CHAPTER 3
I AWOKE EIGHT HOURS LATER, TIRED AND PLAGUED by a migraine. I had meant to call Anna, but instead I somehow had fallen into bed and my body turned off my brain for the entire night.
The phone no longer worked. I sat on the bed and stared at it. So far I had some data for a hair but not the actual specimen; I had some lines that may or may not be the result of an m-reader malfunction; and I had a name of some nocturnal character given to me under duress by a People journeyman who'd pretty much do anything to get me off his back. On top of it I had what was probably a feline hair on a dead vampire, which set the Pack and People on a collision course. I pictured two colossi running at each other across the city, like monstrosities from an antique horror movie, and myself, a gnat in the middle.
It would be a bloodbath, which most of the city wouldn't survive. So the trick wasn't to survive it, but to keep it from happening.
In my daydream the gnat kicked one colossus in the groin and hit the other with a vicious uppercut.
I tried the phone again. It still didn't work. I cursed and went to dress.
An hour later I slipped into Greg's office. Nobody challenged me. Nobody glared and asked me why the hell the case was not solved or why I was so late arriving. The lack of drama was very disappointing.
I sifted through Greg's data. The cabinets contained no files marked "Corwin," but in the last cabinet I found a stack of folders marked with a question mark, so I went through them on the faint hope that I'd find something. Anything. Otherwise I'd be reduced to grabbing people on the street and screaming, "Do you know Corwin? Where is he?"
The files secured Greg's notes, written in his particular code. I frowned as I scanned one indecipherable entry after another. "Glop. Ag. Bll.-7." "Bll" had to be bullets. "Ag" could be Argentium, silver. What the hell did "Glop" mean?
My hopes dimmed as I flipped through page after page, and when I came across it, my brain almost did not register it. On a single page there was a scratchy "Corwin" and next to it were two drawings. One was a very clumsy rendition of a glove with sharp blades protruding from its knuckles. The other was some sort of bizarre doodle against a dark semicircle. I stared at the doodle. It meant nothing to me.
The phone rang.
I looked at it. It rang again. I wondered if I should answer.
The intercom came to life and Maxine's voice said, "You should, dear. It's for you."
How did she know? I picked up the phone. "Yes?"
"Hello, sunshine," said Jim's voice.
"I'm kind of busy."
I turned the file on its side and examined the doodle. Still nothing.
"No shit," he said.
"Yeah. No gigs for me."
"That's not why I'm calling."
I frowned at the phone and turned the file upside down. "I'm all ears."
"Someone wants to meet you," he said.
"Tell him to get in line," I mumbled. The doodle almost looked like something.
"I'm not joking."
"You never joke because you're too damn busy proving that you're a badass. Come on, black leather cloak? In mid-spring Atlanta? Besides I don't have time to meet anybody."
Jim's voice dropped low and he spoke each word very distinctly. "Think very carefully. Do you really want me to tell the man no?"
Something about the way he said "the man" stopped me. I sat still and thought very hard about what kind of "man" would inspire Jim to use that voice.
"What did I do to warrant the Beast Lord's attention?" I asked dryly.
"You're sitting in the diviner's office, aren't you?"
Touché.
The Beast Lord was the Pack King, the lord of the shapechangers, and he ruled his brethren with an iron fist. Few ever saw him and the mention of his title was enough to make the loudest shapechanger shut up. In other words, he was precisely the kind of fellow my father and Greg had warned me to avoid. I ground my teeth, thinking of a way to weasel out of it. I would have to go and see the People sooner or later to find out about the vampire. But so far nothing necessitated my walking into the Pack's lair.
"Your safety's guaranteed," Jim said. "I'll be there."
"That's not the reason," I murmured. There had to be a way to dodge this invitation. I glared at the stubborn doodle…
"Look," Jim said, making an obvious attempt to sound reasonable, "consider the…"
"Tell him I'll meet him tonight someplace private," I said. "I'll answer his questions if he answers mine."
"Agreed. Eleven o'clock, corner of Unicorn and Thirteenth."
He hung up. I tapped the desk with my fingers. I finally made sense of the doodle. The head of a howling wolf silhouetted against the semicircle of the moon. The sign of the Pack. Corwin belonged to the Pack.
There was a small matter of Maxine to attend to. I concentrated and whispered so quietly I couldn't hear myself. True communicators could focus enough to broadcast their thoughts without vocalization, but I still had to move my lips like a dufus.
"Maxine?"
"Yes, dear?" Maxine's voice said in my head.
"Were there any other calls for me?"
"No."
"Thank you."
"You're welcome."
I put the file back into its place and walked out of the office. Maxine was a telepath. A strong one. From now on, there would be no thinking done in the office.
I left quickly, almost breaking into a run on the stairs. The idea of someone digging in my head took some getting used to.
I went back to the apartment. I sat on the floor, leaned against the door, and took a deep breath. All my life I was taught to stay out of the way of the powerful. Don't draw attention to yourself. Don't show off. Guard your blood, because it will betray you. If you bleed, wipe it clean and burn the rag. Burn the bandages. If someone manages to obtain some of your blood, kill him and destroy the sample. At first it was a matter of survival. Later it became a matter of vengeance.
Meeting the Beast Lord meant plunging head first into the supernatural politics of Atlanta. He was one of the heavyweights. I could choose not to meet the Beast Lord.
All I had to do was walk away. It would be so easy. A vision of me squatting over a human corpse, stuffing shreds of limp meat into my mouth flashed before my eyes.
The apartment was silent. It felt like Greg. It was suffused with his lifeforce, with everything that made him what he was. He was like my father, direct, unbending, doing his own thing and never worrying about how the world would look upon him.
I couldn't let it go. I would find whoever killed him and punish them, if not for Greg, then for me, otherwise I wouldn't be able to look myself in the eye.