Page 7 of Dead Beat

It was what they were all thinking, had been thinking as the days and nights of hunting wore away at them. Again, Alex wondered, How many are we missing? Left alone to feed on her longing, Janie Keep’s “baby” would have eventually taken on her form, then fed on the blood and emotions of her friends and neighbors, her real son, her husband, anyone it needed to stay alive. Alex was the only person in this room who had tangled with a vampire, and even with the strength of a Gray inside her and a pair of magical brass knuckles, she’d barely made it out alive.

“It’s not just that,” Turner continued. He poured himself two fingers of whiskey. “I can’t keep going like this. I’m basically working two jobs. I’m not sleeping, and none of you look like you are either.”

“I am,” said Tripp.

Turner took a long swallow. “Have you ever gotten a bad night’s sleep in your life?”

Tripp appeared to give the question serious consideration.

“Fair to say we could all take better care of ourselves—” Darlington began.

“And each other,” added Dawes as she nudged the plate of bread toward Turner. “Eat.”

“But until we find a way to shut the door,” Darlington went on, “we should be counting our blessings.”

Alex almost choked on her soup. “Help me out with that math.”

“We can’t shut the door, but they can’t open it any farther or they would have.”

“I’ll break out the champagne.”

“Are we sure…” Dawes set down her spoon, lifted it, changed her mind again. “What if they’re just wearing us down?”

“Like an advance team?” Tripp said. He sounded a little too impressed, and Alex suspected it was only Dawes’s glare that kept him from adding Nice.

Turner took a piece of the bread. “A war of attrition.”

“Fabian strategy,” Darlington mused. “You avoid large-scale actions, wear the enemy down. But usually it’s used by a smaller force against a larger one. Maybe that means Golgarot doesn’t have the numbers.”

“He does,” Alex said. “I saw him when I purged that demon.” It happened every time she drew one of those things inside her. She took a sip of wine, trying to wash away the memory of sulfur and misery. “He said his armies were infinite.”

“My name is Legion,” quoted Turner, “for we are many. Legion meant thousands back in Christ’s time. How are we supposed to fight thousands when there are four of us?”

“Five,” Tripp noted.

“My mistake. We’re unstoppable. Tell Golgarot to do his worst.”

“This man lived in the tombs,” said Darlington, “and no one could bind him anymore, not even with a chain.”

“You’re quoting Mark?” Turner asked, clearly pleased.

“Arlington men go to church every Sunday,” Alex recalled, though she was surprised too.

“Went,” Darlington corrected.

“Are you worried you might burst into flames?”

“I imagine a visit to the underworld might make some men more religious,” Darlington said with a bob of his chin toward Turner. “But I find I’m plagued with questions that make it tougher to sit still in a pew.”

Had that been a loss for him? Alex knew that Turner’s belief had only grown stronger and that Mercy was struggling to reconcile everything they’d done and seen with her own faith. Alex hadn’t spent much time contemplating religion or scripture. Maybe if Mira had let Alex’s grandmother drag her to synagogue, she would have real faith to take comfort in. But it was too late to embrace piety now.

“For he had often been chained hand and foot, but he tore the chains apart and broke the irons on his feet,” Darlington continued.

Turner picked up the quote. “No one was strong enough to subdue him. Night and day among the tombs and in the hills he would cry out and cut himself with stones.”

“We don’t need the Bible,” Alex said, her irritation rising. “We need to know what happened to Rudolph Kittscher and the first pilgrims who made the descent.”

“I’m doing my best,” said Dawes. “But it’s all gone. Not just Kittscher’s Lethe Days Diary, but his Dante’s diary too. I thought maybe they’d just placed a prohibition on the Albemarle Book, but they stripped everything from Lethe’s physical archives too.”