When Anita was done, I told her Hull ’s version of the tale.

She frowned. “That seems like a blending of the two stories-the half-demon one and the immortality experiment one. Perhaps that campfire tale bears more truth than one would imagine.”

I said nothing. After a moment, she continued.

“The demon’s boon may be immortality. Or the secret to it. The sorcerer only created the portal-it was the half-demon Jack the Ripper who hid inside.”

“And will be unleashed to wreak unholy terror on an unsuspecting world,” Clay drawled. “He’s doing a half-assed job of it so far.”

“Maybe he’s just warming up.”

Two hours later, Jeremy walked into our room, looked around and sighed.

“So much for resting,” he said as he righted the broken floor lamp.

“It wasn’t us,” I said. “Anita Barrington stopped by and all hell broke loose.”

Another sigh.

“You think I’m kidding? Seems Shanahan wasn’t the spellcaster who broke into our room last night.”

We told him what had happened.

“And after all that-plus nearly giving me a concussion last night-she had the gall to ask again if she can speak with Matthew Hull.”

“Probably hoping he knows more than he’s saying, which, after speaking to him today, I doubt. But as for the letter, I can’t imagine what she hopes to learn from that.”

“Our theory? She’s hoping to use it as leverage with Shanahan. If the zombies seem to want it back, what better offering to the man she believes may hold the secret to immortality.”

“Did you confront her on that?”

I shook my head. “It seemed better not to. Not yet.”

“Good. She may still prove useful.”

Our lunch having been interrupted, we ate a delayed one with Jaime, Nick and Antonio in the hotel restaurant. The restaurant was bright and open, with huge windows and market umbrellas-the feel of eating on a patio without the bugs, heat and smog.

According to Jeremy, Hull had scored about 80 percent when he’d quizzed him on the geography and minor current events of 1888 London-the kind of things it would be hard for a nonresident to answer, but equally hard for a resident to get perfect.

Jeremy had even mentioned that we had a source who might attempt to contact Jack the Ripper through the portal tonight, to see how Hull reacted, but he’d been all for it, and even offered to help, making no attempt to retract or change his story.

The server appeared with our plates before he could continue.

“So,” Clay said after the server left. “He seems legit. But besides winning the sympathy vote, can he do anything for us?”

Antonio opened his mouth to answer, but Nick cut in. “He thinks he can lead us to Shanahan. Hesays he can feel a pull or something, like Shanahan is trying to control him. He’s offered to try following that pull tonight.”

Antonio swirled a french fry through his ketchup puddle, gaze down.

“You aren’t buying it,” I said.

“It felt like when a middle manager books a meeting with me, shows up and swears he can get some big industry name on board for a joint project because his third cousin married the guy’s niece. He might have convinced himself he has an in, but all he’s really doing is trying to find an in with me, to get the attention of the guy whose name is on the sign outside. Hull might think he feels some connection to Shanahan, and he’ll probably try his damnedest to make it work, but what he really wants is some connection to us, to make himself seem useful so we’ll help and protect him.”

“Parasite,” Clay said.

Antonio nodded. “A harsh way of putting it, but yes. Still, can you blame the guy? He’s lost and alone in a strange world. All he wants is a little of our time.”

I glanced over at Jeremy. “So are we going to give it to him tonight?”

“Yes, but only because it’s a lead, and we don’t have many else to follow.”

“You do have one more,” Jaime said, then looked up from her salad and met his gaze. “Dimensional portal fishing, courtesy of your very underworked necromancer.”

After eating, we switched hotels…again. Dealing with Anita Barrington was a complication we really didn’t need.

Notorious

JAIME STOPPED AT THE END OF THE PORTAL ROAD. “THIS is it?”

“It’s not going to be easy, is it?” I said.

“Jeremy warned me it was a residential area, but I figured, being downtown, that meant high-rises, walkups, busy roads…” She scanned the empty street. “…people. We’re going to be a tad obvious, conducting a séance at dusk, in the middle of the road.”

“If it’s not going to work-”

“There are two ways we can do this. One, come up with a plausible story to explain why we’re hanging out on a sidewalk for an hour or so.”

“The other?” Clay said.

“I play me-flaky celeb spiritualist trying to contact the souls of those who disappeared.”

“Option A,” Clay said.

“I thought you’d say that. Let’s get some props then.”

We bought an inexpensive camera and a notepad, and Jaime assigned us our roles. Clay would play photographer. I’d do the note taking. Jaime would be our boss, gathering source material for a proposed television special on recent events.

We’d still attract attention. If it was too much, we’d have to abort.