Highborn. Part 14

"I don't think Mr. Klesowitch is at home right now," Redmond said. "Do you know where we can find him?"

"Why do you want to talk to him?" The old woman drew herself up. "He's a very nice boy, you know. He's never done anything wrong."

"We're actually looking for an acquaintance of his," Redmond said without missing a beat. "The guy is kind of a bad apple, and we're afraid he might get Michael in trouble." Not technically the truth, but not really a lie, either. If Redmond could get his hands on that Lahash character, he had more than a few questions for him, no matter what Brynna said. And according to Brynna, Lahash was the man behind the curtain regarding Michael Klesowitch's evil.

"Really? Oh, dear." Clara Sweedlow sat forward. "You know, I worked for the city for most of my life, and I've sure seen what a bad influence can do. What do you think Michael's gotten himself into?"

"I'm sorry, but I'm just not at liberty to say right now." Beside him, Brynna was fidgeting. He needed to get her out of here before something they'd both regret came out of her mouth. "Does Michael have a job?"

"Oh, yes. He works at one of those mailing stores. You know, the kind that have mailboxes and send packages."

"Which one?"

The old woman looked distressed. "Why, I don't know specifically. It's downtown, I think."

"Mail Boxes Etc.? UPS?"

"That's it-UPS. He mentions it by name every now and then. He likes his job, you know. He's a good worker."

"I'm sure he is," Redmond agreed, although he doubted she had any facts at all on which to base that statement. He stood and Brynna did the same, clearly relieved. "Thank you for your help."

Clara Sweedlow levered herself up and followed them to the door. "Should I tell Michael to call you? I could give him your business card."

Redmond sucked in his breath. "If you don't mind, it would be better if you didn't." She nodded, but Redmond didn't think there was a chance in h.e.l.l she wouldn't open her mouth the first instant she saw Klesowitch. They'd just have to make sure they got to him first.

Once the old woman had closed her door, Redmond hurried down the stairs, motioning at Brynna when she would've stopped at Klesowitch's apartment. "Why not wait for him here?" she asked. "Once he gets off work-"

"He might go straight for Mireva again," Redmond cut in. "I've got an officer over there, but that won't help much if he's out of sight and manages to get a shot at her. Come on. I'll know which UPS store he works at by the time we hit Lincoln Avenue, and I'll have a stakeout on this building before we get there."

FROM HIS VANTAGE POINT on the roof, Lahash watched Astarte and the policeman walk down the street, then climb into a car and pull away. He'd been waiting for his "nephilim tool"-his pet name for Klesowitch-to get home. It was Thursday, and Klesowitch was so ridiculously predictable. Because he opened the store on Thursdays, his s.h.i.+ft would end at four-thirty; from work he would go to the supermarket and do his weekly shopping because he didn't like the weekend crowds. So trivial. So on the roof, Lahash watched Astarte and the policeman walk down the street, then climb into a car and pull away. He'd been waiting for his "nephilim tool"-his pet name for Klesowitch-to get home. It was Thursday, and Klesowitch was so ridiculously predictable. Because he opened the store on Thursdays, his s.h.i.+ft would end at four-thirty; from work he would go to the supermarket and do his weekly shopping because he didn't like the weekend crowds. So trivial. So human human.

Lahash straightened the cuffs of his sleeves and repositioned a cuff link that had turned sideways. Now, of course, the policeman would post a sentry or a guard at the apartment to try to catch Klesowitch. Everything would have to change, and Lahash would have to find a way to intercept the nephilim before he came home and got himself arrested. Clearly, Klesowitch wasn't going to be good for much longer. It really irked Lahash to see all the effort he'd put into his nephilim tool go to waste, then to have to start all over again. Still, his little brainstorm of using nephilim as puppets was pretty good, and it just begged for another try. As of now, there was nothing he could do to change the past, so he might as well get on with manipulating the present. He wasn't quite finished with Klesowitch. Not yet.

First, though, he was going to pay a little visit to the old woman, the one who lived on the third floor and thought she had a viewpoint into the lives of every tenant in the building. She'd been such a snoop for all these years.

Now she was going to find out more than she'd ever wanted to know.

"HE WENT HOME ALREADY." The name tag on her shoulder said May Jenkins-Day Manager, May Jenkins-Day Manager, but since she'd seen Redmond's badge, the brown-haired young woman talking to him seemed as nervous as a teenager caught shoplifting. Brynna hung off to the side, not minding that Redmond was taking the lead in the hunt for Michael Klesowitch, as they now knew he was called. Finding him was human business; stopping him was another story. It could be human business. Or it could be hers. "Is there a problem?" but since she'd seen Redmond's badge, the brown-haired young woman talking to him seemed as nervous as a teenager caught shoplifting. Brynna hung off to the side, not minding that Redmond was taking the lead in the hunt for Michael Klesowitch, as they now knew he was called. Finding him was human business; stopping him was another story. It could be human business. Or it could be hers. "Is there a problem?"

"We think Michael might be able to help us," Redmond said easily. "He might've seen something and not realized it, and it's really important that we find out as soon as possible."

"What?" May Jenkins looked from Redmond to Brynna. "What did he see?"

"Well, I can't really go into that," Redmond explained. "I wouldn't want to say anything that might do what we call 'lead the witness.' He really needs to verify this on his own." Redmond glanced around the store thoughtfully. "You know, Ms. Jenkins ... Is it okay if I call you May?" He waited for her to nod, then continued. "There is is a way that you could help us at least know if we're on the right track." a way that you could help us at least know if we're on the right track."

The young woman's eyes widened and her expression brightened with self-importance. "Really?"

"Definitely. If I gave you a list of dates, do you think you could tell me if Michael was at work on those days?" Before she could answer, Redmond pulled a piece of paper from a notepad on the counter and began scribbling on it.

"Gosh, I don't know." She glanced at the only other worker in the place, a guy with spiked hair who was fighting to unjam a copy machine across the room. "I'm not really sure I'm supposed to give out that kind of information. Aren't you supposed to have a warrant or something?"

"Oh, this isn't sensitive information, May," Redmond a.s.sured her. "Not like medical or personal stuff, or even financial. See, if he was here on these dates, then he's probably not going to be able to help us out and there's no sense in even talking to him. It would save us a lot of time."

Brynna stayed silent as she watched the play of emotions across May's face. The girl seemed as though she wanted to refuse, but Redmond had created a sort of bond between them by using her first name; now she didn't know how to say no. Good thing she wasn't a nephilim.

"I-I guess so." She glanced again at her coworker, but he was swearing at the copy machine under his breath and hadn't even noticed Redmond and Brynna. "Just don't tell anyone I showed you." She slipped into the back office, then came back with a looseleaf notebook that said EMPLOYEE ATTENDANCE EMPLOYEE ATTENDANCE on the spine. Redmond reached for it, but May pulled it back. "I'll look it up," she said. Her voice was a little firmer. on the spine. Redmond reached for it, but May pulled it back. "I'll look it up," she said. Her voice was a little firmer.

"Great," Redmond said warmly. "Thanks so much." He offered her the note and she picked up a pen and flipped through the pages, scrawling something next to each date. Her handwriting was small and childishly round.

"There," she said, and slid the paper back to Redmond. "I guess he might be able to help you after all. He wasn't here most of those dates."

"Most of them?"

"He left early or came in late sometimes," she pointed out. "I wrote it all down. He's been having some kind of medical issue, but I can't say what." She raised her chin and Brynna saw a hint of rebellion in the stance. "Even if I knew, I wouldn't tell you because that's, like, private."

"Absolutely," Redmond agreed. He folded the note and put it in his jacket pocket. "You've been a huge help. Thanks again."

Brynna followed him out to the car and climbed inside, knowing the girl was watching them the whole time. "Well?"

"Bingo," Redmond said grimly. "It appears that our Mr. Klesowitch was notably absent from work on all the same days that there were daytime shootings, which means five times out of eight. What are the odds."

It wasn't a question, so Brynna didn't try to answer. "Where are we going?"

"Back to Klesowitch's apartment." He glanced at her. "Unless you're too tired-I can take you home first."

She shook her head. "I'm fine. The wound is barely noticeable now."

He opened his mouth but the ring of his cell phone cut off whatever he was about to say. "Redmond," he said into the receiver. He listened for a few seconds, his face darkening. "I'm on my way."

Brynna looked at him. "What was that all about?"

Redmond's jaw was rigid as he hit a switch on the dashboard. Blue lights began to strobe across the front of the vehicle as he pushed hard on the accelerator, weaving in and out of traffic. "There's been some kind of incident at Klesowitch's building," he told her. "The beat cop who called me said something about a fire. He wasn't making much sense and I couldn't make it all out because of the sirens and the noise in the background.

"But I think Clara Sweedlow is dead."

Seventeen.

"This doesn't look promising," Redmond said.

They'd made their way past the mult.i.tude of vehicles outside, following the line of people into the building and up the stairs. The third floor hallway outside Clara Sweedlow's apartment was packed with fire department and police personnel, and yellow crime scene tape had been used to cordon off the area at the top of the stairwell. Despite all the people, there wasn't very much noise-no one, it seemed, had a whole lot to offer in the way of comments.

"Ma'am," said one of the firemen when he saw Brynna duck under the tape and follow Redmond to the apartment door, "you probably don't want to see this."

"She's fine," Redmond said, making Brynna wonder if he was finally on his way to believing her origins. She had an idea that the scene he was about to see would help push that along.

Redmond was only three feet into the apartment when he froze. "Jesus," he breathed.

Brynna stood next to him and said nothing. She'd seen things like this before-in fact, much worse-but this was probably a first for Redmond and the rest of the people here. For them it had to be a definite jolt.

Most of the living room was untouched. The photos still hung on the walls, the curtains at the windows were clear and cream-colored, drifting gently where they were closest to the flow of the air conditioner. There was a slightly sweet scent to the air, and Brynna traced it to the flowers next to the couch. Earlier in the afternoon they had brightened up the room and given it life; now the fragrance was out of place and the cheerful colors were a mockery.

There wasn't much left of Clara Sweedlow except a foot encased in a pink leatherette slipper below a pile of gray ash and blackened cinders. Most of the old woman's remains were still in her rocking chair, although the burn marks on the floral fabric extended only a few inches around the impression of where her body had been. The sides and back of the chair were untouched, as was the throw rug beneath it. Brynna knew the humans would expect to smell burned flesh and fat, but the air was pretty clean.

"Some kind of a fire," said one of the firemen uselessly. His uniform had markings on it that Brynna a.s.sumed indicated he was some kind of official. "Probably flammable clothes. Maybe she was smoking-"

"She didn't smoke," Redmond said.

The fireman frowned. "Well, she had to have done something. It's all preliminary right now, but there's no evidence of an accelerant, and people don't just burn up by themselves."

"Spontaneous human combustion, Captain."

"What?" The captain turned toward a younger fireman who'd spoken.

"I read up on it-we all did at one time or another. In fact"-he pointed at Clara Sweedlow's foot-"this looks just like the photograph of one of the cases from back in the sixties, I think it was."

"I don't want to hear you spreading rumors like that," the captain snapped. "There's a scientific reason for what happened to this woman. We just haven't found it yet. Get back downstairs. Now. Now." The captain glanced at Redmond and shook his head in disgust as his chastised fireman headed out of the apartment. "d.a.m.ned kids. They'll believe anything they read on the Internet."

Redmond didn't answer, but Brynna saw him glance her way. When the captain had finally moved out of earshot, he touched her elbow. "What the h.e.l.l happened here, Brynna? Do you know?"

"Lahash," she said quietly. "It's his trademark."

Redmond stared at her, horrified. "Trademark?" "Trademark?"

She nodded, making sure that no one else could overhear them. "Yes. He doesn't do it often because it would call too much attention from bigger powers than him, but this is what he does to humans who really annoy him." She glanced at the doorway, but the younger fireman was gone. "That guy actually hit it right on the head. Every recorded instance of so-called spontaneous human combustion through the centuries has been Lahash's work."

"Are you kidding kidding me?" me?"

"No. Your scientists and forensics people will work very hard to come up with an explanation, and they'll probably even come up with some chemical process. And why not? Life itself is a chemical process ... until you get down to that very last question: What makes it start to begin with? And that same question applies here. What made the fire start to begin with? The answer is Lahash."

Redmond said nothing for a long moment. Then he asked, "And Lahash is like ... you."

"Yes."

His gaze swept what was left of Clara Sweedlow. "Is this what you did to that witch doctor you said was in the jewelry store bas.e.m.e.nt?"

"Yes," Brynna admitted. "I just didn't leave anything. Lahash likes to sign his work." She looked around the living room, and again was drawn to the photographs. She couldn't help examining them, following them from one end to the other, the oldest to the most recent. It was clear where Clara Sweedlow's life had started, from the grainy baby photographs taken almost three-quarters of a century ago to the sharp clarity of the more modern ones. Once upon a time, she'd been married and had children, and in the last one she was smiling around a couple of grandkids. It was a picture book of the old woman's life, and now she was gone, her existence snuffed out by a petulant, vengeful being who could live forever and therefore had no perception of how precious a human life could be. A being like herself.

"Let's go," Redmond said. "The uniforms will fill out all the paperwork. I've told them as much as I can."

"Yeah," she said. She knew exactly what he meant. "Let's."

They talked very little on the ride back to her apartment. Brynna watched the buildings and the people flash by as the car sped southward, still thinking about the brevity of human life. And yet the men and women kept going, most struggling to make their existences not only the best it could be for themselves but for their oh-so-short futures and their children, or sometimes just for others in general. They were tenacious and industrious, creative and inquisitive. They were strong. strong.

"I'm sorry," Brynna said as Redmond eased the car into a parking spot close to her building.

He shut off the engine. "About what?"

"That Lahash killed that woman." She looked down at her hands, thinking again about how quickly her own body healed and how well she could endure pain. Clara Sweedlow hadn't had either ability. She probably hadn't even understood what was happening, and she most definitely wouldn't have known why. "She must have suffered terribly," Brynna added softly. "It's pretty unfair."

"Yes, it is," Redmond said after a moment. "Come on. I'll walk you inside. I want to check on the cop a.s.signed to Mireva, anyway."

Brynna let Redmond go upstairs to Abrienda's apartment while she wandered around her own place, not sure what to do with herself. Since she'd moved in, the building had gained a reputation as a place not not to hang around or mess with. The g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers and dealers went somewhere else and the tenants slept more soundly; even the domestic spats had all but disappeared. Every time she came back from being gone for more than three or four hours, some small gift was left in her apartment or something was cleaned or changed. She guessed it was the people in the building because she didn't bother to lock the door. But wasn't it a lot more common for things to be taken away? Now there were things hung on the walls, well-used, inexpensive pictures and small, homemade wall decorations. There were towels in the bathroom, dishes in the kitchen, knickknacks here and there. What had been a dingy little hovel was actually starting to look like a welcoming place to live. Tonight, for instance, there was a bright red throw folded neatly across the bottom third of the bed, itself made with new (to her) sheets that had shown up last week. On Monday night, she'd come in and been startled to see a worn but serviceable blue love seat against one wall. to hang around or mess with. The g.a.n.g.b.a.n.gers and dealers went somewhere else and the tenants slept more soundly; even the domestic spats had all but disappeared. Every time she came back from being gone for more than three or four hours, some small gift was left in her apartment or something was cleaned or changed. She guessed it was the people in the building because she didn't bother to lock the door. But wasn't it a lot more common for things to be taken away? Now there were things hung on the walls, well-used, inexpensive pictures and small, homemade wall decorations. There were towels in the bathroom, dishes in the kitchen, knickknacks here and there. What had been a dingy little hovel was actually starting to look like a welcoming place to live. Tonight, for instance, there was a bright red throw folded neatly across the bottom third of the bed, itself made with new (to her) sheets that had shown up last week. On Monday night, she'd come in and been startled to see a worn but serviceable blue love seat against one wall.

Brynna sat on it now, settling back to wait for Redmond and kicking off her athletic shoes with enough force to send them across the small room. She was tired but not as sore as she expected; this last bullet wound had been the least troublesome. The reactions of her human body-hunger, exhaustion, and especially emotion emotion-still often surprised her. The curtains, which were really nothing more than a couple of mismatched sheets, were spread across the front window to keep out the summer heat and the stares of curious children. Sometimes it didn't hit Brynna until she came home how much she was on edge outside, how she always expected a Hunter to show up at any moment. Now that she was out of the public eye, Brynna almost felt safe. Almost.

She'd become familiar with Redmond's footsteps and she heard him long before he turned the doork.n.o.b. He stepped inside and shut the door behind him, pausing for a moment before he came and sat next to her. Brynna thought he looked as tired as she felt. "What did you just do?" she asked. "At the door."

"I locked it."

"I never lock it."

He looked at her in surprise. "Oh-sorry. Habit, I guess."

Of course-that's what normal people did. Brynna wondered if Clara Sweedlow's door had been locked. It wouldn't have made any difference.

"How's your arm?"

Brynna glanced down automatically, a silly thing to do because her arm and the bandaged wound were covered by the long sleeve of her s.h.i.+rt. "It's okay. It'll be gone by tomorrow afternoon."

"Have you changed the dressing?"

"No. Should I have?"

"It could get infected," he said. "No matter how strong you think you are, the world is still full of bacteria. And weren't you the one who said it's all just a great big chemical reaction?"

"But it's fine."

"Wound dressings should be changed every twenty-four hours," Redmond said firmly. "No arguing." He got up and went into the tiny bathroom; she heard him rummaging around for a minute, then he came back with clean gauze and tape. "Sleeve up," he ordered.

Brynna obeyed. She didn't want to, but at the same time, she did. It wasn't a good idea to have him so close. He was just a man, a human, and it wasn't safe. Maybe by modern human standards it wasn't much, but they had a history. That first touch, that kiss ... no one knew better than Brynna how it could work on the psyche. Memory, desire, pheromones, hormones. They all played a part in how the universe went round. Birds and the bees. Demons and angels and humans.

Redmond's touch was gentle, surprisingly adept. He frowned as he tugged the medical tape free, glancing at her to see if it hurt. Brynna met his gaze then made herself look away; the old saying about eyes being the windows to the soul was truer than humans realized, and there was too much going on in his eyes. No matter how tempting, getting involved with a human, with Redmond, Redmond, promised too many pitfalls for a fleeting bit of pleasure. She was supposed to be seeking redemption, not thinking about delights of the flesh, but that was getting d.a.m.ned hard with him sitting right next to her. Brynna could smell his aftershave, something human-made but woodsy and not too sweet. It shocked her how appealing the scent was, and how much of an impact this contact was having on her. Could he hear how her breathing had increased? No-he wouldn't notice. She had to hide it, to keep herself under control. Just a few more minutes and he would leave. promised too many pitfalls for a fleeting bit of pleasure. She was supposed to be seeking redemption, not thinking about delights of the flesh, but that was getting d.a.m.ned hard with him sitting right next to her. Brynna could smell his aftershave, something human-made but woodsy and not too sweet. It shocked her how appealing the scent was, and how much of an impact this contact was having on her. Could he hear how her breathing had increased? No-he wouldn't notice. She had to hide it, to keep herself under control. Just a few more minutes and he would leave.

"It looks good," he said after he'd switched the existing bandage for a new one, then secured it. "I'm amazed, but I have to admit that you're right. It'll probably be gone by tomorrow." Brynna could see it wasn't necessary, but he reached over and rubbed at the tape to make sure it held.

"You shouldn't be touching me," she said.

Brynna had hoped that by saying it out loud, Redmond would instinctively take his hand off her. Instead, her words had the opposite effect-rather than let go, he slid his hand down and wrapped his fingers around hers. "Why not?"

She was going to say Because it's not safe, Because it's not safe, but she never had the chance. but she never had the chance.

IT WAS FIRE.