“Great,” Simon said dryly. “How could that go wrong?”
Finally, we reached the commercial area around Market Street. In the nineteenth century, Denver had a booming red-light district near what is now Coors Field. I have no idea how many brothels existed in that era, but I know one of them was owned by a boundary witch named Nellie Evans. Nellie had gotten into a disagreement with Maven and “killed” her, only to discover Maven was an extremely powerful vampire. Maven hadn’t been very forgiving, and she’d put an end to Nellie’s life by cutting off her head.
Nellie hadn’t moved on, either because she couldn’t or because she’d chosen not to. As it turned out, boundary witches left fully sentient ghosts, and Nellie was willing to give me information on boundary magic—for a price. She would not, however, go into detail about her family’s history, or explain why she preferred being a bored ghost in a run-down old brothel to moving on. She also did not want to discuss how she had failed to notice that Maven was a vampire when she was alive, though I’d asked.
Dealing with Nellie was a hassle, and I had been perfectly happy to take a break from it while things were slow in Boulder. But now I was back.
It was not even four in the morning, so we had no trouble finding street parking just off Market, in front of Nellie’s brothel. It was a shabby, derelict building on a street that had been dramatically gentrified in the last twenty years to entice tourists and Rockies fans. It was situated between a club and a vegan pizza place, and despite frequent attempts over the years, no one had yet managed to turn Nellie’s eyesore into something pretty. I sort of respected that about her.
“Jeez, it’s not hard to figure out which building, is it,” Simon muttered as he looked up at the old, paint-splintered façade. The door that faced the street was heavily boarded, and even in the streetlight you could see rust on the nails. “It’s like the Addams family moved in next to adult Disneyland.”
“Don’t let Nellie hear you say that,” I warned. “Can you do that security camera hex thing?”
“Sure.”
I wasn’t worried about a humans-go-away ward here—Nellie’s brothel seemed to discourage visitors without any additional intervention. I figured the security camera hex was worth the extra two minutes, though.
When he had finished, Simon joined me at the back of the Jeep, where I was lifting out the bundle we’d brought from John’s house. “How are we going to get in?” he asked, pointing at the old boards over the entrance.
“The real entrance is in back,” I told him. “Apparently it’s a brothel thing. We go through that alley.”
Simon looked over my shoulder at the dark passage between the club and the brothel. There were no lights down there—the club kept trying to install them, but they always mysteriously shorted out. “Oh,” he said, looking a little nervous. His eyes dropped to the bundle in my arms. “Here, why don’t I get that. You can grab the box from up front and lead the way with the light.”
A moment later, I had balanced the box on my hip with my bandaged hand so I could guide us with a flashlight. We started down the alley, picking our way around the trash from the club. I occasionally called over my shoulder to warn Simon so he wouldn’t step on anything. “They’ve never heard of security lights?” Simon grumbled as he narrowly avoided slipping on a slick of dried vomit.
“I think Nellie blows them out,” I told him.
“She has control over the physical environment?” Simon sounded interested now.
“A little—cold spots and minor power outages, mainly. That’s how she’s kept this place from being torn down for the last hundred-some years.”
“Hmm. Is she restricted to this building?”
I stepped around an overflowing recycling bin. “Yes . . . but I guess I don’t know if that’s by choice or not,” I admitted. I hadn’t thought to ask. I had a feeling Simon was going to have a lot of questions I hadn’t thought to ask.
I pushed open the door—I’d broken the lock years ago, and no one but me ever seemed to come here. I wasn’t sure if Nellie had a way to actively discourage humans from entering, or if people had just sort of forgotten about this building, after so many years of trying to ignore it. Maybe it was both.
I walked in without thinking much about it, but Simon was more cautious, entering slowly and dropping the bundle just inside the door so he could look around. The back door opened onto a sort of grand entrance—a massive staircase curved up to the second story, where a balcony railing would have once allowed the women to make their appearance. On previous visits Nellie was always waiting for me at the entrance, impatient and complaining. “Nellie? Are you here?” I called, feeling a little ridiculous. Where else would she be?
My voice echoed in the empty space. The building felt empty, and I began to worry in earnest. “Could she have . . . moved on?” Simon asked, sounding as nervous as I felt.
“I don’t know. It seems silly, but the only thing I can think to do is look in all the rooms.” I gestured upstairs. “There are bedrooms up there, and downstairs has a kitchen and parlor and stuff. I haven’t spent much time in any of them.”
“Okay. Are the stairs safe?”
“Yeah, I’ve gone up there before, to check for drunks and rats.”
“Charming.” Simon turned on his cell phone flashlight. “I’ll try up there, if you want to look down here.”
He started up the creaky steps, and I headed to the left of the staircase, still calling Nellie’s name. I’d taken only a few steps out of the main foyer when I heard Simon call down the stairs.
“Lex? Something seems . . . weird.”
Weird? That didn’t sound like my friend the scientist. I turned and went back into the entrance hall, tilting my head back to see the second floor. Simon was paused on the next-to-the-top step, half-turned so he faced the railing. The glow from his phone’s screen illuminated his face enough for me to see his frown. He squinted down at me.
“What is it?” I asked.
“I don’t know—I’m wearing the stone under my shirt, but I just feel . . .” He put one hand on the railing to steady himself.
I saw it then, in the phone’s glow—his breath was fogging. “Si, maybe you should—”
Then Nellie burst into view an inch and a half from his face.
I’d seen Nellie change her clothes and hair plenty of times, but I’d never seen this particular look on her: filthy, moth-eaten rags and long tangled hair that screamed “corpse.” She looked straight out of a horror movie, but terrifyingly real—and as vivid as I’d ever seen her, even when Morgan had been boosting the ley lines. Simon cried out and instinctively stumbled back. I was already running toward them, but way too late—his back foot skidded off the edge of the step and he tumbled down the stairs.
Chapter 37
“No!”
I ran up the steps, the beam of my light bobbing wildly so that all I saw was flashes of pinwheeling limbs. I was moving as fast as I’d ever moved in my life, but he was already two-thirds of the way down before I reached him. I had just enough time to drop the flashlight and grab the banister hard as he bowled into my midsection.
An oomph burst out of me, but I managed to grab hold of Simon’s shirt with my free hand. My left arm wrenched as his momentum tried to carry him straight through me, and I heard the banister creak dangerously. It held, though, and so did my shoulder.
“Simon? Simon!” He didn’t answer. His body was limp, draped across the steps.
Nellie had winked out again, and my flashlight had tumbled down the stairs and rolled away toward the door, leaving us in almost complete darkness. I released the banister and felt around his chest until I found his neck. He had a pulse.
I was off-balance; I needed to get us off the fucking steps before anything else happened. I eased his body down the rest of the stairs to the floor. When I touched his head, one of my hands came away wet, and I fought not to sob. I scrambled to my feet and ran after the flashlight, a sturdy Maglite that would probably survive a fall off the building, much less the stairs. As I grabbed it, I caught sight of my hand—it was bright, jarring red.
I bolted back to Simon. He still wasn’t moving, and I had a horrifying flashback to Lily’s limp body only an hour and a half earlier. Being my friend was costing the Pellars way too much tonight.
I panned the light over him, trying to find the source of the bleeding without jostling him any further. There was a small cut on the back of his head, which was probably what had knocked him out. His cheekbone was already puffing up, and one wrist was obviously broken, judging by the grotesque angle. He had probably tried to catch himself on it. I’d done the same thing before.
Suddenly one of his legs shifted, and he let out a small moan. I flicked my wrist to train the light on his ankle, using my other hand to gently pull up the leg of his jeans. It was red and already swelling—a sprain or a hairline fracture, probably. I stood up, stepping back from him. “Nellie,” I yelled. “Get your ass out here!”
There was a pause; then her sullen voice rang down from the direction of the second floor, though she still wasn’t visible. “I weren’t trying to hurt ’im.”
I ignored that for now. “Listen to me, Nellie Evans,” I called. “I’m going out to the car for a first aid kit. If you so much as look at him funny while I’m gone, I will make you regret it for every second of this life.”
As fast as I could, I jogged out to the Jeep and scooped up the backpack with all the first aid gear, ignoring the ache in my own shoulder. When I got back inside, Simon hadn’t moved, and his eyes were closed again. There was no sign of Nellie, so I dropped the backpack next to Simon and knelt down to deal with his injuries.
I had a simple plastic-and-Velcro splint that would stabilize his broken wrist; best to do that first, while he was still unconscious. I slipped his hand into the loops, slid it slowly into place, and, holding my breath, gently repositioned the broken bone so it would connect again. Simon made a little noise of pain, finally opening his eyes.
“Simon? Can you hear me?”
His eyes rolled to me. “Lex . . . what happened? Did we win?”
I choked on a laugh. “Not yet. Hold on, this is gonna hurt.” I pulled the Velcro straps tight, wincing as Simon cried out in pain.
Through gritted teeth, he asked me, “How long was I out?”
“Maybe three minutes? We just got here.”
There was no reply. His eyes were closing. I scooted to his face. “Hey! Simon!”
He didn’t respond. I didn’t want to risk jarring his head injury, so I took his face gently in my hands, being careful with the puffy cheekbone. “Simon,” I said softly. “Please wake up.”
Simon opened his eyes, and I was suddenly aware of how close together we were. “Your hands are cold,” he whispered.