Broken

by Kelley Armstrong

  A knock at the door. Clay leaned over to open it.

  "I didn't hear shouting," Jeremy said as he walked in. "Have you come to an agreement already?"

  "The baby's kicking," Clay said. "You can feel it."

  "And see it," I said, grinning like an idiot.

  And so, for a few minutes, all thoughts of our meeting with Hull were forgotten in the simple excitement of a baby's kicks. When he or she stopped bopping around and settled, though, the question still needed answering. By then, Clay wasn't in the mood to argue, and even Jeremy had to agree that I looked much better, having gotten my second wind.

  We decided to walk. It was a bit of a hike, but if this was a trap, the zombies might start tracking us from the hotel. The sooner we smelled them, the sooner we could catch them.

  Not a single whiff of rot came my way, though, and when we arrived at the park, Hull was already there. Antonio and Nick stayed out of sight, watching and patrolling the perimeter.

  Hull was under a tree, scanning the growing dark. He started when he heard footsteps, and once again, he seemed relieved when he saw it was us.

  "Expecting someone else?" Clay said as we approached.

  A weak smile. "Fearing, I would say. Though I suppose I'm only a minor threat. For now, they're much more interested in--" He met my gaze, then looked away, as if naming the target would be rude.

  "We know who they're after," I said. "The question is why?"

  "A question we're hoping you can answer," Jeremy added.

  Hull looked over at the new voice. "Oh, you're not--I thought it was--" A nod to Clay and me. "--your friend from earlier."

  "He has other business to attend to," I said.

  Hull cast another look around the park, as if he knew darned well what the "other business" might be.

  "You said you had information for us," Jeremy said. "A firsthand account, I believe, was the phrase you used."

  "Yes, of course." He hesitated. "I'm not sure where to start..."

  "Try the beginning," Clay said.

  Hull nodded. "Before all this, back when I was..." The sentence trailed off.

  "Alive?" I said.

  Dismay flashed across his face. "Oh, no. I'm still alive. That is, I think I am. I didn't die. I'm certain of that."

  "Let's move to that bench." Jeremy nodded at me. "She should get off her feet."

  "Yes, of course," Hull said. "I should have insisted. My apologies."

  As we moved to the bench, Hull relaxed.

  "Now," Jeremy said. "As you were saying..."

  Hull nodded. "Yes, right. Well, I was employed as a bookkeeper, as I had been for many years. At the time, though, I only had one client." He gave a small laugh. "That doesn't sound very good, does it? As if I couldn't find enough work, but this particular gentleman gave me more than enough, and the remuneration was excellent, so I'd temporarily given over my other clients' accounts to my business partner. This man--my client, not my partner--had recently arrived from Ireland, with sizable holdings to transfer and invest, and therefore required my undivided attention. His name was Edwin Shanahan."

  He looked at our faces, waiting for a reaction. When no one obliged, he continued. "Yes, well, I suppose you guessed that this device originated with the Shanahan family, where it has apparently remained. As I was saying, Mr. Shanahan was my only client and, being a widower, without a wife to complain about such things, he conducted most of his business from his home. I was there much of the time, my presence forgotten, as employees often are. I quickly learned that some of Mr. Shanahan's business was..."

  He flushed. "It wasn't my place to judge. My father always said a bookkeeper's responsibility was to protect his client's assets, not to question the source of those assets. Yet with Mr. Shanahan, it wasn't just the source of his money. Some of his associates were less than savory characters. One in particular. He called himself a surgeon, but he and Mr. Shanahan would laugh when he said it. When this business in Whitechapel started--"

  Hull swallowed. "I...heard things, between Mr. Shanahan and his friend. I tried to tell myself I was wrong. Then one night this friend brought over a woman. A...paid companion, but not the sort you'd expect a man like Mr. Shanahan or his friend to consort with. I was supposed to be working late in the offices in the south wing, but I was curious, so I crept over to the main quarters. Nothing seemed particularly amiss. They were laughing and talking in the dining room.

  "I was about to leave when I heard a scream. A dreadful scream. I stood there, frozen in my nook. Before long, Mr. Shanahan and his friend came out. They were talking about needing to 'procure' one more. As Mr. Shanahan escorted his friend to the door, I snuck down and peered into the dining room, expecting to see the poor woman dead on the floor. She wasn't there.

  "The table had been moved aside, and there were strange patterns on the floor, drawn in some fine powder, like salt or sand. And there were other things...Objects of...devil worship. That reminded me of something I'd overheard before this Whitechapel business began. They'd been talking about his friend's father, of asking him for a boon and, when they spoke of him, they called him a demon. At the time, I thought they were simply being disrespectful to the old man. But after seeing that room, I had cause to wonder.

  "A couple of weeks later, Mr. Shanahan seemed very agitated. He gave the staff the night off, and encouraged everyone to leave early. I pretended to leave, then returned. After dark, Mr. Shanahan's friend arrived. Again they retreated to the dining room. I could hear bits of conversation, primarily Mr. Shanahan reassuring his friend that 'it' was ready, and he'd be safe there. At the right time, he would release the servants who would prepare things for his friend's return, then they would carry out the final phases of their plan.

  "Next, I heard Mr. Shanahan speaking in a strange tongue. I summoned my courage and cracked open the door. I peeked in just as Mr. Shanahan's friend disappeared. One moment he was there. He took a step...and vanished. I was so startled I stumbled back. Mr. Shanahan heard me. I tried to flee, but he worked some sorcery on me. He dragged me into the dining room and flung me on that same spot where his friend had vanished. The last thing I remember was him saying, 'We can use a third servant.' Then all went black. When I awoke, I was stepping onto a street in another time...your time."

  We looked at one another.

  "So," Clay said, "what do you want from us?"

  Hull stared at him. He'd just relayed the fantastical tale of his brush with demons, sorcerers, black magic, notorious serial killers and over a hundred years of suspended animation. Why weren't we speechless with horror and amazement?

  "You told us earlier you wanted something from us," Clay said. "What is it?"

  Jeremy shook his head at Clay, telling him to be patient.

  "So you believe you were pushed through that portal while you were still alive, which explains why you aren't a zombie," Jeremy said.

  "A zom--? Oh, yes, I see. I suppose that's what they are." Hull shuddered. "No, I'm quite certain I'm not one of those. Neither is he, though, and he is our main concern."

  "He being Jack the Ripper," I said.

  "Jack the--? Yes, he did call himself that once, didn't he? Is that the name they kept for him? Suitably macabre, I suppose."

  "And you believe this friend of Edwin Shanahan, the real Jack, came out of that portal with you?"

  "No, he didn't." Hull swung to his feet, trembling with agitation. "That's what they're trying to do. The rite, the one they need the letter for."

  "How do you know that?" Jeremy asked.

  "It's obvious, isn't it? I know they want that letter. When I was hiding from them yesterday, I overheard the man say something to the woman about getting it back."

  "To free this killer? They said that?"

  Hull's brows knitted as he looked at Jeremy. "No, but that must be the reason, mustn't it? That's their purpose, to act as his servants. This killer can't have come through yet or they would be serving him, not Mr. Shanahan's grandson."

  "G
reat-grandson, presumably," Jeremy murmured.

  Hull nodded. "I suppose it has been that long, hasn't it?" He went silent, eyes downcast.

  "If he isn't through yet, then we really need to close that portal," I said. "As quickly as possible. So how do we do that?"

  Hull looked at me as if I'd just asked him how to turn off the moon. "I--I have no idea. I thought you knew how to close it. That's why you're still here, isn't it? Trying to close it and set things right?"

  Clay made a noise deep in his throat. "In other words, you're just here to warn us that yet another catastrophe might strike if we don't fix this damned thing."

  "Perhaps I can do more than that. If I could lure in a zombie, would that help?"

  "You still haven't told us what you want in return," Clay said.

  "I was hoping for your assistance."

  "With what?"

  Hull spread his hands and gave a tight laugh. "Anything. To me, just days ago, I was a bookkeeper in London, under the reign of Queen Victoria. Now I'm here, and I'm not even sure where here is. What little money I have on me is useless. Since I've arrived here, I've had to..." He flinched. "Steal to eat, to clothe myself--"

  Jeremy took some bills from his wallet. "This will be enough to find a place to stay tonight and buy food. We'll meet with you again tomorrow, in case we have further questions."

  "Did anyone else get the impression he was hoping we'd take him with us?" I asked as we left the park.

  Clay snorted.

  "It would be the humane thing to do," Jeremy said. "If his story is true. But if it isn't..."

  I nodded. "If he's working with Shanahan, he'd like nothing more than to go back to the hotel with us."

  "You think he's full of shit, then?" Clay asked.

  Jeremy shook his head. "I have no idea."

  "We could skip the wrap-up," Clay said as he held open our hotel room door. "Let Jeremy bring the others up to date, while we get an early night."

  "No, I want to--" I stopped, seeing the bed across the room, so inviting, and feeling lead seep into my bones at the thought of heading out again. "Yes, I want to be there, but...sure, let's call it a night. They don't need--"

  Clay had moved to the middle of the room, and was slowly turning, scanning the room, nostrils flaring. "Someone's been here." He strode to the work desk. "I left this drawer open when I grabbed my key card."

  He dropped to a crouch and inhaled. A pause and a frown, then another sniff, his head dipping almost to the carpet.

  I walked over. "Maybe the maid service popped in--"

  "Someone's been here. I can't smell anyone, but my papers--" He gestured at a stack of notes he'd brought on the trip. "Someone's flipped through them, and straightened them up."

  I pulled open the dresser drawer I'd been using for my clothes. They were still haphazardly stuffed in, but the piles were separated, neater, as if someone had rifled through, and made some effort to cover his tracks.

  I walked to the door, dropped to all fours and sniffed. I did the same at the connecting door into the next room.

  "Our scents, and the cleaning woman's from this morning. That's it."

  As Clay did a quick check of the room, I picked up the phone and called Jeremy's number. There was no answer. When I went to try Antonio's room, Clay shook his head.

  "I'll find them." He strode to the connecting door and opened it. "Nick?"

  A muffled answer from the bathroom.

  "When you're done, get in here," Clay called. "Stay with Elena for me."

  I grabbed the door from Clay. "Go on. I'll wait in there."

  Clay left. I stepped into Nick's room, then realized I had a call of nature of my own to answer. A word to Nick through the bathroom door, then back into our room.

  The bathroom door was half-closed. Hadn't I just watched Clay shove it open, glancing inside as he'd checked the room?

  I crept closer to the door and inhaled. Nothing. Another step, and I could see into the bathroom. Empty and still no scent.

  Okay, now I was getting paranoid.

  I walked in, and pushed the bathroom door shut behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a blur through the mirror. I started wheeling, fists flying up, but an invisible force hit me with a werewolf-strength uppercut to the jaw. As I fell, my head cracked against the toilet and I blacked out.

  My eyelids fluttered, and I saw a figure hunched over me. I punched, but a hand closed around mine before I could make contact.

  Still dazed, I struggled to get up and throw my attacker--

  "Elena."

  That voice slapped me to my senses. I focused and saw Jeremy over me, his hand still gripping mine. Clay was behind me, cradling my head.

  "What happ--?" I tried to jump up, but Jeremy's grip held me back, letting me rise slowly until I was sitting on the bathroom floor.

  "Someone hit--" I looked around. "Did you catch--?"

  "He's gone," Jeremy said.

  "I heard you yell," Nick said from behind Jeremy. "I ran in here, but he was already in the hall. I took off after him, but all I saw was...I don't know. Like a blur, I guess. I probably should've chased him but I was worried about you..."

  "The right decision," Jeremy said.

  "Is there a trail?" I asked. "Maybe we can track--"

  "No trail." Antonio's head popped through the bathroom doorway. "I checked to the elevator and the stairs. This floor is practically empty, and the only strong trails are ours."

  "No scents in here. No scents out there. That's not possible--"

  "Shanahan," Clay said. "Potion or spell to cover his scent. A knockback spell to hit Elena. A blur spell to escape."

  "So he knows what we are. Damn it. But if he was here--either lying in wait for me or looking for the letter--I bet his zombies are nearby. And no potion or spell can cover their stink."

  I pushed my feet, wobbled for a second, then steadied myself.

  "Can we Change?" I asked Jeremy.

  He nodded.

  We Changed inside an empty loading dock near the train tracks.

  When I was done, I stuck my muzzle out and inhaled. An explosion of scent hit me, so complex and strong that I almost reeled back. Clay's nose brushed my shoulder as he pushed out for a sniff of his own.

  Cities smell foreign. There's no better way to describe it. As a human, the smell of the city conjures up many emotions and connotations, some good, some bad, but all...normal.

  As a wolf, though, I'm assaulted by a combination of incongruent scents. With the forest, I know what to expect--flora and fauna, all earthy, musky, natural smells. Here in one whiff, I picked up dirt and asphalt, mouse droppings and sewer gas, leaves and fresh paint, sweat and cologne, rotting roadkill and fresh cut fries. None of it seemed to fit together, but the incongruence, while jarring, was like a wonderful puzzle for my brain, picking apart the scents and trying to identify each.

  Nick nudged my hindquarters. When I didn't move, he nipped my haunch. I swallowed a snarl and settled for flicking my tail in his face before sliding out.

  I went only far enough to stop blocking the way, then glanced around. The look was more habit than necessity. If anyone was here, I'd smell him.

  Once all four of us were out, we split up. Antonio and Nick took the side streets while we'd search the ground behind the hotel. That meant their territory was tougher to cover, but ours was far more vast--instead of circumscribed paths along sidewalks and back streets, we had train tracks, open grassland and parking lots.

  I started with the tracks, which ran along the rear of the hotel over to Union Station. After five minutes of that, Clay bumped my shoulder, telling me to give it up. He was right. The stink was too much--creosote, diesel fuel, pesticides and whatever else decades of use had dumped into the soil.

  We headed for the maze of sidewalks, green space and covered walkways that linked the SkyDome, CN Tower and convention center. The wind whistled around the empty buildings, the distant clomp of a security guard's boots was the only sign of life
. Here we became canine scent vacuums, loping back and forth over the open areas, noses to the ground.

  We eventually ended up down a small hill, in a desolate piece of wasteland that earned a tidy sum as a parking lot during baseball season. As we crisscrossed the lot, I found what we'd been hunting for--zombie rot.

  I let out a doglike bark, calling Clay over. He snuffled the ground between my forelegs, then grunted. We split up, Clay tracking the scent one way, me the other. When I realized my trail headed away from the hotel, I doubled back and took over from Clay.

  Once out of the parking lot, the tracking was slow going--too many other people's scents joined the zombie's...and it was the male zombie, who didn't stink as bad as Rose.

  When headlights flashed behind us, Clay bumped me into the shadow of an advertising sign, and we huddled there while the cars disgorged by a red traffic light zoomed past. Coast clear, I headed back to the sidewalk...and couldn't find the trail. It was so faint and overlain with other scents that I had to backtrack to pick it up. Half a block later, it vanished again.

  As we stepped away from the streetlights to let more cars pass, Clay nudged me and gave a slow shake of his head. With the trail this faded, it probably wasn't recent. True, but it was the only one I had, so I veered around Clay and kept following it.

  The longer I insisted on following the trail, the more incensed Clay became. By the time we neared the hotel, Clay was furious, growling and jostling me as hard as he dared. Several times he strode off, but when I didn't follow, he came back, mood fouler. When he nipped my haunch, I spun on him, ears back, snarling. He returned my snarl and we faced off, growling and snapping until footsteps sent us both diving for cover.

  A couple passed on the distant sidewalk, laughing, arms around each other. As we watched them go, a sigh shuddered through Clay's flanks. He looked over at me and gestured, asking me to just leave the old trail for a while, and we'd come back if we couldn't find a better one.

  I lowered my nose to the ground and inhaled. Yes, it was the bowler-hatted zombie's trail, but at least four others crisscrossed over it...and there couldn't have been that many people across this grassy patch since dark.

  As I lifted my head, I caught another sent. Faint but...