The Astor Tunnels were deserted. Explosions and floods had wreaked havoc here years before. Silence had since reigned over the tunnels...

Until today.

A low sloshing broke the silence. Most of the water had subsided over the years, filtering out slowly, eroding its rocky captors. The sloshing continued, ripples slowly played out from the figure, dancing about floating skulls and large chunks of cement. The figure came upon an intact pile of skulls; pausing before wading through them as if they were dead leaves.

He — definitely a male — grinned to himself as he came upon a small notebook. It was tucked inside a skull that was stranded upon a rocky ledge, jutting from the icy black water like and iceberg. Long slender fingers reached out, shaking slightly from emotion, to grab the notebook, open it, and begin turning pages, gingerly, lovingly. The notebook had been wet several times, but the ink...   read more »

The inability to sleep is never for the lack of trying. Pendergast often wondered if his inability to love was for the lack of trying. Love had evaded him the same way that sleep had, even as he laid comfortably in Margo Green’s arms, he felt the ache of emotional emptiness. He’d come to a conclusion earlier that night that Margo wasn’t in love with him, oh she did love him but it was something closer to lust. She was in love with the idea of being in love and to Pendergast it wasn’t the same thing.

...But he had no high ground to throw any ‘moral stones’ from. He’d only felt love for one person in his life... He’d thought he’d loved Charles Duchamp and maybe at the time he had, but...   read more »

I had watched cats play with their prey before, and the languid, deceptive grace with which he turned my own strength against me reminded me of nothing so much as a cat getting ready to take its time. I tried to move again and he chuckled quietly, so close it was almost more felt than heard.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught a glimpse of something lying next to us and recognized with a start that it was a small pile of weapons—my weapons, in fact—taken from various concealed places on my body. Some of them I had thought well-hidden but apparently he had found them, even removed them, without my being aware of it.

“What the hell...?” I panted, outraged in spite of my predicament.

His eyes were on mine now, glittering faintly, his tones measured, honeyed steel that conveyed a pleasant yet tactical menace. He glanced briefly at...   read more »

Special Agent Cady entered her apartment and drew her Glock immediately. The door had been locked and nothing was obviously out of place, but something was off. She could feel it. There was an unsettled air in the apartment and she trusted her instincts. It was how she stayed alive. When she looked over to her living room and realized that the shades had been drawn, she tightened her grip on the gun. She never left the apartment in the morning with the shades still drawn. Someone had pulled them down. She glanced back and saw the same was true of the blinds in the kitchen. She crept silently down the hall, saw that the bathroom was clear, saw that the guest room was clear, and froze upon seeing that her bedroom door was shut. Leaving her bedroom door shut was another thing she never did.

She took a...   read more »

It’s strange in the house tonight, very quiet, and the candlelight is making phantoms on the walls that dance to some ethereal beat that only they can hear. The animals on the posters seem to slink closer, and the plants seem to be growing when I’m not looking. There’s an owl in the woods not too far away and he kept asking WHO? WHO? until Aloysius whispered in his sleep, “Xenaides, the blood demon.” As though it had heard him, the owl grew quiet. I grew quiet, too, fearful of waking him.

I am still recovering from the last session, when I lost more blood than he intended. We made love tonight, and when his mouth was on me, I could feel him wanting to bite, fighting to be gentle. He only hurt me when he came, and then just a little bit, but it’s growing near...the blood demon...   read more »

Special Agent Coffey was in the interrogation room already, drinking a cup of coffee. He neither rose nor offered me a cup; I sat down in the chair Agent Rabiner indicated.

“Ms. Barrett, when did you find out that your client had escaped Herkmoor Correctional Facility?”

“This morning, when you called.” I had been awoken from the first decent sleep I’d had in weeks, I might add.

“Did you know that your client was planning to escape?”

“He never told me.” Indeed, I had preemptively told him that attorney-client privilege didn’t cover escape plans or communication with co-conspirators.

“But you guessed?”

“Agent Coffey, half of New York was betting my client would attempt to escape. If you were the only man who could catch a psychopath, wouldn’t you?”

His eyes narrowed even further. “Do you have any idea where Mr.”—he emphasized the title with pleasure—“Pendergast is?”

“Are you referring to my client or his brother?”

“You know perfectly...   read more »

After crippling his assailant with two well-put shots, one to each knee, Special Agent AXL Pendergast silently darted from the warehouse where he had been working undercover. Rounding the outside corner, he was immediately blinded by FBI arc lights set up to help bust the drug ring that Pendergast had infiltrated. Dodging government cars, an ambulance, and a large group of agents beginning to enter the warehouse on the double, Pendergast stumbled blindly into the Agent in Charge, his old friend, Michael Decker. “Pendergast!” Decker exclaimed when he took a good look at his reclusive friend in the glare from the surrounding lights, “You’ve been hurt. Get yourself over to the EMT right now. We’ll handle the warehouse.”

“I am perfectly capable of adding my assistance to the raid,” shot back the more-pale-than-usual Agent. “I need only to take a short breather and then I will be at the ready...   read more »

A shadowy form swept confidently through the darkened halls of the Museum of Modern Art. It was close to midnight, and stillness of the building seemed exaggerated by the unexpected movement.

The guard nodded to him as he passed. In a movement calculated carefully to convey spontaneity, the man stopped, checked his pockets, and let out an exasperated sigh. “Left my keys upstairs,” he explained, and the guard nodded again. No questions. Nothing out of place. It was perfect.

Still, he felt a curl of fear in his stomach as he bypassed the route to his office and headed instead through the galleries. He knew exactly where he was going, knew exactly what painting he was going to stand in front of, and still it came almost as...   read more »