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"It is when he's keeping you all fed and safe, isn't it?"
"I guess so," he muttered.
I smiled at his sullen expression. "So what did the woman say?"
"She agreed, like, and said she'd meet me at the cricket ground, near Vale street, at eleven. But that thing came after me before then."
And why would he not have expected that? Honestly, anyone intent on a little blackmail ought to be prepared for the fact that the recipient of said blackmail wasn't going to be happy about it, and just might be inclined to react. But then, I guess Joe was still a kid and somewhat green to the foibles of others, even if he had lived on the streets and learned his lessons the hard way.
"You said the first woman-does that mean the woman you talked to on the phone wasn't the same woman?"
He frowned. "I don't think it was, but that sort of thing is easy to fake, isn't it?"
It was, but I very much suspected it meant we had two different women involved in these murders. Joe obviously thought the same, given his choice of words.
"How did she find you?"
"I don't know. I was scouting possible marks and heard footsteps behind me. I look around and saw that thing coming toward me."
"How did you know it was after you?"
"Well, there was only me and the marks in the cafe, and when I ran, it followed. So I kept running."
So how did the zombie find him? The sorceress couldn't have gotten into the hospital in crow form, and even if she had been there somewhere in human form, how had she pinned his position so accurately? The only possible answer was magic. "Where's the card the first woman gave Kaz?"
"Here." He reached down into his pocket and withdrew a business card.
The minute my fingers touched it, I felt the magic. It wasn't strong-more a faint residue that made my fingertips tingle than anything dark and nasty. Perhaps the magic was fading.
The card itself was black, with a single staked heart sitting in the middle of it. On the back was a phone number, and a set of times. Those times suggested-to me, at least-that it wasn't even a manned phone, but one that was simply checked remotely. Whoever these woman were, they were playing a cautious game.
I wondered if the other murdered teenagers had held similar cards, although it would have been easy enough for the sorceress to direct her creature to destroy it. Maybe this one was still in one piece only because Joe had stolen it.
"She was probably using this to track you," I said, waving the card lightly. "Which means we can't take it with us. Come on."
I walked back to the zombie and dropped the card next to the top half of his body, then left the building with Joe in tow.>"He's a pickpocket. Hospitals are great places to work, because no one expects it."
That's because most people expected a certain level of respect in hospitals. But then, a street kid living just above the starvation line isn't exactly going to be respectful of anything but his own skin.
"I'll see what I can do, but you'll owe me one."
"Deal."
I hung up, then threw the phone down on the passenger seat and started the car. It didn't take that long to get to the hospital, but with the extended visiting hours the hospital had, parking was a bitch. I didn't even bother looking, just stopped in a no-parking zone and slapped the Directorate official vehicle sticker onto the dash. I grabbed my gun from under the seat, then climbed out.
The wind was free of any familiar scents. I jogged toward the hospital, keeping alert and using my psychic senses to feel for anything that seemed remotely out of place.
People milled around the main doors, but neither Joe nor a strange woman wearing a blonde wig were present. I hesitated, wondering if I should move up to the parking lot and investigate there, or stick to the hospital. After a moment, I moved toward the dark glass doors. If I were a thief, I'd rather go to someplace where a lone person hanging around wasn't going to be that noticeable-and that wasn't in a parking lot.
The doors swished open, and the scents of antiseptic, sickness, sorrow, and death washed over me. When combined with the overwhelming odor of humanity, the urge to gag became pressing. I hated hospitals at the best of times, and walking into one willingly had to rate right up there with walking into a cemetery. For a start, both places were filled with far too many ghosts.
I paused just to the left of the entrance, studying the foyer and wondering where the hell was the best place to find a thief.
The aroma of fried food snagged my attention, and I headed that way. Lots of people tended to get careless in cafeterias. Some flung their purses over the side of the chairs, others shoved their wallets casually in a side pocket while carrying trays of food. Either one was easy pickings for an experienced thief.
And Joe was obviously that.
Most of the tables in the cafeteria were empty, with only a few near the serving counter currently occupied. The kitchen itself seemed to be packing up, the clang of metal and rush of steam as hot trays were cleaned mingling easily with the murmur of conversation.
