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I bounce impatiently in my seat, biting my tongue to prevent myself from snapping at the driver to hurry up. London passes by outside of the window, the cityscape in amber light beautiful at night. I am in no frame of mind to appreciate it.
By the time the cab pulls up outside of Storms building, I am frantic. I run out of the cab, slamming the door shut with enough force to make the driver curse. But I don’t give a damn.
Storm lives in an apartment building. The front entrance is a double security door. It being the middle of the night the concierge is not at his desk inside the lobby. I can see that the lobby is dark through the panes of glass in the doorway.
I don’t know the number of Storm’s apartment. I stab a random number on the intercom, when a mark on the glass catches the edge of my eye. I turn back to look at it properly. It is the mark of the Devil Claw Killer, small but perfectly formed, same as inside my card.
I give a cry of shock, and then I frantically stab the intercom again. I try three numbers before somebody answers, saying “Hello,” in a sleepy voice.
“Hi, is Constantine Storm there?” I say, unable to keep the panic from my voice.
“No, he is not!” says the woman. “Do you know what time this is?”
“Do you know which apartment he lives in?” I ask insistently.
“No, I don’t. Don’t call me again.” The woman hangs up abruptly.
I let out a high-pitched giggle of hysteria. And I proceed to call every single number on the intercom. Finally, a sleepy voice answers that I recognize.
“Storm!” I screech. “You’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”
“Diana?” he says, his voice husky. “Diana, what the hell are you doing here?”
“Let me in,” I demand. “Let me in, and I’ll tell you, okay?”
He does as I ask. I rush through the lobby and up the elevator to his apartment. When he opens the door
he is wearing pajama bottoms and nothing else. The sight of his bare torso, broad shoulders tapering to lean muscled abdomen, brings me to an abrupt stop. The little voice uncurls inside my head and purrs in delight.
Thrown off by the sight, I have to stop myself from throwing myself into his arms. At least I save that much of my dignity. He is alive. Not hurt or anything. Except for a black eye.
“What happened to your eye?”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Oh!” I say, remembering it was me. “Uh, sorry.”
I shove the little envelope in its plastic bag at him. “This came! It’s a threat to kill you. It says it’s from DCK, but it’s not really from DCK. I had to come. I didn’t know what else to do.”
He takes the plastic bag from me. Looking at the contents the skepticism disappears from his face. He pulls me towards him by my elbow as he looks behind me to check if I’ve been followed. Reassured, he guides me inside and steers me down a hallway and into a spacious lounge. He sits me down on the couch. He tips the contents of the plastic bag out onto a dining table nearby, and when the little coin rolls out he curses.
“Was this coin inside the card?” he demands.
I nod. I can see that his eyes are on the little mark of DCK inside the card. “There was another Devil Claw Mark outside your apartment,” I tell him.
He demands to know exactly where, and then he makes a phone call, requesting for a forensic team to come to his apartment and mine. He hangs up, and I can see his eyes scanning the message inside the card.
An indignant blush spreads across my face, knowing he is reading the part where it says that it is going to destroy the thing I care about most. I had said the threat was to his life. And now he thinks he is the thing that I care about most.
“I saw the coin in a vision,” I say stiffly. “That’s why I knew it was about you.”
I am going to die on the spot if he asks me about that. He saves me that embarrassment by asking me what time I found the card. I give him all of the details.
“The coin is yours, isn’t it?
He nods. He does not seem happy about it. He double checks anyway, fetching his jacket from where it is hung in the hallway and rifling through the pockets.
A furious hissing sound emerging from my satchel makes him raise his eyebrows. I let Beastie out, and shrug at Storm’s enquiring look. “I couldn’t leave her there. What if the killer went for her instead? That would make more sense. Wouldn’t it, Beastie?”
