Sabrina's Clan (31 page)

Nyanther was stroking her hair again. “Thank you for what you did, back there,” he said gently.

“Valdeg?” she asked, to clarify. “It had to be me who did it. He was watching you and it was Jake’s right hand he was holding…and he didn’t see me as a threat. I was just the walking leverage.” It took effort to put the words together and her heart was working hard. “I think the gray is fading,” she said.

“You should feel your hand, soon.”

“I can feel…are you touching me, just above my elbow?”

“Yes. Good. It’s working.” The relief in Nyanther’s voice was deep.

“It feels like…are you holding my hand?” she whispered.

“Your wrist. To help with the bleeding. Don’t worry about that now. Just tell me when you can feel your hand once more, then I can start to heal it.”

She sighed. “Valdeg planned this. I think he knew this was the end. Maybe he even wanted it to happen this way.”

“He wanted vengeance. I killed him, before. He could have killed me, but he knew killing you and Jake would be far more painful for me.”

“I heard him, last night. He was muttering the same thing over and over. I don’t know what the language was. There was a green glow, just like there was when he woke up.”

“An awakening spell,” Nyanther said slowly. “He must have found himself a stray demon in the last year and arranged one last deal. Well, he paid for it and will probably go on paying for it in Purgatory or wherever the demon wants to keep his soul to toy with. Deals with demons are always one-sided.”

Pain rippled along her arm, radiating up from her wrist and she gasped. “Oh my god….!”

Her blinking cleared away the gray and abruptly, she could see. She blinked harder and rubbed her eyes with her other hand, looking around the ruined apartment. She was lying on Riley’s dining table, there was blood all over her trousers and tank top and Nyanther was sitting next to her, her wrist held up in his hands.

He gave her a smile that was very nearly a grimace. “You can see.”

“And feel…!” she gasped. “Why didn’t Mrs. Santaolalla panic about the blood? I’m covered in it!”

“I put my coat over you. You don’t remember?”

“No, I don’t remember,” she murmured. Her fingers were curled loosely and the palm was covered in blood. She couldn’t see anything else. “I thought there would be a big hole in the middle.”

“There is. The flesh has fallen back into place, covering most of it. There is a hole and broken bones and torn tendons. If I were a medical doctor, I would be worried you would ever get full use of your hand back again.” He was turning her hand this way and that, examining it.

“Thank you, Valdeg,” she murmured and drew in a sharp breath as he eased her fingers open.

“Sorry,” he said. “I must be able to reach the palm.”

He licked it.

Sabrina hissed as her fingers moved against his face. Her hand, though, was warm.

“Ugh.” Nyanther grimaced and plucked at his tongue as if he was trying to remove an unwelcome piece of grit. “You taste of gargoyle.”

“What do I normally taste of?”

“I don’t know. Nothing of which I have ever had the pleasure of eating. Tasting you makes me long to try.” He licked her hand again. This time, it did not hurt quite as much.

He kept licking, working his tongue over her palm and sliding it across the puncture where Valdeg had forced his claw through. Her hand grew hot and tingled.

“Try moving your fingers,” Nyanther told her.

She wriggled them. “It aches, that’s all. I can actually move them.”

“The bones are knitting. The ache is from the tendons stretching back into place.” He reached over and picked up the dish towel that someone, probably Damian, had left lying over the back of the dining chair and laid it over her thigh, then rested her hand on the cloth. It had dust on it, but it was far cleaner than her trousers. “It will heal properly in the next few minutes. You might find it is stiff and difficult to move for a few days. That’s a result of the toxin, not my healing.”

Then he got to his feet and stretched his shoulders.

“Where are the others?” Sabrina asked. “They’re bringing Jake back here, aren’t they? The antivenin is here.”

Nyanther grew still. His gaze lowered to his feet.

“Ny?” she asked, fear touching her.

He shook his head. “They won’t be coming back,” he said and sighed.

Her fear bloomed. Sabrina struggled to sit up. Her hand and arm were still mostly useless, even though she could move her fingers. “What do you mean, they won’t be back?”

“Riley and Nick will go back to the hotel and join Damian, where the police will be able to find them, later.” Nyanther wouldn’t look at her and that made it worse.

“And Jake?” she pressed. “Nick will take care of Jake just like you did me, right?”

“Nick and Riley will make sure Jake…that his body is processed by human authorities. His uncle must be the one to identify him.”

Sabrina drew in a breath that shook. “They
let him die
?” The darkening veils stealing his vision…the pain… “And you
let them
?”

Nyanther turned then, his pale eyes filled with sorrow and an echo of the pain she was feeling, that she knew Jake had felt. He pulled her against him and held her tightly. “My way would have been quicker,” he said and there was agony in his voice. “Jake insisted that if the gargoyles did bite him or scratch him we must let it take its course.”

“It was a plan?” she whispered, her heart breaking. She gripped the back of Nyanther’s coat, trying to breathe.

“It was a million to one plan,” Nyanther said heavily, “and I am still to play my part, before time runs out.”

The mysterious death of the heir to the Summerfield family estate occupied prime media time and print space for over a week. Jacob Summerfield’s body had been found in the back of a police cruiser near Battery Park. He had been pronounced dead upon arrival in Emergency. Cause of death was attributed to a neurotoxin found in his bloodstream, possibly entering the body through the wound in his hand, or perhaps it had been in his body all along and triggered by the wound. Summerfield was well known for diving in tropical waters where some of the world’s most deadly neurotoxins could be found.

Only the most sensational of media outlets tried to string those two facts together with any seriousness and the whole story might have disappeared, except that Summerfield’s body was stolen from the morgue, the evening after Graham Summerfield, who stood to inherit the family fortune now that Jake Summerfield was dead, had identified it, creating an even greater scandal.

Sabrina watched footage of Graham Summerfield leaving the building after the formal identification. He looked like a man in deep shock.

Sabrina tried to feel some sort of pity or empathy for him. Nyanther had related to her Jake’s last conversation with his uncle and the ultimatum the man had given Jake and it hardened her heart.

“When can I see Jake?” she asked Nyanther, who was holding her hand. He did that a lot, now.

“Never, while you are in New York where everyone is watching you,” Nick said from across the room. “Jake is supposed to be dead and you are supposed to be in mourning. After the meteor thing, every detective in Manhattan is looking for connections. We won’t be giving them one.”

Sabrina looked at the newly repaired windows. Nick had paid for fast service and because insurance was not an issue, the work had proceeded at a sprint.

“Then when can we leave for Scotland?” she asked Nyanther.

He kissed her hand. It was the one with the white scar on the front and the back and he often stroked the scar, too. “Soon. You must first attend Jake’s memorial service and cry, so his uncle knows the truth of Jake’s death. It will help give him closure. And I have work I must finish first, too.”

Nyanther had been spending spent long nights on his laptop, coordinating with his office in Inverness, preparing for his return. When he had asked Sabrina to go with him, she had not hesitated. Not even for a moment. If she could not see Jake while she was in New York, she would leave the city without a backward glance and as soon as possible.

First, she must get through Jake’s memorial service.

She was astonished at the number of people who attended. The cathedral was filled to capacity and there were more people standing on the sidewalk outside, in silent tribute.

When Graham Summerfield had spoken of Jake as a strong leader, dedicated to the family’s business affairs, she had moaned into her handkerchief in disgust. The longer the man spoke, the more ill she felt.

Then she looked around. Everyone else, particularly those in the family pews at the front, were nodding in agreement and sniffing.

They really believed this? Jake had been the black sheep, the rebel, the one who had refused to settle into family obligations. Had they already forgotten that?

She looked at them all curiously and realized that yes, they were blind to those uncomfortable facts. They wanted to mourn the man he might have been, a vision that gave them more comfort than the truth.

None of them were going to remember him the way he really was.

Sadness touched her.

Her sadness and the hollowness it created in her chest made it possible for her to shake Graham Summerfield’s hand afterward. Genuine tears sparkled in her eyes. They were for Jake, who had been right about them all along. It was the end of this life for him. He could never go back.

A week after the memorial service, Detective Novak asked to speak to all of them. He arrived at the apartment shortly after ten and refused coffee. He didn’t sit down, either, even though Nick pulled out the chair next to his usual place at the top of the table.

Riley and Damian sat on one side of the table. Nyanther and Sabrina sat opposite them.

Novak pushed his hands into his trousers and stood at the corner of the table, a troubled look on his face. “You had the repairs done fast,” he commented, looking at the new windows.

“I thought you wanted a formal interview at the precinct,” Nick said, coaxing him to the point.

“I did.” Novak sighed. “Most detectives get into the game because they can’t abide not having answers. At least, the good ones do. I’d like to think I’m one of the good ones. Nothing about you folk provides any answers I would care to put in my reports.” He shook his head. “I was sorry to hear about Jake Summerfield,” he added.

“You think his death was connected with the rocks thrown through our windows?” Nick asked.

Novak took his hands out of his pockets and put them flat on the table. “This is off the record. I’ve had to formally shut down the case, so I’m here purely for personal reasons.”

“Your search for answers,” Nyanther said.

Novak gave him a stiff smile. “Do I think Summerfield’s death was connected? Yes, absolutely. I just don’t know how. It’s another bizarre fact that sits in your vicinity without a direct connection I can see, just like the street interviews we did after your rock thing. Some people reported seeing monster-sized bats coming out your windows. One said they had a woman with them. No one could agree on how many. Some said three, some said two, some said there was a baby bat…then others said they saw the meteor streak across the sky and hit. Nothing corroborates anything. Then, suddenly, Summerfield dies and as if his death wasn’t bizarre enough, his body is snatched.”

The frustration pouring off Novak was almost visible. No one said anything.

Then Novak straightened and wiped his fingers across the varnished surface of the table. “There has been a rash of missing person reports in lower Manhattan, going back nearly six months now. People always go missing, especially in New York, only we’re talking about numbers jumping three hundred percent from any other time. Most of the people going missing were homeless or lived in the really tough neighborhoods. Some of them had reason to be gone, too. There were still far too many people who just up and vanished overnight. Then there were the mutilations.”

Sabrina flinched.

Nyanther’s hand settled on her thigh under the table, soothing and stroking.

Novak shook his head. “Body parts, mangled remains…the medical examiners were beside themselves. There was a new one every couple of weeks or so, sometimes two or three at once. The department psychologists were talking about one or more serial killers being driven by moon cycles, except they could never get the Luna phases to match up.”

Novak shrugged. “Like I said, there was a lot of weird shit happening in my city and you’re the only people who seem to have any connection with it and that makes you unique.”

“Unique, how?” Sabrina asked, keeping her tone cool.

“You’re still alive,” Novak said shortly. “People anywhere on the edges of this stuff…they ended up dead. Except for you.”

Sabrina stayed silent. So did everyone else.

Nick stirred. “You keep using the past tense.”

“I do,” Novak said. “Two weeks ago, we were due for another spike of mutilated bodies and missing people. They didn’t happen. No one went missing that we haven’t accounted for.” He looked around the table. “I’m not here to demand answers,” he said slowly. “I’m pretty sure I could take blow torches to you people and you wouldn’t give me the time of day if you didn’t want to. It doesn’t matter anymore. Two days ago I got a visit from an old FBI buddy of mine, who bought me a shitty cup of coffee and told me in the most roundabout way I’ve ever heard the Feebs use that I was to drop the case and leave you fine folk alone.”

Sabrina looked at Riley. Riley’s face was utterly still and neutral, giving away nothing. Sabrina thought she might be trying not to smile. Nick and Damian had impenetrable gazes when they chose to be obscure and they were using them now.

Nyanther stared at Novak. He wasn’t smiling either. There was a lightness in his eyes that said he wanted to.

Novak nodded. “Yeah, I figured you’d say something like that,” he said heavily, even though no one had spoken.

“Detective, if you believe we won’t give you any answers, why are you here?” Riley asked.

Novak gave the table a last swipe with his finger and put his hands back in his pockets. “There’s the letter of the law and there’s justice…”