Fear Her Wrath III: It Runs on Blood

Chapter 3

"Looks like Theo's rolling out the red carpet," said Corrigan as we trudged up the path to Rothko Supermax, Marbrose City's maximum-security prison for costumed criminals. Years ago, it had been the home of Eugene Rothko, the reclusive chemical magnate who built the immortality machine that now belonged to the head of the Siclian mafia, and it still looked like a rambling Victorian-style mansion despite the high walls lined with barbed wire and the roof-mounted spotlights sweeping the lawns. Theophilus Lily, the warden, had come to the main entrance to meet us, along with his retinue of guards dressed in dark double-breasted coats and polished black jackboots.

The guards' uniforms were all spotless, which was very much keeping with Warden Lily's preference for style over substance when it came to running a prison.

"Ah, Night-Wrath," lisped Theophilus Lily pleasantly. "And Lieutenant Corrigan. I understand you've brought me something special."

His eyes fell on the crumpled figure that I was dragging next to me.

"Alphonse Greer," said Corrigan, holding up the paperwork she'd finished on the boat ride over. "Alias the Waxworker. We've got him on at least 11 murders, Theo, so don't lose him. Someone from the Bancroft police should come by in the morning to talk about the other 9 victims."

"Quite the prize, then," said the warden, looking almost hungrily at his newest inmate. "Come, Mr. Greer. We have a cell all ready for you. You will be quite comfortable here."

He snapped his fingers, and two of the guards came forward to take possession of their newest prisoner. Greer was still muttering to himself and seemed uninterested in putting up any resistance beyond refusing to get to his feet.

"If you would, warden," said a nasal voice with a noticeable English accent. "I'd like to have Mr. Greer psychologically evaluated as soon as possible. Immediately would be best."

Corrigan and I shared a glance. Dr. Ellis Oluwole was leaning on his scarab-headed cane, surveying the three of us placidly. He wore a brown suit jacket and a narrow tie, and there was a large turquoise ring on his left hand. His hair was untidy, but everything else about him was almost neurotically orderly and consistent.

"Certainly, Dr. Oluwole," said Warden Lily. "You may accompany him to his cell."

"I would prefer to conduct the evaluation in my office," said Dr. Oluwole, nudging his horn-rimmed glasses ever so slightly up his face. "If that's not terribly inconvenient."

I glanced at Corrigan. I didn't trust Dr. Oluwole—not after what happened with Glassface—and I was suspicious of his motives. Plus, I don't like shrinks. They're like school counselors except even more interfering. I knew Simon didn't think much of Dr. Oluwole's "evaluations."

"Very well," said the warden, who seemed to think it was, in fact, terribly inconvenient, despite his tranquil smile. "Take the prisoner to Dr. Oluwole's office, gentlemen. If he gives you any trouble, use your truncheons."

The guards hoisted the Waxworker to his feet and almost dragged him off towards the infirmary wing. I moved to follow them, but Corrigan caught me by the arm before I could take two steps.

"It's better if you don't go in," said Corrigan firmly. "Come on. Let's walk for a bit."

"But—."

I realized for the first time that the Rothko guards were looking at me in a strange way, like they were wary of me—or sizing me up. They kept their hands close to the triggers of their submachine guns, almost like they expected to have to use them. It didn't make sense. I'd essentially had VIP access to Rothko ever since I'd taken down Glassface, and even if I wasn't quite friendly with the guards, they'd never shown any distrust of me before. Something was off. I didn't like it. But before I could protest any further, Corrigan cut me off.