According to the lore, the half-demon had made a pact with his father, trading sacrifices for a boon. The nature of the boon varied-invulnerability, immortality, immeasurable wealth-pretty much all the regular wishes. The demon connection, the stories claimed, explained why the killings had been so brutal and why Jack had corresponded with the media rather than commit his crimes in silence. Demons feed on chaos. A demonic sacrifice isn’t about bloodletting, it’s about the chaos caused by death. This, then, would have been Jack’s true offering to his father-not the five lives themselves, but the fear and panic they’d caused.

“Now that one makes the most sense,” she said. “Though it is, of course, almost certainly only a story.”

“And not…really what we’re looking for,” I said.

“Well, perhaps if you put this into context for me…”

I glanced over at Jeremy. He nodded, and I told her what had happened.

For a moment, Anita just sat there, staring at me.

“Jack the Ripper’s From Hell letter?” she said finally. “As a dimensional portal trigger?”

“I know it sounds preposterous-”

“No, it makes perfect sense.”

She slid to the floor, then came out from behind the counter and paced to the far shelf and back, shaking her head.

“Mrs. Barrington…” Jeremy began.

“Anita, please. I’m sorry. I’m just…exasperated. I knew there was a supernatural story behind that letter. Why else would Shanahan have had it stolen? I haven’t been in Toronto long. I came five years ago, when my daughter died and her husband needed help with Erin. But my reputation as a folklorist is impeccable. So, when I heard the infamous From Hell letter was here, in the collection of a man known for gathering supernatural oddities, I presented myself to young Mr. Shanahan and requested permission to see it, and learn the story behind it. He-”

Spots of color lit her cheeks and she glanced toward the back room as if remembering her granddaughter listening in.

“He was…not accommodating.” She paced to the shelf and back again. “It is so frustrating. I don’t know what race you young people are, and I won’t ask, but I hope you don’t have any such prejudices to deal with. They can make life quite intolerable at times. Sorcerers and witches-” A sharp shake of her head. “A ridiculous feud rooted in events so far back in time-” Another, sharper shake. “I’m sorry. You didn’t come to hear me rage about that. But, yes, I don’t doubt that the From Hell letter has a supernatural legend behind it, and that Patrick Shanahan knows all about it.”

“If he does, we’ll get the story from him, and we’ll give it to you.”

She smiled and nodded. “Thank you, dear.” She turned slowly to face me. “I don’tsuppose-I shouldn’t ask but…well, at my age, I’ve learned to pursue opportunities when they present themselves to me. Is there any chance I could examine that letter? Presuming you still have it…”

“We do,” Jeremy said. “And when this is over, we’d be happy to show it to you. In the meantime, may we contact you if we have questions?”

“Absolutely. And perhaps, now that I know the letter’s supernatural link-a portal and dimensional zombies-I might be able to dig up some more stories for you.”

The first restaurant we passed had a note on the door, saying that the shop was closed due to E. coli in the city’s water supply.

“E. coli?” I said. “So they know what it is? Or is that just a guess? Maybe I should call my newspaper contacts and-”

“And do what? Find out the situation is worse than we thought, giving you one more thing to worry about? Won’t get the portal closed any faster.”

“Clay’s right,” Jeremy said. “We need to keep the blinders on and move forward, however tempting it may be to stop and look around.”

Broken

We picked up sandwiches and took them to a downtown park, where we could be assured of privacy. With the exception of the occasional late-working office employee cutting through to the subway station, privacy is what we had…until a change in the wind brought a now-familiar stink.

“Son of a bitch,” Clay muttered under his breath.

“Guess Rose was right,” I said. “They can find me. Saves us the bother of looking for this one.” I inhaled deeper and nearly gagged. “I can barely pick up a scent under that stench. I think it’s male…”

“You’d be right,” Clay said.

He nudged my leg to the left. On the pretext of taking another napkin from the bag, I glanced over and saw a figure almost hidden behind a metal sculpture.

“Shall we try to find a convenient alley?” Jeremy murmured behind his sandwich.

“I know something better.” I wiped imaginary sweat from my forehead, made a face and raised my voice above normal. “God, I have to get out of this heat. Can we eat someplace else? With air-conditioning…and tables?”

Clay nodded and we gathered up our stuff. I led them to the street corner and across to a looming business tower. We went inside. I smiled at the security guard and waved to a “down” escalator a hundred feet away. He nodded and returned to his reading.

Seeing where I was taking them, Clay stopped. “Is that-?”

“The gateway to hell. Sorry.” I took his arm and continued walking, then glanced over at Jeremy. “It’s part of PATH, Toronto ’s underground walkway system. Clay had a bad experience with it last winter.”