Doomsday Can Wait (Phoenix Chronicles, #2)(38)

"Maybe," I said.

"She was found on your doorstep, or at least what was left of her. They've asked for help from the FBI."

"Who?"

"The locals. There hasn't been a murder in Frieden-berg in the past ten thousand years."

"You're exaggerating," I said. But not by much.

"Voorhaven was from Ohio, died in Wisconsin, and . . . well, they can't exactly figure out how she was killed."

"They're the FBI, and they can't figure it out?"

"It appears she was torn in two, and since everyone knows that's impossible . .." Megan's voice said that she knew differently.

So did I. I'd seen Jimmy tear something in two not two days ago.

Jimmy. Ah, crap.

My breathing increased to hyperventilation rate. Megan must have heard it because she said, "Liz?" and then she said it again, really loud. "Liz!"

"I'm here. Just let me think a minute."

And when I thought about it, I knew that Jimmy could not have traveled from the Ozarks to the Great Lakes, then back to Sawyer's, and on to southern New Mexico, stopping to tear apart someone on the way. He was damn quick, but he wasn't that damn quick.

On the heels of those thoughts came another, and I strode across the floor, yanked Jimmy's list from the pocket of my discarded jeans, and found Jenny's name smack-dab in the middle. No wonder it had sounded familiar.

Jenny had been a seer from Cleveland; she'd no doubt missed the e-mail and phone call warning her to stay away. I had a bad feeling there might be others right behind her.

Most seers weren't like me, capable of defending themselves against supernatural bad guys by virtue of their own supernatural strength and speed, which was why only Ruthie had known the seers' identities once upon a time. Even so, they didn't usually go far without a DK to protect them; all of Jenny's must be history.

I could see what had happened clearly. Jenny in hiding, cut off from anyone she knew. Confused, lonely, scared, she'd waited as long as she could stand, then she'd come to me for help.

She'd arrived on my doorstep, rung the bell, then heard the whisper that announced a demon. She'd called for me, screamed, maybe cried, while the woman of smoke had smiled and torn her into pieces.

Sometimes this leader of the light job really, really sucked.

"Did that nai— Ne— Neph." Megan broke off with a growl of annoyance. "Did that freaky, disappearing bitch goddess do it?"

"Yeah." Either her or one of her minions. Didn't matter. Jenny was dead.

"Liz?" Megan murmured. "What's going on?"

"She was a seer, like me."

While I'd been thinking, I'd also been pulling out my laptop, waiting for it to boot up, then to connect with the Internet. I checked my e-mail. Three seers had replied, agreeing to stay put. They could guide their remaining DKs while in hiding, and according to them there was suddenly a lot to do. It appeared that the Nephilim had regrouped and were having a field day.

I sighed. Nothing to be done but keep trying to plug up the floodgates as best we could with what we had left.

I'd hoped for more responses—hell, I'd hoped for one hundred percent—but other than those three e-mails, all I'd gotten was spam.

"Megan," I said, "there might be more coming."

I wasn't sure how to stop them.

"Your building is wrapped in yellow crime-scene tape. A blind person could see it from the space shuttle. If I were a superpsychic seer hiding from the bad guys, I'd take one look and run like hell."

There was that. My mood lifted slightly, then plummeted.

"They might come to the bar. She probably has something watching the place."

I didn't think the Nephilim would bother with Megan, but then again, they did like to kill just for the hell of it.

"I don't want you hurt."

What I wanted was to send a DK to camp out on a barstool, but I didn't have any to spare.

"I'll be fine."

I didn't answer. Megan was tough, but she wasn't that tough.

"I'll get someone to help." Who, I had no idea.

"I said I'd be fine." Megan was getting testy. She hated it when anyone intimated that she couldn't take care of herself, her bar, her kids, or anything else she considered hers.

Like me.

"I'm sure you will be," I lied. "But if the Nephilim send a toady to watch the bar, I can send a DK to kill it and anyone else who comes along. It's just good business."

"Oh," Megan said slowly. "Well, that makes sense."

Now all I had to do was find one. It occurred to me that Summer should know a few DKs from her centuries of being one. Maybe she had a better way to contact them than I did. Who knew?

As soon as I hung up with Megan, I called Summer again. She didn't answer; I suspected that flying, even without a plane, took all of her attention, and she let any incoming calls go to voice mail.

Sawyer came into the room while I was leaving a message, his dark coat speckled with dry grass, pollen, and a few burrs. I should brush him before we got into the car.

I shook my head. I could not treat a wild animal like a pet. That was a good way to get bitten. Or worse.

"Summer," I said when her "leave a message" message ended. "Call me when you hear this. I—" I paused, not wanting to admit it, but unable to find another way to say what had to be said except, "I need your help."