We met behind the theater.
Sherbet was wearing jeans and a leather jacket that barely covered his roundish mid-section. He was also sporting dark-leather shoes that looked like a cross between running shoes and hiking shoes. I knew he was packing heat, and the truth was, I felt better having him here. Sherbet exuded an aura of control and security. More so than any man I'd ever met, even Kingsley.
I might be a creature of the night who has faced my share of monsters, but sneaking into the dragon's lair alone just sounded like one hell of a shitty way to spend an evening.
The alley parking lot was empty, with only a single spotlight shining down on the back door. A sticker claimed that there was an alarm system in use, but we were about to see. I doubted there was. If this place was what I thought it was, then I doubted Mr. Robert Mason ever wanted the police anywhere near the premises. If anything, he would handle the intruders himself.
Not to mention, Mason had help. Two goons had shown up at my house and neither had been Mason, I was sure of it. Three against two. I liked our chances.
I doubted Hanner was directly involved in the production of the blood. She seemed more refined than that. She seemed...better than that. What her connection was, exactly, I didn't know.
But I was going to find out.
I was the first to try the door. Locked, of course. I turned the lever a little harder, and it broke free in my hand. "It's not really breaking in," I said, holding up the broken handle. "If the door is broken, right?"
Sherbet shook his head and eased his bulk around me. As he did so, I had a momentary whiff of Old Spice and sweat, which, for me, was one hell of a heady mixture. "We're not breaking in," he growled, as he broke in. "This is an emergency search. There's a young woman missing, and he's our only suspect. I'm sticking to that story until the day I die."
"Sounds good to me."
He removed his Smith & Wesson from his shoulder holster. "C'mon."
The hallway was pitch black to anyone but me. To me, it was alive and alight. Sherbet reached into a pocket and removed a small flashlight that had a lot of umph to it, revealing a narrow hallway with a door to either side.
"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.
