He spun around, clutching his right shoulder. He tried to lift his right arm to shoot it, but couldn’t. As he was clumsily trying to transfer the weapon to his bloody left hand, the fetish fired again, this time wildly.

It didn’t matter; he was undone. In shock and pain, he ran out of the apartment, along the hallway, down the fire stairs. Away from the fetish; away from what he had done; away from what was happening in that hellhole of an apartment.

*   *   *

Julie, her courage unwinding with the flow of adrenaline in her system, ran to the front door, slammed it shut, and double-locked it, because the doorknob and latch were shattered. Then she ran back, knelt beside Sydny, pulled her head into her lap. With a supreme effort she pulled the hood off her head, threw it under the sofa

“Sydny,” she crooned as she wiped her sweat-streaked face with her forearm. “Sydny, what did he do to you?”

Sydny’s lips moved, but she was unable to speak. Julie brought out her mobile, called 911, gave their address, then she turned back to her friend.

“What? What is it?” She saw the mass of blood on one side of Sydny’s abdomen, another in her chest, and she began to weep. “Oh, dear god.” Shucking off her top, she pressed it against the abdominal wound, keeping one hand there.

Through her tears she saw Sydny making a supreme effort to speak. Julie bent over her, ear to Sydny’s lips.

“Kitten, did … Did you see?”

“See what?” Julie said without changing her position.

“Man…”

“I saw his face, I know who he is. I’ll hunt him down, Sydny.”

“No! Tell Whit. He’ll—”

“Whitman isn’t here. I don’t know where he is. I’ll take—” Julie pulled back as she felt Sydny’s body heave against her. “Don’t move! For the love of god, stay still!”

Her mind was racing. She had to tell someone, but who? Not the capital cops. God, no. This had to be kept strictly internal. She wished Whitman were in D.C. Who could she turn to but her boss? The trouble was she didn’t trust Hemingway, not completely anyway.

“Oh, Sydny, I’m so…” But her words trailed off.

“Kitten…” Sydny’s eyes were looking at her but they weren’t seeing her. The pupils were fixed and staring. Her breathing had ceased.

“So sorry.”

She rocked Sydny back and forth in her lap, then threw her head back and, inconsolable, screamed. It was the howl of a wolf in torment.

Part Three: The Well

PART THREE

THE WELL

[Alchemy] is like unto death, which separates the eternal from the mortal, so that it should properly be known as the death of things.

—Paracelsus

Chapter 32

32