“After him,” Connor said and stumbled across the room. I ran for the door and together we burst into the hallway outside the apartment…to emptiness. I looked up at the elevator indicator, but neither car was even remotely close to our floor. I caught movement in the corner of my eye, though, and turned to see the door to the stairwell slowly closing. I rushed through it and looked down into the opening between the stairs going down. Catching a glimpse of robe several floors below, I hesitated a moment to check on Connor.

“You up for it, boss?” I asked. I was worried. He was still rubbing the back of his head.

“Am I up for it? And let you have all the fun, kid?” Connor leapt past me, taking the steps four or five at a time. I followed at a slightly less breakneck pace, holding on to the railing as I went. Connor was the more experienced of us, after all, and I was more than happy to let him be the more reckless pursuer, but I didn’t want to tumble to my death in my haste. And if my mentor got to collar the son of a bitch first, more power to him.

But as the chase continued downward flight after flight, it seemed like Connor was unlikely to catch up with the fugitive. The intruder kept an almost inhuman pace all the way to the ground floor. When I finally reached the bottom and caught up with Connor outside the Westmore, the robed figure had dashed into traffic on Central Park West, causing much screeching of brakes and honking. Connor and I looked at each other, registering our mutual exhaustion, and sprinted off after the cultist as he dashed into the woods at the edge of Central Park.

The rest of the chase was a blur. Trees with their low-hanging branches, pedestrians lounging on the Great Lawn, vendors…sometimes a combination of all of these got in my way, but I refused to let up on our prey. I had no idea why the stolen wooden fish was important or why it had been taken, but it was Irene’s and I wanted it back. Forty blocks later, the chase ended when the figure jumped the security turnstile at the Fifth Avenue entrance to the Empire State Building. I watched as he shoved past the tourists waiting to get in and ran off into the building. When we attempted to follow suit, however, a well-built security guard blocked our way.

“That man stole something from us!” I pleaded. “We’ve got to stop him. He’s getting away!”

A particularly nasty woman with yellow teeth thwacked me on the arm with a postcard book as she waited to get in, shouting, “There’s people on line, mister!”

“Relax, lady,” the guard said. Connor flashed his D.E.A. ID, which did count as official local government documentation, but I was still clutching my bat as I fished mine out. The guard checked them over carefully before gesturing us through the security gate one at a time.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “That guy’s not going anywhere. Damned cultists are already giving this building a bad name.”

I stood there, stopped reholstering the bat, and stared at the guard in amazement.

“Wait a second. Youknow he’s a cultist?”

“Sure,” the guard offered with a sour look on his face. “They’ve been stinking up the building for ’bout six months, ever since they started yammering to the Mayor’s Office about equal rights. They’re up on thirty-three, I think.”

We thanked him and walked toward the elevators. Connor shook his head. “Unbelievable.”

“I wonder if anyone has been informed back at the D.E.A.?” I asked. We stepped into the waiting elevator and I pushed 33.

“We’ll find that out when we talk to the Inspectre. Right now I want to get that goddamn fish back.”

The doors shut and I looked at Connor quizzically. “What’s so important about that fish?”

“I’m not sure,” Connor replied, “but if they wanted it bad enough to trash Irene’s place, then maybe it was worth killing over, too. Somebody wanted it awfully bad.That’s why I want it back.”

“Ah.”

I had hoped for a more concrete answer. Something like, “It’s the sacred fish of the Mondoogamor tribe,” or “It mystically cures young teens of acne,” but just wanting it back because it was stolen worked, too.

When the elevator reached the thirty-third floor and the doors opened, we braced ourselves for an attack. After all, the man we were pursuing had tried to fillet us, so it seemed wise to make sure the coast was clear. Connor stuck his head out quickly to the left, and I did the same on the right side, finding nothing.

“Clear?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Great,” he said.

“Where do you think he went? I’m not even sure what offices we’re looking for.”

Connor pointed to the directory on the wall straight across from the elevator, and from the listings, there was really only one choice.

Most of them were pretty standard, ending in “LLC” or “ amp; Associates.” Only one of the listings truly stuck out. It was three simple letters done up in a Gothic bloodred font. The clincher, of course, was the fact that they had been laid out on the directory to look as if they were actually dripping blood.

S.D.L., they read cryptically. An arrow pointed down the hall to our left.

“Not much for subtlety, are they?” I asked.

“If they were subtle, they wouldn’t be cultists, would they?” Connor said, and started down the hall cautiously. “I suspect we’ll find out soon enough what they stand for. You might want to have your negotiating tool ready.”

I pulled my bat free and hid it under my coat once it was extended. “Should be lethal enough if it comes to it, I think.”

“Just follow my lead, kid. Don’t be overhasty to use it, all right? If things get hairy in there, I’ll give you a signal.”

“Right,” I said.

My body was cold from the accumulated sweat of the downtown chase, but it was also a reaction to my discomfort with the situation. The idea of pulling my bat in defense against a group of humans, regardless of their fanaticism, didn’t sit well with me. Beating a bookcase to death was one thing. Attacking humans was another. I tried not to overanalyze the situation, wanting to take things as they came.

The frosted glass doors at the end of the hall gave no hint as to what went on behind them, but the letters “S.D.L.”-this time over a foot high-marked the entrance. Connor crouched and pressed his ear to the door, listening carefully while I tried to center myself with several deep breaths.

“I can’t hear anything,” he said. “They must be soundproofed, or else it’s a lot quieter in there than we’re expecting.”

“Maybe we should pull ourselves together before going in,” I said, tucking my shirt in. “It’s an office building, after all.”

“Fine, Mr. Blackwell,” Connor said.

He stood up, straightened his tie, and ran his fingers through his sandy mop of white-striped hair, which did nothing to change the frantic-looking muss. I checked my grip on the bat as I smoothed down my coat for lack of a tie to straighten.Appearance is everything, Quimbley had told me in one of the early seminars. If you looked calm and composed upon entering the unknown, it went a long way toward controlling whatever situation might arise.

“You ready?” Connor asked.

I shook my head.

“We’re never ready,” I said. “Doesn’t mean I’m not going through that door, though.”

“Good,” Connor said, clapping me on the shoulder. “And remember, no caving anyone’s skull in unless I tell you to.”

I paled at his suggestion, hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

I was prepared for a lot of things when it came to cultists and the dark arts, but what we saw when Connor threw open the doors took me totally by surprise.