Roaring Dawn: Macey Book 3 (The Gardella Vampire Hunters 10)(28)

He breathed in sharply and looked up to exchange horrified glances with Linwood.

“Good God,” breathed Donahue as a doctor began to examine the girl, and the chief of police pushed his way closer. “Is she—is she…?”

“She’s alive,” said the physician, whom Grady knew as Dr. Fintucket. A slight, quiet man who went about his work efficiently and practically, he was the doctor who’d been summoned after Linwood was attacked by vampires a month ago, and it was he who had most likely saved the man’s life. He was also likely to be discreet about the cause of the wound, just as he had been with Linwood. “And—”

The doctor stopped speaking, for the girl had begun to stir. Her eyes fluttered open, but instead of looking up at the people gathered around her, they remained blank and appeared unfocused.

“It’s all right,” said Dr. Fintucket soothingly as he continued to examine and treat her wound. “You’re safe now, young lady. You have a nasty cut here.”

Her lips began to move, and she began to speak, her gaze still unseeing. The words came out in an eerie monotone voice, as if they’d been rehearsed, or otherwise imprinted upon her mind.

“The others will be released unharmed if his demands are met. He will speak only to the press, and will outline his demands then. One man will be allowed to walk through the gate and approach the school. He must prove he is a reporter for the Tribune, at which time he will gain entrance to the building.The reporter must come without weapons, and may wear or carry nothing made of metal. He will be searched. If he is found with any metal or weapons on his person, he will be given back to you in a condition much worse than mine. You have until noon today to send the reporter to speak with him. If the deadline passes, he will begin to release the other hostages…and they will fare much worse than I. One by one…by…one.”

The girl’s eyes sank closed as she spoke the final words on a weak breath.

Silence fell over the circle of people around the young messenger, while in a horrible contrast, birds chirped happily in the trees above, and a fresh, floral-scented breeze ruffled the leaves. When Grady looked up, he found Linwood’s eyes on him. He gave a brief nod, but his uncle would already know his intent. There was no decision to be made.

“Is she…?” Donahue asked again.

The doctor nodded. “She’s still alive. Her pulse is weak, and she’s lost blood—but not too much. I believe she should recover, God willing—let’s get her to the hospital. We’ve seen wounds like this before.” He glanced at Linwood meaningfully, then turned to give instructions to the ambulance drivers.

“Salted holy water will help,” Grady muttered to the doctor, who looked at him with respect. “For those types of wounds. Lots of it.” Then he turned to the others. “I’m going,” he said before Donahue and Barnett could speak, then addressed the police chief. “I’m the best man for the task.”

Though Chief Ryan and Linwood didn’t see eye to eye when it came to allowing gangsters to have their way in the city as long as their palms were well greased—which was true for a good majority of the policemen in Chicago—in this case the two—and, surely, the rest of the force as well—were aligned in their position.

“Are you quite certain, Grady?” asked the chief, but he looked relieved.

“There’s no question as to whether I should do it,” Grady replied. “It’s only a matter of how quickly I can be prepared. What time is it?”

“Quarter past eleven,” replied Linwood. His face was taut and his mouth flat. Clearly he was remembering his own encounter with the undead.

Any fear Grady might have burbling inside him had to be ignored. He focused his thoughts on what must be done instead of what could happen.

“Right, then. I’ll need several things.” Grady began to list off his requirements, sending Donahue and Barnett off to different destinations in police cars screaming with sirens.

Then he turned to Linwood, but before he could speak, his uncle took him by the arm and pulled him away from the others. “I have no intention of trying to talk you out of this because you know I’d be doing the same thing in your position.”

“I know.” Grady smiled and gave the older man’s shoulder a squeeze.

“But…just in case…” His words became thick, as if his throat closed up, and he gave his head a little shake as if to clear it. When he looked up, his pale gray eyes glistened. “Damn it, Grady, I can’t lose you too. So you’d best be damned careful and do everything they say in there. You and I know better than anyone here what you’re going to face inside that school.”

“And what those girls are already facing,” Grady added quietly.

“I’d give anything to be the one to go in there and drive a damned stake—”

“Shhh,” Grady said, glancing around to make certain no one could hear. People were terrified enough—if they thought there were supernatural forces at work, if they knew they were dealing with beings as close to the devil as could be, there’d be no telling how they’d react. A wild, panicked mob would not help the situation.

“Right. I know. He might have those girls in there, but we’ve got…well, hell, we’ve got sunshine on our side. They don’t like that, do they? Maybe there’s a way to blow the damned roof off the place. Let the devils fry in their seats.”

Grady choked off a laugh. “That is an excellent point, Linwood. Why don’t you work on that tactic—it’s a good one.”

His uncle was trying to smile, but wasn’t nearly as successful. “And this. Take this.” He’d been digging inside his pocket, and he pulled out a rosary. Each bead was made from wood, as was the cross at the end. They were strung together on waxed and knotted string. “It was your aunt’s, and her mother’s before her. I take it to work every day.”

“I know,” Grady said, his throat suddenly closing up. “Thank you. They might not allow me in even with this, but I’ll try.”

Linwood looked at the prayer beads for a moment, then, determination on his face, he snapped off the wooden cross at the end and offered it to Grady. It was half the length of his pinkie finger. “You’re a student of Houdini—surely you can hide this somewhere.”

“That I can. Thank you, uncle. And I suppose I must give you these.” He pulled out the silver cross he wore around his neck tucked beneath his shirt, and pulled it over his head to relinquish. Then he began to work the silver ring off his finger, and dropped that into his uncle’s open hand as well.

“I’ve been meaning to ask—where did you get this?” Linwood was referring to the ring. “I don’t remember seeing it before.”

“It was given to me,” Grady replied. “Speaking of Houdini, I hope Donahue can find what I sent him for. I can go in without my hollow-heeled shoes—damn, I knew I should have worn them today, but they were wet from being polished and shined. There are useful things secreted inside them.”

“Grady.” Linwood’s voice dropped low and serious, and his eyes were intense as he took his nephew’s arm. “If…if something happens, and you don’t— Well, is there anything you want me to do? Anyone you’ll want me to…um, send word to? Give a message to?”

Grady shook his head. “You’re my only family left, Linny…there’s no one else to tell. I can only assume my boss will hear if things don’t work out,” he added drily. “As will my friends from the paper. And I suspect Father Cork will know in plenty of time for the funeral.”

“No one? No…no special woman friend, perhaps, or…anyone?” Linwood asked.

“No.”

Grady looked toward the school, and his insides tightened as he thought of what awaited him: both what he expected, and what he could have no idea about. What he might find inside—those poor, innocent girls—but even more worrisome: what the vampires wanted.

What did they want that they were willing to risk exposing themselves to the city at large?

At that moment, Donahue ran up, carrying a satchel with the items Grady had requested. As Grady pulled out a large bottle of holy water and began to drink from it, Barnett approached from a different direction. He was carrying several copies of the Tribune to prove that Grady met the qualifications set forth in the girl’s message. Barnett was followed by Colonel McCormick, the Trib’s much-admired editor, who rushed up to his ace reporter to wish him well—and, of course, hope for a scoop.

But mostly to wish him well.

By the time Grady was prepared to go in for the meeting, it was ten minutes before noon. Early, but he was ready.

He embraced his uncle, then turned and started toward the tall iron gate. He’d left his hat behind, and carried nothing but the newspapers. In his coat pockets were pencils and a pad of paper. Each of the policemen clustered about the entrance patted him on the shoulder, arm, or back as he passed by—and Grady saw a mixture of admiration, relief, and disappointment in their eyes.

The walk across the lawn from gate to entrance was both too brief and stretched too long, but at last he was climbing up the steps to the school.