Precinct 13 (11 page)

Devon jumped back as if he was hit. “Jesus, watch where you’re splashing that stuff.”

Nana paid no attention to Devon, except as she followed the trail of gooey mess to his pants leg. He’d started to shake it off when she grabbed the cuff of his jeans.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “You’ll mess with the signs.”

He froze, balanced awkwardly on one foot. She grasped the denim in her clawlike grip. She was hunkered down so tightly, her parka looked like a big gray boulder that had sprouted a frizzled mat of hair.

I thought, by the way he was squirming, Devon was going to fall over onto his butt.

“Okay, okay,” she said. “This is better. The bad guy has gone home to roost. With a sibling or other family member or a mouse. And there’s something about moons or lovers.”

“Oh,” Devon said, jerking his foot from her grasp finally. “That’s probably for me.”

She gave him a squinty inspection. Standing slowly, she glared up into his face. Nana stood only as tall as his sternum, but she had twice the presence. He twitched nervously until she finally demanded: “Werewolf or vampire?”

“Er, both, ma’am,” he said.

“Eh, it probably was for you.” She shrugged, turning away. The circle began to break up. Jones helped Nana shoulder her army bag. I noticed him slip a twenty into her palm.

Stone, meanwhile, looked like she really wanted to clean up the ketchup packet, but Jones shook his head when she
made a move to pick it up. She backed off, and instead came over to offer Devon a wet wipe for the ketchup on his jeans.

He accepted the wipe gratefully. Putting a hand on my shoulder to steady himself, he said, “It’s where they come from, you know.”

“What?”

“Weird abandoned shoes. You’ve always wondered, right? How did that get there and why is there only one? Well, now you know.”

He let go of me, and walked over to toss the wad into the Dumpster. I looked at the shoe, looking a lot like the other strange, single shoes I’d seen in gutters and lying at the side of the road in Chicago. When he came back over, I had to ask, “What about the pairs strung over wires?”

“Thrown by
civitas veneficus
dowsers,” he said. “They mark crossroads or warn of danger. I really don’t know how to tell the difference, so if I see some, I usually avoid that part of town entirely.”

Nana waved good-bye and hobbled off to wherever she had been headed. I watched her slow progress down the street. When she passed the edge of the building, the plastic bag shot out. It rustled and tumbled along behind her heels like a faithful dog.

“Okay, we have a lead,” Jones said, shepherding us back to the squad. “Let’s roll, people.”

Maybe it was the fact that I’d finished my latte and I finally felt fully caffeinated, but I had a small quibble with Jones’s assessment. “What lead is that, exactly?”

He had the car door open and was halfway in. His tight expression made it clear that he wasn’t used to someone questioning his decisions or authority. “The necromancer is
with a sibling or other family member. Didn’t you hear Nana?”

I had, but I’d noticed something else as well. “She also said he could be with a mouse.”

“I’m sure it will all make sense in time.”

I cleared my throat. “
And
she read Devon’s fate in those spatters, so how do we know she’s tracking the necromancer?”

Stone, who was opening the back door for Devon, paused to give her partner a meaningful look.

The muscles in Jones’s jaw flexed, as he asked, “What do you suggest we do?”

“Can we go back to his apartment? I’d like to take a look around since I missed it this morning. We could look for an address book or something that would give us a clue what family members he’s still in touch with. And a mouse? Did she mean a computer one or a furry one? He could have contacts on his laptop, if it’s still there.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Stone said quietly.

Not a bad idea? It sounded like routine police work to me, and I only had a crumby degree in forensic science.

Precinct 13 must have some seriously weird protocols, if this was business as usual. I waited to see how Jones would react.

“Fine,” Jones said finally. Dropping into his seat, he shut the car door hard. It wasn’t quite a slam, but it had a very similar quality.

When I ducked under Stone’s arm to slip into my own seat, she said, “It’s a good suggestion. He’ll be all right.”

Despite Stone’s assurances, it was a tense ride to the necromancer’s apartment building. In particular, Devon seemed
to revel in Jones’s discomfort. He leaned right up against the bulletproof Plexiglas and said, “Real police work…are you sure you remember how to do this sort of thing, Spense?”

My ears pricked up. So I wasn’t the only one who thought maybe Jones had gotten sloppy.

At Jones’s growled response, Devon tipped his head back and laughed wickedly. At that angle, his canines were noticeably pronounced.

Stone turned around and pointed a finger at Devon. With a deliberate motion, she tapped the glass. It cracked with a pop, like a bullet. Both Devon and I flattened ourselves against the backrest in surprise. “Holy crap!” Devon shouted.

I stared in horror at the spot where a finger-sized dent bowed out the safety glass. A spiderweb of cracks spread out around it.

What kind of strength would you need to be able to do something like that? And she’d done it so casually.

Jones, whose lips twitched with a suppressed smile, said, “Damn it, Stone. That’s the third one I’m going to have to get replaced.”

“Sorry, boss,” she said, though clearly without any remorse.

“Someday, Golem, someone’s going to wipe that word right off your forehead,” Devon sneered.

She just smiled at him and said, “I’d like to see you try,
noshech kariot
.”

Devon’s eyes narrowed. It was clear he’d been insulted, but the confusion about what exactly she’d called him rippled across his face. “Oh yeah? Well, same to you.”

Stone laughed and turned her back to him. The mark her finger left in the glass remained, hanging there ominously.

I looked at Stone with renewed interest. What the hell was a “golem?” The only Gollum I knew was a creepy, cave-dwelling
hobbit with an invisibility ring. Stone certainly didn’t look like that creature from
The Lord of the Rings
, and he always seemed sort of scrawny and weak. Stone was clearly as powerful as her name.

No one had much to say after that. I desperately wanted to know more about Stone, but it was clear that this was not the time to ask. Pulling my phone out, I Googled “gollum,” but all I got were pictures and articles about the movie version. Perhaps I was spelling it wrong?

I didn’t have a chance to try alternate spellings because we’d arrived.

Before getting out, Jones turned around to admonish Devon. “You kids need to play nice now. Or I’ll have to separate you.”

“She started it,” Devon muttered.

Stone opened the door for me. I watched her carefully as I stepped out into the parking lot. She smiled at me as I moved to let Devon out. Stone did a little fake-out of slamming the door on him, and he pulled his feet back with lightning-fast speed. When he looked horrified, she gave him a halfhearted apologetic look. “Truce?” she asked.

“Yeah, okay, sure,” he said nervously.

The place the necromancer lived was a duplex. The house was constructed of white stucco and broad wooden beams—sort of Tudor, but an uninspired version that was little more than a square with a pointed roof. If I had to guess, I would have said it was built in the thirties or early forties. The sidewalk looked as though it hadn’t been shoveled all winter. The only pathway was a narrow melted footpath, a mess of sand and salt. We walked, single file, to the cracked and uneven steps.

There were piles of yellowing newspapers in front of one
door, and a mailbox crammed to overflowing with mail. Yellow tape had been placed in an
X
over the door; it was covered with the words
CRIME SCENE
and
NO TRESPASSING
.

Stone pulled a key from her pocket and fitted it into the lock. She pushed the door open with a jerk. The air that escaped smelled stale, with the tinge of cat urine.

Inside, going off to the left, was a set of stairs. They were fashioned of wood, but like the exterior, not terribly fancy or ornate. We headed up to the landing, single file, with Stone and Jones in the lead.

Devon trailed behind me, keeping as much distance between himself and Stone as possible.

At the top of the stairs, I expected everyone to go in and start checking the place out. Instead, Jones stood in front of the unlocked door staring at it. He took a number of deep breaths, as if steeling himself for something. I wondered what on earth was on the other side that would cause him to need to prepare like that. He took the doorknob in his hand and flinched. After only a second, he jerked his hand away, as though it had burned him. As he shook out his hand, Jones looked to Devon.

“Damn anti-natural wards. Would you?” he asked.

Devon crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You asking or telling?”

“Asking,” Jones said, in a tone that made it clear that that could change depending on Devon’s response.

Devon’s usual petulance deflated with a shrug. When Jones stepped aside, Devon took his place in front of the door. He twisted the knob and pushed the door open a crack. I craned to see what all the fuss was about. I only saw shadow. It might have been my imagination, but the snake on my arm seemed to sigh happily and relaxed its hold.

Meanwhile, Jones had backed up so far that he was pressed against the wall. His face was hard and tense. Devon looked over his shoulder at him and sneered.

“Looks like the fairy is out for the count.” Devon cast his gaze first at Stone and then at me. “So which of you two lovely ladies will be able to accompany me into this den of unnaturalness?”

Stone pushed the door open farther with her hand. “I can go.”

She pushed past him, giving him a very slight nudge that nearly brought him to his knees. He straightened quickly and looked ready to strike, but she’d turned to face him already. She stood straight, tall, and solid. “Before you say
anything
,” she said, “kabbalah is
not
maleficium, understood?”

Her finger was raised and pointed at his chest. Devon stared at it, no doubt remembering, like I was, the hole she’d put in the bulletproof glass with no effort at all.

“Understood?” she repeated, her finger still pointed like a loaded gun.

“Devon Fletcher,” Jones said, slowly, and I got the sense that the use of Devon’s full name was significant.

I could see Devon’s eyes narrow, though he never took them from Stone’s finger. “All right,” he said.

Though I thought his response sounded hollow and insincere, Stone seemed to find it acceptable. She deliberately turned her back on him, and went inside.

“Unless she asks for your help, you’ll stay here where I can keep an eye on you,” Jones told Devon.

“I rue the day we met, fairy. Would that I had ripped out your throat and not paused to sup,” he snarled.

“I bet,” replied Jones flatly.

With the door pushed wider, I could make out more of
the interior. Heavy curtains were closed to the daylight, but just enough eked through to reveal a very sparsely furnished efficiency apartment. The view from the hallway afforded a good look at a wall leading to the kitchenette. At first I thought it was painted black, but then it became clear that the same gibberish I’d seen on the necromancer’s body had been scribbled all over the walls.

I’d moved inside for a closer look before realizing the significance of it. I was staring at a doodle of a chicken-headed man defiling a sheep when I heard Devon’s voice saying, “That must be a disappointment for you.”

I glanced back at the doorway. Should I be worried that I crossed the threshold so easily?

Stone had put on surgical gloves and was thumbing through a notebook. When she noticed my stricken expression, she said, “I wouldn’t worry, if I were you. From what I can tell, you’ve cast exactly one spell your whole life. It was a curse.” She nodded in the direction of where the tattoo was under my coat sleeve. “You are only unnatural for lack of experience.”

“So you can change? Someone natural could become unnatural and vice versa?”

“Magic users, yes,” she said.

From the doorway, Devon said, “Magical creatures, however, are whatever their masters made them, aren’t they, Hannah?”

“Shut up,” she snapped.

“You won’t speak again until I tell you to,” Jones said.

Could Jones really control Devon so completely? Not letting him talk at all seemed kind of harsh. When Stone handed me a pair of gloves for my hands, I noted, “Nobody likes Devon much.”

“That’s because he’s a first-class jerk.”

I nodded, but I wasn’t sure I agreed. He seemed to provoke Jones and Stone easily, but I hadn’t found him particularly loathsome or especially deserving of the intensity of their reaction. In fact, they seemed most upset when he said things that appeared to be true. Stone was the one who’d been defensive about her ability to tolerate entering the necromancer’s apartment. I pulled the gloves on with a snap.

I wandered over to the window and pulled the curtain back to let in some light. The instant the sun hit the writing on the walls, it vanished.

I closed the curtain again and the writing reappeared…changed. I could see that the chicken-headed guy was now getting it on with a tiger, for instance. “Sorry,” I said to Stone, who had paused in her perusal of another book, to watch me. “I kind of forgot that would happen.”

“What?” asked Jones from outside the door.

“I let some light in,” I said. “The words changed.”

“Get out!” he shouted, just as the spiders started dropping from the ceiling.

The dozens of spiders descended on thin lines. Their abdomens were the size of my fist. Hairy legs stretched out nearly twelve inches. Five bulging eyes glowed red. Mandibles clicked and chattered. Directly above me, one twitched its legs, lifting them to reveal hideous fangs.