Broken

by Kelley Armstrong

  I strained, my nose twitching. I gestured for Clay to follow, continuing in the same direction the bowler-hatted zombie had gone.

  He growled, patience evaporating. I smacked the bottom of his muzzle with mine, directing his nose. His eyes widened as he caught Rose's scent.

  I bumped his side, snorting a "See, I was right." He swatted me with his tail, then, as I turned on him, tore off after Rose's scent, leaving me to catch up.

  We slowed as we entered a service road. From up ahead came the clicking of nails on pavement. I sniffed, then let out a sharp yip. Clay circled me, tail swishing, eager to be off now that we might have a target.

  I was about to yip again when Antonio slipped from the shadows ahead of us, with Nick at his heels. I made a show of sniffing the air. He dipped his muzzle in a nod, and signaled left. I followed him. Within twenty feet we hit Rose's trail, which they'd already been following.

  I snuffled along it for a bit, back and forth, then looked up at Clay. He grumbled deep in his chest, eyes doubtful. This trail was stronger than the bowler-hatted zombie's, but didn't seem any more recent.

  When I motioned I wanted to follow it, though, he grunted his agreement. We were about to set out when Antonio stepped in front of me. I backed up, presuming he wanted to lead. Pack hierarchy can be a tricky thing. Technically, as Jeremy's "spokesperson," I outrank Antonio. Yet he was my senior--and the stronger wolf--so the distinction was questionable. In a hunt, Clay and I followed Antonio's lead.

  When I fell back, though, he snorted, and gestured for me to lead, but cautiously. He must have seen or smelled something up ahead earlier--probably people. So we proceeded in a single file down the empty service road, clinging to the shadows in case someone appeared.

  As we reached the end, my pulse quickened. Rose was here. I could smell her in the air. Just around that corner--

  A gentle nip at my hind leg. Antonio. I stopped and took a deep breath. Other scents fluttered past, woven with Rose's stench. Other people. Close by.

  I hunkered down, crept to the corner and peered around it. It opened into an alcove, maybe the size of a bedroom. And that's what it was being used as--a bedroom. Four kids--none older than twenty--slept on the bare pavement.

  One twitched in sleep, and I jumped. I steadied myself, then took a careful look around. In the back corner lay a dark pile. That seemed to be where Rose's smell was coming from...on the far side of the four sleeping teens.

  I backed up so Clay and Antonio could take a look. Then I waited for Antonio to make the decision. After a quick look, though, he walked behind me, sat and started nipping at a burr in his coat.

  I glanced at Clay. He peeked around the corner, then pulled back and gave a soft "hmmph"--your choice.

  Again, I checked with Antonio, but he was studiously working at that burr, leaving the decision to me.

  I set Clay and Nick on watch duty, then crept into the alcove, rolling on my foot pads so my nails wouldn't click.

  I picked my way through the sleeping bodies. My focus stayed on my goal, relying on Clay and Nick to warn me if the kids woke. I was passing the final sleeper when Clay grunted. I stopped, one paw still in the air. The boy beside me shifted. He flung out his arm, knocking against my hind leg. My heart thudded as his fingers brushed my fur. Then his hand fell to the pavement, and the deep rhythmic breathing of sleep resumed.

  I eased my back legs over his outstretched arm and crossed the final few feet to the pile in the corner. Rose's stink was evident, but her heavy clothes must have stifled the worst of it or those kids would never be sleeping so close.

  The coat Rose had been wearing was pulled up over her.

  I maneuvered as close as I could, leaned in to take the coat's edge between my teeth, then thought better of it. I didn't want my lips anywhere near Rose. So I stepped on the hem, catching the edge under my nails, and gingerly peeled it back.

  Behind me, one of the kids muttered and I froze, still stretched over Rose, but Clay didn't sound a warning, so I waited until all went quiet, and tugged the coat off the rest of the way. As I did, I realized the stench came from the garment. The underside was dotted with sloughed skin and bits of rotted flesh. I looked over to discover that I'd uncovered a pile of crushed cardboard boxes. I stifled a snarl of frustration and headed back to the others.

  We followed Rose and the bowler-hatted zombie's trails for a while, but soon I had to admit that Clay was right. They were old tracks--probably from earlier in the day or even the night before. So we headed back to the hotel and packed. I suggested the hotel beside Trinity Church, where we'd been that afternoon, and Jeremy agreed.

  Time-Out

  CLAY MADE SURE I SLEPT IN THE NEXT DAY BY KEEPING THE curtains drawn and the room cool and quiet. He even unplugged the bedside clock, so when I groggily awoke and glanced over to see what time it was, there was no glowing LED display chastising me.

  When I did wake, probably midmorning, I found a food court breakfast buffet within arm's reach. Muffins, croissants, bagels, fruit and fresh-squeezed orange juice. Enough variety to guarantee I'd find something tempting.

  Even as we ate in bed, Clay was quiet, stretched out beside me, reading and drinking orange juice as I munched my banana-nut muffin. When my stomach was full, there was nothing to stop me from lying back down and drifting off, so that's what I did.

  When I awoke again, Clay was still reading. I reached out and touched his arm below his bandage. I expected the bare skin to be cool from the air-conditioning. Instead it was warm, almost hot.

  "Morning, darling."

  He rolled onto his side and let his book slide to the floor. I moved my fingers to his chest...which was cool.

  "Your arm's hot. Where she scratched you. Jeremy should--"

  "Yeah, I know. I'll have him check it when he gets back." He flexed his arm and made a face. "Who knows what crud that thing had under her nails?"

  "You think it's infected?"

  "Maybe a bit." He brushed a strand of hair from my face and frowned. "I'll have him check you too. You still look tired."

  "I've had enough sleep." I stretched and shuddered, trying to throw off the numbness. "Too much sleep. What time is it?"

  "Almost one."

  "In the afternoon?" I sat up. "Where is everyone?"

  "Out looking for Shanahan. Nick just called."

  "I didn't hear--"

  He lifted my cell phone from the bed. "Vibrate. Nick set it up before he left. They're stopping back before the meeting with Hull."

  I jumped up. "That's right. I have to get ready."

  "We're not going."

  "Don't start this again."

  He pushed himself out of bed, snarling a yawn. "It's not me. Jeremy's orders. It's a daytime meeting in a public place, so he's taking Antonio and Nick. We're supposed to stay here and rest up for tonight."

  "What's tonight?"

  He shrugged. "No idea, but I'm sure Jeremy will think of something."

  When Jeremy got back, he checked me over and declared I needed more rest. Clay's arm was the bigger concern. It was showing signs of infection, despite Jeremy's thorough cleaning the day before. Being scratched by a rotting corpse isn't exactly sanitary.

  Once he cleaned the wound, dosed Clay with antibiotics and rebandaged him, Jeremy had to leave for his meeting with Hull.

  "Is there anything we can do here?" I asked as he put away his medical supplies. "Phone calls to make? New questions to research?"

  "I believe we've exhausted all those avenues. Just take it easy and rest for tonight."

  "What's tonight?"

  I could tell by Jeremy's expression that he didn't know.

  "Well," he said finally. "Jaime did suggest a seance--"

  "Great. With whom?"

  "She wants to attempt to contact the people from Cabbagetown who went through that portal, to make sure they're still there and are all right."

  "Oh. I guess that would be something..."

  "Yeah," Clay said, pitching our muffin wr
appers into the trash across the room. "A waste of time."

  "I think her real goal is to see whether there's anyone else in there," Jeremy said.

  "Now that's a good idea."

  Jeremy looked at me. "Asking Jaime to conduct a difficult seance so she can make the acquaintance of a notorious serial killer?"

  I crossed the room and grabbed my half-finished orange juice from Clay before he dumped it. "But it would tell us how true Matthew Hull's story is."

  "Perhaps, but I'm hoping to get a better sense of that this afternoon."

  For lunch, we met up with Jaime and walked over to the mall. Just through the doors was a newsstand. The headline on one paper caught my eye: KILLER CHOLERA? RAM-PAGING RATS?

  "Killer?" I said, veering toward the papers. "Has it killed--?"

  "No," Clay said, snagging my arm. "Someone in a nursing home died yesterday, but the other papers say it wasn't related."

  "What about the rampaging rats? Have they--?"

  "Attacked someone and torn them to shreds?" Clay gave me a look. "I told you we watch too many horror movies. But if you want to go home..."

  "No. Jeremy's right. Avoid tap water and rats. I can handle that."

  We headed down to the food court. The mall was so quiet you could hear Jaime's heels clicking as we walked down the corridor.

  We bought lunch at the little market where Jeremy had bought my breakfast earlier. I suggested we take it outside to Trinity Square, but Clay headed for a forlorn patch of empty tables. I shook my head to Jaime, and followed.

  "What's that?" I said, seeing Clay pick up a leaflet from a table.

  When he didn't answer, I grabbed one from another table. On the poorly printed leaflet, someone had listed the recent problems plaguing the city, and likened them to the signs of the Apocalypse, entreating the reader to make his peace with God, because the end was near.

  "What bullshit," Clay said, snatching my leaflet and balling it up. "Did they even bother to read Revelations? Killer rats as one of the signs?"

  He waved us to the mall corridor, apparently having changed his mind about eating indoors. We walked down the other side of the mall, cruelly raising the hopes of a fresh batch of bored sales clerks. As we passed one kiosk, I noticed a hastily hand-drawn sign.

  "Home filtration systems," I read. "Guaranteed to kill cholera, E. coli and all other waterborne pests. Oh, and they have animal repellent spray for rats. Figures. Start an apocalypse, someone else cashes in."

  "You should ask for your share," Jaime said.

  "No kidding. You know what I really feel like doing, though? Climbing to the top of the CN Tower, busting out a window and shouting 'I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry. I apologize unreservedly.' "

  Jaime laughed. "And you hereby undertake not to repeat any such apocalyptic actions at any time in the future?"

  "Wasn't your fault," Clay said. "I squashed the mosquito."

  "Kill a bug, launch the apocalypse," Jaime said. "Now that's serious karma."

  "I had a backlog," Clay said. "Now let's move. We're starting to attract attention."

  "Let's sit over there in the shade," Jaime said. "By the waterfall."

  To call the water flowing into the concrete pond to our right a "waterfall" was being generous. It was a spout coming out of a wall, with a constant high-pressurized rush of water. It was supposed to be an industrial-style fountain, but every time I saw it, I couldn't help but suspect that the building's owners had found an ingenious way to dispose of waste water and call it art.

  We sat on a bench overlooking a vast empty patch of weeds and dead grass, a solitary squirrel cavorting through it.

  "What the hell is that?" Clay said.

  I squinted at the sign, which showed barefooted people happily wending their way through a large maze of green grass.

  "A labyrinth," I said. "Looks like they forgot to water it. And weed it. And...pretty much do anything at all with it."

  "Where's the labyrinth part?"

  "See those dark paths, where the grass is browner than the rest?"

  Clay shook his head. "And I thought our yard maintenance was bad."

  "That squirrel's having a blast, though," Jaime said, laughing through her veggie wrap. She chewed, then swallowed and said, "So about tonight...I talked to Jeremy about a seance--"

  My cell phone rang.

  "Nick?" Clay asked as I checked the call display.

  "Anita Barrington."

  He snorted. "Probably got another story for us. Tell her--"

  I motioned him to silence as I answered.

  Yes, Anita had more information for us. When I tried to get her to relate over the phone, though, she insisted it wasn't safe.

  "I'll call back from a landline," I said. "Just give me five min--"

  "No, dear. You don't understand. This is--I really must see you."

  Clay shook his head emphatically.

  "Actually, I'm sticking close to the hotel today. Doctor's orders--"

  "Then I'll come there. Erin's gone to my sister's. Getting her out of the city during all this seemed wise. I'll close the shop early and head over. Oh, and I can take a look at that letter while I'm there. You still have that, don't you?"

  Clay frowned and shifted closer to hear better.

  I told her I had the letter, and she was welcome to examine it.

  "Excellent. Now where are you staying?"

  I glanced at Clay. "The same hotel we gave you the phone number for."

  "Oh? You're still there? Yes, of course you are--"

  "No, I'm sorry. Completely forgot. We moved last night. We're at the Marriott over by the Eaton Centre. I'll meet you in the lobby."

  "The letter's right there on the table," I said as we brought Anita into our hotel room. "There are gloves beside it."

  She headed straight for it. I collapsed onto the bed.

  "Tired, darling?" Clay asked.

  "Too hot," I said, then looked at the nightstand. "Where's the bottled water?"

  "Finished it. I'll run down and grab some more."

  "No, get juice. Do they have cranberry?" I pushed up from the bed. "Here, I'll go with you. Anita--"

  "I'm fine, dear," she said, head still down as she examined the letter.

  Two minutes later, Anita Barrington opened our hotel room door, slipped out and nearly barreled into Clay, planted in the hallway. She spun and saw me blocking the other side.

  "Oh, you're back," she said. "That was quick. I was just--"

  "Leaving..." I waved at the tube in her hand. "With our letter."

  A small laugh. "Oh, dear, this doesn't look good, does it? But I wasn't leaving. I was coming down to see you, and it didn't seem safe to leave this in the room."

  As she spoke, Clay opened the room door. I waved Anita in. She hesitated, looking across our faces, then went inside.

  "Now," she said as the door closed. "About that story I brought--"

  "Don't bother unless it's the real one," Clay said.

  I grasped the end of the letter tube. She clung to it for a second before letting go.

  "She's right, though," I said to Clay. "We need to be more careful about this. Someone could break in and ransack our room looking for it."

  He nodded. "Someone who knew where we were staying."

  "Because that person specifically asked for our hotel phone number. Someone who must have figured out what we are, so she knew she needed a potion to cover her scent when she broke in."

  "Someone who can cast blur spells, knockback spells, probably cover spells too...which is why we didn't see her in the bathroom."

  Anita looked from Clay to me. "I don't think I follow. Did someone break in--"

  "Earlier, you asked me where we were staying. You knew we had a reason to move last night."

  She laughed. "No, dear, I have a very poor memory. I completely forgot that you told me which hotel--"

  She lunged for the letter, slamming Clay with a knockback spell. I dove to cut her off, but her fingers wrapped aro
und the tube as she cast another spell. Her form blurred and, for a second, she seemed to disappear.

  "Elena!"

  Clay sprang to his feet. A blur appeared at my shoulder. I spun out of the way as fingers grazed my side. The blur faltered, thrown off balance. She hit the nightstand, sending the lamp crashing to the floor. I lashed out, but missed. The blurred form raced for the door. Clay ran at her and threw himself down in her path. Anita tripped over him, reappearing as she struck the floor. I raced past her and grabbed the dropped letter.

  "Elena!"

  I wheeled as Anita's hands flew up in a knockback spell. Our eyes met and she faltered, giving Clay time to roll up from the carpet. He charged, grabbed her by the back of her blouse and threw her over his shoulder. She hit the floor lamp, taking it down with her. Clay stalked over. She tried to scramble backward, out of his range, but he kept coming. Finally he was above her. Her lips parted in a spell, but she was shaking too badly to get the words out.

  "Clay," I murmured.

  He hesitated, then backed off. I stepped into his place.

  "Playing games doesn't go over well with us," I said. "We take them seriously."

  I reached down and helped her up.

  "Sit there," I said, gesturing at the chair. "Then tell us the real story behind the letter--the one that has something to do with immortality."

  She still tried to protest and sidetrack us, but finally told us the letter's history, the one she'd known before she'd approached Shanahan to see it.

  The story went that a sorcerer had created the portal. He'd been finishing work on an experiment, one that promised a form of immortality. A common enough type of experimentation, but something about this one made other supernaturals think he may have actually hit on a way to do it. Some wanted to steal his research. Some wanted to stop it. So he created the portal to hide, and put the trigger in the paper used to make the From Hell letter.

  When Anita was done, I told her Hull's version of the tale.

  She frowned. "That seems like a blending of the two stories--the half-demon one and the immortality experiment one. Perhaps that campfire tale bears more truth than one would imagine."

  I said nothing. After a moment, she continued.

  "The demon's boon may be immortality. Or the secret to it. The sorcerer only created the portal--it was the half-demon Jack the Ripper who hid inside."