straight. But if the leader of the Underground has gone rogue …”
Nina’s coal-black eyes were wide. “Whoa.”
“And the demons started to get anxious.”
Nina and I nodded.
“And then we were so short-staffed …”
I swallowed guiltily.
“It was like a powder keg, and Mr. Sampson going rogue, well …” Lorraine smiled weakly. “I guess that was just the spark that they needed.”
“What happened to Vlad? Where is he now?” Nina asked.
Lorraine shrugged, gesturing to the half-crushed desk from which she had climbed out. “You’ll understand when I say that keeping an eye on your rabble-rouser nephew wasn’t high on my priority list while demonkind was tearing apart our offices, screaming about Sampson going rogue.”
I felt like someone had punched me in the stomach. Was I the only one who had any faith in Mr. Sampson at all?
“So everyone in the Underworld thinks Sampson is responsible for the murders, too?” I could hear the hysteria rising in my voice, yet again.
Nina took both my hands and led me to the remains of a waiting room chair. She sat beside me, her brow knitted.
“Sophie, I know how much you care for Mr. Sampson.”
I looked at my knees. “He’s been the best boss I’ve ever known. The only boss.”
“Look, I know better than anyone that people—even people we love—aren’t always what we think they are. Sometimes the demon in us takes over. Sometimes it’s just too hard—or too exhausting—to control anymore. Maybe Mr. Sampson had had enough.”
I shook Nina’s hands from mine and stood up. “No. No, I don’t buy that. Just suddenly, after all this time? And why the eyeballs? The blood, huh? Why the heart? Has Mr. Sampson not only become a crazed killer but some kind of disgusting part collector, too?”
Lorraine cleared her throat; up until that moment, I had forgotten she was there. “Add demon skin, crossbred blood, and the Sword of Bethesda and he’s not collecting, he’s creating.”
Both Nina and I swung our heads to gawk at Lorraine as she casually stroked Costineau.
“Creating?” Nina asked, disgusted.
My stomach rolled. “Like Frankenstein? Body parts? He’s making a monster?”
Lorraine wagged her head. “No. Well, not exactly. He’s not making a demon—he’s creating a pathway.”
“That’s what the Sword of Brunhilda is for? Creating a pathway?”
“Sword of Bethesda,” Lorraine corrected. “It’s a special, jeweled sword. Forged specifically for the purpose of opening portals, charmed by Irish Meers, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.”
Nina crossed her arms in front of her chest. “So this stuff—the eyeballs and sword and stuff—it does what, exactly?”
Lorraine shrugged, nuzzled the cat. “The pathway, once open, will give the opener ultimate power—over demons, humans, whoever. Very enticing, but very dangerous. Most demons are too smart—or too frightened—to dabble in that kind of stuff, but to some the draw is just too great. That kind of power is … alluring.”
“Black arts,” Nina said with a shudder.
“No. Whatever is a shade darker than black—that’s what he’s working to open with the sacrifices. This kind of magic makes the black arts look downright PG. This kind of stuff will suck out your soul or what’s left of it. If you have any humanity—and some demons still do—it drains that out, too,” Lorraine informed us.
“But,” I said, licking my dry lips, “we haven’t found any demons hurt. Or”—I winced—“skinned.”
Lorraine smiled. “Actually, if Mr. Sampson is working the spell, he could use a bit of his own pelt. He is, after all, a demon, too.”
My mouth dropped open, a whoosh of air escaping. Nina rushed to my side, closing the gap between Lorraine and me. “But Mr. Sampson is not going to do that.” Nina’s eyes were hard and she swung her head toward Lorraine. “Is he, Lorraine?”
Lorraine shrugged. “I was just making an observation.”
I hugged my elbows. “No, I just can’t imagine Mr. Sampson doing something like this. And for more power?”
“Ultimate power,” Lorraine corrected. “Over anything.”
Nina raised her eyebrows. “He already lords over the entire Underworld.”
Lorraine didn’t meet my eyes. “Maybe he was ready to move on.”
“He has always been fair. And the whole Underworld looks up to him—he was
“Maybe he just didn’t care,” Lorraine said quietly.
I bit my lip, pausing, before knocking on Parker’s office door. With Sampson going missing, the murders, and the imminent heart attack that was Parker Hayes, I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. I popped another Tums, chewed, and rapped on the door.
“Come in.”
Parker was hunched over his desk, his big hands cradling his head.
“Oh, Lawson, it’s you,” he said without looking up.
“Did you hear about UDA?” I asked, taking a seat across from him.
Parker nodded, and I saw that his eyes were bloodshot. His tie was crooked and his face was pale. “The chief let me know earlier. I don’t know how we’re going to put all this together. I don’t know if we’re looking for a vampire, a werewolf, a troll, the bogeyman …” He wagged his head, blowing out a sigh.
“Well,” I said, trying to pump some cheerfulness into my voice, “the bogeyman isn’t real. So, we can strike that one from the list.”
“Up until a week ago vampires, werewolves, and trolls weren’t real either. What about the Loch Ness monster, Sasquatch, the abominable snowman? I mean, who are we looking for here?”
“Well, I don’t want to shoot down all your childhood fantasies….”
“Seriously, Lawson, how do you deal with this and keep your head screwed on straight?”
I shrugged, and a tiny smile escaped Parker’s pressed lips. “Oh, that’s right—you’re a little left of center.”
I wanted to be annoyed, but it was good to see him smile.
“So,” I said, lacing my fingers together. “Have you heard anything more about Officer Franks?”
Parker wagged his head. “It’s only getting weirder and weirder. Franks was scheduled to work last night. He was, at some point, armed. He was still wearing his holster, but the gun is missing.”
“Oh. Why would a killer who rips out hearts and eyeballs suddenly need a gun? Seems kind of … anticlimactic, don’t you think?”
Parker shrugged.
“Do you think he really was a victim of our killer? Maybe Franks wasn’t on the killer’s hit list, but he got too close? It doesn’t seem right. No gore, no”—I wrinkled my nose—“missing body parts, lack of fluids. Maybe he was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”
“Nina says that kind of stuff doesn’t happen with …” Parker paused, choosing his words carefully. “Those people. And besides, there just aren’t coincidences like that. In my experience I’ve learned that there are only three main reasons why people kill: love, power, or money.”
I crossed my arms. “What about the truly depraved who kill just for the fun of it?”
“Four main reasons then.”
“Well, supernatural or not—closet cop not included, maybe—it seems to me like we’re dealing with a hard- core number four. I have a hard time figuring out where eyeballs, blood, and a human heart fall into the love- power-money spectrum.”
“Good point.”
