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I felt no protective spells on the monisto. Perhaps Red found something that belonged to the Shepherd, a charm, a magic trinket. More likely, he stole it and added it to the monisto to hide it. Unfortunately, the object emitted magic, and whoever carried the monisto became an instant reeve magnet. If I was right, Red had realized he was being tracked, and he handed that thing to Julie knowing that the reeves would return to claim it. He didn’t give it to her to protect her. He gave it to her to shift the focus off himself, to point them to a new target. Kid or not, that was a lousy thing to do.
By the time I pulled up in front of my apartment building, I was pissed enough to thrash him. Red was a problem. Julie loved him beyond all reason, and he pretty much used her whichever way he wanted. I tied the reins to one of the posts in a metal row set up for precisely that purpose. Something was seriously wrong with Red. I understood why: because he was on the street, alone, hungry, bullied, left to fend for himself. But I’d known street kids that grew up into people with a decent moral code. I had a feeling Red’s moral code consisted of one line: Red does best for Red.
I ran up three flights of stairs to my apartment only to find a solid door blocking the way. I had no key.
I ran down to the first floor and banged on the super’s door. “Mr. Patel?”
Mr. Patel was the nicest super I had ever had to deal with…and also the slowest. Brown like a walnut, with sleepy, heavy-lidded eyes, he moved with luxurious leisure, too dignified to accelerate. Trying to nag him into hurrying up would slow him down to the speed of chilled molasses. It took him a good five minutes to find the key ring, after which he proceeded to climb the stairs with venerable decorum. By the time he finally opened the door and deposited the right key into my palm, I was dancing in place with frustration.
I ran into the apartment, grabbed Esmeralda’s books, ran out, slapping the door shut behind me, and rushed down the stairs, passing bewildered Mr. Patel on the way.
THE VAULT DOOR STOOD AJAR.
A single bulb illuminated its round contours, and the door shone with reflected light at the bottom of the narrow stairwell, like an enormous metal coin.
It should’ve been locked tight.
I descended the gloomy stairs, one at a time, saber in hand. I had smelled wolfsbane out front.
Wolfsbane was used to throw shapeshifters off track. Somebody knew I had Derek with me. If it was directed at me, that is.
Derek slept securely on the landing. I had meant to carry him into my office, but I was tired and he’d been eating his Wheaties. He probably weighed close to one fifty in wolfform. I gave up midway.
Two drops of blood stained the step in front of me. Another glistened two steps lower. I smelled gunpowder. Andrea had fired. Her bullet must have only grazed him, otherwise there would be a body, not just blood droplets. Andrea never missed.
I conquered the stairs on soft feet and stopped with my back to the wall. An odd hoarse breathing echoed through the vault, like a dull saw being drawn against the wood.