Page 87 of Girl, Unseen

The Alchemist had transmuted her last. It was time to introduce her to the one element she couldn't control.

The fury of a woman on a mission.

CHAPTER FORTY SEVEN

Two blocks out from the Gramercy Theater, Ella said, ‘Ross, kill the siren. We don’t want to spook her.’

Ross obliged, then cursed the traffic ahead. ‘What’s the plan here? I’ve never invaded a psychic show before.’

The truth was that Ella didn’t know what she’d find at the Gramercy Theater. Was their killer bold enough to pull this off in front of a crowd? Would Lydia Soulwright already have been claimed before she took the stage? It was coming up to ten past six now, and so far no one had blown up Ross’ phone with reports of a dead psychic.

‘The priority is to get Lydia to safety. If we make the final target unobtainable, it might draw Amelia out. She’ll get desperate, do something reckless, and that means mistakes.’

In the back seat, Luca was shouting instructions down the phone. Ella regarded him in the rearview mirror as he hung up.

‘I’ve told the venue we’re on our way. Told them to get medics on standby and be on the lookout for anyone matching Amelia’s description.’

‘Any hits?’ Ross asked.

‘Don’t know. The venue manager is going to pass the description along to security.’

‘Is the place locked down?’

‘Tight as you like. I told them to let people in but not out.’

Ella tried to formulate a game plan but struggled without seeing the scene in person. A public venue complicated things – too many variables, too many potential casualties if this went sideways. But serial killers never strayed too far from a specific psychological blueprint, and if Amelia was anything like the other killers in her niche, the compulsion to complete her ritual would override basic survival instinct.

‘There.’ Ross pointed through gaps in traffic. The Gramercy's facade rose ahead; golden light spilling from arched windows, stone cherubs keeping watch on the street below. The marquee blazed overhead, announcing LYDIA SOULWRIGHT: BEYOND THE VEIL in letters that bled neon.

‘Ditch it here,’ Ella said. ‘It’ll be quicker if we just run.’

‘You the boss.’

Ross mounted the curb and switched on his hazard lights. Ella, Luca and Ross jumped out and hurried down the street, past a few gaggles of gawping New Yorkers, until they reached the four pillars outside the Gramercy. The massive doors swung open under brass handles that looked older than America. Two security guards materialized from alcoves - ex-military types with earpieces and dead eyes. The taller one stepped forward and raised his hand.

‘FBI.’ Ella's badge came up before he could speak. ‘Plus Ross from NYPD.’

The guard touched his earpiece. 'Yeah, we got the heads-up. The manager said you'd be coming. Want us to kill the show?'

Through the doorway, Ella caught fragments of what waited inside. Purple stage lights painted the foyer in bruised colors while a woman's voice drifted down marble halls - the kind of faux-mystical patter that separated suckers from their money.

'Not yet. First, we need eyes on the situation. How long has she been on stage?'

‘About ten minutes. Program says she’s due to finish at eight, then there’s a signing ‘til ten.’

‘Any sign of our suspect?’

‘Not that I’ve seen, but there’s about a thousand people in there.’

Ella nodded her thanks, then turned to Ross and Luca. 'Priority is Lydia. Once she's secure, we'll search the place for Amelia. Ross, bring in the whole NYPD if you have to.'

‘Roger that. You know how much people are going to hate us for shutting this show down?’

‘Just tell them it was my fault,’ Ella said. ‘Ready to disappoint a thousand people?’

Luca grabbed her arm. It was the first physical contact she’d had with him in days. ‘Ell, wait.’

She caught his eye. ‘What is it?’

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