Fury’s Kiss (30 page)

“This is what’s left of my brother.” She looked up at me. “The doctors have done everything they can to save him, but he was already brain dead when he got here. They’ve told me to say my good-byes.”

“I’m sorry for your loss. But what happened to your brother wasn’t my fault. There are things about him you don’t know.”

She laughed, a bleak sound amid the hissing of the machines that breathed for her brother. “I know more than you can imagine. This body is all that is left of my brother, but he was lost to me long before that bullet ever entered his skull.”

“What do you mean?”

“The man you met was not my brother, Christos. He was our great-grandfather, Spiro Perris.”

“Are you saying your brother was possessed by your great-grandfather?”

Elena wiped tears from her eyes and nodded. “Yes, that’s it exactly. I know how crazy it sounds, but you of all people must be able to understand.”

“What do you mean, me of all people?” Just how much did she know about me?

“Spiro has an oracle, a little boy who can see things that are going to happen. The boy told him you were a Fury and that you would come for him. So Spiro went after you first.”

“How is this possible? Assuming I even believe what you’re saying.”

“Why should I lie?” She gestured to the lifeless body on the bed. “My brother died years ago. What’s lying here is an empty shell. Spiro took my brother’s body when we were very young, and I’ve been living under his thumb ever since. He killed our parents so that he would inherit early, as Christos.”

“Why would he let you live?”

Elena gestured angrily at her expensive clothing, her beautiful face. “He collects pretty things, and I’m one of them. He likes to have power over me. But you’re different…he fears you.”

“If he’s not in there,” I nodded at the body. “Where is he?”

“We have a cousin. Dimitris. He was next in line to take over the company, if something happened to Christos. Spiro has taken his body, I’m sure of it.”

“Where can I find him?”

“I’m certain he’ll come to me tonight. Spiro is never able to stay away for long. He would miss seeing the fear in my eyes too much.”

She gave me directions to a house in Boston’s expensive Beacon Hill neighborhood, with instructions to be there around ten, and I left the ICU. I felt guilty leaving the shattered heiress there with the shell that used to be her brother, but I needed to recoup my strength and find a place to pass the rest of the day in safety. My last encounter with Spiro had been eye opening, to say the least, and I didn’t intend to meet him again with anything less than full strength at my disposal.

As I stepped out of the stairwell and onto the ground floor of the hospital, though, I rounded a corner and came face-to-face with Special Agent Ethan Graves.

“Surprise, surprise,” I muttered. The man was like a bad penny, always turning up where he was least wanted. “How is it you always seem to know just where the action is?”

“Call it a hunch.” He stood easily with his hands in his pockets, unruffled by the flow of people around us.

“Does that hunch go by the name of Spiro Perris?”

“It’s interesting you would say that, since Spiro Perris died thirty years ago. And if he hadn’t, he’d be pretty old to be mixed up in all this.”

“I hear he’s young at heart. But you would know, wouldn’t you? I know who you really work for, that you were the shooter at the track. Didn’t it bother you, trying to kill a little girl?”

His eyes narrowed. “What happened at the track?”

“Don’t play dumb. If you weren’t working for Perris, how did you know to be at Spyder’s two nights ago?”

“Somebody told me where to be, but it wasn’t Perris. I got a call from a very concerned young man who said you were in trouble. He wouldn’t give me a last name, but he went by Nicky.”

Hope flared inside me. If Graves was telling the truth, he was a valuable ally, not the enemy I’d taken him for. But could I really believe he’d been tipped off by Spiro’s oracle, rather than the killer himself?

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

He shrugged. “You don’t. But if I wanted to, I could have had half a dozen cops on you with guns drawn ten minutes ago.”

“You knew I was here the whole time?” I couldn’t fathom how he’d sneaked up on me without attracting my notice. Agent Graves was even more unusual than he’d first appeared.

“I’ve been staking out Christos Perris’s room for the past three days. I figured you’d show up sooner or later.”

“So now you’ve got me. What next?”

He changed the subject, leaving me more confused than ever. “You know, that Dewey kid’s got a lot of potential. Heart’s in the right place. He’ll be a good cop someday if he learns not to tell tales out of school.”

“Yeah, Dewey’s great, but what does he have to do with anything?”

“He’s just a little too loose in the gums, is all,” Graves continued. “For instance, he shouldn’t have told you I was investigating the New England Slasher. But he did keep his mouth shut about the fact that there have been similar attacks going back as far as the 1920s. And it’s definitely a good thing Officer Randolph didn’t tell you we had it pegged for a family legacy.”

“So you’re telling me you’ve been investigating the Perris family, not working for them?”

“The thing that really gives me hope for Officer Randolph,” he went on, “is that he’s supervised by his uncle,
Chief
Randolph. You ever see that man’s filing room? I tell you, it’s a beautiful thing. The man keeps every fingerprint he ever made. Even from grade school field trips.”

He paused to let his comment sink in, and now I saw where he was going with this little digression. He’d finally found a way to match me to the print I’d left on Miller’s body. I tensed, ready for fight or flight, but Graves surprised me again.

“The funny thing is, I can’t for the life of me find that partial we pulled off Miller’s body. It must be the only piece of evidence that’s ever gone missing from Chief Randolph’s files.”

“What?” I stared dumbly as he turned to walk away. He was letting me go. Finally, I found my voice again. “Hey!” He looked back. “Thanks.”

He brushed off my thanks with a wave and kept on going. I had a feeling the hunt for me and Jackson was about to substantially ease off. Still, it didn’t pay to be careless, so I settled my ball cap more firmly on my head as I left the hospital.

Outside, I stopped at a corner store to grab a pre-packaged cinnamon roll that passed for breakfast, and checked the receipt for the time. Nearly noon. Plenty of time to go hunting before my appointment with Spiro and Elena. The smart thing to do would be to find a dark bar in a bad part of town, but it seemed a shame to waste what might be the last July afternoon I’d ever see. Alecto hissed her displeasure with my imprudence, so I offered a compromise—I would avoid going anywhere that would require too much individual interaction. In exchange, I got a couple hours of freedom before holing up for the day.

Grudgingly, she agreed, and I headed for the Boston Public Garden where I could people watch in anonymity and avoid having to speak with anyone directly. As an added benefit, I could sit on a bench and watch potential targets come and go.

I covered the mile between Massachusetts General and the Garden quickly, and found a shaded bench facing the large bronze statue of George Washington that presided over the west side of the park. Not wanting to tarnish the idyllic scene in front of me before I had to, I sat there for almost an hour before I blinked my sixth sense into view.

Immediately, the park took on a more sinister dimension. The telltale signs of the park goers’ sins came into focus, and I felt like the main character in an Edgar Allan Poe story. Tourists and Bostonians alike strolled past, never pausing to think that the grandfather they passed might be guilty of some crime, or that the well-dressed businesswoman who strode by was haunted by some dark secret.

But I knew. No one was totally innocent, not even the toddler who stumbled past in pursuit of a pigeon. I watched, fascinated, as he ignored his mother’s command not to chase the birds and a faint stain bloomed on his hands. When his attention wandered and his minor sin was forgotten, the stain faded.

Next, I eyed an elderly man watching his granddaughter turn somersaults on the grass. The blood on his hands was fresh—something weighed heavily on his conscience—and I decided to investigate further. Conditioned by horror stories in the media, my gaze shifted to the granddaughter, but when I got close enough to touch him, I found I had been wrong to jump to conclusions of child abuse.

“Excuse me. Did you drop this?” I held out a five dollar bill as an excuse and reached out to touch the man’s arm.

Flash.
I saw a woman he loved—his wife—living in an institution. She was well cared for physically, but confused and unable to understand where she was or why he never came to visit. I felt the man’s guilt at leaving her there, unable to cope with watching her slowly slip away, and I was sorry there was nothing I could do. But my business was vengeance, not absolution.

Alecto stopped me before I walked away.
We can help this man
.

How?
My abilities were limited to messing with his mind or inflicting physical damage. I didn’t see how that would help anything.

There can be absolution in vengeance
, Alecto advised and I began to see. This man’s wife couldn’t be avenged by any harm done to her husband, but I could serve her by giving him back to her.

I stared into the grandfather’s eyes as the little girl blew bubbles nearby, dipping a plastic wand into a dollar store bottle of soapsuds. My own eyes, shaded from the sun by my hat, leaked a couple of bloody tears, and my hair strained to escape from under my cap. I leaned forward to breathe into the man’s face, hoping it would be enough. There was no way to give him the full-on Fury’s kiss without attracting attention. I tried to place a suggestion in his mind to overcome his fear of illness and devote himself to his wife’s care, but I was met with resistance.

We are the spirit of vengeance.
Alecto was amused.
We are not healers
.
His conscience will not accept being let off without a punishment to fit his crime.

OK then.
What could I come up with that would stick?

Then I had it. “For giving in to your fear of illness and neglecting your wife when she needed you most, you will voluntarily submit yourself to every long-feared medical checkup and procedure you have been putting off for the past ten years.”

This time, my suggestion took hold and I received a burst of energy from the man. Satisfied, I backed off and took another look at his hands. The stains were fading already and guilt was replaced by resolve to take the little girl to see her grandmother that very day, as well as an uncomfortable, anxious compulsion to see a doctor. The man hurried away from me without a backward glance and I wiped away my bloody tears before anyone saw.

Why didn’t you tell me we could help as well as punish?
I asked Alecto. I stretched and my muscles pulsed with the tingle of energy I’d taken from the man

We have been together such a short time and there is so much to teach you, to show you. Some of it, you will have to learn as you go.

Alecto reminded me of our deal, and obediently, I went to find a place to go to ground. Another cheap motel fee later, and I had another tacky, polyester-covered bed all to myself. I set the alarm and lay down on the bed in hopes of getting a few more hours of sleep. My last thought as I looked up at the water-stained ceiling was to wonder if Jackson had woken yet to find me gone.

Chapter 29

When I awoke, I squinted at the glowing red numbers next to the bed. Nine o’clock. I remembered Alecto’s warning that all was not as it seemed with Elena, and decided to go early to the Beacon Hill address the heiress had provided, in case any more surprises waited for me.

When I got to Louisburg Square, the most exclusive block of real estate in town, the streets were quiet. The Greek revival townhouses on the Square were all red brick and black shutters, like those on the surrounding streets, but the feeling of privilege seemed most concentrated in this spot, spreading outward from manicured grass to waft over brick sidewalks. I knew that the houses on the Square belonged to a who’s who of Boston society, ranging from politicians to authors, businessmen to movie stars, and cost anywhere from six million dollars up to a cool twenty.

I tried the door at number twenty-eight and found it unlocked, as Elena had said it would be. I let myself in and eyeballed the foyer. Money was the first word that came to mind. I heard voices above and started for the stairs.

“Hey!” a voice shouted softly behind me. I whipped my head around, looking for the speaker. It was a boy, hovering in a doorway to my right. This must be Nikos, Graves’s ‘anonymous’ tipster.

“You should find someplace to hide until this is over,” I whispered at him. There was no need to explain what ‘this’ was. No doubt the kid knew more about what Spiro was up to than I did.

“Don’t worry. Perris won’t kill me. I’m too valuable.” He pushed up his sleeves in an unconscious, bring-it-on gesture that had me thinking of what Jackson must have been like at that age. “Oracles don’t just grow on trees, you know.”