other options.
The van was parked where Jonah had left it, a block away from Seph McCauley’s house. He reached for the door handle with his gloved hand, then stopped. His gloves were smeared with blood, too. He pulled them off. He’d have to go gloveless for the time being.
Jonah knew the worst thing he could do was leave a trail. He had studied forensics as a recruit to Nightshade, Gabriel Mandrake’s network of savant assassins. Known as shadeslayers, they were tasked with putting to rest the undead survivors of the Thorn Hill poisoning. Even though those they killed were technically already dead, the authorities might not see it that way. The last thing shadeslayers needed was to be hauled in for questioning by the police. It could cause Gabriel’s whole empire to unravel.
So. It was best if these clothes didn’t come anywhere near the Anchorage. Also, it would really help if he wasn’t carry ing around two bloody knives. He’d brought them with him on instinct, suspecting that if he left them at the murder scene, they would somehow lead to him.
The furniture pads Fault Tolerant used to protect their equipment in transit were piled in the back of the van. Jonah spread one over the driver’s seat and one on the backseat. He laid the knives on the pad in the backseat, dropped his bloody gloves on top, then wrapped them in the padding.
Jonah wished he could somehow leap the distance between Trinity and Cleveland, get off the road, and into hiding. He forced himself to stick close to the speed limit all the way. He made two stops between Trinity and Cleveland: first, to drop the knives into Sandusky Bay. And again, after he threw up all over himself.
For once in his life, Jonah guessed he looked totally unappealing.
He thought of texting Kenzie to warn him, give him a heads up, but didn’t dare. Cell phone records could be traced. Fortunately, it was his long-standing habit to keep location services turned off on his phone. By the time he got back on the road, his cell phone was pinging. He glanced down at the screen. Natalie. Rudy. Natalie. He powered it off.
He might have a little time before they zeroed in on him. They would be searching the woods, looking for more bodies (how many were there?) and questioning witnesses (what would Emma say?) and wondering if Jonah himself were a victim. But sooner or later, when they couldn’t locate him, they’d be calling the Anchorage to find out if he’d returned. He needed to account for where he ’d been.
Being the prime suspect was different from being one of many. He had to assume he could get away with exactly nothing.
As Jonah was passing the buff brick buildings of St. Francis High School, just off the Shoreway, he made a split-second decision. It would take a little time, but it would put some evidence out of reach. Exiting the highway, he parked in a convenience store’s lot next to the school. It was an easy matter to break into the field house. Who knew his Nightshade skills were so transferable?
Not long after, he emerged, freshly showered, wearing sweatpants and a generic sweatshirt from the lost and found. His soiled clothing and the furniture pads and gloves had been burned to ash in the school incinerator. If he was lucky (when had he ever been lucky?), nobody would ask what had happened to the clothes he wore to the concert.
When he arrived back at school, he parked the van on a side street, rather than in its usual parking spot behind the Keep (too many surveillance cameras there). Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt, he walked briskly to Oxbow. He was reaching for the keypad when he realized that he would be leaving tracks. Tracks that Gabriel could follow. What if they subpoenaed records? Gabriel would cover for him, right?
Would he? Jonah’s gut iced within him, heavy and cold. What if Gabriel truly thought he was guilty of murdering mainliners? Which he might, since they’d been arguing about strategy for a couple of years now. An
The van was parked where Jonah had left it, a block away from Seph McCauley’s house. He reached for the door handle with his gloved hand, then stopped. His gloves were smeared with blood, too. He pulled them off. He’d have to go gloveless for the time being.
Jonah knew the worst thing he could do was leave a trail. He had studied forensics as a recruit to Nightshade, Gabriel Mandrake’s network of savant assassins. Known as shadeslayers, they were tasked with putting to rest the undead survivors of the Thorn Hill poisoning. Even though those they killed were technically already dead, the authorities might not see it that way. The last thing shadeslayers needed was to be hauled in for questioning by the police. It could cause Gabriel’s whole empire to unravel.
So. It was best if these clothes didn’t come anywhere near the Anchorage. Also, it would really help if he wasn’t carry ing around two bloody knives. He’d brought them with him on instinct, suspecting that if he left them at the murder scene, they would somehow lead to him.
The furniture pads Fault Tolerant used to protect their equipment in transit were piled in the back of the van. Jonah spread one over the driver’s seat and one on the backseat. He laid the knives on the pad in the backseat, dropped his bloody gloves on top, then wrapped them in the padding.
Jonah wished he could somehow leap the distance between Trinity and Cleveland, get off the road, and into hiding. He forced himself to stick close to the speed limit all the way. He made two stops between Trinity and Cleveland: first, to drop the knives into Sandusky Bay. And again, after he threw up all over himself.
For once in his life, Jonah guessed he looked totally unappealing.
He thought of texting Kenzie to warn him, give him a heads up, but didn’t dare. Cell phone records could be traced. Fortunately, it was his long-standing habit to keep location services turned off on his phone. By the time he got back on the road, his cell phone was pinging. He glanced down at the screen. Natalie. Rudy. Natalie. He powered it off.
He might have a little time before they zeroed in on him. They would be searching the woods, looking for more bodies (how many were there?) and questioning witnesses (what would Emma say?) and wondering if Jonah himself were a victim. But sooner or later, when they couldn’t locate him, they’d be calling the Anchorage to find out if he’d returned. He needed to account for where he ’d been.
Being the prime suspect was different from being one of many. He had to assume he could get away with exactly nothing.
As Jonah was passing the buff brick buildings of St. Francis High School, just off the Shoreway, he made a split-second decision. It would take a little time, but it would put some evidence out of reach. Exiting the highway, he parked in a convenience store’s lot next to the school. It was an easy matter to break into the field house. Who knew his Nightshade skills were so transferable?
Not long after, he emerged, freshly showered, wearing sweatpants and a generic sweatshirt from the lost and found. His soiled clothing and the furniture pads and gloves had been burned to ash in the school incinerator. If he was lucky (when had he ever been lucky?), nobody would ask what had happened to the clothes he wore to the concert.
When he arrived back at school, he parked the van on a side street, rather than in its usual parking spot behind the Keep (too many surveillance cameras there). Pulling up the hood of his sweatshirt, he walked briskly to Oxbow. He was reaching for the keypad when he realized that he would be leaving tracks. Tracks that Gabriel could follow. What if they subpoenaed records? Gabriel would cover for him, right?
Would he? Jonah’s gut iced within him, heavy and cold. What if Gabriel truly thought he was guilty of murdering mainliners? Which he might, since they’d been arguing about strategy for a couple of years now. An
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