“If anything happens to you, I’ll kick your ass so hard you’ll poop from the front,” she threatened.

“That sounds like something Howie would say.”

“I think he did once.”

“Okay. I have to go pack. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

No sooner had she put the phone down than a mocking chortle assailed her. Twisting around, she saw that Whiz had quietly opened her door at some point and was now laughing at her. “I love you,” he mimicked, and made smooching noises.

“Stop spying on me, Wisdom!” she shouted, and threw a pillow at him.

He ducked. “I’m gonna tell Mom and Dad that you’re talking to your boyfriend.” He drew out the word boyfriend into something almost salacious. Connie couldn’t believe how her brother could—in the same day, in a matter of hours—go from sweet and concerned to mega-brat. Had she been such a shapeshifting creep at his age?

“And I’m gonna tell them that you’re spying on me in my underwear,” she said.

“You’re not in your underwear,” Whiz countered.

“I will be in my version of the story,” Connie said, utterly convincingly. Whiz blanched and ducked out of the room, closing the door behind him as he went.

Connie sighed. Great. Jazz was off fighting the good fight and she was trapped here in the Nod, engaged in a battle of wits with her witless younger brother. Life wasn’t fair.

She spent some time online, poking around again for information about Ugly J, but still found nothing helpful. Then she started looking into the Impressionist’s history. Since his capture and the revelation of his true identity, there had been a small avalanche of historical information revealed about the Impressionist—where he’d grown up, how his parents had died (in a word: gruesomely), and more. Connie figured that maybe there would be a clue either to Ugly J or to how the Impressionist had hooked up with Billy Dent. But she could find nothing. Cross-referencing Billy’s “career path” as a serial killer to the Impressionist’s travels netted exactly zilch.

Her parents would probably freak if they walked in on her doing this. This is exactly what we’re trying to protect you from! they would protest. You shouldn’t even be thinking about these things!

Whatever. There was death and horror in the world. Her parents could try all they wanted to shield her from it, but Connie knew it was there. She wasn’t going to close her eyes and wish it away. Especially not when she happened to be in a position—maybe—to shed a little light on that darkness.

After hours staring at the screen, Connie finally took a break, stretching and rubbing her eyes. Was she chasing waterfalls? Or did Billy Dent and the Impressionist count as the rivers and the lakes she was used to?

Speaking of her phone… she had silenced the ringer a little while back so that it wouldn’t go off if Jazz called or texted late at night. But maybe she’d missed something. She checked the phone for messages. There was a single text that had come in.

BLOCKED.

Connie swiped at it to read it, then realized: Jazz couldn’t text her from the sheriff’s department’s landline.

Then who—?

It said: r u game?

CHAPTER 25

One of his remaining disposable cell phones rang, and the killer answered.

“Eleven,” said the voice. “Eleven. Six and five.” There was a lilt to it, a joy, a buoyancy that was lost on the killer, who could not sense such things. The sounds and the nuances of human beings meant as much as did color to the blind.

The killer repeated “eleven” in his mind, fixing it there, and stared at the laptop screen before him. Eleven. Eleven meant…

The killer gaped and gawped and stared for moments protracted and elongated by the shock of unknowability.

“I,” he said, “don’t understand.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what,” said the voice. “I’ll tell you what. We’re gonna have some fun, okay?”

The killer didn’t quite understand “fun,” but he said nothing and simply listened.

“Saw on the news today,” the voice went on, “that the bastard cops say they have an eyewitness. Just came forward, they said. They tried to sound real convincing, and I bet they think they were, but they’re not. They’re bluffing. That’s okay, though. That’s okay.”

And then the voice began to explain things. To describe things. And the killer did not understand, but the killer did not need to understand.

The killer needed only to obey.

To accede.

To win.

To ascend.

CHAPTER 26

“Dude!” Howie exclaimed, throwing his absurdly huge hands into the air. “I can’t believe you’re doing this to me again!”

“I have to go to New York.” Jazz threw clothes into his borrowed suitcase. He’d barely had time to unpack. “I need you to help watch Gramma. I’ll let you tattoo my freakin’ ass, okay?”

“I am totally sleeping with your aunt. I don’t care what you say. I know she doesn’t seem interested right now, but trust me: She will succumb to my wit and charm, and I will know her. In the biblical sense.”

“Right.”

“You do realize that means I’m going to bone her. In the biblical sense.”

“I’m aware.”

Howie noticed the shadow of a grin on Jazz’s face and crossed his arms across his chest in defiance. “I’m totally serious here! Not only will I sleep with her, but I will knock her up, too. I’m gonna be the daddy to your cousins. So there.”

“Sounds great, Uncle Howie.” Jazz went to clap Howie on the shoulder, thought of the bruise it would cause, and settled for a handshake.

“Your cousins will be tall and handsome and have bigger dicks than you do,” Howie said very solemnly.

“I’m sure. Thanks, man.”

“Have you forgotten that school starts again on Monday?”

“With any luck, I’ll just miss a day or two. I’ll help them narrow the profile, look over the new crime scene for stuff they might have missed… get them pointed in the right direction. Boom. Done. Home.”

“And I’m still gonna tattoo your ass!” Howie shouted after him as he left.

On the plane, Jazz didn’t even have time to enjoy or dread his flight. He was busy pondering the message left for him at the latest crime scene. Morales had e-mailed him all of the preliminary information, including crime-scene photos.

“We’re bringing you in,” Morales had told him on the phone. “I don’t care if I have to go over Montgomery’s head to the governor. This guy has called you out. So you’re in.”

Less than a half hour later, it was official, and Jazz was on his way back to the airport after a call to Connie to let her know what was going on. Aunt Samantha was good to watch Gramma for a little while. Jazz truly regretted leaving her so soon. He felt like they had much more to talk about.

When he’d told Aunt Samantha that he had to go back to New York, he’d only had time for a quick talk. The topic had been Howie. “I’m sorry to leave you with him. I know how he is, but he’s actually a good guy—”

“You act like I’ve never been around a horny boy in my life,” she’d said. “I think I can handle him. I would actually find it sort of flattering if I didn’t know for sure that he does this to everyone.”