“Listen, I’m on the track of something that will change … everything.”
“Something on this story?” Sam took a step closer, intrigued.
She flashed back to the bloodbath inside that warehouse, the way Indigo had slaughtered the cultists who’d gathered there.
“It’s starting to click together in my head,” she said, grasping at that straw. “If I’m right, that whole trafficking operation might fall apart now. I’ve heard whispers that maybe this cult is going out of business.” That was the damn truth.
“But you said you’re in danger because of what you know. If that’s true, you have to tell me,” Sam said urgently. “If they’re really at the center of all this and they get wind of the fact that you know about it, the only way you’re safe is if you expose them. You can’t keep this to yourself.”
The reporter in Sam was on the alert, as well as the friend. Nora had to smile at him, though she couldn’t manage to put much cheer into it.
“I won’t. I swear I’ll tell you everything as soon as I verify a few things. But in the meantime, I don’t think I’m going to be home much. I’m doing some digging, maybe out of town. Can you stop by and check on the cats from time to time? It’s important to me. I fed them, but if I haven’t come back for a day or two, you might just open the window onto the fire escape.”
She didn’t know what else to do. The only way she could think of to keep Shelby safe was to stay away until she could figure all of this out, answer the questions she had about herself.
“Nora, you’re scaring me. You can’t—”
“Sam, please. Trust me.”
He frowned, wanting to share whatever risk she’d taken on herself. Wanting to know, the way reporters always wanted to know.
“Well, you’re scaring the shit out of me, but okay. I can do that for a while,” he said with marked reluctance. “Allergies or not, I’ll check on the cats. But if you’re gone for more than a couple of days without at least sending me a text, that’s it. I call the cops.”
“Fair enough. But I need one more small favor. When you stop by there, can you check in on my friend Shelby?”
Sam looked puzzled. “Have I met her?”
“You’ve heard me talk about her. She lives two floors above me. We have girls’ nights pretty regularly. She comes in and out of my place enough that if someone means me harm, they might focus on her—”
“Nora, if it’s that serious—”
“Sam,” she said sternly. “Do this for me. I will keep in touch. If anything happens or if you haven’t heard from me in two days, call out the cavalry. But do this.”
He exhaled loudly. Then he nodded in surrender.
“Thanks so much!”
Sam arched an eyebrow. “You hit me.”
Nora felt that same flicker of guilt, but pushed close to him and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “So you look a little beat-up. It’s kind of sexy.”
“You’re not funny.”
She gazed into his eyes. “I really am sorry. And I swear I’ll explain it all to you soon. I’ll make this up to you, Sam.”
Nora turned and walked away. She knew he would be watching her go and had to fight the urge to vanish into the shadows until she turned the corner. Then, at last, she let all of the tension bleed out of her. Whatever was going on—with her memories, with her powers, with the Children of Phonos—Nora couldn’t unravel it all herself. She couldn’t force the world to give her the answers she sought.
Only Indigo could do that.
*
She flickered through the shadowpaths until she emerged across the street from the warehouse where so many people had died at her hand. She hid in the darkness of another derelict building, surprised to see no crime-scene tape, no police presence. It all looks exactly the same. Is it possible that no one’s looked inside yet, two days later?
Indigo could scarcely believe it. She waited, examining the other shadows in her line of sight. Surely someone was staking out the warehouse? But no one moved. She waited even longer, the eerie silence stretching her suspicion to the breaking point.
No one had come. The expensive cars waited for owners who would never slip into the drivers’ seats. Indigo had a Nora thought: It’s like going back to a scenario in a computer game. Until I find the magic hammer, or I find all the hidden mirrors, nothing will change. The silence was profound. Nothing had been altered since she’d left after her vain attempt to rescue the abducted boy.
Since she’d killed the Children of Phonos.
Indigo was like a ghost, revisiting the scene of her crimes. No, not my crimes. Theirs. Indigo was the avenger. She was in the right, and she must never forget that or doubt it.
She took a deep breath and went to the body of Armani Man, lying as she’d left him—his foot caught in the window, his body sprawled on the weeds and gravel. She went through his pockets. They were all so arrogant, they came with their identification intact. They expected to return to their lives. What did they imagine they’d gain from killing those kids? Why did the priestess tell me that my own death should have been the sacrifice?
The driver’s license in the wallet had been issued to Marshall Winston, age forty-two. Indigo recognized the area where he lived—she was sure it was one of the co-op buildings overlooking Central Park. After a moment’s thought, she took his keys as well.
Bracing herself, she entered the warehouse. It smelled of death, and though everything looked exactly the same—the corpses hadn’t moved, of course—the bodies now seemed to have fallen so that they looked at her accusingly. Murderers, Indigo reminded herself. They deserved the hand I dealt them.
She frowned deeply. Something had bothered her on Sunday, when all of this had played out. So many things had bothered her, but now she realized that one of them had been the absence of assassins. These were the wealthy and not-so-wealthy members of the chapter, the ones who financed and benefited from the cult’s activities in the New York area. The dabblers in black magic—and maybe more than dabblers. But she knew from experience that they had trained killers in their employ, such as the assassins she’d killed in the Chesbros’ living room last year. Maybe like the psycho bitch who’d tried to murder her this morning.
Why hadn’t any of them been here?
There was so much she didn’t understand about the Phonoi. Maybe only the real practitioners of their occult bullshit were invited to rituals like this. But if those assassins were still out there, if she hadn’t destroyed the entire chapter the way she had thought, then why hadn’t anyone discovered these corpses?
You’re an investigative reporter, she reminded herself. Do your job.