Fear Her Wrath III: It Runs on Blood

Chapter 13

That same night, on the other side of the Fen, Psychosis and his gang had made their first move.

An armored car coming from Bancroft had made a last-minute change in its route to avoid an accident that was blocking the bridge from Verger Island to West Marbrose, which was the usual way of getting to First National Bank if you were coming from that direction. The drivers, apparently not realizing the risks of taking their cargo straight through the Fen, instead took the bridge from Mersey Village to Hmong Town, and from there turned south, hoping to save a little time and maybe get back to Bancroft before morning. As they drove along Fulton Street on the eastern slopes of Brand Hill, they ran into engine trouble, and by engine trouble, I mean someone tossed a homemade grenade under the armored truck that took out all four tires and sent the vehicle skidding to an involuntary halt.

Corrigan's friends in Forensics said the grenade looked like Josie Connelly's work. I wasn't even remotely surprised.

Kaiser and Purgatorio made short work of the guards in the driver's seat while Mordaunt—Iris Baker's malicious, safecracking left hand—blew the doors in the back. As for what the armored car was carrying? Not cash. No, that wasn't exciting enough for Psychosis. Gold bullion. A shipment ordered by the First National Bank to help cover the bounty on my head, apparently. Before the police or the mafia even knew what was happening, Psychosis had loaded the entire shipment onto another truck and disappeared into the night. That struck me as unusual. Common crime wasn't exactly Psychosis's MO. He wasn't interested in riches for their own sake—he needed that gold for something. Knowing him, it would be used to bankroll some new scheme he was planning, or maybe just to cast a giant golden statue of himself.

Either way, I needed to be on my guard.

I felt slightly guilty at having accepted Izzy's invitation to stay with her that weekend, if only because there was suddenly so much going on in the Fen. But I couldn't think of any way out of it, and besides... well, I liked Izzy, and I wanted her to keep liking me. So, as Friday finally arrived, I set my superhero qualms aside and resolved to have a much-needed (if probably very ill-advised) break from my responsibilities as protector of the Fen. Izzy was noticeably excited the entire day, and kept glancing at me during lunch like she expected me to abruptly back out. By the end of the day, she was practically bouncing on her heels.

"You, uh... seem nervous," I said as we stepped out the front doors of Sefton Polytechnic. Izzy nodded. About halfway down the school's main stairs, she suddenly stopped, looked furtively at me, then immediately turned away. It was about the fifteenth time she'd done that since the last bell rang, and I couldn't figure out what she was so anxious about. After all, her mom couldn't be crazier than mine was. As we made it to the sidewalk, I turned to head in the direction of the elevated line, but Izzy had something very different in mind.

"Uh, that's our ride," she said, pointing to the black car pulling up to the curb.

She had a driver. A driver. With a uniform. Did I mention the car was a Lothian? I was glad he was the one who opened the door for us—I was afraid to touch anything in case my fingernails scratched the glossy black exterior or my hands left oily fingerprints on the leather seats. Izzy acted like everything was normal. I couldn't believe how casually she tossed her bulky carryall into the backseat as she climbed in when I was scared even to breathe.

"Is everything ready, Miss—?" the driver began, but Izzy cut him off.

"Yeah, sure, it's fine, just... go. I wanna get this over with."

Without another word, we were off. I didn't know what to make of this new development, and Izzy didn't seem interested in explaining. Was Izzy... rich? I guess she had to be. But that made the fact that she'd moved to the Fen even more inexplicable—especially since she seemed to be living alone. The Lothian was cruising along Fletcher Street, and I realized with a jolt that this was the way to Fayard Bridge, which would take me out of the Fen entirely. Sure enough, within minutes we were crossing the Marbrose River, and I could see the skyscrapers of the Deco District straight ahead of us. With Calloway Bridge being unfinished, this was the only way to get to Marbrose Island from the Fen, so it didn't necessarily mean that we were headed downtown. But as we passed the exit ramp that took us north to Fredericks Park and the towering steel spire of the Lothian Building kept getting closer and closer, the possibilities seemed less and less likely.

Finally, we turned onto Hayes Avenue. Izzy was carefully avoiding eye contact, staring determinedly at the passing cars. I was still trying to put it all together. Who were Izzy's parents? I hadn't given much thought to her last name, but Hayes Avenue was the home of the wealthiest families in Marbrose City. Were they on the city council? I ran the last name "Malek" through my mental archive of the city's most prominent politicians. Nothing came up. I pressed my face to the window and looked up at the towering structure we were passing. 220 Hayes Avenue. 52 stories of limestone and Art Deco opulence. The rotten heart of the city, just half a block from the Dreyfuss Hotel. And, naturally, the exact place the Lothian pulled to the curb.

Izzy swept past the doormen before they could acknowledge her, and before I knew it, we were in the elevator. She took a key out of her purse and pushed it roughly into a keyhole on the elevator panel. Turning it, she pushed the top button, simply labeled "M."

"Okay, I should warn you," she said, trying to get it all out before we reached the penthouse. "There's gonna be some... security people there. If they try to look through your stuff, don't let them. You're my friend, I'm vouching for you. Oh, and if you hear them call me—."

A chiming tone announced that we were there. Izzy gave me one last meaningful look—I couldn't tell if it was an unspoken apology or just pure panic—and the doors opened.

Two men in tuxedos were standing on either side of the elevator door. I recognized one of them immediately—Dalton Reaves. The other took me a moment, but I was pretty sure he was Joe "The Lip" Pagano from Carmine Aurelio's old crew. For a split second, I thought it was an ambush. But they were both unarmed, and Izzy treated them as casually as if they were servants.

"Hi, Dalton," said Izzy. "This is my friend. Papa knows she's coming."

Dalton studied me through his sunglasses.

"What's your friend's name?" he asked.

I tried to answer, but Izzy cut me off.

"I told you, Papa knows she's staying over. Take it up with him. Hey, leave her bag alone."

She smacked Joe the Lip's pudgy hands as he tried to inspect my backpack, and he backed off. She actually smacked a made man and got away with it. That had to mean she was—.

"Corinne!"

Don Lucian Montagnese, arms extended in welcome, was walking down the marble stairs. I was in the Montagnese penthouse. And Izzy Malek was Corinne Montagnese—Lucian Montagnese's daughter.