Amanda.”
Selene pointed to the stairwell. “He went down the stairwell.”
Cal ran for the stairwell and shouted over his shoulder, “Deme, call Security, get them to block the exits.”
“I’m coming with you,” she said.
“I’ll make that call.” Aurai ran for the nurses’ station.
“I’ll take the elevator down.” Brigid ran in the opposite direction.
Selene started to follow Cal and Deme, but Aurai yelled at her. “No, Selene. Go with Brigid. You’re not strong enough yet.” She pointed toward the elevator where Brigid waited. The bell rang, announcing the car’s arrival, and Brigid stepped in.
Selene dove for the elevator, catching it as the doors closed.
When she turned, she saw Aurai talking on the telephone, a frown denting her smooth young forehead.
The sense of evil was fading, the tightness easing in Selene’s head. “He’s getting away.”
“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Brigid said through clenched teeth.
Thankfully, the elevator went all the way down without stopping on even one floor. Whether it was because Selene was willing away anyone who dared to touch the buttons or just luck, she didn’t know or care. The main thing was to get to ground level before the killer.
The bell rang, the door opened and Brigid leaped out. Selene followed more slowly. She closed her eyes and felt for the presence. Her senses only picked up on the worry and sadness surrounding the hospital. The evil had gone away...vanished.
“Brigid!” Selene called out as her sister hit the exit door.
Brigid came to a sudden halt and looked back over her shoulder.
Selene shook her head. “He’s gone.”
Deme and Cal emerged from the stairwell, breathing hard. They stopped in the emergency room lobby, staring across at Selene.
She shook her head. “We’re too late.”
Brigid cursed. “Well, I’m going out to look anyway.”
“I don’t even feel him anywhere close. It’s as though he dropped off the face of the earth, his presence disappeared so quickly.”
Aurai emerged from the bank of elevators and ran across the lobby to join her sisters. “We missed him?”
Deme nodded.
“Damn.” Brigid punched a fist into her palm. Then she turned toward Selene, her eyes blazing. “The man you took to your apartment, did you lead him here?”
Selene shook her head, her stomach knotting. “He didn’t do this.”
“Are you sure?” Brigid crossed to stand in front of Selene, anger flowing from every pore of her body, her very presence heating the air around them all.
The anger surrounded Selene, filling her senses. She staggered backward. “I’m sure. He didn’t do this.”
“What about the picture? The one Amanda had drawn before she was murdered.” Brigid’s lip curled up in a snarl. “Was your guy the one in the picture?”
Selene stared out at the faces of her sisters, all waiting for her answer, all wearing accusing expressions. She couldn’t lie to them, but if she answered, she’d damn the man in her apartment. She inhaled and let the breath out before she said, “Yes.”
“What do you want to bet when we get back to your apartment, your guest is gone?” Brigid punched out of the hospital, running toward her Harley.
Selene had to sprint to catch up to Brigid or be left behind. She prayed the man was still lying in her bed. Then at least it would prove he wasn’t the man who’d attacked Amanda Grant and returned to finish the job.
* * *
Gryph’s eyes fluttered open. It took him a few moments to comprehend that the puffs of clouds and blue skies were nothing more than a mural painted on the ceiling of the room he found himself in. Stars were tacked amongst the clouds in an odd day-night combination. The soft bed and sweet-scented air contrasted sharply to the musty dampness of the underground he’d grown up in. He sat up, wincing at the soreness in his shoulder.
He must have dozed off or passed out after Selene left. Over an hour had passed, his shoulder already felt better, and his vision had cleared. One of the benefits of being a shifter was that once the injuries had been addressed his body regenerated quickly. He rose, wrapping one of the sheets around his middle, and paced the interior of the tiny two-room apartment, his strength returning with every step, even as the walls closed in around him.
Light, colorful fabrics draped the windows. The furniture, a scattered array of mix-and-match items, most likely found at yard sales, appeared lovingly restored with new fabric and accessorized with bright throw pillows and blankets. Every color in the rainbow was represented, none appearing out of place, as if they all worked to get along in the close confines of the interior.
In the living area, a rich red overstuffed sofa took up most of the space. On a coffee table in front of the sofa stood a candleholder in the shape of a pentagram, each point holding a small tea candle whose wicks had been burned at some point in time. Facing the sofa was an old-fashioned gas fireplace set against one wall and surrounded by a bright mosaic of tiles, adding even more color to the room. Over the fireplace hung a large filigreed pentagram, encased in a circle. Fine images inscribed in the design of each point of the pentagram represented spirit, air, fire, earth and water.
On the wooden mantel stood a photograph of five women, one of whom was Selene with her rich brown hair. Another was the red-haired woman he vaguely remembered, who’d helped get him into the basement apartment. The women held hands as they faced the camera and smiled. Clearly they cared about each other. Sisters, if not biologically, then by their strong connection to each other.
Despite being at the bottom of the stairs and in the basement of an older building with only a couple of windows filtering sunlight into the room, the space breathed of warmth and comfort—what Gryph had always thought a home should be. The atmosphere filled Gryph with a sense of longing he hadn’t experienced since he’d been a small child, and was led to the surface at nightfall to experience a sunset so grand and beautiful he’d cried.
Gryph shook off the feeling of home and spied a small television settled on a corner of the breakfast bar between the kitchen and the living area. He switched it to the local news station and rolled his sore shoulder, gritting his teeth at the pain.
A newswoman stood in front of the Chicago trauma-and-critical-care hospital, the wind whipping her hair into her face as she gave her late-breaking report of an attack on the streets of Chicago.
“A young woman was brought to the hospital late last night after being brutally attacked and left to die when leaving the theater in downtown Chicago. Admitted to the trauma center, she only had minutes to speak to the police before she was taken into surgery. A forensic artist was able to compile a rough sketch of her attacker before the surgeon arrived. Just to let you know, the woman made it through surgery and is now in recovery, expected to live. Whether she’ll walk again remains in question.
“Folks, as crazy as it appears, were posting the image of her attacker. The police department isn’t quite sure what to make of it, and neither am I, but if you see anything like it, call 911 and report the location and time of the sighting. If such an animal is loose in the city, the sooner we capture or kill it, the safer we all will be.”
A drawing replaced the images of the reporter and the hospital.
Gryph’s heart thudded against his ribs as he stared at a crude drawing of a lion’s head with a man’s face. It was him.
Gryph