Mitchell got behind the wheel and within seconds, the car was navigating the rain-slicked streets of Sovereign. “Charity is expecting you,” the Englishman said.
Max stared out the window, his gaze sweeping all the way to the docks. He could see The Heart of Fortune anchored just offshore and he reminded himself to take Evelyn to the gambling vessel sometime. “She doesn’t mind me being here?”
“She wants to find the man who killed Mr. Goldstein. She’s willing to take any help she can get.”
Turning to look at the back of Mitchell’s head, Max asked, “Does she know the truth about me?”
Mitchell smiled to himself. It never failed. Every masked vigilante in the world liked to believe that the mask was their true face, while the one they were born with was nothing more than a façade. Sometimes that was true enough but for the most part, it was nothing but a conceit.
“I only told her that you were part of the network of informants that Mr. Goldstein sometimes called upon.”
Max nodded, pleased with the response. He closed his eyes, calling up the memories of what he’d seen on the way over. The painful wave of visions had nearly caused him to double over in his railway car, their intensity so strong that it had shocked him.
He had seen the woman that he knew must be Charity, garbed as The Gravedigger. She had been standing amidst a wave of demons, their gnarled bodies dripping with gore. A man dressed all in black was standing nearby, his face hidden beneath a placid ivory mask. Another figure was there, as well, a shadowy male presence that seemed vaguely familiar to Max.
Hovering over all was a vague foreboding, a sense of imminent danger, as if all of Sovereign — if not the world — might be at risk.
Charity was wearing a turtleneck sweater and beige skirt, accompanied by calf-high brown leather boots. She looked beautiful and young, though Max saw in her eyes that she had what his mother would have called ‘an old soul’. She was standing in the same study where Josef Goldstein had been murdered, her hands clasped behind her back.
As Max stepped into the room, followed by Mitchell, she moved forward and extended a hand. “Mr. Davies. It’s an honor.”
Max smiled, accepting the handshake. “Perhaps I can be of assistance?”
“I’m sure you can.” Charity offered him a seat and Max noted that she took the one that Josef had preferred. He’d seen that same chair in the old man’s German home. “I think that Josef was killed by a man named Arthur Meeks. My first inclination is to go to his home and question him — harshly. I know that he’s involved in terrible things. I found… a creature… in his home.”
Max leaned forward, amused that Charity had cut immediately to the chase. She wasn’t exactly being rude but it was obvious that she wasn’t looking to make friends — she needed Max to make her job easier. “So why haven’t you?”
“He’s not at home,” Mitchell said, drawing up a chair and sitting backwards in it. He rested his arms across the back of the chair. “I asked a friend of mine who drives a taxi to go by — there’s no sign that he’s been back there since last night. Given what’s in the papers this morning, I’m not surprised.”
Charity reached down into a small magazine holder beside her chair. She passed a copy of The Sovereign Gazette to Max, who studied the headline: CURATOR’S DAUGHTER ATTACKED! MUSEUM RANSACKED! Then in slightly smaller print: LOCAL BUSINESSMAN WANTED FOR QUESTIONING. The article recounted the stories given by Kelly Emerson and the security guard, identifying Arthur Meeks as the man who had stolen a priceless Roman urn.
“I’m sure he didn’t want this to happen,” Max said. “All this publicity totally ruins his ability to operate in the open.” He looked up at Charity. “You were in his house last night? Did you find the book?”
“I didn’t see it.”
“Then that makes it very likely that he has it kept in some secret location — probably the same lair he’s holed up in now, knowing he can’t return home.”
“The police have searched his house, too,” Charity added. “How come there’s no mention of that… thing… that was in his basement?”
Max gave a shrug of his shoulders. “It may not have been there by the time they got there. I’ve found that most supernatural creatures fade away over time — it’s one reason why the whole world doesn’t believe in them. There’s not enough physical evidence left behind when those things die.”
Charity ran a hand through her hair, looking suddenly tired. “How do I find Meeks?”
“You used to be a thief?”
A flush came to Charity’s cheeks. “Josef told you that?”
“No. Mitchell did. Is it true?”
“Yes.”
“Do you still have any contacts who might be good for sniffing out a missing person?”
“I can’t go to them,” she said. “Charity Grace is dead, remember?”
“No reason you have to visit them without your new face on.”
Charity considered that and nodded. “I know someone.”
“Then get started on that.” Max set the paper aside and stood up. “Tell them to keep their ear to the ground. Nobody can vanish completely. If Meeks is still in the city, someone knows where.”
Charity reached out and grabbed his arm. “Wait. I want you to teach me some things before you leave town. If I’m going to be Gravedigger without Josef, I need to know how to build up a network. I don’t have the first clue about —”
“You’ve already taken the first steps in making your own connections. You have Mitchell. You have me. And now you’re about to go recruit someone to serve as your eyes and ears on the street.” Max stared hard into her eyes, liking the steel that he saw reflected in them. “You can do this. The Voice chose you for a reason. The minute you start doubting your abilities or the rightness of your mission is when you’ve already lost everything.”
“But what if we don’t have time for all this? I was hoping you’d have a suggestion that could help me find Meeks within a few hours.”
“I’m not a miracle worker.” Max lowered his voice. “I know a thing or two about mystic rituals, though. Whatever he’s planning to do with the book is connected both to Josef’s ring and to that urn. I’m going to be spending the day piecing together what that could be. Whatever it is, he won’t be rushing into it. Screwing up on a black ritual could be catastrophic. With luck, we’ll be ready to move on something tonight.”
Less than an hour later, Gravedigger was jumping from one rooftop to another. The overcast day seemed to match her mood and as her feet landed in a puddle, she paused, looking out over the city. She was in the Chinatown district and the entire ambience was different from where she had grown up, despite the fact that the areas weren’t more than a few miles apart.
Gravedigger peered over the edge of the rooftop. Clouds of smoke drifted up from beneath the manholes below and a few men were riding bicycles through the crowded streets. A dog was barking somewhere and the sounds of a man and woman arguing in Chinese rang out loudly from one of the overcrowded noodle restaurants.
As she looked around for the girl who had brought her here, Charity couldn’t stop wondering about Max Davies. There was certainly far more to him than his role as a wealthy businessman and advisor to Josef Goldstein. The way he moved… it was like he was a panther, possessed of a dangerous grace that was both captivating and a little bit frightening.
Beneath her mask, Charity’s face broke into a grin. Here she was, musing about the attractiveness of a married man. Still, she wondered at what his story truly was.
Down below, a young Chinese-American girl stepped out from an incense shop. She wore a red and gold Oriental wrap that flattered her figure and accentuated her raven-black hair. In her late twenties, she retained a youthfulness that helped snag appreciative glances from every man she passed.