The writing was a near-indecipherable scrawl, with a quarter of the words mangled. If I hadn't known what it was supposed to say, I wouldn't have made out half of it.
"Looks deliberately misspelled," I said.
"That's the general consensus with the other Ripper letters as well," Jeremy said. "The spelling is erratic, with some words spelled correctly once, then misspelled--"
Clay slapped my upper arm. I spun so fast I almost tripped.
"Mosquito," he said.
I glared at him.
"They have West Nile here, don't they?" he said.
"Just like at home," I said through my teeth.
"But at home you've been wearing that special stuff Jeremy got for you. You didn't bring it, did you?"
"Clayton's right," Jeremy said softly. "I know the risk is minimal, but if you've forgotten the repellent, you really should be wearing long sleeves after dark. If you contract the virus, it can be passed on--"
"To my baby, I know. But considering what else I'm already passing on to my baby, West Nile virus seems the least of my concerns." I shook my head, then leaned toward Clay. "Smack me again, and I smack you back. Maybe you can smack harder, but I dare to smack harder."
A small smile. "You sure about that?"
"You wanna test me?"
"Uh-uh," Jeremy said. "No smacking challenges. At least, not while you're holding that letter. Here, better put it away. Looks like it's already creased."
I looked down. When Clay swatted the mosquito on my arm, my hand had automatically clenched on the letter.
"Shit!" I quickly straightened it. "There. No harm--"
The mosquito was still on the paper, now a squashed dark splotch. It must have bounced onto the paper before I'd clenched it.
Jeremy shook his head. "No matter. It's dirty enough. I'll take a closer look before we drop it off. Now roll it up. Quickly."
"Before I drop it in the gutter and trample it," I muttered. "I can't believe I did that."
"Wasn't your fault," Clay said.
"That's right. It wasn't." I turned a mock scowl on him. "Bug killer."
"Yeah, but I only killed it. You squashed it."
"You didn't squash it when you killed it?"
Jeremy sighed.
I looked at him. "And you thought we were ready for kids?"
"No, I just thought one more wouldn't make much difference. Now, if I could have the bag please?"
I put it into my knapsack and handed it to him. He looked down at the knapsack--lime green with a daisy on the front.
"Hey, I didn't pick it out," I said. "You bought it; you can carry it."
He took the knapsack with a slow shake of his head. "Let's get this back to a hotel, examine it for damage and send it off to Xavier."
Clay and I looked at each other, seeing our opportunity for a city run vanishing.
"Uh, Jer," Clay said. "Elena and I were wondering..."
He stopped, eyes narrowing as he stared at something over my shoulder. I followed his gaze to a curtain of smoke rising from the road. It looked like sewer steam...only there wasn't a sewer grate or manhole cover in sight. I walked over and looked down to see a hairline crack in the asphalt. Clay grabbed my arm and yanked me away.
"Don't give me that look," he said as I caught my balance. "You don't know what that is."
"An underground volcano ready to bury us all under a mountain of spewing lava?"
The smoke wafted up, a thin, slow moving line that dispersed before it hit waist level. Jeremy crouched for a closer look.
"Probably some kind of trapped steam," he said.
Clay rocked on the balls of his feet, fighting to keep from yanking Jeremy out of the way too.
"I don't think it's West-Nile-carrying steam," I said.
When Clay didn't move, I laid my fingers on his arm. He nodded, but I could feel the tension strumming from him as he watched Jeremy.
"Jer?" I said. "We should probably get going."
"Mm-hmm."
He waved his fingertips through the smoke. Clay let out a strangled sound.
I tapped Jeremy's shoulder. "We really should go. Before one of the residents notices the smoke. And us."
"Yes, right."
He pushed to his feet. Yet he didn't move, just stared at the smoke, a frown-crease between his brows. Then his head jerked up, body going rigid. I followed his gaze and saw nothing, just the trees, leaves rustling--
"Clay!" Jeremy shouted.
Hands grabbed my arms and I flew backward, stumbling, then lifted, feet flying off the pavement, fingers tight around my upper arms, half shoving me out of the way, half carrying me. My back hit the low wall of a fence. A flash illuminated the night sky as a transformer overhead exploded in a shower of sparks. All went dark as my rescuer's body shielded me from the falling cascade.
"Clay!" The voice came from above me, and as my brain cleared, I realized it was Jeremy, not Clay, who'd been shielding me, that he'd thrown me clear of a transformer...before it blew.
"Clay!"
"Over here," came a voice beside us. "Where's Elena?"
"She's here." Jeremy looked at me. "Are you all right?"
"Still seeing sparks," I said.
I blinked and realized I was still seeing sparks because there were still sparks, on the ground, coming from a power line that had fallen from the exploding transformer...and landed right about where we'd been standing.
The line sputtered, then went dark...as did everything around it. I waited for my night vision to kick in, but the moon had disappeared behind cloud cover and I could only make out shapes.
"Whatever that was, I didn't do it," Clay said as he got to his feet.
Jeremy shushed him and motioned for him to stay still. Again, I followed Jeremy's gaze. Again, I saw nothing. Then, twenty or so feet away, a shadow moved. I squinted, and could make out a dim figure crouched in the middle of the street.
I tried to move forward, but Jeremy's hand clamped around my arm. I caught a whiff of something--the smell was downwind, but strong enough to carry. It was the stench of an unwashed body, mingled with the faint "off" smell of sickness. My brain jumped to the closest approximation it knew--a homeless person.
When I looked back at Jeremy, his eyes were trained on the shape, squinting, that same furrow between his brows. Something in his expression sent a chill through me. Without even looking my way, he patted my hand. Then he motioned for me to stay put, shifted into a stooped hunch and started forward.
I glanced at Clay. He was already moving toward Jeremy, but Jeremy shook his head. When Clay hesitated, Jeremy lifted his hand and firmly waved him down. A soft growl rippled through the air, cut short as Clay swallowed his protest.
Jeremy didn't head straight for the figure, but circled to the left, trying to get downwind. I watched him, my gaze flicking between his dark shape and the other. It looked like a man, with an oddly shaped head, crouched on the road. His head moved, and I realized he was wearing a hat--a black bowler.
The man grunted. Then he pushed to his feet. A sharp grating sound, then the flare of a lit match. The light illuminated the bottom half of a man's swarthy face. Thick lips, dark whiskers, a missing front tooth. The match sputtered out. Another strike of a match, then a snap as it broke and a tap-tap as the broken end hit and rebounded off the asphalt. Another grunt. Then the sound of hands rustling over fabric. Searching his pockets for more matches.
"Bloody 'ell," he muttered in a thick English accent.
I could make out the pale moon of his face as he looked around.
"Huh," he grunted.
A screen door slapped shut and a beam of light ping-ponged around us. I ducked. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the man in the street freeze.
"You there!" someone shouted.
The man wheeled and ran.
"Jeremy?" Clay hissed.
"Go," Jeremy said.
I pushed to my feet and dashed after Clay. Jeremy called after me, as loudly as he dared. I knew I hadn'
t been included in his command, but if I didn't hear him expressly tell me to stop, then I didn't have to obey. That was the rule. Or my interpretation of it.
When I caught up, Clay just glanced over at me and nodded, then turned his attention back to his prey. The man was heading north, moving at a slow jog. He veered out to cross the road...and ran smack into the side of a parked minivan.
The man stumbled and swore, the oath ringing down the empty street. A quick look around, to see whether he'd been heard. Clay and I stopped, frozen in place. We were both dressed in jeans and dark shirts, and the man's gaze passed right over us.
He turned back to the minivan and put both hands out, palms first. He touched the side of the van and jerked back with a grunt, as if expecting to touch a wall of brick or wood, not steel. He looked up and down the street, his body tense, eager to be off, and yet...
He reached out and pressed his fingertips to the minivan door. His hands moved across the panel, hit the handle and stopped. His fingers traced the outline of the door handle, and he bent for a closer look but only grunted, making no move to open it. Then he straightened. His hands resumed their exploration of the door. When they reached the window, he looked closer, peering through it. Then he backpedaled, sending up another too-loud oath.
Breath tickled the top of my head and I wheeled to see Jeremy behind me.
"What should we do?" I whispered.
He hesitated, eyes on the figure, about twenty feet from us.
"Clay? Take him. Carefully, and before he reaches the main road. Elena?" He paused, then said, "Help Clay. Make sure you stay back--"
The screech of tires cut him short as a car ripped around the corner. Headlights flooded the darkened street. The man let out a wail of absolute terror and threw himself to the ground--in the middle of the road. At the last moment, the car veered around him. Someone shouted from the open passenger window.
"Go," Jeremy hissed. "Now. Quickly."
Clay bolted for the man, with me jogging behind. The man was still on the road, his face pressed against the asphalt. We made it halfway to him, then a second carful of teens careened around the corner. This time, the man didn't cower in the street and wait to be mowed down. He leapt to his feet and raced for the side of the road.
From there he had two directions to choose from. One would've brought him straight into our arms.
He hit the sidewalk and ran in the other direction, heading north again.
Still jogging, I glanced over my shoulder at Jeremy. He hesitated, gaze meeting mine, and I was sure he was going to call me back. After a moment, he motioned for us to keep going, in silent pursuit, and head the man off someplace safe.
Parked
WE REACHED THE AUTO REPAIR SHOP ON THE CORNER JUST as the man crossed the road. He paused and stared up at the replica gaslight streetlamps, then squinted down the street. Clay glanced at me, but I shook my head. Too public.
Seconds later, the man took off again, darting down a narrow road between two yellow brick houses. Before we could sprint across, a short line of cars, released from the stoplight, reached the corner. I bounced on the balls of my feet, leaning and ducking, trying to track the man's figure as he disappeared down the dark road. The moment the last car passed, we dashed off the curb and to the other side.
He was gone. As Clay raced down the narrow road, I slowed and took a deep breath, getting the scent. Then I followed. When I hit an alley between two tall buildings, the trail ended. I whistled, and veered without waiting to make sure Clay understood. He would.
The alley was clogged with garbage bags, stinking in the summer heat. I skirted around them, and the rows of gray and blue recycling bins, and came out on the east side of Sherbourne. As I paused to find the man's scent under the stench of the busy street and the garbage, Clay tapped my back, grunted "there," pointed across the road and strode past me. At this hour, the four-lane road was quiet, and we crossed easily, earning only one polite warning honk from an oncoming driver.
On the other side was a block-sized park surrounding the square-domed Allan Gardens Conservatory. That's where our target was heading, straight down the rose-lined walkway to the glass building.
Clay glanced at me for instructions. That was how we worked, and it had nothing to do with dominance or power. Put Clay with a werewolf of roughly the same hierarchical position, whose judgment he trusted, and he preferred to follow orders...which was fine because I preferred to give them.
The choice now was: split up or stay together. Still moving, I scoped out the park and our target's path, and made my decision. I signaled the plan. There was no reason why I couldn't talk--we were far enough away that the man wouldn't overhear--but when I switched to hunt mode, my brain switched to nonverbal.
Clay nodded, and we broke into a slow jog. In the dark, our outfits looked sufficiently joggerlike to get away with that. The biggest danger we faced was alerting our target, but if he hadn't looked over his shoulder yet, he probably wasn't going to. He had other things on his mind. As for what...well, I had my suspicions, but this wasn't the time to consider them.
We ran along the gauntlet of trees, old-fashioned benches and lampposts that lined the main path. As we neared the conservatory, we slowed, and I motioned Clay into the shadows with me. The man had stopped in front of the historic site marker. His lips moved as he read it, brows furrowing in confusion.
I glanced at Clay. He stood motionless, tensed and waiting, blue eyes glittering as he watched his prey. Without looking away from the man, he leaned sideways toward me, his hand brushing my hip, lips curving. Our eyes met. He grinned, and I could read that grin as clearly as if he'd spoken. Even better than a city run, huh? I grinned back.
The man finished reading the plaque and walked to the window. As he stared at the huge tropical trees inside, I nodded and Clay slipped away, looping around to the other side. I crept to the stairs. I made it halfway up before the man turned. He saw me. I kept climbing, gaze fixed on a spot to his side, just another nighttime visitor, a pregnant woman, nonthreatening and--
He bolted.
He ran for the north staircase. I raced up mine as Clay flew from the south. A look my way. I waved him back and he nodded, wheeling to head around the building and cut the man off. While I scrambled down the north steps, the man raced between the garden beds and toward the greenhouse. I ran after him. I rounded the corner and nearly bowled over two police officers.
A mental "Oh, shit!" Then I checked my pace to a jog, flashed a tight smile and prayed they wouldn't try to stop me. I made it three strides.
"Miss!"
Play dumb. No, deaf. Just keep--
"Miss!"
A hand touched my arm as one of the officers ran up behind me. Couldn't ignore that.
I forced myself to stop, turn and smile, trying hard not to bare my teeth. My heart pounded, adrenaline racing, reminding me that my prey was getting away.
"Are you all right?" the first officer, a beefy graying man, asked.
"Sure, I was just--" I stopped before I said "jogging." My outfit might pass from a distance, but not this close. I caught sight of a terrier across the park, and remembered this was an off-leash area.
"Walking my dog," I said. "Chasing him, actually. He took off on me and--"
"It looked like someone was chasing you."
"Me?"
"There was a man running behind you. We noticed from the other side of--"
"There you are," said a voice to my right.
Jeremy walked out from the shadows. "I caught the dog. He's back at the car now. Sorry for the inconvenience, officers." A small smile. "It seems he's not ready for off-leash walks quite yet."
"There was a man following your--"
"Wife," Jeremy said, his arm going around my waist. His face gathered with concern. "A man was following her?"
"A blond man."
Jeremy looked at me. "Did you notice...?"
"No, but I was looking for the dog."
Oh, come on! Problem
solved, officers. Dog's found, helpless pregnant lady safe with her husband. Now move on.
Clay was out there, chasing someone, thinking I was there to back him up. It took everything I had to keep from blurting "Thanks, officers," and running after him.
Jeremy did the right thing, trying quickly but patiently to bring the encounter to a close. He confessed to the officer that maybe these nighttime dog walks weren't such a wise idea, but I'd been having trouble sleeping lately, with the baby kicking and all...
As he handled it, I struggled to hold myself still. Had Clay caught the man? Was he holding him, waiting for us? Had something gone wrong? Was he hurt, while we were stalled, parked out of sight behind this greenhouse--
"Ready to go, hon?"
I started out of my thoughts. Jeremy smiled down at me.
"Getting tired finally, I see."
He turned back to the officers, thanked them again, then led me away. I counted ten steps, then started to look over my shoulder.
"Not yet," Jeremy whispered.
"But Clay--"
"I know."
"But--"
"I know."
I bit back a growl and counted off ten more steps.
"No," Jeremy said, before I even started to turn.
"But--"
"He lost him."
"How--?"
"Look right. Along the sidewalk."
There was Clay, walking along the north sidewalk on Gerrard, his path set to intersect with ours. Jeremy gestured--the slightest flutter of his right hand--and Clay paused, then turned and walked across the road. We crossed at the lights, and found Clay around the corner, hands jammed in his pockets, eyes seething.
"Lost him," he said.
"I got waylaid by--"
"The cops. I saw."
He pulled his hands from his pockets and stepped toward me, hand brushing mine, reassuring me that he didn't blame me, wasn't angry about that. The reassurance was nice, but I knew what he was upset about. The same thing I was: a failed hunt.
"By the time I got around the building, he was gone," Clay said. "I think he went north, but I couldn't pick up the trail. We should circle back and maybe Elena--"
Jeremy shook his head. "The police saw you following Elena. I don't want either of you back in that park."