"Something is out of focus here," I said. "There’s something rotten in the state of Denmark. And I do mean rotten." I started to walk back toward Biltmore when the wind kicked up again, throwing my hair across my face and lifting my skirts. Normally I wore my hair in a braid or bun at the back of my neck. For this job, however, I had to let the locks fall loose. Quickly I brushed back the Irish red curls, knowing there’d be hell to pay to get the tangles out of them later.

A low moan howled from down the alley, coming from the direction taken by the little Chinese woman a few minutes earlier. I could still smell the remains of whatever had been cooking that day, mixed with the scent of ozone and impending rain. Overhead the clouds were slowly growing closer and thicker. More wind picked up, moaning again.

"Oh, Jesus!" I bolted down the alleyway. My police issue was in my hand as if by magic. "Code Three! Code Three! Buddeeeee!"

She was no more than a hundred feet from the street, tucked into a narrow space between the buildings. She looked like she had taken a moment to crawl up on top of some piled up boxes for a quick break. Her eyes were half-closed, her hands lay limply in her lap. With the exception of her jawbone dangling on its hinges, the lower half of her face was completely missing. Blood dripped like a broken faucet over her soaked blouse. Hesitantly I reached up, pressing two fingers against her jugular to confirm death when she suddenly shuddered. Slowly her eyes rolled around until they found me. Her hands trembled as she tried to raise them. Then, as though a switch was flipped, the light went out in her eyes and her hands dropped lifeless back into her lap.

I heard a scream coming from somewhere. It was later that I realized the sound had come from me.