Julian pushed the open window up all the way, removed a small, high-powered flashlight from his pocket, and shone the light on the ground below. He stared at something. Stared and stared. Then he closed the window and locked it.
That’s when I looked around the room and said to the two bleary-eyed adolescents, “Where’s Jozi?”
Julian Farrow braced one hand on the window frame and closed his eyes—and I didn’t ask again.
CHAPTER 56
Watersday, Novembros 3
His brain . . . blinked . . . and he wasn’t sure what he had seen, wasn’t sure what had been done. Except . . .
There was death. He had given the warning; the Reader was safe. But there was death.
He wasn’t sure what he had seen—the pattern shifted and re-formed, shifted and re-formed. But he knew the taste of it, the feel of it enough to give it a name.
Betrayal.
CHAPTER 57
Grimshaw
Earthday, Novembros 4
When he got up the next morning, Grimshaw saw no sign that Stavros Sanguinati had been in the apartment—except for a message pad that had been left on the worktable. A phone number had been written on the top sheet with the words If you need to call.
Grimshaw tore off the sheet, folded it, and tucked it in his wallet. He looked around. He and Stavros had cleaned up last night, putting the files away and making sure everything was as tidy as it could be. He wasn’t sure what Julian wanted him to do about the towels and toothbrush he’d used, but he’d ask about that later. He didn’t want his friend to check on the apartment and run afoul of Stavros.
He went downstairs and checked the delivery bag before he locked the door. Helen from Come and Get It would expect the bag and food containers to be returned the next time he or Osgood stopped by the diner. If something was missing, she would want to know why, and he didn’t want Helen asking about much of anything since the gossip was going to be flying about the additional road closure.
Satisfied that he had everything he needed to return to Helen, as well as the other half of the meat-loaf sandwich, the regional map, and the e-mails from the ITF agents, Grimshaw walked up the driveway that accessed the bookstore’s small parking lot and aimed for the police station.
His mobile phone buzzed as he crossed the street. He didn’t need to look at the display since he could see the agitated man who held a phone and stared at the sign on the station’s locked door.
“Mayor Roundtree. I’m surprised to see you here on Earthday. Problem?”
Roundtree spun, still listening to the ringing of an unanswered phone. Then he ended the call and shouted, “Yes, there’s a problem! Someone called my home phone this morning—my home phone—and told me to come here and . . . Look!” He pointed toward the government building next door.
Figuring that Roundtree would have a coronary if he took a minute to open the station and set the delivery bag on his desk, Grimshaw followed the mayor to the government building and sighed as he took in the grisly message written on the steps:
BEE HEPFLUL.
“Look at that!” Roundtree pointed. “The nincompoops can’t even spell.”
“That a message aimed at you was written in cat’s blood is a little more important than the spelling, don’t you think?” Grimshaw asked.
“Blood?” Roundtree blanched. “Aimed at me?” More blanching. “Cat?”
Grimshaw pointed to what looked like a discarded calico scarf—except the scarf had what was left of a head partially tucked into the open belly.
“Matilda!” Roundtree wailed. “That’s my cat!”
Grimshaw let out a slow breath and resisted the urge to tell the mayor to be grateful it was his cat and not one of his children. Then again, maybe the mayor liked his cat more than his children.
“I think you should do everything you can to deliver the information Ilya Sanguinati asked for about our new residents, Mayor Roundtree,” he said quietly. “You really should do that because I don’t think the next message will be as restrained.”
“It’s those damn vampires.” Roundtree’s venom was sincere, but he had sense enough to keep his voice down.
“No, it’s not. They all know how to spell.” And they wouldn’t have wasted the blood. “Call whoever you need to call to come in and get me that information. Today, Mayor.”
Grimshaw unlocked the police station’s door. He started the coffee and warmed the meat-loaf sandwich in the wave-cooker. He didn’t have much appetite after seeing the cat, but he ate. By the time he poured his first cup of coffee, he had the computer on and had checked the latest e-mails—a wave of reports from other police stations in the Northeast Region, mostly in the area between Hubbney and Lake Silence. In other words, the Finger Lakes.
The station phone rang and rang as he forwarded all the new e-mails to his personal account before Viktor Sanguinati arrived to help. If Viktor arrived.
Then his mobile phone buzzed.
“Grimshaw.”
“Wayne.” Julian, sounding tired. “Come to The Jumble as soon as you can. I’ve already called Ilya. He’s on his way.” A hesitation. “You’ll also need to stop at the Mill Creek Cabins. One of the professors is missing.”
CHAPTER 58
Ilya
Earthday, Novembros 4
In his smoke form, Ilya traveled close to the surface of Lake Silence, aware of the shadows that swam beneath him. The lake’s Elders. There were ways to harm—or kill—one of the Sanguinati. He couldn’t say if these Elders knew how it was done. The residents of Silence Lodge had taken care to work with, and accommodate, the more dangerous terra indigene who lived around the lake. He did know that these Elders, along with the Elemental known as the Lady of the Lake, had saved Victoria last summer, had brought her to him so that he could summon the human doctor and look after her while her wounds mended.
He didn’t think they followed him for any malicious intent. Like him, these Elders took an active interest in The Jumble and its caretaker. Unlike him and the rest of the Sanguinati, they could offer protection only when Victoria was in or on the lake.
He aimed for the sandy beach that was part of The Jumble’s property, intending to remain in smoke form until he reached the lake cabins. He’d check on Viktor and Karol—and Victoria’s guests—before going up to the house to meet Julian Farrow and examine the . . . remains.
One of the shadows in the water veered away, moving swiftly toward The Jumble’s dock. Then more of them veered away, and one said, <Follow us, bloodhunter.>
<I am expected—>
A delicate dorsal fin broke the surface of the lake, almost close enough to brush against smoke. A tail slapped the water in warning. <Follow us.>
Ilya followed.
When he neared the dock, voices sang out from the nearby trees.
“Ilya,” the first voice sang.
“Illllyaaa,” the second voice sang.
“This way, bloodhunter,” the third sang. “This way.”
The Elders in the lake turned away but circled nearby. Ilya reached the dock, reluctant to shift into a human—and much more tangible—form.
Then he heard a flutter, a weak caw.
Moving to the far side of the dock, he saw a Crow hanging upside down, secured to the dock by string tied around its feet.