“I’m here,” I said, moving to the window.

His gaze swung along the alley, then up, following my voice. Seeing me, he smiled.

“Very good. That’s the first step. Now, come out-slowly. If there is anyone with you, please remind them I still have your friend, only a spellcast away.”

I knew Hull wouldn’t let me retreat to the fire escape. I crawled backward out the window, lowered myself as far as I could and dropped, bending my knees as I fell.

A deep breath, and I turned around.

“Excellent,” Hull said. “Now, I’m afraid our departure will be delayed while my zombie makes the journey from the portal. An inconvenience, but I’m not about to leave my vampire corpse just lying about where anyone can find it.”

As we waited, I struggled against the urge to plot, to plan, to use the delay and find a way to end this, right now. I couldn’t. I had to get Hull away from Nick and Jaime.

At the thought of Jaime, my gaze stole down the alley. Was she still there, watching helplessly? Or had she gone for help?

A flicker of hope at the thought, doused as I realized that was what I didn’t want. I’d already endangered-and killed-enough people trying to escape Hull. Time to bring it down to the two of us. No rescue. No backup. Just us.

After a couple of minutes, Nick mumbled something, and I jumped. Hull spun, hands rising to cast. Nick settled again, still unconscious, but for how long? Maybe I should distract Hull, end this here before Nick woke.

“You killed Anita Barrington, didn’t you?” I said. “She saw you at the crime scene. She knew you were a sorcerer. That’s what she wanted to tell me. But you got to her first.”

Hull laughed. “Ah, yes, the poor witch. Always innocent, aren’t they? Yes, she recognized what I was…and begged me to help her, promised to deliver you into my hands in return for immortality. Pathetically desperate. Cried about her poor granddaughter, who’d be all alone if she passed, but the truth is that she saw death in the mirror every morning, and would do anything to stop it from coming.” He smiled, showing his teeth. “So I helped.”

“You killed her. After you made her finger Shanahan-”

“Enough of this, Mrs. Danvers. I’m not fool enough to fall for distraction tactics. You can talk, if it makes you feel better, but it won’t help.”

Distant running footsteps sounded before I could answer. The bowler-hatted man? I sampled the air to be sure.

After his second death, he was ripening nicely. Not falling apart-if he could run-but decay was setting in. Kill him a third time, and he’d skid into living death, like Rose. Good.

The footfalls slowed at the end of the alley. Then they stopped. Hull frowned, and opened his mouth to call out. The zombie turned the corner. The skin around his mouth and nostril had blackened andthat left arm seemed to swing a little too freely as he moved.

“There you are,” Hull said. “A little the worse for wear, but we’ll get that fixed up soon enough. Now, I want you to harvest a few items from the vampire. Then we’ll hide the corpse, so I can return later and take more. I hope you remember your anatomy lessons.” Hull chuckled. “Seems they’ll be useful for more than playing…” He cocked his head and looked at me. “What did they call him? Ah, yes, Jack the Ripper. Nasty fellow, I’m sure. But I owe him a debt of thanks. He’s been most helpful, whoever he was.”

That’s why I hadn’t found a third scent with the zombies after the Ripper-style killing. There hadn’t been one. As I’d guessed from Hull’s words in the forest, it had been the bowler-hatted zombie, following the recipe of a long-dead killer.

A hundred and twenty years ago, Hull had used Ripper panic to safeguard his portal letter. Now, he’d used it again, to try to panic us and convince us that I was the target, and needed to be taken off the streets and secreted away with him while the others tracked this new threat.

The zombie had stopped in front of Hull, head drooping and swiveling. Was something wrong with his neck? He looked confused, almost lost.

Hull sucked in his breath and glared down at Nick’s unconscious form. “Had to hit him in the head, didn’t you? If-”

The zombie lurched forward, like a stalled motor jumping to life. He walked over to the knife and scooped it up.

“Good,” Hull said. “That’s it. She’s right over there, behind you.”

The zombie turned. He looked at Zoe’s body, but his brow knitted, as if confused by what he was seeing.

“Yes, that’s her. Now-”

The zombie turned back to Hull, head bobbing, brow still furrowed.

Hull let out a hiss of frustration. Something moved at the far end of the alley. Jaime had come out and was standing with her back against the wall. I gestured for her to get back before Hull saw her, but her eyes were closed, squeezed shut. Her face was ashen, almost glowing in the moonlight, shiny with sweat. Eyes closed, concentrating so hard she was sweating…

My gaze swung back to the zombie, who was tottering there, confused. Confused by a conflict of commands. A conflict of control.

But that couldn’t be. According to the stories, a necromancer couldn’t control someone else’s zombies.

The zombie lunged at Hull, knife flying. Hull fell back, already casting. Casting a spell at the zombie. Protecting his own life. Mine forgotten. Nick’s forgotten.

I saw my chance…and waited. Attack now, and all he had to do was redirect the cast my way. The last words left his mouth and the zombie fell back, then I flew at Hull.