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Crowley laughed to himself, staring at the ostentatious gold marquee that read TRUMP TOWER. Of all the places in New York to emerge. Then he saw a heavily-armed security guard staring at him with wide eyes and Crowley’s amusement fled. The guard started toward him.
Well, he was seen, so he might as well own it and make like he had every right to be there. He pushed the cover the rest of the way aside and climbed out, then turned and put the cover back in place. As he stood up straight again, the security guard was right beside him. Assault rifle held level with Crowley’s gut, casual but threatening.
“What the hell are you doing?” the guard asked.
Crowley put on his best smile. “Well, I was lost, but now, as they say in the old hymn, I am found.”
“Spend a lot of time in the sewers do you?”
It hadn’t been the sewer, but the man’s words gave Crowley the excuse he needed. He’d noticed a van earlier that day, and the name emblazoned on the side had entertained him. He used it now. “As a matter of fact, yes. I work for the Bureau of Water and Sewer Operations. I was inspecting a system down there and got turned around, lost the way I’d come down. Now, of course, I can see exactly where I am. I should be one block that way.” Crowley pointed back over his shoulder and started taking a few steps backwards. “Have a good day now!”
He turned and strode off, his back itching at the thought of the security guard’s weapon trained on him. But there was no challenging shout and Crowley kept walking then quickly turned the corner. It seemed he had bemused the man enough to slip away. Now he needed to call Rose.
“Where the hell have you been?” Rose’s voice was exasperated, but her relief was also evident. “I’ve been trying to reach you for hours.”
“Sorry about that. It’s a long story and I’ll fill you in when we catch up. Where are you?”
“I’m in a café not far from Central Park. And I’ve got news for you too.”
They met on the corner of Park Avenue and East 60th Street, outside the Christ Church, only a couple of blocks from where Crowley had emerged from underground. They hugged, Rose’s tight grip betraying her concerns. He was saddened he’d caused her such worry.
“This way,” Rose said, and led Crowley around to a pair of dark double doors.
“Before you tell me why we’re here,” Crowley said. “I just wanted to say, I think you’re right about Price.”
She gave him a look and he weathered it, knowing it was one he thoroughly deserved. “I know,” she said.
“I should have listened to you.”
“You should.” She stared hard at him for a moment, then her face softened. “Thank you.” She leaned forward and they kissed, Crowley savoring the immediate thaw in her.
“That’s the Grolier Club,” Rose said, pulling away and pointing at the doors. “It’s locked up tight right now, but it’s relevant. Let’s take a walk and compare notes.”
They headed down East 60th and into the southern end of Central Park, enjoying the greenery and birdsong. Crowley marveled that such a place could exist in a city as dense and packed as New York. They strolled along East Drive, past Central Park Zoo, then turned left and walked past the Carousel. As they went, they related their respective stories, and all they had learned.
Once the tales were told, they walked on in companionable silence for a while, both digesting the news. After a moment, Crowley said, “Hang on, I need to make a call. Check on Gertie.”
His aunt answered after only a couple of rings, sounding in good spirits. “How are you doing?” Crowley asked.
“I’m well. Are you two lovebirds enjoying the city?”
“We’re having quite a time, I’ll tell you that.” Crowley remembered running for his life, bullets flying behind him, and suppressed a smile.
“Well, that’s wonderful, dear. When are you going to come and see me again? Shall we have dinner tonight?”
Crowley looked at Rose. “Dinner with Gertie tonight?”
“Sure.” She smiled. “But not too late, yeah? An early dinner and early to bed?”
Crowley turned back to the phone. “Sure thing, Auntie, we’ll come over about five? We don’t want to be out too late tonight.”
“Wonderful, I’ll see you then?”
“Will Pr... Matthew be there?” Crowley asked before she could hang up.
“I’m not sure. He’s been a little absent the past couple of days, actually. Caught up in a lot of work stuff, apparently. I’ll be sure to let him know you’re coming, but I don’t think he’ll make it. When he gets into these work things, it usually occupies him totally for however long it takes.”
I’ll bet, Crowley thought to himself, but was relieved to hear Price probably wouldn’t be around. “Okay, well we can see him again later. It’ll be nice to have just the three of us together.”
They found a bench and sat down to investigate the phone Crowley had taken from Jerkwad. He’d switched it to flight mode, partly to preserve the battery and partly in paranoia against it being traced. All the emails on it were cursory, no details of anything specific or helpful. The one number it had been used for was unlisted, but Crowley had no doubt who was at the other end. Everything added up too neatly.
“So Price is the guy they call the Revenant,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “This is all a little frightening.”
“Do you think it’s possible that he really is... immortal? Ish?” Rose asked. “Remember the photo I found in that book on witchcraft?”
Crowley scoffed, shook his head. “Come on, that’s impossible.”
Rose’s eyebrows shot up. She held up one hand and began counting off on her fingers. “The blood eagle, the hammer, the Anubis key–”
“Okay, okay, point taken. You’re right. There’s weird stuff in this world, but really? My aunt’s boyfriend is an immortal witch?”
“I have more.” Rose took out her phone and tapped up the photo gallery. “This guy here is the doctor who conducted the Bellevue experiments.”
Crowley pursed his lips. It was undeniable. The man was a dead-ringer for Price.
Rose swiped across to the next photo. “And this one is of Francis Bannerman, a few years before he began construction on the castle.”
“He looks a little bit like Price,” Crowley said. “But that’s not him.”
“Shut your hole,” Rose snapped. “You know better. Don’t be so obstructive. This is Bannerman on the day they broke ground.” She swiped across to the next photograph, a much less grainy and aged image. It was undeniably Price. Not someone similar, maybe related. It could only be Matthew Price himself.
“I think that from now on, just to be on the safe side, we ought to assume everything is true,” Rose said. “Price is the Revenant. He’s been alive for at least a few centuries, and whatever he’s doing to keep alive involves killing people. He uses the underground tunnels of New York City to transport the bodies unseen when he’s here. Who knows what else he does when he travels elsewhere.”
“And the vault uncovered in Washington Square Park was one of his hiding places,” Crowley said.
Rose nodded, chewing one side of her lower lip. “I think Jazz died because she was looking into it and looking into Price himself. We have to be very careful. Especially as it looks like he’s on the verge of becoming truly immortal.”
“I wonder what his secret is,” Crowley said. “What his formula involves, why he has to kill people to get it.”
“Whatever it is, its effectiveness must be limited, thus the regular killings. The frequency of them. Look at all the bodies in that crypt under Washington Square Park. The two on top were fresh, but the stack of them went back several years. How many, do you think? Two killings a year? More? And what about elsewhere, outside New York?”
“The cost is high, obviously,” Crowley agreed.
“He said he just moved back to New York,” Rose said. “I’ll bet he has to move around a lot if he’s regularly killing people.”
“And traveling for his business is a good excuse.” Crowley paused, then admitted the thing that had been on his mind for some time. “I think Poe’s Masque Journal must be the thing Price is looking for. The second half of the immortality formula must be in that book. I don’t know why, but why else would it be the one thing he wants more than anything else? And I told him all about it. He might have gone on searching for weeks or months otherwise, but I think I’ve accelerated everything quite considerably.”
“That’s not really your fault,” Rose said, putting a hand on his knee. “Then again, if you’d trusted me when I said we shouldn’t trust Price, you wouldn’t have been cozying up to him so much and you wouldn’t have had the chance to spill the beans.”
Crowley glanced up sharply, cut a little by the accusation. Probably because it was accurate. But Rose was smiling softly. He smiled too. “You’re right.”
“But I meant it when I said it’s not really your fault,” Rose said, and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek.
“But I do need to fix it,” Crowley said. “He’ll know it’s at the Grolier Club now. Of course, security is tight there, as you found out.”
“Price might be tempted to wait until it’s returned to the ghost house,” Rose said. “After all, he’s waited this long. It would be much easier to lift from there.”
Crowley shook his head. “I doubt it. I can’t see Price being that patient, can you? Not when he’s is so close. And not if he’s onto the fact that we’re onto him.”
“So what do we do?”
Crowley grinned. “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to steal it first.”