Broken (Otherworld 6)

She sighed and waved for us to sit. Clay and I grabbed drinks from Nick's tray. There were two left.

Zoe laughed. "Didn't want to be rude, I see."

"I wasn't sure," Nick said. "Do you...drink?"

She took a bottle. "If it's cold, I will. It gets terribly uncomfortable in the summer when you can't sweat...and when your food only comes warm."

Clay made a noise in his throat.

"Oh, stop growling. I'm getting to business." She paused. "Weren't we supposed to be doing this over lunch?"

"We just ate," Clay said. "Besides, you don't."

She waggled a finger at him. "Don't be racist. Vampires are civilized beasts, just like you--" She looked over at Nick and me. "Like you two. As such, we enjoy social customs such as shared meals...even if we can't actually share them."

"This is a cafeteria." Clay pointed at her water bottle. "Consider that lunch."

"Come on," I said. "We'll start walking, see if we find someplace to eat."

We headed out to University Avenue.

"Theodore Shanahan did commission the theft himself, directly through me," Zoe said as we walked along the shaded sidewalk. "And it was for that particular letter. He was very specific. No substitutions allowed."

She took a sip of her water before continuing. "I remember that because I always ask. If I arrive on the site and realize that the piece they want isn't accessible--has been removed, etcetera--I want to know whether the buyer will accept a second piece from the same collection, at a discount, of course."

"Shanahan said no."

"Emphatically no. It was the From Hell letter or none at all. That stipulation almost made me turn down the job. Traveling to England was hardly an overnight jaunt in those days. Imagine getting all that way only to discover they'd pulled the letter from the file. When I raised that concern, Shanahan promised that if that happened, he would cover all my travel expenses and pay me for my time."

"So he really wanted that letter. What--"

"El--Darling?" Clay cut in, nudging me.

When I glanced over, he flared his nostrils. Sniff. I did, and caught the faint scent of rot on a crosswind, coming from the southwest--behind us and to our right, probably across the road.

"Knew they'd take the bait sooner or later," I said. "Zoe? One of my zombie stalkers has caught up with me, so we need to cut this conversation short. Can I call you later?"

"Is that a subtle 'get lost'?"

"If you glance to your right, you'll probably see someone seriously overdressed for the weather."

"Oh, I'm sure you were telling the truth about the stalker. I meant the part about telling me to take off."

"Natural antipathy or not, this one wants me. But if he does go after you, we'll get him."

"That's very sweet, but antipathy works both ways." She flashed her teeth. "Been a long time since I met a zombie."

"Forget it," Clay said. "If we need more from you, we'll call."

"Oh-ho, so that's how it works, professor? I give, you take?"

"No, you give us information, we give you a zombie-free city." Clay jerked his chin at Nick and me. "Come on."

I offered an apologetic shrug and half-smile to Zoe, but like Clay, I had no desire to let a stranger join our hunt. Even Nick's murmured "sorry" was halfhearted.

"How long has it been since you actually lived in Toronto?" Zoe called as we started to walk away.

I turned and frowned.