The desk sergeant gave a patronizing grin. “They say Taylor is the guy who ran over that little kid in Bel Air. You remember, a couple weeks ago?”
“So what has that to do with Elliot and the PI?”
“Well, that’s where it gets weird. The OD tonight? She was the kid’s mother. They think Taylor was her dealer.”
He was saved from comment when someone called the desk sergeant back to his post. Glass rose and pulled on his jacket, thinking through the situation. One of the other detectives glanced in his direction.
“Callin’ it a night?” Carstairs asked.
“No. I’m gonna go see what my fairy partner is up to. I don’t like him out on his own. Things can happen, you know.”
The other cop smirked. “Yeah, I hear you.”
The moment he reached his car, Glass retrieved a cell phone from the glove compartment. Waiting for it to find a signal, he muttered under his breath, “What a fucking moron.” He dialed a number and waited. He just needed to set the trap and let the fool blunder into it. Then everything would be back on track.
* * *
“I told you I took care of the problem,” Taylor said, pointing to the body deep in the pit. Behind the corpse glowing rodent eyes glinted in the beam of Glass’s flashlight. “See? Rat food. Now can we get outta here? This place is creepy.”
“Where’s her car?” Glass demanded.
“Chop shop. It’ll be in pieces by morning.”
“How’d you kill her?”
Taylor pointed to the gun in his waistband. “A round in the head,” he boasted.
“Why’d you kill the kid?”
“He ran. I didn’t have . . . any . . .” Taylor jammed his lips together.
The warehouse fell silent and then Glass hissed, “They traced you to the SUV, asshole. They’ve got an APB out for you and the woman down there,” he said, gesturing with the flashlight.
“How the hell . . .” Taylor jittered nervously on the uneven floor. “What do I do? I got no money to run.”
“You don’t have to run. I’ll take care of everything.”
Taylor gave a sigh. “That’s cool. I’d have cut you in on the boy’s ransom money.”
“Yeah, I’m sure.” The flashlight beam cut laterally through the darkness, burning into Taylor’s retinas, blinding him.
“Hey, don’t do that. You—”
Glass’s reply consisted of three staccato bursts of gunfire that scattered the frightened birds into the night sky like arrows. Taylor tried to say something, but crumpled to the warehouse floor before uttering a word. Positioning his flashlight on a pile of rubble to illuminate the scene, Glass pulled a pair of latex gloves out of his pocket and put them on. He stripped the body of its cell phone and gun, then pushed Taylor to the edge of the pit. The corpse teetered for a moment before landing with a heavy thud on the debris below.
“One asshole down, two to go,” Glass muttered. At least now Taylor wouldn’t try to sell him out to save his own skin.
He reclaimed his flashlight and wove his way out of the building.
* * *
Something brushed by Gavenia’s hand. Something furry. When she jerked herself into a tighter ball, shivering, an annoyed squeak said the rodent wasn’t amused. When her eyes fluttered open, for a moment she thought she was blind; the area around her was nearly pitch-black. As her eyes adjusted, she saw charred and warped timbers sticking through mounds of broken brick and concrete like ghostly trees. Strands of electrical conduit hung above her like a dismembered spider web.
Another squeak resounded near her. “Rats,” she muttered. No doubt they were passing around the dinner menu at this very moment, amazed at their good fortune. She touched the right side of her face; her fingers came away sticky. Blood. No wonder her head throbbed like a bongo drum. As she sat upright, the pain exploded and her stomach responded. She heaved hard and long until her stomach was empty.
A concussion. Just what I need.
How long had she been unconscious? Once the nausea subsided, Gavenia felt for her watch. The lighted display was gone, smashed by the debris. She remembered rousing a couple of times, thinking she heard voices, but had drifted back into the welcome embrace of painless oblivion.
By now O’Fallon would be frantic, ripping the city apart to find her. Her left hand began to cramp and when she opened it, the palm revealed two rose petals. Apparently, she had grabbed them and they’d remained with her during her swan dive. She took a deep sniff of their faint scent. It reminded her of the night before, of the inferno ignited between her and the Irishman.
“The hell I’m going to die now,” she said, glaring upward. “It’s just starting to get interesting.” As she tucked the petals into her jeans pocket for safekeeping, she encountered a pack of gum. She unwrapped a stick and savored it. The peppermint overcame the sour taste in her mouth and seemed to ease her thirst.
Gavenia rose very slowly, testing her weight on one foot and then the other. Both hips ached and her back burned in protest, but given the fall she’d taken, she was reasonably whole.
“Thank you,” she said, looking upward. Past the bare rafters, a pale first-quarter moon welcomed her. It was better than no light at all. She began a careful search of her surroundings, inching forward in the debris, fearful of discovering another hole that would lead deeper into the maw of the burned-out hulk.
The situation proved grim. She was apparently in some sort of pit, and the debris that surrounded her was at least two stories high. Climbing out would require skills she didn’t possess.
“Oh, this sucks,” she muttered. “This really sucks.” She heard multiple rodent movements, and a shiver coursed through her. “I’m not dinner,” she said defiantly. She wondered how long that boast might hold. Eventually she’d have to sleep, and if no one came for her . . .
The melodic strains of Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” filled the air. She slapped both her jacket pockets, but came up empty. The ringing stopped.
“No! Call again!” she shouted. As if obliging her, the phone began again. Triangulating on the melody, her hope melted. The sound came from above; her phone hadn’t made the journey into the pit. She slumped on a large piece of concrete in despair.
The night air began to burrow into her veins, causing her to shiver. Her thirst mounted despite the gum, growing stronger with each passing minute. Another round of rat skitters came from just ahead of her. How much would be left of her by the time they found her body? Would she be like one of those skeletons that Ari unearthed?
She extended her hand, palm upward as if holding a skull.
“Alas, poor Gavenia! I knew her: a witch of infinite . . . infinite . . . whatever.” Unable to summon the proper word, she gave the illusionary skull a toss. “Now what?” she muttered.
A faint glow emanated from the ground. Intrigued, she moved forward to investigate. Gavenia’s toe kicked the body before she realized what it was, and she jumped back with a startled squeak that rivaled the sounds of her rodent companions. As she bent over to check the body, the glow rose from it, shifting a few feet away as if unsure of her presence. It was a soul, a newly dead one, and its aura was muddy gray, the taint of a vile life.
The body was crumpled over the bricks like a discarded puppet, its chest a solid mass of clotted blood. Even in the faint light she recognized Taylor’s build and the half mermaid on his arm. She suppressed a shudder.
Her hunter had become prey.
Chapter Thirty-Four
Every minute had a weight of its own, tinged with fear and regret. Though the bulletin was out and the city was looking for her, no one had seen Gavenia. Taylor remained missing as well. It was as if the earth had swallowed them up.
Adam leaned back in the seat. His face looked drawn and he absentmindedly rubbed his cast. They’d driven through Skid Row for the last three hours with no result other than a lowered gas gauge and a tenuous caffeine high from their frequent convenience-store pit stops.
A block away a fire engine rolled by, its siren shredding the night.
“I’m missing something. I feel it. If I could only get my mind to work,” O’Fallon said. When had he lost his objectivity?
When we made love for the second time. That was when his heart had told him she was the one.
O’Fallon closed his eyes and prayed, asking Bridget for a miracle. Why would God give him this damned gift only to have it fail to save the woman he loved?
In the distance another fire engine wove its way through the downtown maze.
Fire. . . . Charred timbers, the smell of burned wiring.
“Where’s the closest firehouse?” he demanded, startling his companion.
Adam thought for a moment. “Station Nine’s over on East Seventh, and Station Ten’s on South Olive. Nine is closer. Why?”
“I need to talk to a fireman.”
* * *
Gavenia retreated to the island of concrete and eased herself into a sitting position. Carefully trying to rub the grit out of her eyes, she waited. The dead man’s soul stood next to his body, waving his arms as if trying to signal a taxi.
What the hell is going on? the spirit demanded of no one in particular, staring down at his crumpled form.
Perhaps he’d move across without her intervention. She immediately discarded that notion. Sudden deaths often caused the soul to follow the same emotional curve as the terminally ill, the classic five stages of death and dying: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and, finally, acceptance. Some took longer than others. Some never crossed, too fearful of what awaited them on the other side.
The ghost began flailing in all directions, kicking debris and swearing. Some of the rubble shifted from his kinetic energy. As his anxiety rose, so did the flying debris.
“Great,” she muttered. He’d jumped directly to anger. If he kept it up, he could bring the whole building down on her. He careened around the pit’s interior, a whirling dervish of energy.
“Stop that,” she said.
The soul jerked around and stared at her.
What the hell is happening? he repeated.
“You were shot.”
So get me some help.
Gavenia wasn’t feeling very charitable. “Gee, you tried to kill me, remember?” The form glowered but didn’t answer. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter now.”
The soul blinked, and she thought she caught a look of understanding. He gazed down at the body and then back up. I’m dead?
“As the proverbial doornail. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth,” she said. She gingerly rose to her feet, rubbing her thigh through the ripped blue jeans. A large patch of blood stuck the denim to her leg.
You’re lying! I’m not dead. I can’t be.
“Denial,” she murmured to herself. This one was moving along at a rapid pace.
You have to do something, the soul demanded.
Gavenia eyed the spirit, her patience gone. “See that light,” she said, pointing to where a subtle luminescence hovered in the air. “That’s where you need to go.”
No way, I ain’t goin’ to hell.
She shrugged and hunted around until she found a reasonably stable piece of rubble and sat. The ground around her feet was a mélange of charred wood, broken bricks, and twisted metal. A breeding ground for tetanus and Goddess knew how many other lethal diseases.
What can I do? I don’t want to be dead.
Gavenia mentally ticked off bargaining on the checklist. She held her silence. He was making swift progress on his own.
The soul knelt beside his body and began to cry.
I don’t want to roast forever.
Gavenia looked back and sighed. “Once you’re across, you’ll work things out. You’ll see what you did wrong and how you can do it better the next time.”
I won’t go to hell?
The soul sounded so pathetic she couldn’t help but sigh. How could she explain that hell would be of his own making? She shook her head. Best not to try. “Once you cross, you’ll find peace once in your own way.”
The soul looked down, trying to put a hand on his former physical shell. It passed through the bloody chest.
A sad whimper. I didn’t think he’d do it.
Gavenia perked up. “Who?” The ghost didn’t answer. “You killed Bradley, didn’t you?” she asked. A slow nod. “Why?”
It’s the dog’s fault. I had the kid in the car, but the damned mutt wouldn’t go away. It bit me. The ghost rubbed his calf as if the leg still ached. The kid ran and I had no choice. Kidnapping’s a federal rap. He gave an anxious look toward the luminescence as if fearing what lay in store for him.
“The Dark Guardian,” Gavenia murmured. It said it ruled him. Why did it have that kind of power? She looked around. It was noticeably missing. What did that mean?
Not all of us are the good guys. Now you’ve learned that firsthand, haven’t you? a smug voice observed.
Gavenia whipped around. “Bart?”
Reginald appeared in the far end of the pit, distastefully wending its way through the wreckage, his suit impeccable despite the destruction around him.
He delivered a disdainful look. Well, you’ve gotten yourself in a peck of trouble, haven’t you? I do wonder what Quickens saw in you.
“Are you here to help?”
No, I’m here to gloat.
“Then go away,” Gavenia said.
They’ve given you a second chance, he said, gesturing upward.
“Meaning?”
Accept me as your Guardian and I’ll get you out of here.
It sounded like a Faustian bargain to her.
“No deal.”
True to form. He chuckled, adjusted a lapel, and then vanished with an annoying pop.
“You’re not getting it,” she shouted, glaring toward the dark sky above her. “It’s Bart or nobody!” There was no response.
Gavenia returned her attention to the new soul, trying to recall where they’d been before the interruption.
“What about Janet?” she asked. “Is she okay?”
Probably dead. It’ll look like an OD.
She thought for a moment and then jumped up again. Crunching her way warily across the uneven debris, she knelt next to Taylor’s body. The soul surged toward her instantly, as if guarding the remains.
What are you doing?
“Did you carry a cell phone?”
Yes.
“Cool.” Taylor’s face was mottled, his limbs stiffening. She swallowed to keep from being violently ill and searched around the dead man’s waist.
He took it.
“Who?” she asked.
No answer. Sickened by the smell of the corpse, Gavenia retreated. “You know the way. It’s your choice what you do next,” she said, pointing toward the light again. The ghost made no move. “So be it. I’ve done my Shepherd thing.”
Picking up a stout piece of wood, she cleared a wide circle around the concrete island. Ignoring the soul, she inscribed a circle, calling the quarters while invoking divine protection. Once the circle was complete, she raised her hands into the darkness above her and called down the power of the God and Goddess.
“Watch over me, protect me. Send me help.” She rethought in light of Reginald’s visit and added, “Mortal help.”
She eased herself down to the damp concrete and huddled tight into a ball to conserve heat.
Taylor hadn’t moved from his body, his head bowed.
I didn’t think he’d do it.
“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me the guy’s name,” she said.
The response was muffled sobs. Gavenia closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. When morning came, she’d have a better notion of what her odds were. If Taylor was still present, she’d try again to cross him over. If not, he could spend eternity in the rat pit just as long as she wasn’t there with him.
* * *
It was nearing dawn when Station Nine’s crew returned from their call, and O’Fallon hadn?
??t been very gracious about the wait. He’d paced outside the car while Adam napped.
Once the firefighters had stashed their equipment, he went in search of the person in charge. True to Adam’s prediction, it was a she, and a lieutenant to boot. O’Fallon posed the problem: he needed to find a particular building, possibly a warehouse that had burned in the last year or so. Fortunately, Lieutenant Bradley didn’t seem inclined to ask any embarrassing questions, especially after Adam displayed his badge.
She spread a map on the kitchen table while a couple firefighters watched from the sidelines. Adam took notes as the lieutenant indicated locations. As she talked, O’Fallon knew none of the buildings had the right vibe. Maybe he was way off. . . .
He drifted away from the conversation, pulled toward a memorial wall that honored Station Nine’s fallen heroes. One man’s photo pulled him closer.
Firefighter Timothy Anderson.
“Excuse me,” he said, cutting across the conversation at the table. “Where was this fire?”
The firefighters traded looks. Lieutenant Bradley traced down the map and tapped on a location.
“Here. Old produce warehouse. Top three floors collapsed into the basement. Three of our guys were trapped. We got all out of them out alive . . . but Anderson.” The loss echoed in the room.
O’Fallon gazed back to the photo and gave a nod of respect. “Rest in peace,” he murmured. “You had more guts than I’ll ever have.”
“Turned out to be arson,” one of the firefighters said in a taut voice. “They haven’t caught the SOB yet. I hope the hell they do.”
“From your lips to God’s ears,” Adam said as nods made the rounds.
“This one feels right,” O’Fallon said.
Lieutenant Bradley raised an eyebrow. “You planning on going there?”
He nodded.
“Then watch yourself. The structure is very unstable.”
O’Fallon acknowledged the warning and was headed for the door even as Adam thanked the lieutenant. His mind was already on the hunt.