Ghost Town (Hound of Hades Book 3), page 9
I didn’t like the idea. I needed to be able to do what I had to do without civilians stopping to gawk at my otherworldly entourage. But I also needed those spirits, and although the dogs hadn’t found them for me, they had managed to find that note. And it didn’t look like Ginevra planned on backing down anytime soon.
“I guess you’re coming with me,” I told the dogs, even though it physically pained me to let Ginevra see me giving in to her. “Lissa, you’re coming too. If the dogs are taking us straight to the spirits, I’m going to need your help.”
“The High Priestess stays,” said Ginevra.
I raised my eyebrows. “Did you just tell me to go look for the escaped spirits, but not bring the only person who can send them back where they belong?”
“The temple can’t afford to risk the life of its High Priestess by letting her wander around the city, let alone accompany one of the Marked on a mission. She will remain in the temple.”
Lissa looked between the two of us uncertainly.
I eyed Ginevra. “I know you’ve been on your own for a while, but you do remember what Guardians do, right?”
“As a Guardian, it is my duty to assist the Marked when they require it,” Lissa said formally, like she was quoting from some handbook for Guardians.
“It’s also your duty to keep the temple functioning so Hades doesn’t lose his hold on the city,” said Ginevra. “You can’t do that if Mal gets you killed.” She turned to me. “It isn’t necessary for you to drag the High Priestess through the city with you. The hellhounds’ bite is as real to the dead as it would be to one of us. They are more than capable of herding these spirits back to the temple, most likely with minimal damage. At that point, the High Priestess can open the gate for them.”
“Can you please stop calling me that?” Lissa asked weakly.
I was busy thinking about the second spirit, the one who wasn’t a threat. The one who was just a scared little kid. I imagined a crying boy running for the temple, a pack of red-eyed dogs snapping at his heels, and winced. The phrase “minimal damage” didn’t sound nearly as reassuring as Ginevra seemed to think it did. As for McCabe, I didn’t put it past him not to find a way to evade the dogs. It would be much better to have Lissa right there with me, so she could send him back as soon as we found him.
Ginevra was still talking. “As for future missions, she’ll do what she can from the temple, and you’ll manage without a Guardian’s assistance until we find more Guardian candidates.”
It wasn’t like I couldn’t get along without the help of a Guardian. In fact, I preferred it that way. But it was the principle of the thing. I raised an eyebrow. “Do you even know how to find Guardian candidates?”
Ginevra looked at Lissa. Lissa looked helplessly back.
“Hades will send us candidates when the time is right,” Ginevra declared. “Is that right, High Priestess?”
Lissa looked over her shoulder at the altar like she was hoping Hades would step in and answer for her. “I… guess so?”
“In any case,” said Ginevra, turning back to me, “my point is that we can’t afford to risk the High Priestess.”
“And I can’t afford to do anything that makes it more likely for this mission to go wrong. Especially if it’s as important as you say it is.” I looked past Ginevra to meet Lissa’s eyes. “If you’re willing to take the risk, then I need you with me.”
“I’m leaving with Mal,” said Lissa in Ginevra’s general direction. “I have the authority to leave, and the responsibility to assist her.” I would almost have thought she believed in her own authority, if not for the fact that she couldn’t quite look Ginevra in the eye.
Ginevra stepped between us. “Your safety is my responsibility, High Priestess, and I will do whatever I have to do to maintain it.” Her voice took on an edge of steel. I had no doubt that she would tie Lissa to a chair and stuff her in the closet if that was what it took to keep her from leaving. And technically, there was nothing stopping her from doing just that. The High Priest or Priestess had final authority over almost everything in the temple, but physically protecting the temple and its Guardians was the responsibility of the Marked. If Ginevra thought it was too dangerous for Lissa to come with me, she had the right to keep her here. No matter how wrong she was to do it.
Lissa could have challenged her authority. If she had made herself intimidating enough, Ginevra might have backed down. But “intimidating” and “Lissa” didn’t belong in the same sentence. And Lissa had always been spooked by the Marked; it had taken the destruction of the temple for her to be able to say a full sentence to me without getting all shy and twitchy.
She lowered her head and took a step back. She didn’t look happy about it, but she did it, and that was all that mattered.
I shot a glare at Ginevra. “For someone who cares so much about fixing this problem—” And then I stopped talking as the hellhounds erupted in a chorus of frantic barking.
They tripped over their own paws in an effort to get to the door. Once there, they beat their paws against the wood, the thumps combining with their barks to create a sound everyone in the building must have been able to hear. If Kimmy had been here, she would have started ranting about how we needed to shut those dogs up before the landlord realized she had a pet in the apartment. To my surprise, that thought made me miss her a little.
“The dead have started acting on the physical world again,” said Ginevra. “This is when it will be easiest for the hounds to pick up the scent.”
I gave Lissa one final questioning look. With an apology in her eyes, she shook her head.
I didn’t have any more time to argue. I opened the door; the hellhounds slipped out into the hall and raced toward the stairwell. I took off after them.
Chapter 10
The hellhounds began to flag before they reached the crime scene, their steps slowing, heads bobbing from side to side in confusion. But I didn’t need their help to make it the rest of the way. The swarm of police got me there just fine.
A few years back, the city had torn down an abandoned building and turned the lot into a park. It had become a tiny oasis between a travel agent that didn’t look like it had changed the posters in its window since the 1970s and a shoe store perpetually on the verge of going out of business. Flowering trees offered shade to a handful of wrought-iron tables. I had seen this place before, and always thought it looked like it would be a nice spot to stay and have lunch sometime. I would probably never think that again.
It looked like someone had been holding a celebratory lunch here—I could still see a half-sliced cake sitting on one of the tables. Now the twenty or so attendees stood staring down at the body in their midst, while the police tried to get them to back up. Even from where I was standing, I could see more than I wanted to. A spray of blood coated the wall of the shoe store, and through the gaps in the crowd, I caught too many glimpses of parts of the victim’s body that had never been intended to see the light of day.
But even though it was more than I wanted to see, it was still less than I needed. I ordered the dogs to stay before moving up slowly, doing my best to look like I didn’t notice the scene in front of me. Only once I got close enough did I try to slide into the crowd.
I found myself staring into a uniformed chest as one of the cops blocked my path. “This is a crime scene,” he said gruffly. “You want entertainment, go home and watch TV.”
I turned around to go back to the dogs, but they were already standing right behind me. Of course they were. “You couldn’t have gotten me here before the police?” I muttered.
The dogs weren’t sitting quietly the way they had after showing me the first body. They walked in circles, whining, snuffling the ground. Occasionally one would prick its ears and start to leap forward, only to stop at the last minute with a defeated huff.
It had to be the crowd. Ginevra had said they weren’t used to such a chaotic environment. The smells and noises of the city were probably bad enough; add in the partiers-turned-onlookers and the police, and it made sense that they were having trouble picking up the scent. If only McCabe had been obliging enough to commit his newest murder in a quiet place with no one else around.
I peered in as the crowd shifted, and was able to catch sight of the victim’s face. The victim was a man this time, in his mid-forties. I frowned. According to the articles Kimmy had found, McCabe’s victims had all been professional women in their thirties. Jennifer Gorman had fit that description. This man didn’t. Had he simply decided to branch out and try something new? Or had he targeted this man for a reason?
I needed a name. An address. Something.
On the other hand, if McCabe was still here, I wouldn’t need any of that.
The dogs were still whining and circling. For all I knew, McCabe had left as soon as he had finished the job. Then again, he could be here right now, watching the spectacle, secure in the knowledge that he was untouchable.
But he wasn’t going to stay untouchable. Not if I could help it.
If Lissa had been here, she could have told me whether the ghost was still here, and given him a rude awakening if he was. But Lissa wasn’t my only option. The way I saw it, I had two choices. I could suck it up and ask for help from someone who would benefit from weakening the temple—and who had already spent too much time helping me lately. Or I could risk letting the ghost escape because I was being as uselessly stubborn as Ginevra.
I have to admit, I thought about it for a few seconds. But then I did what I knew I had to do, and made the phone call.
To his credit, he didn’t say, “I told you so.” I couldn’t hear any hint of gloating in his voice as he got the address and told me he would be there soon. After he hung up, I made use of the waiting time by making another attempt to get closer. This time I didn’t worry about trying to see what was going on. That was what the police would be watching for—rubberneckers getting an eyeful of something they didn’t want to see nearly as much as they thought they did. Instead, I focused on what I could hear. There was only so much I could learn by staring at a dead body. What I needed was to find out something about this person, or gather clues about where—or if—McCabe had gone. And the best way to get that information was by listening—either to the police, or to the people who had been here when the murder had happened.
I listened to the police marvel at how someone could have eviscerated a man in broad daylight, in the middle of a crowd, without anyone noticing a thing. I listened to a woman in the crowd shriek incoherently into her phone, trying to explain to her friend what had happened, while the man next to her griped about how he was going to miss his one o’clock meeting if the police made them stick around for much longer. I heard several exclamations of, “What are those things?” and, “That’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen,” and shifted each time to try to get out of the line of sight of the gawker. And I learned exactly nothing.
Finally, I risked moving closer. Two cops were bent over the body, talking in low voices, holding what looked like the man’s wallet between them. If I could just get close enough to hear what they were saying—
“Ma’am, is this your dog?” One of the cops stood in front of me, hands on his hips as he glowered at the hellhound in question.
I shook my head. “I have no idea who he belongs to.”
The dog looked up at me and gave me a doggy grin. As if on cue, the other two walked up to sit at my feet.
The cop’s scowl grew darker. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave. You and your—are those dogs off leash?”
“I apologize. They got away from me.” Bastian’s voice. “Thanks for finding them, honey.” He held out three bright red leashes with matching collars.
I took the leashes and shot him a look that landed somewhere between “thanks for the help” and “if you ever call me honey again, you’re going to find it very difficult to speak for a long time.” I slipped the collars over the dogs’ heads—thankfully the dogs seemed willing enough to cooperate with the process, although the smell of burnt plastic filled the air when a spark from a hellhound’s fur landed on the cheap collar—and got us all out of earshot of the police.
“You got here fast,” I said once we had found a relatively quiet corner. I shot a pointed look at the leashes. “And you came prepared. It’s almost like you expected me to call you.”
“I like to be ready for all eventualities.” Bastian’s face gave nothing away.
“Don’t you have an actual job you’re supposed to be doing?”
“I hear you have a job these days too.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “If you so much as crack a smile…”
“It’s all right. I like dogs.”
“I’m beginning to seriously regret asking for your help.”
“I was talking about these dogs.” Bastian reached down to run his hand over a hellhound’s head.
“I’m sure.” I turned around to look back at the crime scene. I couldn’t forget that I had called him here for a reason. “So what does your invention say? Is the spirit still here?”
“It doesn’t give me that kind of information. But if a discarnate spirit is nearby, the orb will pull it in.” He pulled the tentacled monstrosity from his apartment out of his bag.
I took a step back. “Didn’t you tell Kimmy that thing was volatile? Has it been bouncing around in your bag this whole time?”
“I told her that because I felt uneasy at the thought of someone with no experience or training handling a delicate piece of technology.” He caressed it lightly with his fingers as he spoke. “It works on a similar principle as the amplifiers, except that instead of drawing raw power from the human body and magnifying its potential—”
“Tell me when we’re not busy,” I interrupted. “Better yet, save the explanation for someone who will understand it.” I turned to the dogs. “Go on, show Bastian where the nice ghostie is. Good dogs.”
“I’m not sure I’d call him nice,” Bastian mused. A shift in the cops’ position had given him a clear view of the body. He didn’t turn green like Lissa had, but he didn’t look like his lunch was sitting well with him either.
But the dogs were back to acting the way they had at the kid’s apartment. Even the confused interest they had shown when I had first gotten here was gone. One of them was lying at Bastian’s feet, looking hopefully up at the misshapen metal orb, clearly imagining a game of fetch. The other two were staring at me, just as obviously waiting for me to make the next move. As if I could do anything with them here. Without the hellhounds, I might have had a chance of sneaking up close enough to the crime scene to call up a death trace, even if I couldn’t snag a look at the victim’s wallet or stick around long enough to hear the police say something useful. With them here, there was nothing I could do.
Except that now Bastian was here. I shoved all three leashes into his hand. “Keep an eye on them,” I told him. “Don’t let any civilians ask too many questions. We might not be catching any spirits today, but I can still get what I came for.” I studied the crime scene, searching for my way in—
And the dogs, as one, lifted their noses to the sky and howled.
Have you ever heard a wolf howl? That sound cuts right through the rational brain to hit on a primal level. When you hear a howl start up, for the first couple of seconds at least, you’re not thinking, “Oh, how interesting, there must be wolves nearby.” You’re caught up in images of the forest and the night sky and a loneliness that runs deeper than words.
Now imagine if the wolf in question came not from the forest, but from the underworld. Around me, the crowd went quiet all at once, the onlookers shivering or hugging themselves or shrinking back against the walls. I was pretty sure I did all three for a second there, until the rest of my brain caught up and started distracting me with thoughts like, “This had better not end up in a viral video,” and, “Why did Hades think this was a good idea again?”
“All right, we’ve given these people enough of a show,” I muttered. “Let’s get out of here.” I grabbed the leashes from Bastian—
And all three dogs shot forward at the same instant. Only my Marked reflexes kept me from getting dragged along the pavement. As it was, the leashes scraped across my palms—I was going to have a nasty friction burn later—in the second before I let them fall to the ground.
“Hey, wait for me!” I called as the dogs darted across the street, weaving through traffic, leaving a trail of slammed brakes and honking horns in their wake. They didn’t even slow down.
What else could I do? I took off after them, Bastian following close behind.
Chapter 11
As fast as I could run, I still wasn’t sure I would have been able to keep up with the hellhounds if they had stayed at top speed the whole time. But whenever we passed a group of people or a crowded building, they slowed down, whining and sniffing the air, sometimes stopping entirely for a second or two before tearing off again. Once or twice, they even did the same thing on a seemingly-empty street, with no large or busy buildings anywhere nearby. The only thing I could guess was that those were the times when they encountered some of the cities’ less corporeal inhabitants. Just because my work usually doesn’t take me beyond the other humans who serve the various gods, that doesn’t mean we’re all that’s out there. In my neighborhood alone, I know of two tribes of fae, more species of elemental than a naturalist would know what to do with, a clan of demonic entities from one of the less-savory planes… the list goes on. And not all of them are visible to the human eye.
If Lissa had been with me, she could probably have told me exactly what had made the hellhounds stop every time, and maybe even done something about them so the dogs could keep on doing their job. As it was, I was reduced to standing around watching them go through their ritual of confusion, tapping my foot like I was waiting for them to relieve themselves against the nearest hydrant. I couldn’t even be grateful for the chance to catch a full breath, because every second we delayed brought somebody else a second closer to a gruesome death. Assuming we weren’t already too late.
