Apollo's Ghost-Hunting Daughter

Chapter 17

I started through the trees and turned back to Kipps, who scrambled to his feet and charged after me, spewing questions.

"Yes, it's happened before, no, I do not particularly enjoy that experience. It's like what Apollo does. Since I'm his daughter, I can also manipulate light. It's not painful, but it is unpleasent and taxing. Yes, I can walk just fine, thank you."

As we neared Scotland Yard, we parted ways. I watched from the shadows of an alleyway while he crossed the street and swept through the doors. Then I continued along and staked out a window seat in a café down the way. I ordered tea, which helped revitalize me, and nibbled at a little more ambrosia, careful not to eat too much. Minutes turned into a half hour, which turned into an hour. The sun was starting to dip and my nerves started to build. Then the garage opened and the cars started rolling out. Squad cars, armored vans, command vehicles. The entire cavalry.

I waited a conservative quarter hour, during which an almost steady stream of DEPRAC cars left the building. Slowly, it emptied as the officers hit the streets for tonight's activities.

Then I got up and left.

Some additional security had been added at Scotland Yard, but I passed through with relative ease, walking calmly through the halls as if I belonged. I convinced myself I belonged. In doing so, I convinced everyone else.

When I poked my head into the bullpen, I was relieved to see that the space was almost deserted. Sure, there were a few officers doing work throughout the room, but Inspector Ewing's desk was empty.

"Excuse me," I asked the desk Sargent. "Is Ewing in?"

"No, he headed out on an urgent case," she replied.

"So he'll be gone a while?"

She nodded.

"Darn. Mind if I leave him a quick note?"

She motioned for me to continue on my way and got back to her paperwork. I cut through the bullpen to the far side and sank down at his desk. While I discretely scanned the room, I grabbed a sticky note and a pen, scribbling out a note asking if there was any news on the museum case, claiming I had monthly reports due soon. As I wrote with one hand, I tested the drawers. They were locked, but only the bottom one on the left side had a padlock. That was suspicious.

With deft movements, I had the lock free in seconds. If only Kipps had been there to see it--on second thought, perhaps his presence was the reason I had struggled earlier. Slowly, I tugged the drawer open. It was heavy, laden with something. Iron, I realized, peering down. The drawer was lined with iron. That could only mean one thing.

Since I didn't sense any psychic power--anything Ewing had pilfered was probably being sold tonight, anyway--I slid the door shut and popped the lock back into place before wiping down the handle with the sleeve of my jacket.

I tore the note from the pad and placed it in the center of the desk.

Then I stood up and started down the hall, peeling off toward the security room. Kipps had really come through tonight. When I knocked on the locked door, someone called back.

"Who is it?"

"Sloane Kavanagh. Quill Kipps sent me," I replied.

The lock clicked and the door creaked open. Beyond, the room was only illuminated by computer monitors. I stepped inside, trying not to gag on the stale sweat smell that was so powerful my eyes started to water.

"Herman?" I asked.

The man seated before the computers on a chair with caster wheels nodded, barely sparing me a glance. He was watching the screens, the screens that showed video footage from around the building.