"Lights?" I asked.
Sherbet shook his head and continued sweeping the powerful beam over walls and floors and ceilings. "I don't want anyone running; at least, not yet. We'll catch the bastards by surprise."
"Sounds like my last date."
Sherbet grinned. "Sure it does. So what are we looking for?"
"A storage room. Or a props rooms. We're close to it, I think."
"Then what?"
"We look for a mirror."
"A mirror?"
"Yes."
"And you know this how?"
"I'm a freaky chick."
He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Then what?"
"There should be an opening behind it."
"Thank God you didn't say through it. Dealing with vampires is bad enough. I don't think I can handle Harry Potter, too." Sherbet took another step, then paused. "Hey, do that crazy thing you do with your mind."
"My mind?"
"You know, one of those mental scouting jobs you do, or whatever you call it."
"'Mental scouting job' sounds good to me," I said. "Give me a moment."
"I'll give you two."
I closed my eyes, exhaled, and cast my thoughts out like a net. The net scattered throughout the theater, through rooms and offices, across the stage and theater seating, and even up into the lighting booth.
"We're alone up here," I said, reporting back, opening my eyes. "Except for the ghosts."
"What ghosts?"
"The ghosts that have been following us since we stepped foot in here."
"I didn't need to know that."
Lots of old places have spirits hanging around them, and this theater, which was decades old, if not a century, was no exception. Still, there seemed to be a lot of spirit energy here, more than to be expected, energy which flitted past quickly, energy which appeared and disappeared next to us, energy which watched us from the shadows. Some of the energy fully manifested into lightly glowing human forms. These watched us from doorways and rafters, from behind curtains and in windows. I decided not to tell Sherbet about the entity standing next to him. For a tough guy, he sure got the willies over ghosts.
"You said alone up here," said Sherbet. "You think this creep works below ground?"
"Would be my guess."
"And your radar whatchamacallit doesn't pick up Mason?"
"Not yet."
"Which means?"
"We're still probably too far from him."
"Or that the place is empty."
"We'll see," I said.
"Fine. C'mon."
We soon found ourselves somewhere backstage, where backdrops hung from flies and where trap doors were cleverly placed in the floor. Clothing racks filled with costumes lined both sides of the wall, and a catwalk ran along the upper levels. There were many, many ghosts moving back and forth along these metal walkways.
Lots of death here.
And, judging by the many gashes in their necks, lots of victims here, too. I kept this last assessment to myself. I suspected Sherbet was about to see for himself just what was going on here.
We found a hallway leading off to one side of the stage, which we followed to the props room. The door was ajar.
"This is it," I said.
Sherbet nodded and slipped inside first, holding the gun out in front of him even though we were alone in the theater. I think it made him feel manly. Not to mention, he was still a cop, and cops did these kinds of things.
I paused at the doorway, taking in the room despite the darkness. The room was, of course, exactly as I had seen it in my mind days earlier. Props of all shapes and sizes, everything from dinner tables and jukeboxes to plastic trees and park benches. Like a small town all crammed into one room.
I pointed to the far wall. "There."
Sherbet followed my finger, aiming his light, and illuminated a massive mirror that was apparently attached to the wall.
"The mirror. Just like you said."
"Yep."
"And you've never been here before?"
"Nope. At least, not physically."
"This is crazy."
"Welcome to my life."
He shook his head and I heard his thoughts, despite my best attempts to stay out of them. Rather clearly, Sherbet thought: I'm going insane.
The scent of blood suddenly wafted over me, coming from the far wall - from behind the mirror, no doubt. My traitorous stomach growled instantly. So loudly that Sherbet turned and looked at me. I shrugged innocently.
As we moved around a four-poster bed covered in cobwebs, Sherbet said, "I swear to God that if a guy in a hockey mask and a chainsaw starts singing about the music, I'm going to start shooting."
"You're mixing, I think, like three movies together."
"Well, they've been warned."
We found ourselves at the big mirror. The smell of blood was most definitely coming from somewhere behind the mirror. I said as much to Sherbet, even as my stomach growled again.
Sherbet looked at me, looked at the mirror, then looked at my stomach. He put two and two together and grimaced unconsciously. Finally, he said, "Help me with the mirror."
He holstered his gun and we each took one side of the mirror and lifted it off the hook. Once done, we set it to one side, and returned to the spot where the mirror had hung.
There was, of course, a door there.
A hidden door.
Chapter Forty-two
The scent of blood was nearly overwhelming.
So much blood.
Sherbet and I had the same thought simultaneously: to scan the room beyond. So I did so, and saw that it was empty of anything living. I reported my findings to Sherbet.
He nodded and pointed at the doorknob. "Any chance this lock is broken as well?"
I reached for the doorknob and a moment later dropped the twisted metal to the floor. "I would say a good chance."
He shook his head. "I'm just glad you're on our side. C'mon."
He eased the door open, which promptly groaned loudly on rusted hinges. He flashed his light on the ancient, rusted hinges. He said, "My guess is there's another way down here. Probably accessible from the alley."
"Would make it easier bringing bodies in and out."
Sherbet nodded grimly. He next swept his light around the small room. "Another storage room."
I was suddenly having difficulty focusing on the detective's words. After all, the scent of blood was much stronger in here. Much, much stronger. And intoxicating.
Doing my best to ignore it, I stepped in behind Sherbet and saw that the room was filled to overflowing with even more theater junk. Moldy props. Moldy clothing. Hats that were badly destroyed by rats or moths. Boxes and crates and old furniture. And the moment I stepped inside, my inner alarm began buzzing.