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Authors: Rob Blackwell
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way?”
“Just help me, Carol,” he said. “I’ll protect you from them and you can talk to the new Prince for me. I could use someone they trust.”
Carol considered it again, but knew what her decision would be.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I have no doubt their best interests aren’t part of your plan,” she replied. “I won’t help you kill them or, worse, corrupt them.”
“They have no chance anyway, Carol,” Kieran said. He took another step toward her. “They never did.”
“You don’t know them,” Carol said, and smiled. “I do.”
Kieran nodded and moved. It was so quick she never tensed up. He was across the room, she saw a flash of silver and then he stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and for a moment she wondered why. Then she felt the blood flowing down her chest. She moved her hand to the cut at her throat. Kieran turned away from her and focused on the row of books on her shelf. She watched him pull something from his jacket pocket and place it there. Then he silently strode from the room.
Carol didn’t have time to question it. She fell to her knees and felt her life leaving her. As she slumped to the ground, she watched the blood pooling on the carpet.
Her last thought was bitterly ironic.
I should have seen it coming.
Chapter 5
“I’ve found it, Grace. It’s right where you said it would be. I don’t understand it, of course. You know me—reading books was never my strong suit. Maybe someone could make a movie of it. But I will learn more, I promise you. I have a feeling this book is the key to everything. I love you.”
—Letter from C.K. Collins to Grace Willoughby
August 3, 1972
Quinn carefully stepped around the blood on the floor.
The office looked the same as he remembered it—which was strange, as he had never been here before. The odd thing about being linked so intimately to another person was having access to their memories. He remembered everything about Kate’s meeting with Madame Zora last year, even though he was miles away and totally oblivious at the time.
As unusual as it was, he had to acknowledge it was useful. Because of her memories, he had a sense of what the office was supposed to look like. Whoever had attacked her appeared to have been wildly angry—the office was a mess. The kewpie dolls were back on the shelves, but were out of order, as if someone had hastily tried to put them back up. On the carpet were dozens of beads, presumably from the bead curtain that was supposed to hang in the entranceway.
Quinn ignored the cops still milling around the scene and tried to piece together what had happened. Why would someone kill Madame Zora? There were only a few possibilities and the usual ones didn’t fit. A psychic wasn’t someone you would target for a robbery, and Quinn couldn’t tell that any money had been taken. Her office was also sufficiently out of the way that it was highly unlikely that somehow Zora had been caught up in a random act of violence. Whoever had done this had come here with a purpose. But whether that was to kill her, he wasn’t sure.
Did someone have a grudge against Madame Zora? It was only a guess, but Quinn could imagine some people might feel ripped off if whatever Zora predicted didn’t pan out. Still, was that worth killing over?
Given the mess in the office, however, he wondered if it was a spontaneous move. In his head, he imagined a man hearing something he didn’t like, flying into a rage, destroying the room and then turning on Zora herself. It would explain the general mess.
Something about that theory didn’t feel right to Quinn, however. The bloodstain on the carpet flowed out from a single location, suggesting that whoever killed Zora had done so cleanly, maybe even quickly. Would someone in a rage do that? Wouldn’t he be more likely to beat her to death or…
“You know, just because you can cross a police line doesn’t mean you should, O’Brion,” a
“Just help me, Carol,” he said. “I’ll protect you from them and you can talk to the new Prince for me. I could use someone they trust.”
Carol considered it again, but knew what her decision would be.
“I don’t know what you’re up to, but I have no doubt their best interests aren’t part of your plan,” she replied. “I won’t help you kill them or, worse, corrupt them.”
“They have no chance anyway, Carol,” Kieran said. He took another step toward her. “They never did.”
“You don’t know them,” Carol said, and smiled. “I do.”
Kieran nodded and moved. It was so quick she never tensed up. He was across the room, she saw a flash of silver and then he stepped back.
“I’m sorry,” he said, and for a moment she wondered why. Then she felt the blood flowing down her chest. She moved her hand to the cut at her throat. Kieran turned away from her and focused on the row of books on her shelf. She watched him pull something from his jacket pocket and place it there. Then he silently strode from the room.
Carol didn’t have time to question it. She fell to her knees and felt her life leaving her. As she slumped to the ground, she watched the blood pooling on the carpet.
Her last thought was bitterly ironic.
I should have seen it coming.
Chapter 5
“I’ve found it, Grace. It’s right where you said it would be. I don’t understand it, of course. You know me—reading books was never my strong suit. Maybe someone could make a movie of it. But I will learn more, I promise you. I have a feeling this book is the key to everything. I love you.”
—Letter from C.K. Collins to Grace Willoughby
August 3, 1972
Quinn carefully stepped around the blood on the floor.
The office looked the same as he remembered it—which was strange, as he had never been here before. The odd thing about being linked so intimately to another person was having access to their memories. He remembered everything about Kate’s meeting with Madame Zora last year, even though he was miles away and totally oblivious at the time.
As unusual as it was, he had to acknowledge it was useful. Because of her memories, he had a sense of what the office was supposed to look like. Whoever had attacked her appeared to have been wildly angry—the office was a mess. The kewpie dolls were back on the shelves, but were out of order, as if someone had hastily tried to put them back up. On the carpet were dozens of beads, presumably from the bead curtain that was supposed to hang in the entranceway.
Quinn ignored the cops still milling around the scene and tried to piece together what had happened. Why would someone kill Madame Zora? There were only a few possibilities and the usual ones didn’t fit. A psychic wasn’t someone you would target for a robbery, and Quinn couldn’t tell that any money had been taken. Her office was also sufficiently out of the way that it was highly unlikely that somehow Zora had been caught up in a random act of violence. Whoever had done this had come here with a purpose. But whether that was to kill her, he wasn’t sure.
Did someone have a grudge against Madame Zora? It was only a guess, but Quinn could imagine some people might feel ripped off if whatever Zora predicted didn’t pan out. Still, was that worth killing over?
Given the mess in the office, however, he wondered if it was a spontaneous move. In his head, he imagined a man hearing something he didn’t like, flying into a rage, destroying the room and then turning on Zora herself. It would explain the general mess.
Something about that theory didn’t feel right to Quinn, however. The bloodstain on the carpet flowed out from a single location, suggesting that whoever killed Zora had done so cleanly, maybe even quickly. Would someone in a rage do that? Wouldn’t he be more likely to beat her to death or…
“You know, just because you can cross a police line doesn’t mean you should, O’Brion,” a
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