The Inspectre was wheezing now.
“Sir, are you okay?”
He nodded. “Ripping good rooftops in SoHo. Took me a bit of effort to climb up to the top of the building next to you, though. That’s when we observed a woman in black moving into position near your apartment. Striking-looking young lady.”
“That would be Jane,” I muttered quietly. The two of them stared at me blankly. I kept my voice low, hoping Irene couldn’t overhear. “Bane’s errand girl? The one you sent me to watch tonight? Look, Iknow Jane was watching me. I had everything under control here.”
Wesker perked up at the mention of her. “On a first-name basis now, are you?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head perhaps just a bit too much. “She was just there when Connor and I first encountered the Sectarians. When I went a little bat happy in their reception area.”
“You realize how bad that’s going to look for your future at the Department, don’t you?” Wesker said.
I smiled weakly. “Sorry,” I added.
“Nonsense,” Quimbley said, “happens to the best of us at times, my boy. Now, where was I?”
Wesker’s face tightened and he looked like he wanted to strangle the Inspectre right there in my living room.
“I believe you were moving in on Jane…” I offered.
“Ah yes!” the Inspectre said, eyes lighting up. “Yes. Anyway,Jane had lowered herself over the edge of the building across from yours, and before I knew it, Wesker was sprinting across the rooftops like some damned fool superhero. Before I could catch up, he pulled a switchblade and flicked it through her tie-off line. I tried to call out, but alas, too late.”
It was true that Jane was with the enemy here, had even brought a gun to deal with us if she had found Irene in my apartment. Still, it bothered me to think of her being harmed. That was a gut-wrencher I hadn’t expected. I couldn’t imagine Wesker killing her in cold blood. We had procedures and protocols in place for the handling of humans under the influence of dark forces. But then again, it wasWesker we were talking about.
“He didn’t kill her, did he?” Irene asked suddenly.
Quimbley shook his head. “I don’t think so. When I looked over the edge of the rooftop, I couldn’t tell.”
Wesker stepped forward.
“Enough of this concern for the enemy,” he said and glared at Irene over my shoulder. “What isshe doing here?”
I tried to look past Wesker, seeking guidance from Quimbley, but all the old man could do was look at me sympathetically.
“Don’t look at him,” Wesker shouted. “Answer me! What is she doing here?”
I tried to compose myself, keeping my anger over his tone in check, but the best I could do was sarcasm.
“I’m sorry, Director Wesker,” I said. “I didn’t realize that the Division of Greater and Lesser Arcana had generously provided accommodations for clients such as Miss Blatt. I suppose that’s why no onenoticed her orhelped her all day when she arrived. When I stopped by the office on my way home the other night, I found her pushed aside just like another stack of paperwork. The woman was practically beside herself. So tell me, where do you propose we have Ms. Blatt stay while the investigation is ongoing?”
“We’re not in the practice of running a boardinghouse for wayward ghosts,” Wesker said testily.
“You’re not in the practice of providing accommodations forany of the entities we deal with,” I said, shouting. “Unless you count containment, of course, but Irene’s not a prisoner.”
“You want to watch your tone with me, Canderous,” Wesker said.
“Or what?” I was losing what little patience I had. Connor had warned me several times before about my handling of superiors at the D.E.A., but Wesker was being openly hostile in the presence of the Inspectre, so I wasn’t afraid. Sure, the man was dangerously ambitious and everyone knew he had it in for the Inspectre, but Quimbley was respected throughout the entire organization—and a lifetime member of the Fraternal Order of Goodness to boot! Thaddeus Wesker knew he would never be as well liked as the Inspectre and that frosted his biscuit. His general mistreatment of me was just ineffectual lashing out.
“What will you do to me?” I continued. “Last I checked, I answered directly to the Inspectre here, not to you. And since when does the Director of Greater and Lesser Arcana concern himself personally with the doings of a lesser spectral apparition like Ms. Blatt anyway?”
The words were out of my mouth before I had a chance to think of how Irene would take being called “a lesser spectral apparition.” I felt like a heel for letting the words slip out. I turned to apologize, hoping she hadn’t taken offense. But whether she had taken offense or not wasn’t an issue.
Irene Blatt had disappeared.
Wesker finally backed off when he noticed Irene had vanished. The three of us took a quick look around my apartment (I handled the investigation of the White Room) but there was no sign of Irene. Quimbley suggested that he and Wesker leave, but not before giving me orders to report to his office first thing in the morning.
I was sick to my stomach over Irene’s disappearance. I had taken her in when the rest of the Department couldn’t be bothered, made her my charge, and now I had lost her. But I couldn’t obsess over it now. There was someone else I had to check on. I headed down to the rear exit of my building and let myself out into the dark and trash bag–filled alley. The stink was powerful, but I fought back the urge to vomit and started picking my way through it.
It didn’t take long to find Jane. All I had to do was follow the soft moans and grunts of pain from a pile of trash bags that had exploded when she had landed on them. She was completely out of it when I picked her up. Next to her on the ground was a small black notebook. I scooped it up and slid it into my jacket pocket with one of my gloved hands. The last thing I wanted was to be psychometrically sucked into her life. Right now, I needed to get Jane up to my apartment.
As I carried her on to the elevator, I thought about my options. First I’d assess how badly hurt she was. Finding Irene would have to wait.
As the elevator stopped on my floor, I slid the cast iron door aside. I hurried down the hall, hoping none of my neighbors would stick their noses out, and I was thrilled when we made it to my apartment safely. I laid Jane down on my couch. She was motionless except for the telltale signs of gentle respiration. The left arm of her spy gear top was peeled away, along with several layers of skin. A slow but steady trickle of blood dripped down the side of my couch and gathered in a small pool on the floor. Her face was bruised down the left side, but otherwise she looked peaceful.
Blood was a funny thing in real life. I had seen much more gruesome sights thanks to television and the movies, never once feeling woozy. But the smell of real blood mixed with garbage in my own apartment was something else. I was barely able to hold my stomach down.
“Jane?”
I tentatively touched her good arm, and she stirred, groaning in pain. Her eyes fluttered open, and after a moment, they focused and smiled.
“Hello, Simon,” she said weakly. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping in.”
I brushed golden strands of hair away from her face as I inspected her for damage. Her left arm hung uselessly at her side. She looked like shit, but even so, she was still cute. I felt slimy for thinking it, but as I checked her over, I couldn’t help noticing her body once again. It curved in all the right places, even battered like this.
“Jesus, Jane,” I said. “Are you all right?”
She nodded slowly, wincing and looking a little loopy. “Ow. As all right as someone who just plummeted off a roof can be, I guess. I had some painkillers with me, but I don’t know where they are anymore.”
She raised her good arm and opened her hand. It was empty.
I looked at her glazed, unfocused eyes. “Um, I think you already took them. You think you can move?” I asked. Jane couldn’t stay here. She was in danger for several reasons. I took a look around the apartment, and though I was worried sick about Irene, I was glad I saw no sign of her. It was odd, but I felt like I was somehow betraying Irene just by having Jane here. It was all in my head, I told myself. I didn’t owe either of these women anything, and here I was feeling guilty. The dead girl and the enemy. Great taste, Simon.
My work was mixing terribly with the rest of my life, and I felt helplessly out of control. I had to take charge as best I could of this situation, though, not only for my sake but for Jane’s.
“Is anything broken?” I asked.
Jane slowly assessed herself, flexing muscles wherever she could.
“My arm’s pretty beat-up,” she moaned, “and I don’t think I can make my Pilates class tomorrow with my ankle like this, but I think I can move.”
She smiled through all of it. It was probably the painkillers mixed with loss of blood making her delirious. I gently took hold of her right arm, the good one, and slowly helped her into a sitting position.
“Nice place you’ve got here,” she said. Then she looked down and saw her blood pooling on my floor. A slow whine began in her throat and her breath hitched as she started crying in long deep sobs. “Oh, look at that. Simon, I’m so sorry.”
I ran to the bathroom, and held a towel under the faucet. When I returned, I applied it to her arm and then wiped her tears away as best I could.
“There’s no need to apologize, Jane. Listen, we need to get you out of here. If the Department finds out you’re in my apartment, I’ll be fired for sure.” I wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but it sure sounded true. “I have no idea what your own people will do to you. So don’t worry about the blood. There’s much less than if you had got a chance to shoot me, believe me.”
She looked at me blankly, then squirmed her good arm behind her and produced the gun by its muzzle. She dropped it to the floor and sniffled through her tears. “I don’t think I would have gone through with it, Simon. Honest.”
She looked sincere, but just in case, I kicked the gun under the couch. “That’s very reassuring, coming from a cultist.”
She looked hurt, and I felt like an asshole. Clearly this was no time for me to get petty. Jane favored one leg as I got her into a standing position, and I grabbed a nearby jacket and threw it around her. It would cover up the majority of her injuries to the casual observer. I kissed her forehead the way my mom used to when I came in, all too often, with a scraped knee.
“You’re doing great, Jane.”
This brought a slight smile to her lips. She looked up at me gratefully. I resisted the inappropriate urge to kiss her on the mouth. I was pretty sure that snogging the enemy was frowned upon. The Department had given me a pamphlet entitledBlind Date with Disaster and an orientation lecture concerning intimate relations with the forces of Darkness. Strictly taboo, and spelled out in an ancient tale about a D.E.A. member named Edgar and his obsession with his lost love, Lenore.
The smile faded from Jane’s face as her eyes rolled back into her head, leaving me only the whites to stare into. Her legs gave out and I balanced her on the armrest of the couch to keep her from falling. “Stay with me, Jane.”
The blood loss had made her light-headed. I eased her back on to the couch and ran to the fridge to grab a carton of orange juice. My medical expertise might be lacking, but with my psychometry-induced hyperglycemia, I knew O.J. might be enough to bring Jane around.
I tipped her head back and placed the carton at her lips. Her eyes fluttered as the juice hit her tongue and she began drinking greedily.
“Easy,” I told her. “What happened? What do you recall?”
She gasped for breath as I pulled the near empty carton away.
“Thank you soooo much,” she said, the life returning to her.
Her face looked a thousand times better and her eyes were alive again, though still a little glassy from the painkillers. They bore into mine, and without warning, she kissed me. My first thought was of juice. Her tongue tasted like juice. After that, all other thoughts left me. The idea of this being taboo lurked somewhere at the back of my mind, but clearly my own eager urges had taboo pinned safely out of my brain’s way.
My hand traced the back of her neck, my fingers running through her hair. Our bodies moved closer, toppling back onto the couch, and I felt the warmth of her body underneath mine. She jerked with a sudden convulsion.
“Owwww!” she hissed as she bit my tongue mid-probe. “My hip. I think it might be broken.”
In that instant I recovered my senses and slid off her. She was half doped up, for God’s sake. “Sorry, I shouldn’t French with the forces of evil.”
“Don’t be,” she said, not taking offense. I helped her sit back up. I glanced at her briefly, and this time, she was careful not to look too deep into my eyes. “Don’t you want to know why I was here?”
“Later,” I said. “I think we both have some ’splainin’ to do, but first we need to get you to a hospital.”