Black Spring

“What am I supposed to do, then, glance at it out of the corner of my eye? Pretend I’m not looking at it? How am I supposed to track this thing down if there’s no magical signature to trace, no scent trail to follow? It doesn’t even have the same appearance from one moment to the next.”

“It is pretty much the perfect enemy,” Beezle agreed. “It seems when Alerian designed these creatures, he thought through every permutation and possibility and made absolutely sure those doors were closed.”

I came to my knees and fisted my hands on my thighs. “And if Alerian did that when he was creating a monster, then what chance do I have at stopping any of his other plans?” I said. “He’s sure to have considered every angle already, and I don’t even know where to start.”

Beezle patted my head as I watched the magical trail disappear. “Don’t worry. I’m sure you’ll figure it out. And if you don’t, you can always fall back on your de facto solution—flames, explosions, total destruction.”

“You know, I try not to use those methods,” I said.

“There’s a giant octopus outside that would beg to differ if only you hadn’t set him on fire,” Beezle said.

“You’re the one who told me that fire destroys all things,” I said.

“I didn’t realize I’d created a pyromaniac,” Beezle said.

There was a sudden thunder of footsteps on the back stairs, like someone was running up in a hurry.

“That doesn’t sound good,” I said, trying to stand. “Help me get up.”

“You want me to help you? Do I look like the Hulk?”

“Then get Samiel,” I said, breathless and annoyed.

I couldn’t seem to figure out this whole weight-on-the-front thing when I was on the ground. Every time I tried to get up, I’d roll back on my butt like a Weeble.

A second later the back door flew open and Jude came in, his face pale. He paused in the kitchen, his gaze moving toward the center of the room. It was out of sight from where I was in the middle of the hall, but I could hear the clatter of porcelain and running water as Samiel washed the dishes, which meant his back faced Jude.

Jude looked indecisive for a moment, then came to me and helped me to my feet.

“What is it?” I asked, searching his face. “Was there something in Daharan’s apartment?”

He shook his head. “You need to come to the basement. And make sure Samiel stays here for now.”

A cold ball of dread formed in my stomach. “Beezle, will you stay here and distract Samiel?”

“Aww, but I want to see whatever they found,” he said.

“Gargoyle, can you not do as you are told for once in your life?” Jude snapped.

“Jeez, okay,” Beezle said, flying off my shoulder and down the hall. “Fly off the handle, why don’t you?”

“You know he doesn’t mean any harm,” I said.

Jude indicated I should follow him. “Sometimes levity is not appropriate.”

I followed him though the kitchen. Beezle had Samiel crouching in front of the open refrigerator so that the door blocked any view of us passing. I felt like we were unfairly taking advantage of Samiel’s deafness.

I didn’t speak until we were on the stairs. “It’s Chloe, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Jude said. “Nathaniel does not want you to see what was done to her.”

“He’s worried about the effects of stress on the baby.”

“And normally I would agree with him,” Jude said. “But this is your home, and I feel you have the right to see what has happened inside it.”

“And you’re correct,” I said. “He can’t protect me no matter how much he wants to.”

Nathaniel stood at the bottom of the stairs, his arms crossed and his eyes snapping. I knew he had heard every word.

“Is it not enough for you to know she has died? Must you personally witness every spatter of blood?”

“You act like I’m a rubbernecking ghoul,” I said. “Jude’s right. It’s my home. If it’s been violated, then I should know how.”

Nathaniel did not respond. He dropped his arms and led us through the laundry area to the door of one of the two storage rooms. This one was for the tenant of the first-floor apartment, but as far as I knew, Daharan had never put anything inside it. The coppery-tang scent of blood was strong here even before Nathaniel pulled the door open.

It took a long time before my eyes could figure out what they were seeing. The small space looked like a slaughterhouse. It’s easy to forget how much blood the human body can hold. That is, until you see it painting the walls and floors.

All of Chloe’s organs had been removed and then diced and tossed around. The only reason I knew it was Chloe was because her head was intact, her eyes wide and accusing.

“She must have suffered horribly,” I said. I was too sad to be angry. “There was no reason to make her suffer. She wasn’t a threat to anyone. I don’t want Samiel to see this.”

“I did not want you to see this,” Nathaniel said.