werewolf safe room at the National Zoo, where he remained locked in until dawn. Kane was convinced the Old Ones had murdered Frederickson and tried to frame him for it—and that Juliet was somehow involved.
Had Juliet admitted her involvement? Was that the reason for this phone call? I couldn’t believe it.
I listened, but I couldn’t make much sense of Kane’s onesided conversation. When he ended the call, I asked what was going on. “When did the Goons pick up Juliet? Where?”
“They didn’t. She turned herself in three days ago. Said she needed protective custody.”
The Old Ones. They must have been closing in on her.
“But why did the Goons call you?” Unlike humans, paranormals had no right to legal counsel. We weren’t guaranteed a phone call, either. The cops could legally hold Juliet indefinitely, without ever telling anyone she was in custody. There had to be a reason they were calling now.
“Juliet says she’ll cooperate fully if she can talk to a lawyer first. She asked for me.” He turned in his seat and put a hand on my arm. I didn’t like the look in his eyes. “You realize it’s impossible for me to represent her.”
“What do you mean? Of course you have to.”
“Vicky, somebody murdered a Supreme Court justice and tried to pin it on me. Juliet was involved. I can’t imagine a bigger conflict of interest.”
“She didn’t frame you. I know she didn’t.”
“You can’t say that. I know she’s your friend, but you haven’t even heard from her in, what, six weeks or longer.”
I hadn’t told anyone about Juliet’s postcards, not even Kane. It was like she was confiding in me, and they were too secret and too urgent to share.
“So you’re just abandoning her to the mercy of the norms? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“That’s
He placed the call, waited several seconds, and glanced at me. “Voice mail,” he said. At the beep, he said, “Hi, Betsy. It’s Kane. I gave your name to the JHP”—JHP was short for Joint Human-Paranormal Task Force, the Goon Squad’s official designation—“as a referral for a vampire they’re holding. Her name is Juliet Capulet, and she’s wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of Justice Frederickson down in D.C. She says she’ll cooperate after she’s spoken to a lawyer, so they’re allowing her access. She asked for me, but for obvious reasons I can’t take her on as a client. Of course, I immediately thought of you. If you could meet with her, I’d really appreciate it. I’ll touch base with you in the morning, but call any time if you have questions. Thanks, Betsy.”
He put his phone away and took my hand. “All right? Betsy’s top-notch, Vicky. Juliet will have competent counsel. I promise.”
“She asked for you.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
I pulled my hand away. It sat in my lap, clenched into a fist. When I spoke, my voice sounded tight. “You won’t help her, even for my sake?”
“It’s not a matter of ‘won’t.’ It’s ‘can’t.’ I cannot represent Juliet when there’s a cloud over our relationship.” He put a finger under my chin and turned my face toward him. His gray eyes were sincere. “If I did, it wouldn’t be fair to her.”
He was right, damn it. But that didn’t mean I had to like it. I jerked my head away and stared out the side window.
Kane laid a hand on my shoulder. He pressed my arm. I didn’t turn. After a moment, he sighed and started the car. We pulled out of the parking lot and back onto Route 9.
My chest felt tight as I watched the wood-framed houses of Newton go by. Most of them were dark, their norm inhabitants asleep. Maybe they were having flying dreams. Maybe they dreamed they were being chased by monsters like the two who drove silently past in a late-model BMW. Whatever. They were lucky. They weren’t sitting alone in some Goon Squad cell waiting for a lawyer who wasn’t coming. I turned in my seat. “I want to see her, Kane.”
“All right.” He nodded. “I’ll tell Betsy to try to get you on the list of approved visitors.”
“No, I want to see her now. Tonight. I want you to drop me off at the Goon Squad’s holding facility.”
We stopped at a red light. He looked at me as though I’d just told him I wanted to run the Boston Marathon route in my dress and high-heeled boots. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“I’m not asking your permission.”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Okay, you’re not asking my permission. And you won’t let me talk you out of it, either.”
“Just drop me off.”
“They won’t let you in.” The light turned green, and we crossed the intersection.
“I’ve got to try. You say you can’t represent Juliet because she’s mixed up with the Old Ones. That’s exactly why I need to talk to her. She might know where Pryce is.”
It was my best argument. Kane knew what Pryce had tried to do to me, and it bothered him that my demi- demon “cousin” was still out there. No one knew where Pryce was or why the Old Ones had taken him—except maybe Juliet.
“All right.” The words were more growl than agreement. And I didn’t really care whether or not he dropped me off—we both knew I’d try to see Juliet tonight, wherever I got out of the car. Yet his willingness meant something, an acknowledgment of my friend’s importance to me. Perhaps even an acknowledgment that I could be right about her.
I needed to make sure Juliet was okay. I needed to find out what she knew about Pryce and the Old Ones. I needed to find out what had happened that night in Washington. There were lots of reasons I needed to talk to Juliet. And they couldn’t wait until my name showed up on some officially approved list.
5
KANE PULLED THE BMW OVER JUST BEFORE THE CHECKPOINT out of human-controlled Boston. “Mind if I let you off here? I want to stop by the office and pick up some papers, and I don’t think they’d let me back through.” He nodded toward the checkpoint, where a bored guard paged through a comic book. Spider-Man. I could see the cover from here. With the code-red restrictions in place, there wasn’t much traffic between Deadtown and the rest of the city. Kane’s office was on the norms’ side of the barrier, near Government Center. But since it was past eleven, well outside norm business hours, the guard might insist he stay put.
“Sure. I’ll go through the walk-up booth.” There was only one open tonight. “We’re practically on the Goon Squad’s doorstep, anyway.” The first building in the New Combat Zone, the block between the checkpoints into Deadtown and the rest of the city, was my goal: a nondescript concrete structure that served as the Goon Squad’s headquarters and detention center.
“Thanks for dropping me off here,” I said.
Kane put a hand on my leg. His fingers toyed with the hem of my dress. “This isn’t how I’d imagined tonight ending.”
“The night’s not over yet.” I leaned over and kissed him. “I’ll see you back at your place.”
He put an arm around me and pulled me to him. As we kissed again, longer, his fingers caressed my neck, bringing up shivers.
“I’ll be waiting,” he whispered.
It was my damn high-heeled boots that made me stagger a little on my way to the walk-up booth.
The guard barely glanced at my ID before he swiped it. The norms don’t care who’s leaving their part of town half as much as they care who’s entering it.
I went into the Goon Squad building. The main activity—headquarters and offices—was upstairs. The holding facility was deep in the soundproofed basement. I clacked down the stairs in my boots and pulled open the glass door at the bottom.
A human woman looked up from the reception desk. She was about forty, had on no makeup, and wore her hair slicked back in a ponytail. “Yeah?”
“I’m here to see Juliet Capulet.”
