Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 17

The Dreyfuss Hotel is the symbol of Marbrose City. This monstrosity of Art Deco opulence was the tallest building in America when it first opened nearly a century ago, and it's still one of the more imposing monoliths of steel and concrete looming over Hayes Avenue. It's changed hands a lot over the years. Thomas Dreyfuss, who opened the first steel mills in the Fen, owned it for a while, and his name stuck with it as it got passed from tycoons to developers and eventually ended up in the pocket of the Montagnese family. They sunk millions to restore it to its former glory, repairing the geometric facade and illuminating it with floodlights that you could see all the way in the Fen. How Declan Lovejoy could afford to keep rooms here I couldn't imagine. Evidently sports writing paid pretty well in Marbrose City.

Some of you may be wondering why I haven't said much about the Dreyfuss up to this point. Given that Eugene Rothko's immortality machine was hidden directly beneath it, you'd think I would have made a beeline straight for the Imperium Club as soon as Psychosis was behind bars. It seems simple enough, right? Break into the Dreyfuss, destroy the machine, save the city.

So, here's the thing.

Ellie and I did find something in the hotel blueprints that might have been an underground chamber. And I did sneak into the Imperium Club—more than once—to give it a thorough going-over after hours, but if there was a secret passage down to Eugene Rothko's blood machine, I couldn't find it. Honestly, it was infuriating—the source of all the New Imperium's power was just beneath my feet, and there was nothing I could do about it.

I hadn't given up. Ellie was keeping close tabs on all the people we suspected were close enough to Don Montagnese or Mayor Murray to make use of the machine, but so far, we had nothing. So, I focused on other things—hoping that maybe by relentlessly harassing the New Imperium, I might dredge up something that would help. It was the best plan I could think of, and it was better than sitting on my butt waiting for something to happen.

Okay, back to my visit to Lovejoy.

Scaling the Dreyfuss was the most ambitious climb I'd ever attempted. I guess I could've taken the elevator, but I wanted to make an impression on Lovejoy, and superheroes come through the window, not the front door. I also wasn't too keen on having to change into my costume in the hotel hallway. So, I risked life and limb climbing up the side of an Art Deco skyscraper, using the decorative lights and ornamental steel gargoyles as anchor points for my grappling hook and doing my best not to look down. It took me about half an hour to reach the 15th floor. Creeping as carefully as possible along the ledge, I finally found my way to the window of 1526—Declan Lovejoy's suite.

It wasn't what I expected.

The room was a mess—empty martini glasses piled in the corners, boxes of half-eaten Chinese takeout, and stacks of old newspapers and playbills. The furniture was arranged according to some chaotic feng shui that seemed to have no relation to the way chairs and tables were conventionally used. The walls were stripped bare, with paintings scattered haphazardly over the carpeted floor. Lovejoy himself looked very different from when he'd introduced himself at Simon's trial. He was lounging in an armchair in his shirtsleeves, his brow furrowed as he studied the newspaper in front of him. His tie was draped over a nearby chair.

I turned on my voice distorter.

"Declan Lovejoy?"

"When last I checked," he said, apparently unfazed by his unexpected masked visitor. He beckoned me in through the window like I was an old acquaintance stepping onto his front porch. "You must be the vigilante."

"One of them," I said, thinking of my last encounter with the Whippowil. "It's been getting crowded lately."

"You ever play the horses?" he asked without looking up from his newspaper.