Madhouse (Cal Leandros, #3)(66)

It had wandered off from the others with a piece of flesh to gnaw on, gotten full and sleepy, and never followed the others on. Revenants were the same as people. There were smart ones (relatively), average ones, and there was this guy. Dumb as a f*cking rock. But to give it credit—posthumous, but credit all the same—even a smart revenant might not be on to whatever Sawney was up to. That twisted brain— he would give an Auphe a run for its money. Murder, mayhem, and madness, and that was just what he saw in his rearview mirror. What was ahead, I don't think any of us could know.

But when we came back to the sewers we might just find out.





18




The next morning—actually, the next sunup. Sunup is not morning. It's hell and not fit for any human being, but Niko, having ascended to a higher plane of existence beyond simple things like time, wasn't human when it came to exercise. He dragged my ass out of bed and off we were to run a thousand laps around Washington Square Park. Okay, maybe not a thousand, but it felt like it. Washington Square Park was the nearest park to our apartment, but it was not a very big park and we had to run a lot of laps for Niko to feel like we'd gotten a good workout.

There would always be things we couldn't outrun: vampires, the wolves…Delilah would catch me in five seconds easy, but Niko made damn sure I could outrun things like revenants. He ran me at least once a day; morning, afternoon, night—it varied. He ran all three times, which made him faster than me and less likely to have his lungs turn inside out. Good for him. Me? If I could've figured out a way to get out of the one run, I would've. That's why I had a gun. Shooting is easy; running with Niko was hard. He always ran me into the ground, until I was soaked in sweat and couldn't take another step without my legs folding beneath me to dump me on the ground. Because that was real life for us—running to save it.

I still hated it.

After that and a shower, Niko and I sat in the kitchen and tried to figure things out regarding Goodfellow. Finding Sawney was something we were leaving to the end of the discussion, friend before foe and a better subject than dwelling on the Psychiatric Center slaughter.

Niko started by grilling me on the guy who'd shot Robin. He grilled me yesterday after the attack, but between my job at the bar, hoping Robin didn't grope him when he took in ice packs, and the killings at the Psychiatric Center, we'd been a little busy for a repeat grilling. He was hoping I'd remember something new and I did.

"Black hair and dark eyes. Skin a little darker than yours. What I think was some kind of Arabic accent. Faint, though And he kept saying his task was done. That he was honored to die." Well, he got his wish there. "He also called Robin a betrayer. He didn't get into any specifics there. Wouldn't say if he was alone or not and I gave him plenty of reason to speak up." And I wasn't sorry for one damn bit of it. "Oh, wait. Hell, there is something else. The son of a bitch used some fancy move to throw me off of him—one that you've definitely never taught me," I said before popping the tab on the Coke and taking a swig. "Holding out on me, Cyrano?"

He frowned. "A move I've never shown you? Describe it." He had some soy, rice-powder, mud-colored drink he was nursing. He'd long ago learned not to offer me one. It was all I could do to keep my own down watching him drink his.

I got up and went ahead to illustrate the move a few times from the floor. He helped by assuming my role, straddling me with a finger pointed under my chin. Finally when he was satisfied, I returned to my chair. "Hmm. And an Arabic accent, you said." Niko moved over to the groaning bookshelf against the living room wall and scanned the contents. He chose a book, sat, and thumbed through it. After a few minutes of reading, he said with satisfaction, "Varzesh-e Pahlavani. An ancient form of Iranian martial arts, although in those days it would've been called Persian arts. It's well over two thousand years old."

"The accent, Persia, and Robin definitely twitched when you mentioned Babylon a few days ago." I wrung a note from the metal of the can. "I think we have a location pinned down." It was all right, this. Just me and Niko—like back in the old days. Research, learning crap I didn't care about, practicing obscure moves. Yeah, the old days…the days before I had to worry about an obstinate car salesman who couldn't be bothered to worry about himself.

Damn it.

Within seconds Nik was back with another book. Under his breath he was muttering names…Tammuz, Utukku. I drank my Coke and let it drift in one ear and out the other. When he hit on something, he would let me know. He didn't. Sighing, he closed the book. "We'll have to push Robin on it again, but now for Sawney." His eyes darkened to match the grim curl of his lips. "I think I have something."

"Yeah?" I said, surprised. "What?"

"I called the TA who shares the office with me while you were showering. I wanted her to pick up more classes for me until this is done. She had news."

"Good or bad?"

"Bad." He replaced the book on the shelf. "But informative. Students are disappearing at Columbia. Several. It hasn't hit the papers in a big way yet as they are students. Prone to wandering off after parties and not showing up for a day or two. But Shannon said she heard these students were reliable, not the kind to take off without telling someone."

"That could be anyone. Could be your average serial killer." I knocked the salt and pepper shakers together. "Sawney's not the only predator around."