“Don’t get murdered!” said Brooke, her face suddenly lined with grief.
I stared at Nathan just long enough to make him look away, then turned to Diana. “What’s up?”
“Two things, actually,” said Diana. “Good news first: the security camera at the mortuary got a clear look at one of our mystery men.”
“You’re supposed to start with the bad news,” said Nathan.
“Trust me,” said Diana. “Let’s get this out of the way first.”
I took the paper from her hand. It was a still image from a camera feed, black and white and poorly lit: one man stood hunched by the door, picking the lock, and beside him was the tall man, but neither’s face was visible. The third man, however, was looking out at the street, as if scanning it for trouble, and the camera managed to catch his face perfectly. He was younger than Elijah, late twenties maybe, with a face so handsome it was almost pretty. I studied it a moment, then handed the image to Brooke.
“Do you recognize him?”
She sneered. “Gidri.”
Nathan sat up straighter. “The king guy?”
“The Withered have a king?” asked Diana. “That’s great news.”
“Gidri’s not the king,” I said. “He’s the one who wants to be king.” I looked at Brooke. “Are you sure that’s him?”
“Can’t you tell?” demanded Brooke. Her face was curled up in an angry glare, practically snarling at the paper. “Just look at him.”
“What does he lack?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Brooke spat.
“Then … what does he have?” I asked. “What can he do?” It seemed like there were some bad feelings between Gidri and Nobody—she didn’t like any of the Withered, but I’d never seen her this riled up before.
“He’s gorgeous,” said Brooke. “I hate him. I hate him! I hate him!” Without any warning she tore the photo to shreds, and while I was still trying to figure out what had made her so mad, she leapt forward, snatching Nathan’s notes and shredding them as well. He swore and grabbed them back, taking what he could and staggering backwards, knocking over his chair in a desperate attempt to get out of reach. “I hate him!” Brooke shouted, and leapt for Trujillo’s binder, which I’d been looking through. Diana pulled it away at the last second, and I pushed past her to grab at Brooke’s arms, trying to stop her. She screamed in a rage, no longer capable of coherent sentences, and Diana ran for the door while Nathan stooped down to salvage what he could of his torn papers.
“Security!” Diana shouted, banging on the locked door and pulling on the emergency cord. I managed to grab Brooke’s wrists and hold them apart, but she lunged at me and snapped with her teeth, missing my face by millimeters. I stumbled backward, trying to avoid her, and lost my grip on her left arm; her fingers raked across my cheek and eye, and suddenly the door burst open and the room was swarming with nurses, catching her and holding her and bearing her backwards, forcing her down onto the bed as she thrashed and howled. I backed against the wall, breathing heavily.
“She’s crazy!” shouted Nathan. “She should be in chains!”
The fact that I didn’t kill him on the spot is perhaps the greatest testament to my self-control.
“Guess she doesn’t like Gidri,” said Diana.
“You think?” asked Nathan. He swore again, looking at the fistfuls of ripped paper he’d saved as if he didn’t know what to do with them.
“There’s no way your bad news beats this,” I said.
“Don’t be so sure,” said Diana. “We got a letter from the cannibal; Ostler wants the whole group to gather at the office.”
I shot her disbelieving stare. A letter from the killer would be teeming with clues. “That’s bad news?”
“You tell me,” said Diana. “He mentions you by name.”
To Mr. John Cleaver, and his Esteemed Colleagues,