Shuddering, Wendy scooped Little Dee into her arms, backing away from the sound—which, as it happened, was directly between her and her home on West 52nd Street.
The fog swirled and danced, netherworld shadow creatures forming, looming, disappearing in seconds, replaced by some other underworld nightmare. Wendy darted a glance over her shoulder, but there was no retreat there—only 12th Avenue and the piers beyond it.
The brush and trees swayed with an unfelt wind, and footsteps padded closer and closer, their maker hidden by the fog. Little Dee whined in her arms, and the poodle’s bladder let loose, spilling hot urine down the front of Wendy’s robe. “Well, isn’t that just marvelous?” she hissed, holding the little dog away from her chest.
The fog swirled, then seemed to freeze and glowed a flickering yellow-orange, as though someone stood within it and burned with hellish flames. A low growl rumbled from the lumpy, grey-cotton wall of mist, and Wendy backed away, ducking behind a tree trunk.
She stood there, her back to the trunk, heart beating like crazy, barely breathing, barely thinking. Little Dee had gone tharn with terror—nothing more than a statue. Footfalls padded onto the concrete pad, accompanied by a clicking noise similar to that made by Little Dee’s nails. Wendy gathered her courage and peeked around the trunk.
A two-headed black dog stood on the path, one nose up in the air, tasting the wind, and the other held low, lips curled back from its fangs, gaze peering into the same fog that shrouded the beast. Flame flickered from the creature’s fur and danced in its eye sockets. Glowing triangular claws tipped each paw.
Wendy slapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp and turned away, putting her shoulder blades against the rough bark, mouthing silent prayers that the hound wouldn’t sense her.
After a moment, the sound of the hound’s footfalls drew past and on toward 12th Avenue, then faded out of audible range. Wendy stood stock-still for a long time afterward, her dog’s now-cold urine seeping through her robe and gown and making her skin clammy and gross, and, for once, Little Dee didn’t squirm, didn’t whine, didn’t complain.
Wendy waited and waited, then finally summoned the courage and stepped out of her hiding place. The hound was gone, though she could still see its charred footprints on the concrete. She followed them, moving away from the direction the beast had gone, tracing its backtrail until she nearly tripped over the body.
Her scream echoed through the early morning stillness, as rough and intrusive as the hound’s snarl.
2
Dru put the Crown Vic in park, killed the engine, then turned and cast an assessing glance at Leery. “It’s too soon,” she said quietly.
“Nonsense,” said Leery. “It’s early. I always look like death-warmed-over this early.”
“No, you don’t,” said Dru, but then she sighed. “I know you want to get back to work, Leery, but it’s only been seven weeks since Agon—”
“Yeah,” said Leery. “Seven weeks of the best medical care I could ever hope for. Seven weeks of blessings and healing magic from both Gehenna and…other places, thanks to Puriel. Seven weeks of enforced convalescence, of eating right, of watching Luci channel more power through my body than I’ve seen expended in my lifetime.” He looked her in the eye. “Am I in perfect shape?” He shook his head slowly. “No, but I can’t get back into shape without working. I’ve gone as far as I can resting.”
“Okay,” she said, looking down at her hands wrestling in her lap.
“Dru, I’m okay. I’m ready for this.”
“Okay,” she repeated, but she didn’t look up, didn’t smile.
“I know you’re worried. I’ll tell you what. I’ll follow your lead in this case. You take point, I’ll hang back.”
“Okay,” she said once more. “But, Leery?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want to be saved if it means you’re…” She swallowed hard, and her hands attacked one another with more vigor.
“Hey,” Leery began, but for once, he had no witty rejoinder, no joke, no pun to offer her. “If it comes to that, I’ll call for help.”
“Promise?” she asked.
“Yeah. The people I can call on for help can handle anything, right?”
She lifted her chin and let it drop, then, without looking at him, she opened her door and got out. “If you get tired, say something, okay?”
Leery got out of the passenger side and saluted her with his Starbucks cup. “Yeah, I’ll order a Starbucks and rest up.” He grinned. “Now, quit worrying. We’ve got a body to paw over and a killer to sniff out.”
“Dog park,” Dru said with a smile. “You’ll be right at home.” She led him across the street and into DeWitt Clinton Park, taking the concrete path to the dog run, which crime scene lights lit up despite the thick fog.
Two uniformed sergeants stood next to the crime scene tape marking off the area. Leery strolled up, a smile on his face.
“Hey, there Logsdon. Zackheim.” He nodded to each officer. “Must be important to get both of you down here before the crack of dawn. What gives?”
“I’ll tell you, Oriscoe,” said Logsdon. “The guy back there over my shoulder isn’t taking a nap. He’s dead, see? Dog got him.”
“Or a wolf. And he’s a high-powered Wall Street magister.” Zackheim nodded to Dru and stuck out his hand. “Ben Zackheim.”
“Dru Nogan,” she said and shook his hand.
“This high-powered Wall Street magister have a name?” asked Leery.
Logsdon shoved the clipboard at him. “Sign in. You know the drill.” He turned to Dru. “John Logsdon,” he said.
“Delighted,” she said.
“His name’s Richard Brook,” said Zackheim.
“Of that fancy firm across from the Exchange? Brook, Merris, and Myercough?” asked Leery.
“Yeah,” said Logsdon, “but it’s not Myercough.”
“It’s Myer,” said Zackheim, and then he coughed.
“What? Not Myercough? Just Myer? I could have sworn—”
“You’re not listening, Oriscoe. It’s Myer—” Logsdon coughed. “Get it? Myer—” He coughed again.
“Oh. He’s a goblin I take it?”
“Yep,” said Zackheim.
“Speaking of which, where are your little gobo friends? Boob and Whatsit?”
“Bob and Lou!” came a growl from the fog-shrouded trees. “Watch your ass, poodle, or you might find my foot in it. And it wasn’t a dog or a wolf. That was a Hell Hound.”
“Dammit, Bob!” said another goblin voice from the gloom. “The princess probably doesn’t like that kind of talk.”
“Yeah, Boob,” said Leery. “We call those creatures Barghests in Gehenna.”
“We, mutt? You got a mouse in your pocket or what?”
Leery grinned and scrawled his signature on the clipboard. “Glad to know some things never change.”
Dru signed in, then held the tape up so Leery didn’t have to bend much. Even so, he winced ducking under it. “See you around, fellas,” he said in a strained voice.
“Right,” said Logsdon and Zackheim at the same time.
“Not if we see you first, Alpo-breath,” growled the fog.
Leery lifted a hand and waved, a smile plastered on his lips. “I love those little fellows. It’s nice to know they aren’t all monsters, goblins,” he said under his breath. “Especially after all that mess with the Redcaps.”
“Uh-huh,” said Dru, her gaze already on the sheet-draped body lying in the center of the dog park. A woman stood off to the side, dressed in a stained housecoat and holding a toy poodle. “Witness?” she whispered.
“Looks like it.”
Liz Hendrix stood near the head of the body, writing in a spiral notebook and grimacing at the fog. “Look what the cat dragged back from Gehenna,” she said as they approached. “You sure you should be up and around so soon?”
“Hey, get in line,” said Oriscoe. “The worry-wart line starts with Dru, then my daughters, Lucifer, Agrat, Lieutenant Van Helsing, Vinny Gonofrio, Puriel, Evie—”
“Oh, you wish,” said Liz. “Maybe—and I’m stressing the maybe here, Oriscoe—maybe Dru.”
“Oh, that hurts, Hendrix. That hurts.” He walked over to the body and stooped with a grimace and groan. “So, what do we have here?” He took the corner of the white sheet and lifted it, peering at the mauled man beneath. “Some kind of wild animal?”
“According to your witness, it was a two-headed dog.” Liz glanced over her shoulder, then leaned forward. “Though I think she might have a few screws loose in her belfry. She says the two-headed dog was on fire but didn’t seem to burn.”
“A Hel—” Leery cut his gaze toward Dru. “A, um, Barghest? In a park in Hel’s Kitchen? This ain’t the Snickelways.”
Liz shrugged. “I’ve heard of stranger things.”
“Me, too,” said Leery. “I love that show.”
Liz shook her head and looked at Dru. “Not even a brush with death served up by a dragon can improve his humor.”
“I’m not sure there’s enough power in all the Nine Realms to effect such a change in the fabric of the universe.”
Leery groaned as he straightened. “Jealousy, ladies, is such a cruel master.” He hooked his thumb at the shrouded body. “Anything he can tell us?”
Liz shook her head. “His soul has departed.”
“Carried off by the Barghest?” asked Dru.
“That’s the most likely scenario.”
“Would Hinton know?” asked Leery.
“I doubt it,” said Liz. “If the Barghest carried the soul away, it’s lost to us.”
“Then we’ll have to track down this Barghest via other means,” said Leery. “Anyone have a dog treat?”
“Why? You hungry?” asked Liz.
“Har, har,” said Leery. “Come on, Dru, let’s—”
“Before you go far, this guy’s partners are on their way down to the Two-Seven for a briefing and to give a statement if you need it. They wanted to come here, but I said no.”
“Smart, Hendrix,” said Leery.
“Right,” said Liz with a shrug. “I figured you wouldn’t want them ogling the body.”
“Want to give us a preliminary COD?”
“Sure, Leery. Let’s go with dog-bite.”
“Cute, Hendrix. Real cute.”
“Aren’t I just?” she said with a smile. “But it’s still a Barghest bite that caused his death.”
