Byles grunted. “I am a hard worker.”
“Then you’ll get a lot done this evening.”
“You still haven’t told me who the pretty little bird is,” Byles reminded him. “Does this have to do with the attractive brunette who worked with you for a little while?”
“Abigail Cross,” Lazarus said. “And, yes, it has everything to do with her.”
Fifteen minutes later, Lazarus Gray was seated behind the wheel of his car, Samantha at his side. They were headed back to Robeson Avenue, where they would rendezvous with The Darkling and Morgan when they were finished at the hotel. Eun, still fuming, had been left behind with the mayor.
“Lazarus, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“That note from Doctor Satan… it made it sound like Abby was with us. Is there something I don’t know?”
“It’s got to be Jakob.”
Samantha’s expression of shock was almost comical. She saw the corners of Lazarus’ lips curl upward in response. “What makes you think it’s Jakob?”
“Doctor Satan knows a lot about us — I wouldn’t put it past him to know that Jakob Sporrenberg became Eidolon. If Eidolon did rescue Abby, then Satan would assume that he was working with us again.”
“But they could be anywhere!”
“True… but I doubt they’ve had time to leave the city. Besides, it’s not like I plan to bring Abby with us to Ernst Hill.”
“The moment Satan sees she’s not with us, he’ll launch whatever attack he’d been planning against Mayor Byles.”
“Oh, I think he’d launch his attack regardless,” Lazarus replied. “Satan isn’t an honest man — he would like nothing more than to betray us so he could enjoy the looks of shock on our faces. But that’s not going to happen because we won’t let it.”
“So what is the plan, then?”
“How would you feel about wearing a wig?”
The Lovecraft Hotel was abuzz with activity. Firefighters and police officers were combing through the building while the press was milling about outside. Since the Lovecraft was one of the oldest hotels in the city, there was a lot of interest in what could have happened within — especially now that rumors were flying about multiple female bodies having been discovered onsite.
Morgan stepped into the foyer and spotted Inspector Cord chatting with a couple of fire investigators. Cord was on the straight-and-narrow, which put him at odds with many of the more corrupt officials in the city, but the whippet-thin man with the perpetually narrowed eyes was no friend to men like Lazarus Gray. He despised vigilantes almost as much as he hated crooks.
“Inspector!” Morgan said jovially as he approached. The smile on his face was not matched by the expression on Cord’s — the police officer puffed harder on the cigarette that was tightly clenched between his lips. “Mind if I ask you a few questions?” Morgan pressed.
The fire investigators moved away, not wanting to be part of whatever was about to occur. They knew how Cord felt about ‘amateurs’ getting involved in one of his cases.
“What the hell do you want, Morgan?” Cord growled, blowing smoke in Morgan’s face.
“Just trying to see if there’s anything I can do to help.”
“You’re a real bleeding heart, aren’t you?” Cord tossed his cigarette toward a nearby ashtray but his aim was off. The butt glanced off the side and hit the ground, where Morgan plucked it up and delivered it into the proper receptacle.
“Better be careful, Inspector. You’re liable to start another fire like that.” Morgan adjusted his tie and leaned in close. “So… how about giving me an idea about what you’ve found out? Lazarus is going to be seriously steamed if I don’t come back with some clues.”
As Cord launched into a familiar tirade about vigilantes, a dark shape seemed to emerge from the wall behind him. It glided up the stairs, moving right past the investigators. No one took notice of it, not even when it darted between two officers and into the burned out ruins of Mr. Scratch’s apartment.
Silently pushing the door shut behind him, The Darkling relaxed a bit. He ignored the terrible smells that wafted through the air and began to look about. Not all of the bodies had been removed — several still lay on the floor beneath white sheets. Here and there, the walls were splattered with blood and gore.
The Darkling had seen a lot of death over the years and he’d personally caused a good bit of it. He didn’t believe that anyone was completely innocent but there were certainly grades of sin — and no matter what these women did for a living, none of them deserved the horror they had probably experienced in their last moments.
Kneeling, The Darkling lifted one of the sheets and peered beneath. The body was badly burned but he could make out numerous stab wounds and what looked like bite marks on the woman’s neck.
After making a disgusted noise, The Darkling stood up and began examining the rest of the room. There were no visible signs of The Devil’s Circus but he was sure that they had been here — he could sense it, with every fiber of his being.
It wasn’t until he wandered into one of the bedrooms that he finally found something tangible. Scrawled on the wall, written in blood, were the same words that Tenzin had shown him so long ago:
Death clings to this man like a funeral shroud. All who follow him shall know suffering. They will die alone and unloved. That will be the fate of Lazarus Gray and his Assistance Unlimited.
The Darkling could only assume that Cord would have a field day with that one. Would he try and somehow pin this on Lazarus, as if all these women had died because Assistance Unlimited was operating in Sovereign?
It was then that The Darkling noticed that the bloody message was beginning to fade from sight. As he stood there watching, it slowly returned, before once more vanishing.
“Magic,” he whispered. Designed to appear only to certain people, it would probably never be noticed by Cord or his men. Doctor Satan had left it behind, as a warning and a reminder to the man that he now regarded as an enemy.
The Darkling sensed more than heard the movement from behind him. He whirled about to find the Circus strongman creeping out from the closet. The burly figure was caked with dried blood and his eyes were dark narrow points hidden beneath his heavy brows.
“You’re not the one we wanted,” the strong man said in a gravely voice. “I was hoping you’d be the pretty blonde one.”
The Darkling drew his automatics, one in each hand. “I may not be as cute but I’m still one hell of a dance partner.”
The big bruiser growled like a tiger and lunged toward The Darkling, who opened fire. Bullets tore through the strong man’s flesh but he kept coming, slamming hard into the vigilante. He lifted The Darkling off the floor and carried him toward the far wall. The impact was enough to rattle The Darkling’s teeth and for a moment he thought he might black out.
Then the strong man began pummeling The Darkling’s midsection and all thoughts vanished completely from the vigilante’s mind. He knew that unless he separated himself from the physical pain that he was feeling, he had no hope of survival.
Allowing himself to go limp, The Darkling ignored the cracking of his ribs and the bruising of his flesh. His mind shifted to another place, where he was disconnected from the frailties of his human body.
This pain was nothing compared to what he had experienced in the past.
It was a transient thing, unlike the glory that was his spirit… his mind.