“Let’s go,” I said, and we started off.

The bowler-hatted man had taken the first exit. We crested the top of the escalator just as Jeremy was stepping onto the down side. He backed off it and led us outside before speaking.

“He crossed the road and I lost the scent in traffic,” he said. “Are you both all right?”

“Just another encounter with not-so-sweet-smelling Rose,” I said.

Jeremy tensed. “Rose?”

“The zombie we-”

“Yes, I know. You didn’t-Did you touch her?”

“Sure,” I said. “I had to. She attacked me. But if you’re worried about the syphilis, I swear I didn’t have sex with her.”

Jeremy didn’t smile. “Did you touch her lips or any of the sores near her mouth?”

“I don’t think so, but-”

His fingers clamped around my elbow. “There’s a coffee shop across the road. You need to go into the bathroom and scrub your hands and arms.”

He didn’t even wait for the light to change, just led me across between cars.

“Jer?” Clay said, jogging up beside us. “I thought you said syphilis was easily treated.”

“It is. But it’s particularly dangerous to pregnant mothers.”

He caught my look and slowed, grip relaxing on my arm. “You’ll be fine.” A small smile. “I’m overreacting, as usual. The only danger is if you came in contact with the sores around her mouth and ingest the bacterium or transfer it through broken skin. A thorough scrubbing will do the trick. I should have mentioned something last night but…”

“Rose was already dead, or so we thought. So what’s happening-”

“First, scrub up,” he said, stopping outside the coffee shop doors. “Then we can discuss it.”

I scrubbed my hands and arms until my skin was red, then washed my face and neck, cleaning off every bit of exposed skin, even parts I knew hadn’t touched Rose.

When I went outside, we returned to the escalator leading down to the PATH walkways, and I found the bowler-hatted man’s scent there, but lost it at the street. Between the exhaust fumes and the smog and the stink of a thousand daily passersby, our target’s scent had disappeared.

I watched the steady stream of traffic going by. “If we wait a few hours and I Change, it would probably be safe.”

Jeremy shook his head. “It’s not worth the risk. Killing them doesn’t seem to help.”

“Either we have an army of zombie clones, or the undead aren’t staying dead. Remember yesterday, when Robert was talking about the difference between controlled zombies raised by a necromancer and those created by a sorcerer’s portal? He said both kinds are tough to kill. Necromancer ones just won’t die, but dimensionalones…” I frowned. “Did he say what happened with them?”

“No,” Jeremy said. “Because that shouldn’t have been relevant. This portal was created over a hundred years ago, meaning any ‘controller’ should be dead.”

“Should be,” Clay muttered. “But there’s always a catch.”

Jeremy nodded. “Time to talk to Jaime and Robert again. And let’s see if we can contact that vampire thief tonight. I’ll go back to the hotel to make the calls while you two track down Zoe Takano.”

Clay opened his mouth, but Jeremy cut him off. “Yes, I know you don’t like that idea, but it’s the best use of our limited resources. Even if that zombie did circle back and find me, presuming I’d know where the letter is too, they’ve hardly been difficult to kill so far.”

“Rose didn’t even have a weapon,” I said. “And unless my nose is wrong, they’re coming back a little the worse for wear. Deteriorating.”

Clay hesitated.

“You can walk me to the hotel and lock me in, if it makes you feel better,” Jeremy said. “After tonight, we won’t have this problem with dividing our resources. I’m calling Antonio, and asking him and Nick to come. He still hasn’t forgiven me for not summoning them back from Europe when Elena was taken. I don’t have an excuse for not bothering them this time.”

Clay nodded, and we walked Jeremy back to the hotel.

Zoe

FROM THE OUTSIDE, MILLER’S WASN’T THE SORT OF PLACE I’d wander into in search of a drink. The term “hole in the wall” has never been more apt. The place had an entrance accessible only by a door leading from the alley. The flickering neon Miller’s Ale sign made me think that, if the owner had found a Labatt’s sign in the curbside trash instead, the bar would have a different name.

There was a single reinforced window beside the door. As I slipped up for a closer look, I realized the window wasn’t just reinforced, it was plastered over from the inside.

A shower of gravel rained down. Clay had reached the second-story fire escape landing, but the window overlooking it was barred, which I’m sure would be much appreciated by anyone trapped inside during a fire. The bars were old, though, and Clay snapped them with a sharp wrench. Then he stripped off his shirt and wrapped his hand in it to muffle the noise as he broke the window. No alarms sounded. A place like this, rusted bars were all you got.

Clay looked down through the slats of the fire escape.

“You gonna be okay?” he said.

“Even knocked up, I think I can take on a vampire.”

I waited while Clay slipped inside. A moment later, he stuck his head out and gave me the all clear-he’d found a place to watch over me from upstairs.