it could have been to get his own portal back.”

“It would be more likely to be a great-grandfather,” Jeremy mused. “Or even great-great, given the timing.”

“Maybe
he
was Jack the Ripper,” Nick said. “The great-grandfather.”

I waved my half-eaten peach at him. “So he created the portal, with the zombies, and sent it to the police, knowing it would go into the files. Then, if the police started getting close, he could just release his zombies—”

“Who could destroy the evidence,” Jaime said. “The ultimate inside job.”

“Only the police never did get close, so he emigrates to Canada. At some point, his son or grandson, Theodore Shanahan, hires a local thief to get the letter back.”

“Yes,” Jeremy said. “It makes sense, but there are too many—”

“Creative jumps and leaps of faith,” I finished. “I know. Regardless of how the portal could have been created, Patrick Shanahan is the best, if not the only possible, zombie controller.”

“If there
is
a controller,” Clay said. “But no harm hunting the guy down.”

“That part you don’t mind,” I said, grinning as I gave him half my handful of blueberries. “Let’s just hope he hasn’t hightailed it to parts unknown.”

“Can’t,” Jaime said. “When the zombies are resurrected at the portal, they return to him. Like homing pigeons. So the controller has to stay close by.”

“There’s our plan, then,” I said. “We find one of the zombies, then kill him, and someone waits at the portal to follow him back to his controller.”

Rats

KILL A ZOMBIE
,
THEN FOLLOW HIM OR HER BACK TO THE
controller. Sounded simple enough. Or it would be, once we found a zombie to kill.

Jeremy decided we’d wait until nightfall, then return to the warehouse district where we’d found Rose. She’d obviously been comfortable there, so she might return. Even if we couldn’t find a zombie, we were pretty sure one would eventually find me.

In the meantime, Jeremy and Antonio would return to Shanahan’s house, this time searching for clues not about the letter, but about Shanahan’s current whereabouts. Clay, Nick and I would visit the person most likely to have had contact with Shanahan—his secretary.

While Antonio and Nick checked in and unpacked, I helped Jaime do the same. She’d already booked a room, but it was two floors from ours, so Jeremy insisted she switch to the same floor. Changing rooms was easy enough—with the cholera outbreak, the concierge told us half of their reservations had been canceled, and a lot of current guests had decided to cut their visit short.

Clay brought Jaime’s luggage over from our room, then left us to unpack. Or he pretended to leave, though I knew he’d stay close, probably in the hallway.

As soon as the door closed behind him, Jaime wilted against the wall.

“Made a complete jackass of myself, didn’t I?” she said.

“What do you mean?” I said as I stooped to unzip her suitcase.

“I’ll get that,” she said. “Sounds like you’ll have a busy day. Sit while you can.”

When I hesitated, she took the suitcase and shooed me to the bed.

“I do want to do a Toronto show,” she said as she took out her toiletry bag. “I wasn’t making that up.”

“I never—”

She slanted a look my way. “Come on. I show up with some lame story about wanting to check out show venues, and the first thing you all thought was ‘Yeah, right.’ But it’s true. I plan to do a winter appearance, and I need to check out places. I thought this would be a good time to do that if it means I can help you guys with this. Help all of you.” Another quick look at me. “Not just Jeremy.”

“I don’t think you showed up because of Jeremy.”

“Well, that makes one of us.” She sighed and hung a dress in the closet. “I do want to help, but if it had been someone else? Would I have been on that plane so fast?” She shook her head and took a shirt from her suitcase. “I’m trying to get past it. It’s embarrassing.”

“Being attracted to someone isn’t a cause for embarrassment.”

She gave me a look. “Tripping over my feet every time I see him? Tripping over my tongue every time I talk to him? For
three years
? With no sign that he’s the least bit interested in return?”

“With Jeremy—”

“I can’t expect the usual signs, I know. But he has to know how I feel. Hell, everybody else does.”

“If you’d let me ask—”

She waved her hands frantically. “Oh, God. Stop suggesting it or I’m liable to break down and say ‘Go ahead.’ Can you imagine? It’s like in fifth grade, getting your friend to pass a guy a note asking if he likes you.”