Heart of Stone

CHAPTER 10

THE FRONT DOOR swung open as Margrit fumbled with the lock, which doubled and swam together again no matter how hard she concentrated. Cole swept her into his arms, incoherent with relief. Margrit’s knees stopped working and she clung to him. Cam enveloped both of them in a hug.

“See, I said she was okay, Cole. You’re okay, aren’t you, Grit?” Cameron unfolded Margrit from Cole’s arms, wrapping her own arm around her waist to keep her steady. “Good God, what happened to your head? How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Two?” Margrit hazarded.

Cam clucked her tongue. “No, sweetheart, just one. God, we’ve been worried sick. Cole, call Tony. Oh, you are, good man. He told us you’d been hit by a car,” Cam said to Margrit, who looked at her blankly. “He said you went flying and he couldn’t find you. You’ve been gone for hours, Grit. Where’ve you been? Sit down. Let me get a compress for your head.”

Somehow, Margrit had been shuffled into the living room during the barrage of words. Cam sat her down on the couch, and Margrit sank back into it, shutting her eyes. “Don’t fall asleep, Grit!”

Cole, a cell phone pressed against his ear, knelt by the couch to take her hand. “Cam’s right, Grit. Don’t fall asleep, okay?”

“Pssh,” Margrit said. “You always tell me to sleep more.”

Cole smiled lopsidedly. “Not right now. Where’ve you been, Grit? What happened? Tony!” His voice sharpened and he turned his attention to the phone. “Grit’s back. I don’t know. She just staggered in. A knot the size of Texas on her head, but she’s okay. Maybe a concussion. All right. We won’t. Okay. See you soon.” He hung up the phone and dropped it on the coffee table. “Tony’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“Tony? Oh good. We were going to have sex,” Margrit said gravely, then winced.

Cameron choked on a laugh. “Too much information, Grit. TMI.”

“No kidding,” Margrit muttered. “My head hurts.”

“We’ve been frantic, hon. I called your parents. Everyone was afraid-” Cole broke off, pale as Margrit straightened up.

“When’d you phone them? Call back. Tell them I’m fine. They don’t have to come in.” That, if nothing else, was clear in her mind. “I’m not dead, and if they come they’ll be here for days, Cole. I swear, I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m fine,” she promised.

Cole’s lopsided smile flashed again. “So fine you’re announcing your sex life to anybody who wants to listen. Maybe you’re right. Maybe your parents shouldn’t hear that. I called them right after Tony phoned here, but your mom’s a practical woman, Grit. She just got very calm and said she’d contact some of her network to see whether anyone could help find you. She thought she could do it better from there than here. Panic feeds on itself, she said.”

Margrit slid down in the couch, feeling it grab her hips. Alban had been more polite, she thought, when they’d danced. The couch was pushy. Not a nice date. She wanted to snort at her own absurdity, but was afraid it would hurt her head. “Go Mom,” she whispered. “She’s probably got half of Queens awake. What time is it?”

“About two. You’ve been gone six hours.”

“Six hours. It didn’t seem that long. I slept more than I thought. Please call them. Tell Mom I’ll phone her as soon as my head stops hurting. Tomorrow.” Margrit closed her eyes, the pounding in her temples fading a little. “Thanks for worrying. I’m okay.”

“Of course you are,” Cam said with a briskness reserved for emotional emergencies. “Take this.” She folded something into Margrit’s hand, then moved it to her head. Cold pierced through the throbbing and Margrit yelped, straightening up again and jerking the ice away. “It’s good for you,” Cam said.

“I can tell you’re a physical trainer. Work through the pain, right?” She pulled her feet up onto the couch and leaned on the arm, holding the ice pack against her head gingerly.

“You got it, babe. God, I’m so glad you’re okay, Margrit.”

“Me, too. Can somebody call my parents?”

She felt Cameron and Cole exchange wordless glances before Cam said, “All right. You sure you don’t want me to ask them to come in?”

Margrit squinted her eyes open and frowned at Cameron, who lifted her hands in defeat. “Okay. Rest for a while. We’ll wake you up every twenty minutes or so. I don’t want you sleeping through that concussion.”

“Hey.” Cam’s murmur made Margrit catch her breath and whimper. “You’ve got a visitor, Grit. Wake up.”

“Go ’way,” Margrit said sulkily. Cameron laughed quietly and did. Tony sat down on the edge of the couch, the shifting weight making Margrit squint again before she pushed herself upright, frowning. “What happened?”

“I was going to ask you the same question. Where have you been? It’s two in the morning, Margrit.” Tony’s eyebrows drew into a frown.

Margrit shook her head carefully. The room spun, but not as dramatically as before. She looked around for the ice pack. “I don’t know. What happened?”

“The car came out of nowhere. I got the license number, but it’s stolen. Belonged to somebody in Connecticut.”

“And it hit me?”

Tony hesitated. “It had to have. It happened so fast. I saw you fly into the air.” He broke off again, scowling. “And then you were gone. I looked, but-where did you go? ”

“I don’t know. I woke up in an apartment somewhere. Alban was there.”

“You got away from him?” Tony’s voice rose an octave.

“He let me go. He didn’t hurt me.” Margrit pressed her eyes shut again, watching Alban’s impossible transformation replay behind her eyelids.

“Can you describe the apartment? The part of town? Any landmarks?” Concern and professionalism mixed in Tony’s voice, the cop struggling briefly with the man.

No, Margrit thought, the cop was the man. As much as the lawyer was the woman, with her. “We’re gonna have to work on that,” she mumbled. “Redefining ourselves outside of the job.”

“What?”

She shook her head again, another small, careful motion. “Nothing. There was a bar,” she said fuzzily, then closed her eyes. “I don’t know. I really don’t. I got a cab outside the bar, but I just don’t remember, Tony. I’m sorry. Everything’s blurry.”

Clarity snapped through her, bright enough that pain spiked behind her eyes. The car’s headlights blinded her again, this time in memory. Something hit her, slamming into her ribs, bruising them: Alban’s broad shoulder. She doubled over, smashing her forehead not against the car, but against the improbable solidness of his back.

Like smashing her head against stone.

There was nothing after that, no memory of flight, nothing until the smelling salts in the apartment and the explosive pain in her head.

“I don’t remember.” It was true enough. The waking moments in the apartment were clear, but the time surrounding it stretched and pulled thin, unfocused and difficult to hold in memory. Almost a blessing. She wasn’t sure what she might do if she could direct Tony to Alban’s hideaway. Wasn’t at all sure what Tony would do if faced with Alban’s incredible secret.

Wasn’t sure what she wanted to do with the knowledge she now had, or if she could do anything about it at all.

She heard Tony inhale slowly, deliberately, and then let the breath out again. “It’s okay,” he said, keeping his voice steady. “Concussions screw with people’s memories. The important thing is that you’re okay. Thank God you’re okay.”

“I’m all right,” Margrit agreed without opening her eyes. “Just tired. Really tired.”

“They haven’t been letting you sleep, have they?”

“Just naps,” Margrit mumbled. “That’s all Alban would let me have, either. He gave me some kind of tea and I got better. But then I hit my head again.”

“On what?” Tony asked. Margrit pried her eyes open and frowned at him.

“On Alban.” She watched his expression crumble with dismay and let her eyes close again. “Maybe I’m still a little out of it. I just need rest.”

“All right.” Cam appeared from the kitchen, clapping her hands together as if knocking off eraser dust. “I’ll stay up with her. You-”

Margrit was asleep before the arrangements were finished.

She popped awake ten seconds before Cameron’s alarm went off. Twin spots reflected on the television screen gave her a moment’s pause, the headache receded but the double vision remaining. She frowned at the screen as the alarm went off and Cam sat up with a groan. A quarter-size circle of light shone on her forehead, a second one shining past her onto the TV screen. Margrit squinted over her shoulder, then breathed in relieved recognition at the slats of the dining room birdcage, which broke the morning sun into columns of light. “I think I’m better.”

“Oh good. I can get some sleep.” Cameron stretched and climbed to her feet, padding across the living room and through the dining room to the kitchen. “Want some yogurt?”

Margrit’s stomach rumbled and she clapped a hand over it. “Yeah. I feel like I haven’t eaten in a week. Yogurt. Eggs.” She stood up cautiously. The room didn’t sway, and she grinned again. “Yeah, I’m better. Oh! Oh hell. Where’s Tony? I thought of something while I was sleeping.”

Cameron looked around the fridge door and peered through her bangs at Margrit. “He got a call around three and went to work. Did you remember where you were?”

“What? No, but I want to look at the club tapes again. I need to check something.”

“Well, it’s after ten. You could give him a call.”

“Oh, God. My work.” Margrit bolted for the phone.

“I already called them.” Cam held up a carton of strawberry yogurt. “You’re good for a couple of days. They said take the rest of the week off.”

Margrit took the yogurt, then frowned. “Isn’t it Friday?”

“Well.” Cam ate a spoonful of her own yogurt. “Yeah.”

“Generous of them. No, I’ve got to at least call Russell. I have to talk to him about the Delaney case.” Margrit pulled the top off the yogurt cup and licked the foil, fumbling with the phone. “Crap.” She put the yogurt down so she could dial, then wedged the phone against her ear and stole bites of yogurt between speaking. “Voice mail,” she reported a minute later. “I need to go in. I’m gonna take a shower and head over there, okay?”

“Breakfast first,” Cam said equitably.

“Shower, then breakfast, and I swear, you and Cole are like my parents. Did somebody call them?”

“Yes.” The following silence spoke volumes about what they’d had to say. Cam shook her head, then stepped over to Margrit to give her a brief, hard hug. “Call your mom tonight, okay? She’s worried. I’m really glad you’re all right, Grit.”

“Me, too,” Margrit mumbled back. “Okay.”

Cam smiled and let her go. “Go shower. I’ll make you eggs and toast.”

“Thank you. You’re the best. Man, I feel better.”

“Good. Now go.” Cam shooed at her, grinning. “Go, or you’ll be standing here babbling until the sun goes down.”

Blood rushed through Margrit’s ears, suddenly pounding like the sea. Sunset was only hours away.

Only hours until she could see Alban.

She shook herself and went to shower.

Margrit rapped on Russell’s door, announcing her presence. He glanced up and gestured her in, the shirt and tie he wore making her self-conscious as she stopped inside the door and leaned on it, clad in her running tights and sweatshirt. Russell took in her closed-off stance, arms folded around her ribs, and tilted his head. “All the way in, Margrit.”

She shook her head, staying where she was. “I’m fine, thanks. I just wanted to stop by and see if there was anything I needed to take home for the weekend.”

Russell got up, frowning, and came around his desk to put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure you’re all right? Everyone’s very concerned. I didn’t expect to see you today.”

“I’ve been better,” Margrit admitted. “No, but I’m okay. I’m not hurt.” She unwrapped an arm to touch the bruise at her hairline. “Despite appearances, maybe. And I’m not here for work,” she added, flicking her fingers at her clothes. “But you said we were going to have a lot of fast work to do, and I don’t think I can afford a three-day delay if that’s the case. I thought I’d come in tomorrow to start doing groundwork.”

“After being hit by a car and disappearing for half a night?” Russell sounded caught between admiration and dismay. “You have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility, Margrit.”

“It’s what makes me a good lawyer. Besides, I’ve got the whole day off today. That’s practically a vacation.”

“Obviously I’m doing something wrong,” Russell said dryly. “I thought vacations involved white sand beaches and cerulean skies, not concussions and working over the weekend. Still.”

Margrit grinned at the floor.

“Still,” Russell added, “I appreciate your dedication. Nichole’s been looking over what Daisani’s corporation has pulled together. They’ve got most of the permits necessary to bring the building down.”

“How many of them did they buy?” Margrit asked under her breath.

Her boss acknowledged the barb with a helpless shrug. “I imagine they’ll have the rest of them bought and paid for soon enough. We’re going to have to move very fast to make a difference.”

Margrit’s smile got bigger and she stretched her legs out, showing off her running tights. “Hey, moving fast is my specialty. As of tomorrow, I’m all about the case.”

“And until then?”

“Rest. I promise.” Margrit lifted her hands, protesting her innocence. “I’ll get some rest.”

She just hadn’t said when she’d get some rest. Margrit threaded her way past desks and chairs, hesitating a few yards from Tony’s workstation. He was wearing last night’s clothes, a department jacket thrown over his shoulders for warmth, and his movements were slower than she was used to seeing from him, exhaustion in every motion. “Tony?”

He glanced up, then did a double take and came to his feet. “Margrit. Jesus.” She pushed the chair by his desk aside and grunted quietly as he pulled her into his arms, trying not to knock her forehead against his chin. He hugged her hard for a few seconds, then set her back, hands on her shoulders as he examined her. “You’re all right?”

“Yeah.” Her smile felt watery. “My head still hurts, but I’m not seeing double anymore. Cam said you didn’t leave until you got called in for work. Thanks.” She stood on her toes to steal a kiss, garnering a catcall from one of his coworkers. “What’d you get dragged in for?”

He ignored the question momentarily, brushing his thumb over her hairline, not touching the bruise. “That looks terrible.”

Margrit smiled and traced a circle around the bruise on his eye, also without touching it. “We’re a matched pair now. It- sss! Ow. Hurts! Don’t touch it!”

Tony pulled his hands back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“It hurts,” Margrit repeated, probing at the tender flesh despite having just scolded Tony for doing so. “But it’s just a bruise now, not a concussion. I’m okay. I came by because I think I thought of something. Do you have the Blue Room security tapes?”

His expression flattened, wariness battling the hope. “Yeah.”

“Can I watch them again?”

“What’re you looking for?”

“I’ll know if I see it. Just let me watch them.”

“Margrit…” He grimaced, turning the flesh around his mouth white. “Another woman was murdered last night.”

Nausea that had faded with the concussion’s symptoms slammed back into Margrit’s belly, making her cold all over. “When?”

“Between eleven and one. While you were missing.”

“I was…” She closed her eyes, shivering. “I was unconscious most of the night, Tony. He was gone when I woke up the second time. But he didn’t seem dangerous.”

“If he’s not dangerous and not guilty he’s got no reason to not come talk to the police. Just because he didn’t hurt you doesn’t mean anything, Margrit. He could regard you as a prize. Guys like this do.” Tony’s voice was grim. “It was the same M.O., same time frame, same location.”

“The same location?” Margrit’s voice rose. Tony winced at the pitch and shook his head.

“In the park. Not the exact same place. Up on the north end. Anything you’ve remembered might be important. Come on.” A tilt of his head invited her through the station and into a media room, where she waited several minutes for him to sign out evidence before returning with the videos. He primed them while she watched, tapping her finger against her pursed mouth.

“That one. The Goth Room.” She leaned forward on the TV table, watching the screen from the center dome camera’s point of view.

“What’re you looking for?” he asked again. Margrit shook her head, holding up a hand to gain his silence. The video rolled from Alban’s entrance. The corner camera wires were snipped, and before the next rotation of the center camera, the grating was wrenched from the wall, dangling as evidence of Alban’s escape route. “That’s it.” Tony reached for the off button, but Margrit thwacked his fingers.

“Don’t! I want to watch for another minute.”

“There’s nothing else to see. Getting hit on the head was bad for you.” Tony sat back, waiting. The camera made its rotation, recording the carved statues and the dancers in the club. Margrit shot a finger out and pressed the pause button. The picture froze and Tony sat up. “What? What?”

Along the crowded wall of seats was a new statue, wedged into a narrow space near a carved vampire. Someone’s long coat was flung over its shoulder, making it easy to miss along the busy partition. Its snarling face was turned away from the camera, but the line of its jaw was visible, both broad and delicate, carefully chiseled. Long white hair fell over its shoulder, beneath the coat. The camera’s quality was too low to pick them up, but Margrit knew the hair would be carved into individual strands, a masterwork of sculpture. Upswept, pointed ears poked through the stonework hair.

“It’s just another statue,” Tony said impatiently. “What’s the big deal?”

“It-” Margrit broke off, staring at the gargoyle on the screen, then sighed. “It wasn’t there before.”

“Of course it was.” He rewound the tape, scowling.

A minute earlier, the gargoyle wasn’t there. Tony snapped upright, scowling with disbelief at the screen. “No way. No fucking way.” He fast-forwarded the tape again, watching the gargoyle appear. “Christ, but this guy’s good.”

“Good?” Margrit glanced away from the screen. “What do you mean?”

“Look at him.” Tony shook his head, grudging admiration in his voice. “Cool as a cucumber. Must’ve had that costume with him. Knew just where to hide. How the hell did he get out of there without us seeing him?”

“A costume?” Margrit asked faintly.

Tony chuckled. “It’s damned clever. He must’ve lit out of there while the camera was facing the other direction, same way he got into place.” Tony slipped an arm around her shoulders, tugging her against his chest murmuring, “Good eyes. Good thought,” into her hair. “Memory’s crazy, isn’t it? You don’t even know you’ve seen something wrong until it hits you. Good job. Thanks, Margrit. It gives me something to work with.”

She cleared her throat, turning her head under Tony’s chin to look back at the screen. “A costume,” she repeated. But it hadn’t been a costume. She remembered, all too clearly, the way the space seemed to shift around Alban as he became something both greater and lesser than a man.

“We’ll go back to the club and see if we can find any traces of the wig, anything he might’ve left behind. I wonder how he got out of there.” Tony loosened his arms enough to inch back and smile down at her. “Thanks, Grit. I don’t know what we’ll get out of it, but it’s more than we had before.” The smile faded into concern. “Go home and get some rest, okay? I’ll call you as soon as I can.”

She nodded slowly, studying the video screen a moment longer. “Okay.” She turned a brief smile up at the detective. “All right. Good luck.”

“Be careful, Grit.” He nodded a goodbye and turned back to the screen as Margrit left, glancing at her watch.

It wouldn’t be sunset for hours. Making good on her promise to rest sounded like a wise idea.

The sky went dusky blue, the sun disappearing behind the horizon, followed by a noticeable drop in temperature. Margrit tightened her arms around herself, still half-asleep. The walk from her apartment to the park hadn’t quite woken her up, despite the chill. She’d slept five hours, which would wreak havoc on her sleep schedule later, but the lingering headache had faded to almost nothing. A phone call to her doctor had assured her exercise after a mild concussion wasn’t a problem unless she was planning on joining a football game, in which case he advised against it. Margrit had promised not to play any contact sports, and went to the park, confident a run would take care of the rest of the head blow’s aftereffects.

She stretched against a park bench, shaking herself out before starting a slow jog. A mounted policeman rode past her, nodding a concerned greeting. Margrit waved, feeling guilty. It was barely past sunset, she rationalized. People were still out, cops patrolling the pathways. The hour she’d be out running wasn’t long enough or late enough to put her in danger.

And the gargoyle wouldn’t dare come out tonight, anyway. He might be seen and arrested.

Margrit’s gaze went to the sky a dozen times regardless, looking for shapes that couldn’t be. Park lights flickered on, casting new shadows that warred briefly with the last of the light from the horizon, then triumphed. The darkness held no broad-shouldered, winged creatures. Wry disappointment churned in Margrit’s stomach and she shook her head, smiling at herself. No rational person would want a gargoyle-an utterly impossible being-haunting her, anyway.

She lengthened her stride, watching the sky, and ran.