Seven Kinds of Hell (9 page)

“And who are these, then?” Sean clapped his hands together and rubbed them expectantly. “I’m about ready for breakfast, Zoe. How about you?”

I stared at him. No questions about the attack, nothing about me turning into the Girl Who Bays at the Moon. Not a damned thing but that dopey smile and too-innocent eyes.

Which was reason enough to be suspicious, but I can usually read Sean pretty well—remember, no poker face? At the moment, there was nothing going on. No one at home.

I made some introductions, and was making excuses about getting Sean home when Claudia said, “Look, I’m a doctor. Let me have a quick look at him. That way, you can decide whether to stop at the emergency room.”

I gave her a look. A doctor? Then what about the real estate?

“Look at me, check me out, examine me, my darling!” Sean did a passable two-step. He grabbed Claudia and whirled her around. I was surprised; she managed to stay upright, feet unscathed, even laughing before she gently disengaged herself from the maniac.

“All right, simmer down. Follow my finger.” She held up an index finger, moved it left, right, up, down. “You know the date, right?”

“Wednesday. June eighth,” he said. “Or maybe the ninth.”

“That’s as close as he ever gets,” I said. I really wanted to ditch these two, but Gerry stepped in.

“I wouldn’t mind an iced coffee or something,” he said. “It’s warm out here.”

Claudia said, “C’mon.”

I felt something—instinct?—nudging me. I resigned myself to another half hour with these guys. I hated the idea; Sean might snap out of it and start asking odd, unpleasant questions about me turning into a wolf at any minute.

“No, I don’t see any worrying signs,” Claudia said finally. “Perhaps a slight inclination to overindulge in stimulants?” She made it a question, giving me a chance to roll my eyes. Sure, Sean was high. Whatever; she wasn’t much of a doctor if she didn’t know the smell of dope, or the lack thereof. That story gave me a lot of cover, anyway, and as long as he didn’t start talking, we’d be fine.

We walked to a breakfast joint that was open and inviting. As we sat, I was dreading the chitchat, the utter irrelevance of it all, and yet looked at the menu. My phone rang, a number I didn’t recognize.

Even if it was the creeps with pointy teeth, anything was better than this awkward socializing and waiting for Sean to come to his senses. His movements were still a bit wobbly.

“Yeah?”

“Is this Zoe Miller?” The voice was almost familiar.

“Who wants to know?” I cringed; not only did my defensive answer sound juvenile, it caught the attention of my two new friends. “I’m sorry. Who’s calling, please?”

“This is Mick, the manager of Danny Connor’s building. He’d said you’d be visiting, right?”

That’s where I recognized the voice, from moving Danny in. “What’s this about?”

“There’s been a break-in, your…cousin’s?…place. It’s pretty bad.”

“Is Danny OK?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean?” Panic rose in me.

“Well, he’s not there. There are a few bloodstains, but he’s nowhere to be found. I called the police. They’re on their way. I figured I should call you, too.”

Police?
Bloodstains?

“I’m on my way.” I hung up.

“What is it?”

I turned to Claudia. “An…emergency. My cousin’s place was broken into. They don’t know where he is.”

“Should he be there?”

“Yes. He’s not…there’re…bloodstains.” I felt dizzy.

“Gerry, trouble!” Claudia said. “Zoe, we have a car. Did you walk, take the train?”

“Walked.” The world was still spinning. Sean just sat there, looking confused, and that worried me.

“Let us drive you. It will be faster.”

I nodded dumbly, breathing regularly, trying to stay calm. This was not the time for the Beast, that was for sure, not in this coffee shop, not at Danny’s, not with these strangers, and Sean, and oh my God, police…“Thanks. I…I’m going to try Danny’s cell.”

Nothing.

Gerry threw a couple of bills on the table, smacked Sean on the shoulder, and we were off.

Danny’s apartment looked as though Sean had been living there a year. Worse—my heart sank as I saw just how bad it all was. Whoever had been here was not interested in subtlety or secrecy. The way the place was torn apart—cushions eviscerated, curtains slashed, the refrigerator emptied and left open—told me the perpetrators had been as interested in intimidation as in finding whatever it was they sought.

Hoping I was wrong, I pulled out my cell and dialed Danny’s number again. Almost too faint to hear, a Sousa march played, the one I always associated with Monty Python. I eventually found his phone down in the sofa cushions.

“Your ears are better than mine,” the super said when he arrived. “I tried that, but couldn’t hear anything.”

“I knew what to listen for,” I said. “Where did you see—?”

But I’d found the answer myself, before I finished my question. Something drew me over to the office door, where a lurid splash of blood painted the wall.

I felt drawn to it, when any other day I would have been out of there like a shot. It glittered on the wall, shimmering like living rubies, calling to me. The closer I got, the more the blood drew me in.

I told myself that I didn’t actually touch it, but I was so close, it was as though I could see the individual molecules dancing, still struggling to live.

“Zoe!”

The shout startled me from my reverie. A gentle hand was on my shoulder.

I looked up.

Claudia was there. “You don’t want to contaminate any evidence the police could use.”

I shook my head, a bit dizzy from the rich smell of the blood. “It’s Danny’s,” I blurted.

“You don’t know that, Zoe,” Sean said.

“Of course I—” I caught myself and shut up. Sean wasn’t disputing my assertion so much as trying to reassure me.

Normal girls can’t identify who left a bloodstain by smelling it.

“No, you’re right,” I said weakly. “I’ll try not to get ahead of myself.” I looked at Claudia, whose eyes narrowed. “I don’t want to anticipate the worst without knowing for sure,” I said.

“No. But it doesn’t look good, does it?” she said.

My eyes filled. “No.” A wave of empathy washed over me, and I was sure she understood where I was coming from. The blood was Danny’s; he’d been injured, and, if the streaks were any indication, he’d been taken from the apartment by violent force.

Alive,
a small part of me said,
don’t lose hope. Danny’s still alive, I can tell.

The cops came, and before I could ask myself how I knew he was alive, their questions overwhelmed me.

I gave the cops my story about going to the drugstore and for coffee. I wondered how they’d feel about me inviting two strangers back to my cousin’s apartment—I was barely sure I understood myself. I didn’t want to discuss the creatures in the lot, but they didn’t seem to notice the Steubens were out of place here. They
were the most chilled-out cops I’d ever run into, über eager to please, supportive, agreeing with me at every turn.

It had to be Claudia, I thought. For a plain Jane, the cops did seem rather attentive to her. I shrugged. It didn’t matter. I’d take whatever help I could get.

They took down notes, and for some reason, they were willing to start an APB for Danny. I always thought you had to wait forty-eight hours to report a missing adult, but maybe it was the blood. In my experience as a troubled youth, civilians didn’t get these kinds of helpful breaks.

I didn’t care.
Just help me find Danny,
I thought.

They left, eventually. Too soon and too late for my taste; they shouldn’t be talking to us, they should be looking for him. They shouldn’t be running off, they should be calling in the CSI guys to come and look for clues.

I was glad Gerry seemed to be taking an interest in the apartment the cops hadn’t. He stared at the bloodstains and examined the floor around them. He spent more time on the busted door than the cops had, too, but as quickly as my hopes were raised, he dashed them by looking at Claudia and shaking his head slightly.

What was she asking? What did he mean?

My phone buzzed in my pocket, a “private caller” number.

“Danny?”

“I have your cousin, Miss Miller,” a heavily accented voice said. “You want him back, you do what we say.”

“Who are you? What do you want?” I could barely get the questions out; I couldn’t keep the panic from my voice. Who would take Danny? I didn’t want to think my father’s people had found him.

The Beast whispered from the back of my brain.

“First, listen. Do not call the police back. We know they’ve left, we’ll know if you contact them again. If you contact anyone, it will be bad for you and your cousin.”

“What—?”

“I said
listen.
” The voice was stern, a rebuke. “I will not continue if you do not. Do you understand?”

Dizzy with misery, I said, “Yes.”

“You have information about certain…objects we wish to acquire. Artifacts of some antiquity. You’ve taken what I want, so now you owe me. You help me procure these items, Danny goes free.”

I wanted to scream, “What do you mean? What do you want? You’re mistaken, you took the wrong person!” But I didn’t dare speak again, until the kidnapper had given me leave.

I hated myself for that cowardice.

“You have an object in your possession, one you stole.”

I thought back, with a sudden flash of guilt and horror, to the figurine from the museum. How could he know about that? I’d forgotten about it myself.

“I was told the figurine had gone to the museum. When I made inquiries, both you and it were gone. That artifact is similar to one owned by a collector, Rupert Grayling, in London. His is in the shape of a woman with a shield and helm. I want both of them. You use yours as an introduction, or trip him on the way to the market, or break into his house—I don’t care how you meet him. But you must find a way to get his figurine, and bring that one and yours both to me. Use money, sex, whatever you think will loosen his hand. You fail, Mr. Connor dies. It may be that you do, too. It will be slow. It will be ugly. You leave tonight, in four hours. A ticket will be waiting in your name at the airport.”

I knew absolutely that the caller was telling the truth. As crazy as this was, he believed everything he was saying. And I believed his threats.

Then something about the caller…
spoke
to me. Not with his words, but something about his voice triggered something. I felt something akin to the Beast, and as he gave me directions—a credit card and a new cell phone were hidden in Danny’s bedroom—I found myself cataloging what I observed.

The accent was Russian—he reminded me of a student I’d met from St. Petersburg a few years ago. The man sounded middle-aged, but he was younger than his voice suggested; a hard life, a vicious life, added gravel to his speech. He’d learned English in Europe. He was educated. He was a practiced thug.

I knew two more things, as surely as I could feel the sweat running down my back, as surely as I could see my shaky handwriting as I copied down his instructions.

I’d know him as soon as he was within one hundred meters of me. And…

I’d obliterate him if I could. I’d leave nothing more than could be swept up in a dustpan.

The violence of my response shocked me. Where there should have been fear was nothing but cold-blooded calculation.

“Why me? Why Danny?”

“You’ve proven yourself adept at stealing artifacts. Call it…a family gift. You have this talent, and now I’ve given you the motivation.”

“How do I know you have Danny?” What did
he
know about
my
family?

“Check your phone messages. I’m sending you proof now.”

My next question surprised me. “What do I call you?”

He laughed. (
He’d had a rich lunch. He sounded congested, but he wasn’t out of shape
—how did I know these things?) “For now, you may call me Dmitri. Call me when you arrive in London.”

The absurdity and horror of what he was proposing suddenly shook me out of my dispassionate focus. “Wait, wait, I don’t underst—”

The line was dead.

Only then did I notice I was shaking.

“Zoe, what is it?” Claudia crossed the room.

I backed away from her. “I…someone…I can’t say.”

“Gerry specializes in finding missing people. I’ve studied a lot of violent crime and criminal types. I know we can help you. It’s about Danny’s disappearance, right?”

I nodded. “He said his name was Dmitri.” The entire story, in perfect order and organization, came spilling out.

Under my relief at having someone to talk to came the question: Why on earth did I tell her? Why had I gone with them to the restaurant, then brought them back here? Claudia and her brother were exactly the kind of people Dmitri would not want involved in this. They would be all over this. They would cause trouble. They would involve the police.

“How did you do that?” I asked suddenly. “Why did I just tell you everything, when doing that could get Danny killed? I don’t even know you, and somehow you…you get people to do things.”