Kelley Armstrong - Broken

“Excellent idea,” Jeremy said, and headed off to the fireplace as I grabbed the recycling box.

Clay looked over at me and at Jeremy’s quickly retreating back, then stalked out, grumbling.

IF SHANAHAN HAD SHREDDED THE FILE, HE’D TAKEN THE pieces with him. By the time we’d confirmed that, it was late enough to hunt down the second portal escapee.

When we left Shanahan’s house, I checked my voice mail and learned that Robert had called while we’d been inside. We called him back from the hands-free setup in the Explorer.

“I believe I have some good news for you,” Robert said.

“You know how to close the portal,” I said.

“You were already on the right track and halfway there. To close a dimensional portal involving human sacrifice, all you need to do is return the sacrificed souls to the other side.”

“In other words, kill the zombies.”

“Precisely. Better yet, you aren’t even doing them a disservice. Instead of returning to that dimensional portal, they’ll go to their normal afterlife.”

“That one we dispatched earlier today might not be so happy about that, considering he seemed pretty handy with that knife of his. He probably didn’t much like where he ended up.”

A light laugh. “True enough. But I’m sure this other poor woman will go someplace better.”

“So that’s what happened last time-someone killed the zombie and the portal closed?”

“Well…not exactly. In that case, the portal was opened shortly after it was created. That meant that the sorcerer who created it was still alive and had control of the zombie. To kill the zombie, they needed to kill the controller.”

“Like with one raised by a necromancer?”

“Somewhat. Both types, if under someone’s control, cannot be killed. Had yours been raised by a necromancer, a lethal blow simply wouldn’t have been lethal.”

“Like in the movies. You keep hacking, they keep walking.”

“Precisely. But dimensional zombies with a controller-” He stopped and gave a small laugh. “Sorry. Talia’s making faces, telling me that I’m veering far from the topic and probably confusing you. You don’t need to know about controlled zombies, because that clearly isn’t what you have. To contain zombies from the nineteenth century, your portal had to have been made around the time the letter was written. Only a sorcerer can create a portal, and they have normal life spans, meaning whoever made this one is long dead.”

“Hence any connection is already severed,” Jeremy said.

Clay nodded. “So all we need to do is kill the second zombie.”

“Thereby returning the portal to a balanced state,” Robert said. “Opening the portal allowed those souls to cross dimensions. That causes imbalance. Return them to the other side, and anyone who wandered into the portal will be released. Balance is restored. The portal closes.”

We were counting on the woman being easy to find and at the end of an unbroken scent trail. Even after twenty-four hours, that wasn’t as improbable as it might seem. She was from another century, and unlikely to have hopped on a GO train and headed for the suburbs.

The bowler-hatted man had adjusted to modern transportation quickly enough, but carjacking was probably little different from commandeering a horse or buggy, and I suspected he’d had some experience at that. He’d figured out that cars were the modern equivalent of a coach-and-four, grabbed one and let the driver do the tricky part.

As for how he’d tracked us, we assumed it had something to do with the letter. As for why he’d wanted it-that puzzled even Robert. He could only guess that he’d tracked us like a domestic dog following a rabbit’s scent-only because instinct told him to. To avoid the problem this time we’d left the letter in the car, hidden in a place that would require werewolf strength-or a hydraulic jack-to access.

We began the hunt in human form, starting a block from the portal site where I’d picked up the woman’s scent earlier that day. I tracked it for five blocks.

When the trail hit an industrial area riddled with abandoned or semiabandoned buildings, it meandered, as if she’d lingered there. Eventually it led into one of these buildings-where she must have rested-then snaked out of the neighborhood and over to a busier street, still rife with industrial buildings and warehouses, but many converted to lofts and nightclubs. It continued down the street of nightclubs, past lines of people waiting to get inside.

“She crossed the road here,” I said.

We only got a few steps when I picked up the smell of rot again, stronger and fresher.

“I’m getting it too,” Clay said. “She’s close.”

Halfway across, I stopped as a fresh wave of the scent came over on the breeze. I looked up to see a short, sturdy figure under a dim streetlight. She wore a hooded cloak of some kind, high heels and a short skirt. Her back was to us.

A car honked. Clay grabbed my elbow and hurried me across into the alley. I peered out, then ducked back around the corner.

“So how do we handle this?” I whispered.

“Mercifully,” Jeremy said.

“No questioning then?”

“Don’t need to,” Clay said.

Jeremy hesitated, and I knew he was thinking it would be nice to question her. Personal curiosity, of course, but it could be concealed under the guise of education, wanting to add to the supernatural world’s knowledge of portals.

After a moment, he shook his head. “Quickly and mercifully is best. Clay? Go out and ask her into the alley.”

Clay looked at Jeremy as if he’d just been told to dance the rumba on a public thoroughfare.

I bit back a laugh. “Just walk over to her and point at the alley. Maybe say…I don’t know…something like ‘fifty bucks.’ ” I looked at Jeremy. “Does that sound right? Fifty?”

His brows shot up. “Why are you asking me?”

“I wasn’t-I just meant, as a general…” I threw up my hands. “How am I supposed to know how much a hooker costs?”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

I sighed. “Fine, fifty bucks sounds good. It’s not like she knows what the going rate is anyway. Just say that and nod at the alley. She’ll follow.”

Clay continued to stare at us in silent horror.

“Oh, for God’s sake, you’re ready to break her neck but you can’t-”

“I’ll do it,” Jeremy said, then shot a look my way. “Not that I have any more experience soliciting prostitutes than Clay does.”

“Never crossed my mind.”

A mock glare, then he headed out.

I’m sure “fifty bucks” and a nod to the alley would have been enough, but Jeremy chatted to her for a couple of minutes first. Then he led her into the alley.

When she saw us blocking the other end, she stopped. Jeremy, at her heels, moved fast, intending to snap her neck before she knew what was happening. Quick and merciful. But we’d tipped her off too quickly and she ran-right for me. I feinted left and pulled back my fist, ready to swing…only to see her wide-eyed and cowering.

One look at her expression, and I knew she’d run to me for protection. I reminded myself that killing her was a mercy-it would send her to a decent afterlife. But I couldn’t do it.

I looked over at Jeremy and Clay, but they were both caught off guard. So much for quick and merciful.

When no one moved, she bowed her head and started to sob. What I’d originally thought was a cloak was a shawl, pulled up around her face, so she could stay hidden in its shadow. That was probably the only way she could ply her trade in Toronto. From the glance I’d had at her face, she could have passed for sixty-and a hard-drinking, hard-living sixty at that.