I sure hope I don’t have to shoot anyone. I’d feel bad about that. Just like I feel bad about you-my truest of friends-that I’m already going to have to edit you down for Faisal’s report. Sorry!

Dear Diary, damn this thong! Something this invasive usually buys me a drink first!

Be right back…

I closed the book. I knew what happened next, of course. Director Wesker would answer for cutting her lifeline.

This was not the journal of someone committed to evil and the dark arts. A wave of optimism washed over me. This was the journal of a small-town girl transported to the Big City, a girl who seemed to be crushing on me. She could be turned to our side, a hot, perky version of Darth Vader.

I felt more ashamed than ever for having read the diary, but at least I hadn’t taken off my gloves and “read” it. I suddenly realized that I wouldn’t have been able to bring myself to do that-and thatmeant something. Maybe I didn’t want to know Jane on a psychometric level because…she was someone I was actually interested in, and I didn’t want to fuck things up preemptively.

I didn’t recall my walk home from the Lovecraft Cafй that night. I was far too wrapped up in what I had read to think of much else. But why was that old nervous feeling at the pit of my stomach working its way to the top again?

24

When I got home, there was no sign of Irene. It seemed odd not to have her there, but I couldn’t imagine where to look. Connor hadn’t given me any ideas either. I hit the White Room to center myself and it seemed to do the trick. I thought about calling Jane at her hotel to see how she was doing, but decided against it. I could be under surveillance if Jason Charles was really out to get me. Just after midnight I had decided that my only possible course of action was sleep when my cell went off. It was Connor.

“You awake?”

“Does it really matter?” I muttered sleepily.

“Good point,” Connor conceded. “Can you get out to Williamsburg?”

“Now?” The other night, when Connor called me to help him with that feral spirit in the alley, I had been looking for a distraction, but tonight I was exhausted.

“Trust me, kid, you’ll wanna be here. I’ve tracked Cyrus down.”

I sat up and started dressing immediately, sliding on jeans and a tee. “What? How?”

“Well, interrogating those junkies was no use. They’re all still totally out of it. But you know how there have been more and more of those disoriented spirits showing up? I did a few therapy sessions with some of them. One of them knew of Cyrus, even had an address where he said Cyrus hangs out a lot. Make sure you bring your bat. He’s got a lot to account for. Plus, it’s payback for making us look like assholes in the paranormal community.”

Connor gave me the address and I took a car service over the Williamsburg Bridge to River Street and North Sixth. River Street, aptly named for its location by the East River, had a spectacular nighttime view of the New York skyline. I stood marveling at it when I stepped out of the car until Connorpsst ed at me from the shadows nearby. I walked across the deserted stretch of Sixth and joined him. He pressed a finger to his lips and pointed to an old wooden industrial warehouse at the water’s edge.

“You think maybe we should have brought a task force or something?” I whispered.

Connor shook his head. “The Department already blew their budget using emergency funds just to get all those people out of Cyrus’s bookstore and take it over. Besides, I think the two of us can easily exact a little vengeance on a book nerd, even an occult one. Hope you brought your lock picks.”

I nodded. We crossed the street in silence, headed for the building. When we got to the door, there were three locks to work my way through. My biggest concern was busting one of the thin metal slides I was using, but after ten minutes I had successfully opened all the locks. Connor gave me a silent golf clap and I felt a swell of pride. It was disgraceful how much I craved his approval at times.

“The place has been dark for hours,” Connor whispered, “so either Cyrus goes to bed superearly or else he’s not here.”

After I gave my eyes a moment to adjust to the low light pouring in from the city skyline, Connor and I headed up a flight of stairs set straight across from the front door. The upper floor opened up to a large loft space with floor-to-ceiling windows and the same spectacular view. The room itself was a mishmash of boxes, crates, and stands, all with one common theme-there were fish everywhere.

“One fish, two fish, evil fish, good fish,” I said with a low whistle. Every square inch of space was occupied by fish statues or artwork relating to fish. Most of them had been carelessly thrown around, but some of the pieces were hung on the wall with care. It looked like Cyrus was either a collector or else he had been searching in vain for a while for a very specific fish…the one from Irene’s apartment, I would bet.

I would never have guessed that there were so many potential forms of fish art out there. The most striking piece was a large silvery metallic fish that hung on display as a clear centerpiece for the room. “Ooh, shiny,” I said and headed for it. I pulled off one of my gloves to read it. Clearly something that ornate had a story to tell.

“Simon, don’t,” Connor said, when he spied where I was heading, but it was too late. I attempted to trigger my power, but instead felt a swell of magical energy building from the fish and knocking me back. Instantly the shiny fish started glowing and arcane runes I didn’t recognize traced themselves out in fiery lines along its body, and then out along the warehouse’s floor and walls. Glowing lines began to crawl across the wall from one mounted fish to the next, until the flame patterns actually ignited the wood of the old warehouse. A building as old as this was built to burn, and already the heat was intense.

“Everything in here’s been warded,” Connor said, looking around. “It’s a trap.”

“Gah!” I shouted, disappointed in myself. “Can’t believe I fell for the old shiny object ploy. We deserve to be incinerated.”

“Speak for yourself, kid,” Connor said and ran back toward the stairs. As he tried to head down them, he slammed into an invisible barrier at the top of the stairs and bounced back. “It’s impassable. I bet this place is riddled with magic meant to mess with us.”

Smoke rapidly filled the room and I breathed in a big lungful of it. I looked to see if Connor was okay, but…inexplicably…he had turned into a zombie-skin gray, flesh hanging in messy strips from his face, dead sunken eye sockets, and a slack jaw that seemed to be hanging on his face by a thread. His clothes were in ruins also, his Bogey trench torn, tattered, and covered in blood.

“Meant to mess with us,” I repeated. I was sincerely hoping that Connor’s sudden transformation was simply a glamour caused by the nefarious, hallucinogenic smoke.Oh God, unless he’d been bitten the other night during the zombie extermination. “You don’t say?”

Zombie Connor tilted his head at me, his slack jaw falling off onto the floor. “You okay, kid?” it said, slowly shambling toward me. “Did you breathe in some of that smoke? You know you gotta avoid that stuff. Breathe through your shirt.”

I nodded, but pulled my retractable bat out just in case. If I had stopped, dropped, and rolled in the first place, maybe I wouldn’t be wondering if I might have to take a bat to my mentor. But he was a zombie now. I choked the bat up like I was in the World Series.

“You having any strange cravings?” I asked, backing away.

“What?!” the zombie said, shuffling closer. “Like chocolate?”

“Or brains,” I suggested. “Or chocolate-covered brains…whatever.”

Zombie Connor looked at the bat nervously. “Why don’t you put that down?”