“We know that one,” I said. “That’s where they took me. It’s abandoned now.”
“Drat. That’s the only one I visited. I know there are at least two more. They mentioned a safe house and also a headquarters, but not their locations.” She stopped moving and closed her eyes. “They communicated in images. Let me see what I can recall. The safe house was in a brick town house, in the basement. But there’s millions of town houses in Boston. The headquarters . . .” She scrunched her eyes more tightly. “Dark. Underground. Concrete walls.” She shook her head. “Not helpful, I know, but it’s all I can see.”
“The murders follow a pattern,” I said, thinking out loud. “They happen every forty-eight hours. The timing must have ritual significance for Myrddin. When he didn’t manage to kill me, he sent the Reaper out to kill someone else that night, at that location. Could there be a pattern to the murder sites, too?” Since one murder site had also been the site of a known base of the Old Ones, if we could identify the pattern, maybe we’d flush them out of hiding.
“A pattern . . .” Juliet closed her eyes again. “There was a symbol that dominated their conversations. I don’t know what it means, but it always came with the number five.”
Mab and I exchanged glances. “Myrddin said there had to be five victims,” I said, “that Pryce would open his eyes when he received the life force of the fifth. Maybe the symbol is related. What did it look like?”
Juliet’s eyes popped open. “Give me something to write with and I’ll draw it for you.”
Axel fished a pencil from his shirt pocket, and Mab handed Juliet the napkin from her saucer. A few splashes of tea had sloshed onto it, but most of it was dry.
Juliet sat on the bed and smoothed the napkin flat on the nightstand. Her tongue poked out from one side of her mouth as she concentrated on her drawing. She held it out so we could see. It was a simple figure, a vertical line with diagonal branches forming a point at each end:
“Eihwaz,” said Axel.
“Yes.” Mab nodded. “I believe you’re correct.”
I stared at the symbol. I didn’t care what it was called. I felt it burning in my chest: a long, vertical line along my breastbone, with a diagonal cut at each end. The Reaper had carved that symbol into me as I’d lain strapped to the table.
“Child, are you all right? You’ve gone deathly pale.”
I put a hand to my chest. “That symbol—the Reaper carved it into my chest.”
Mab peered at me, her eyes dark with concern. In a moment, the burning sensation faded. I reminded myself that the symbol wasn’t there now, not even as a scar. “Tell me about the symbol,” I said.
Mab watched me for several seconds before she answered. “It’s a rune. It represents the yew tree, symbol of triumph over death.” She took the napkin and smoothed it on her lap. I wondered if it was a coincidence that Myrddin had been imprisoned in a yew tree. “The Old Ones’ focus on this rune may simply show their preoccupation with defeating death.”
“But the number five. Five victims, five points on the rune.” I glanced around the room. There was no computer. “Is there any way I can get online right now?” I asked Axel. “I need to see a map of Boston.”
Axel scratched his chin through his shaggy beard. Then he trundled over to the bed’s nightstand and opened a drawer. He pulled out a neatly folded paper map. “This okay? I keep it for guests.”
“Perfect.” I unfolded the map and spread it open on the bed. “Juliet, give me that pencil. Now, the body of the first Reaper victim was discovered here, in the South End near Rutland Square.” I drew a circle on the site and filled it in. “The second body was also in the South End, at the intersection of Harrison and East Newton.” I squinted at the map until I found the place, and drew another dot. “If a third murder happened at the site of the Stanhope Street base, that would be just about here, more toward the Back Bay.” Dot number three appeared on the map.
“Now, if we connect the dots . . .” I drew a line from the first murder site to the second, and then from the second to the third, the place that could have been the site of my own death. A chill hit me. I was still worried what it meant that Pryce had absorbed some of my life force. But I couldn’t afford to dwell on that now.
A lopsided V appeared on the map, with one branch longer than the other. It looked like the bottom half of the eihwaz rune.
“Extend the vertical line northward,” Mab said. “Make it the same length as from the Harrison Avenue site to Stanhope Street.”
I sketched the line upward, then folded the map at Stanhope Street to make sure I located the end point correctly. From there, I drew a diagonal line, branching off to the southeast, and folded the map at an angle to verify that it mirrored the bottom branch. A corner of Boston Common at Boylston Street. The eihwaz rune stood out on the map, connecting five separate sites.
“If they’re using this rune as a pattern, the next murder will happen here,” I said, pointing to the dot at the top of the map. It was on Back Street, a sort of alleyway between Beacon Street and Storrow Drive, near where the Back Bay becomes Beacon Hill.
Mab stood. Axel jumped up to assist her, but she was much steadier on her feet. “We must go there at once. It’s our best chance to ambush Myrddin.”
“And stop the Reaper,” I added.
Juliet grinned. “And kick the Old Ones’ bony asses straight to hell.”
23
JULIET SAID SHE NEEDED TO HUNT AND WOULD MEET US AT Back Street. I wasn’t sure joining us was such a great idea. Right now, she was the Amazing Perpetual Motion Vampire, but two hours ago, she’d been dying. The surge of vitality she’d gotten from the bloodstone wouldn’t last forever—Mab warned it would wear off. And who knew what the longerterm effects of the virus might be? Besides, Juliet was unarmed and I couldn’t spare any weapons.
Axel thunked two silver stakes with polished ebony handles onto the bar. “Crowd control,” he said. Juliet picked one up, hefted it, and made a lightning-fast downward strike, stopping just above the bar’s surface. She almost looked like she knew what she was doing. “Now I’m armed,” she said, “with silver. See you there.” She was gone before I could argue with her.
I didn’t even attempt to convince Mab to go home and rest. She seemed to be gradually recovering, and I knew she wouldn’t let me face Myrddin alone. Whatever was between my aunt and the demi-demon wizard, it was personal. She wanted her shot at him.
We checked our weapons. Ever since Myrddin’s little helpers had snatched me off the street, I’d carried a small arsenal for defending myself against demons, Old Ones, vampires, and whatever other nasties might come at me. I carried two guns: one loaded with bronze bullets, the other with silver. In addition, I had a bronze dagger and a second dagger with a silver-plated blade. Mab didn’t like pistols; she preferred old-fashioned weapons. She also carried two daggers: one for demons, one for vampires. We were as ready as we were going to be.
WE FILLED OUT A SMALL MOUNTAIN OF PAPERWORK AT THE checkpoint into Boston, but we made it through. Beyond the checkpoint, several taxis waited. I snagged the first one. Mab got in and sat with her head against the seat, eyes closed, while I gave the driver an address on Beacon Street, about half a block past the intersection with Berkeley. He nodded, pulled away from the curb, and turned up the radio.
Some talk-radio host was ranting about the Reaper. “Three murders in five days. Only a creature with no respect for life—for human life—could commit these horrible, disgusting, inhuman crimes.” His voice rose with outrage. “Only a monster could commit these murders. And every Bostonian knows where the monsters are: Deadtown. I say call in the military. We’ve got precision bombers. Burn the whole place down to the ground. Purge Boston through cleansing fire, and then start over. Let the filth of Deadtown perish, and let Boston, like a phoenix, rise from the ashes.”