the world. Such an accomplishment.” Her lip curled. “A monument indeed—to the greed of America, lording it over these poor souls, forever taunting them with what they will never have.”
The Nix waited another moment to make sure Agnes was done. “But still, killing them doesn’t seem to be helping.”
“It will. Mark my words. Soon the blind shall see. Even that arrogant boy shall see.”
The Nix didn’t need to ask who the “arrogant boy” was…she didn’t want to sit through another diatribe on the ineptitude and inexperience of Eliot Ness. The year before, Mayor Burton had appointed the young man as Cleveland’s safety director, head of the police and fire departments. As good as Ness was at cleaning up mobsters and gambling dens, he—and the rest of his force—were clueless when it came to the serial killer in their midst.
“Six victims, all decapitated,” Agnes stormed. “Do you know how rare that is?”
“Um-hmm,” the Nix said, stifling a yawn.
“But do they see the connection? Oh, dear me, we seem to have an unrelated rash of beheadings in the city. Fancy that.”
“They’re starting to pay attention,” the Nix said. “Articles in every major paper after that last one. The fear is spreading.”
“And spread it shall. Like wildfire, purifying the city.”
The Nix smiled. This was more like it. “A veritable feast of fear.”
“And well they should fear. The wrath of God is upon them—”
“Um, Agnes? It’s getting late. It’ll be dawn soon.”
“Oh?” Agnes looked into the sky. “So it will. Thank you.”
The Nix gave Agnes the strength to cut the vagrant’s torso in two.
“Are you taking this one back to Kingsbury Run?”
Agnes nodded and kept cutting.
“May I make a suggestion?”
Another abrupt nod as Agnes began to saw off the legs.
“Throw the pieces in the creek. Someone’s bound to see one of them floating along. But hide the head.” She paused. “And maybe the hands. Yes, hide the head and the hands. They’ll need to call in help to dredge the creek, and that’s bound to draw attention.”
Agnes rocked back on her heels and stared out into the night, then nodded. “Yes, I think I shall. Thank you.”
“I’m here to help.”
The Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run. Agnes hated the name the press had given her. The Nix agreed it was rather harsh. Mad? Yes. But “butcher” was uncalled for. Agnes was a qualified surgeon, and the expert dissection should have made that clear.
Several people had speculated that the killer was indeed a surgeon, maybe even a crusader, but the public preferred the image of a raging maniac with a meat cleaver and bloodstained apron. If that scared them more, well, the Nix wasn’t about to argue.
Some had even whispered that the killer could be a woman, because the first two victims had been emasculated, but this idea was quickly shot down. No woman would ever do such a thing—to suggest it was to taint the very notion of womanhood. That had made the Nix laugh so hard she’d nearly popped right out of Agnes’s body. Clearly these people didn’t run in the same circles she did.
As they moved through Agnes’s clinic, the Nix basked in the fear that swirled about, thick as the foundry smoke down by the river. In the corner, two vagrants whispered about a shadow they’d seen in Hobotown, a monstrous shadow that had twisted up from the very earth itself, butcher’s knife in hand. Two younger men in hobnailed boots swapped “secret” details of the mutilations, each trying to outdo the other. A young mother gathered her two children closer and tried to stop up their ears, her eyes dark with fear.
Agnes was oblivious to the chaos she was causing, intent only on her day’s appointments. Cure them by day; kill them by night. The fact that Agnes failed to see the irony—the perversity—of this only made it all the more delicious to the Nix. Of course, it would have been better if Agnes could share the irony with her, instead of trudging through the killings with all the joy of a factory worker putting in a twelve-hour shift. The Nix had held out every hope of converting Agnes, of introducing her to the joys of death and grief and chaos, but she knew now it would never happen, and if she kept pushing, this would be the first time she was evicted by her living partner. She wasn’t ready for that—there was still much feasting to come. So she kept silent.
Agnes was in search of victim number thirteen…or so the