The chief angled himself to look around me. “To your credit, Pete, she really stuck by you. Nice woman you’ve got there. Too bad you both have to die. We could have played golf or something.”
Sampson narrowed his eyes at the chief. Chief Oliver grinned and stepped on the chain that snaked around Sampson’s neck; Mr. Sampson jerked back violently, beads of sweat standing out on his forehead and upper lip.
“Mr. Sampson!” I tried to reach for him, but my chains pulled me back. “Why are you doing this?” I yelled at the chief. “Just because he wouldn’t make you into a wolf? I bet he’d bite you now. Right, Mr. Sampson?”
Mr. Sampson was breathing hard. He didn’t answer.
“Why, why, why,” the chief moaned. “Why do anything?” Then that grin crept across his mouth again. “Because I can. Because I have the eyes of a Seer. The heart of a priestess.” His eyes slid over Sampson. “The hide of a changeling and”—Chief Oliver pointed the edge of the blade at me, letting it settle against my cheek—“the blood of a half-breed. Pete Sampson will no longer be more powerful than me. No one will be more powerful than I am.”
I angled my head back, trying to put as much space as possible between my cheek and the glittering edge of the Sword of Bethesda. “But what about Alfred Sherman?” I wanted to know. “You killed him and took his blood. Why do you need mine?”
Chief Oliver’s nostrils flared, his lips pursing into a disgusted line. “Easy mistake.” He shrugged. “Who knew that the half-breed wouldn’t be the sour old ambulance chaser who dropped his business card all over the Underworld, but the granddaughter of one of his demon clients?”
My muscles tightened. “My grandmother was not a demon.”
This seemed to delight the chief, and he chuckled, the blade of the knife shaking in front of my face.
“And Mr. Howard? Did you—was that you, too?” I asked, thinking that if I kept him talking, it might keep him from stabbing—for now.
The chief frowned. “Howard?”
“The old man in my building. He was completely innocent. He didn’t know anything about the Underworld. He couldn’t have been in your way.”
Chief Oliver just shrugged. “It’s the blood of the innocent that waters the fields of the new world.”
“What does that even mean?” I wailed.
The chief glared at me. “I made a mistake, okay? The old bastard was faster than he looked. But you,” the chief said, changing the subject and swinging his gaze—and the sword—toward Mr. Sampson, “you are just poetic justice, Pete. The ruler of the Underworld. My old college roommate. The hide that will make me the most powerful thing on the planet—man, demon, or god—just happens to come from law-abiding, demon-regulating, good ol’ Pete Sampson. Really, it is absolute poetry. I couldn’t have written it better myself.”
The chief snatched the blade away and clapped his hands, looking expectantly from me to Mr. Sampson. “What’s say we get started? I don’t know about you two, but I’m just giddy.”
“Wait!” I said, holding up a hand that made my chain waggle. “What about Officer Franks? Did you know he was found dead? At Dirt?”
Chief Oliver feigned sadness. “Yeah. That poor kid.” He tapped his fingers against his cheek. “Surprisingly, not as dumb as he looked. He was almost on to me. Almost. I could have forgiven him that—it wouldn’t have mattered after tonight anyway—but really, it was simply a case of wrong place, wrong time.”
My satisfaction at being right—wrong place, wrong time—was fleeting as one of my cuffs was chafing my right wrist. I winced, shaking my arm.
“Sorry about those. Rather uncomfortable, aren’t they?” Chief Oliver gestured toward my cuffs. “You won’t be in them for much longer.” Again Chief Oliver’s eyes slid toward the little window. “I’d really like to get you drained before sunrise.”
“Actually,” I said, my voice high, “I’m very comfortable right now.” I held up my hands and wiggled them. “These are actually quite nice. There’s no need to rush.”
The chief seemed amused by me, his Snuggie bouncing as his belly jiggled with laughter. I laughed too, with hysteria and sheer terror, until in one fell swoop the chief was silent, the blade was exposed, and he’d sliced through the front of my sweatshirt.
I stared down incredulously at my exposed belly, at my sweat-soaked white bra. I hunched over and tried to cover myself as best I could when I heard the chief laughing again. When I looked up his eyes had gone to a hazy, smoky gray and he was licking his lips, a distorted, grotesque smile on his moist face.
“Juicy,” he finally said. And then, his eyes raking me up and down, the chief said, “I think I’m going to need a bigger drip tray.” The chief looked at me as though I were a child denied the circus. “I know you’re excited to get started, but this will just take a moment. Talk amongst yourselves,” he said as he turned on his heel and headed up the stairs.
Chapter Twenty-Two