She shrugged. “I told you, I’m getting close. I have new information, too. This is big, Steve. Something unusual is going on here and we need to keep the pressure up.”
Steve leaned a hip on his desk. “I was hoping you’d consider taking a break. I’ve got a piece on a new lab opening down at Longwood that looks pretty promising. It’s a genetics lab doing some amazing stuff—”
“No.”
Steve scrubbed his hand over his face then through his hair sending the thin taupe strands in all different directions. “I should have known you were going to be difficult. Fine. Just be careful.”
She jumped to her feet. “I’m always careful.”
He snorted. “What’s the latest word on the drug?”
“Not much, though I’m beginning to suspect Detective McCallister is chasing the same guys I am.”
“Why do you say that?”
She rolled her shoulders, choosing her words carefully. No sense letting Steve know the “Vampire” part of “Vampire Dust” was real. “He’s investigated a few deaths that present with pretty much the same symptoms. Curled hands, shriveled bodies, leftover husks of humans.”
Steve blinked. “Humans? You say it like aliens are behind the drug.”
A nervous laugh escaped her and she fiddled with her yellow and blue scarf. “Don’t be silly. Aliens. Seriously.”
He gave her an odd look and she clamped her lips together to prevent any more idiocy from escaping.
“Well, if he is on the same track, that would be good for you. You two ought to compare notes. Maybe you could help each other out. Think he’d be up for that?”
“Maybe? He’s kind of recalcitrant but I’ll do my best.” She turned to leave again.
“Sheridan.”
She stopped at his door and looked over her shoulder. “Yes?”
Steve’s face held real worry and she felt bad for not telling him everything. “If you go chasing any more leads, I want the names of your informants, where you’re meeting them, and a phone call when you’re done, letting me know you’re okay.”
She bristled at the strictures. Seemed everyone wanted to constrain her these days. She nodded. “You got it, boss.”
“Go on,” he said gruffly. “I’m not paying you to stand around yakking.”
Hurrying down the carpeted hall back to her desk, she wondered at his unusual concern. Steve was not exactly known for being touchy-feely, warm and fuzzy.
She dropped into her chair and grabbed the stack of pink memo notes on her desk. The orange light on her phone glared brightly at her.
Four of the five messages held the same phone number but no name and a generic please call scrawled on them. The fifth was a reminder from one P. B. about the promised delivery. She growled, crumpled the paper up, and threw it into her trash can.
“What’s up, Aames? Nice neck wear. Trying to start a trend?”
Sheridan had been reaching for her phone but pulled her hand away at the words. She forced a smile to her face. “Hello, Brian. Just looking for a change.”
His slimy smile repulsed her almost as much as the sheen of his overly gelled hair and carefully waxed brows. The guy took his manscaping way too seriously. “I got a couple of tickets to a great dance party happening tonight. You interested?” He lowered his head and waggled his too-perfect brows. “It’s a private party with some high-profile celebs. Lots of good contacts.”
“Gosh, Brian, thanks for the invite, but I have to pass.”
Brief annoyance flashed on his face, just like it did every time she turned him down. Which was every time he’d asked her out. She’d stopped counting after ten. The twenty-something had perseverance, she’d give him that. It was part of what made him a great reporter. He was a smarmy guy, but one hell of a reporter.
“Come on, Aames. There’s a chance you might get some info on your Dust story.”
“How much of a chance?” She wasn’t buying this line for one second.
He spread his hands. “Information is everywhere, why not at a sexy lingerie party with models, actresses, and some smoking hot centerfolds?”
“Gee, Brian, I’m thinking having me along will ruin your chances for hooking up with any of those ladies. Definitely better I don’t go. But listen, if you do hear something about Dust, pass it on and I’ll make sure you get some byline coverage.”
He sighed and straightened up. “I had to try. It’s going to be at The Basement Brawler on Sixth Street if you change your mind.”
Sheridan made a production of writing down the address. “Got it, thanks. What time?”
“Nine til dawn tomorrow.”
She dutifully filled in the numbers then laid her pen down and reached for her phone. Giving him a patently unapologetic look, she waved the receiver at him. “Sorry, got some messages to return.”
He nodded and walked away without another word. Sheridan sighed as she punched in her voicemail code. No wonder there’d been so many pink messages, her mailbox was completely full.
She listened to the first ten messages with some confusion. They were rambling mutterings of odd phrases that didn’t have a lot of meaning and no names she could identify. Each number the automated receptionist recited before the message played was different, too. At the end of the tenth, she heard a garbled sigh and the word Dust.
She replayed it but couldn’t pull anything useful from the words.
The next five were all from Paxton Barrett. Each was a little more menacing than the last even though he didn’t actually threaten her. But she knew. He’d killed a man in front of her with no remorse or thought at all.
He’d been trying to scare the hell out of her and it worked beautifully.
“Don’t forget, Miss Aames, out of sight does not mean out of mind. I’m sure you now understand.”
She wished she didn’t, but the message came through loud and clear. He was watching. She barely resisted the urge to look over her shoulder. Sheridan swallowed hard and replaced the receiver gently. Her fingers shook like she was in a wind storm.
The phone rang and she jerked her hand back. The display read Bobbi, the Metro’s receptionist, and she gingerly answered.
“Hey, Sheridan.”
“Hi, Bobbi.”
“Honey, you’ve been as popular as the winner of Bacon County’s Porcine Princess Pageant today.”
Sheridan smiled. “Come on. No way. Bacon County and Porcine Princess?”
“I swear on my mama’s blue ribbon recipe for strawberry jam. You just can’t make this stuff up.”
“I guess not. Sorry about all the messages, I’ve been working on a big story.”
“It’s all right. Gives me something to do besides my nails. Now, who is that lovely man with the divine voice? He sounds like one of those old time actors from England. Just made my toes curl.”
You have no idea.
“Just a, uh, an acquaintance,” Sheridan said. “He’s got information for me. Is he on the line?” She held her breath, praying the answer would be no.
“No.”
Thank you, God.
“I’m not calling about him, I was just curious. Bert said he can’t get through to your phone, so he called me. He wants to know if you can come down and see him.”
She smiled. “Tell that old coot I’ll be right there.”
“Will do, hon!”
The elevators were running swiftly, so it took only a few moments for her to make it to the bottom floor of the Metro Building. Bert stood at the concierge desk, his green and gold cap perched at its usual jaunty angle on his silvered head. His emerald jacket fit his trim body snugly and he kept it buttoned all the way to the neck. Bert despised sloppiness and kept all the building’s valets, porters, and service staff on their toes with his surprise inspections.
He’d worked in the building forever. No one could seem to remember when he’d started, he’d always just been there.
There were a couple of people crowding his curved brass and green marble desk so Sher
idan hung back and studied the architecture of the building. They didn’t make them like this anymore. Tall ceilings, beautiful columns and delightfully creepy gargoyles poking out from random spots around the area. Who puts gargoyles on the inside of a building, anyway?
She wondered what the building used to be before it became home to the various companies now housing it. She knew the Metro took up six floors of the eighteen but didn’t know much about the other residents.
“Sheridan!”
Bert waved her over to his now empty area. A thundercloud of disapproval suddenly covered his face and she slowed her pace.
“What’s wrong?” she asked cautiously.
“He bit you.”
Chapter Ten
Sheridan gasped and clapped her hands over her neck. “How can you tell?” she whispered. “I covered it up.”
The old man shook his head. “It’s written all over your face. You’ve got the Consort glow.”
Her eyes bugged and she bent to look at herself in the brass. “I glow? I’m going to kill him.” Her heart skipped several beats as she stared at her reflection but she didn’t look any different. “I don’t see it,” she said. She jerked her head up. “Wait a second. You said Consort glow.”
Bert nodded slowly. “Yeah, I did. Hang on a second.” He picked up the phone, punched a couple of numbers, then spoke rapidly before hanging up. “Carlson will be here in a minute to cover for me.”
“Why? Where are you going?”
He waggled his finger at her. “You and I are going down to the coffee shop where we can have a latte and talk.”
He looked disappointed and resigned and for some reason, both those emotions hurt. “We don’t need to talk, Bert. I know what I’m doing.”
Ha! Lie of the century.
“No, you don’t. I’ll bet you a dollar to a doughnut he didn’t tell you half of what you need to know. He’s like that.”
Sheridan pursed her lips. “How do you know what he’s like? For that matter, how do you know Sullivan Alexander? He doesn’t seem like your usual kind of acquaintance.”
Humor briefly usurped Bert’s annoyed expression. “He and I came across each other in the middle of the night. More specifically, while he was cracking the safe in my apartment.”
She gaped. “He did what?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Alexander is a first-class thief. He’d heard a rumor I kept some excellent jewels in my safe.” Bert smiled again. “That was back in the days when I was a first class jeweler. Ah, good times.”
She smiled in return. “What happened? Did you stop him?”
Bert’s lips twisted. “Sort of. He was very polite. Apologized for getting caught in the cookie jar, as it were. Said it hadn’t happened to him in quite a while. He seemed genuinely crushed and upset that I’d walked in on him. We got to talking about what tipped me off, the quality of the safe, and what I really had in there. He’s a very curious man.”
“That’s for sure,” Sheridan said.
Bert chuckled. “I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but he opened the safe, looked at the jewels, then closed it up tight without taking a thing. The rest of the night we spent at my dining room table trying to drink each other under it and swapping wildly exaggerated stories of gem intrigue.”
She looked at him with new eyes. She would never have pegged Bert for having a wild past.
The freight elevator behind Bert dinged and a tall, skinny teenager stepped out. He gave Sheridan a wide, friendly smile. “Good morning, Miss Aames.”
“Hi Carlson, how’s it going? How’s school?”
“Pretty good, thanks. Finals are coming up next week then I’m free for a little while.”
“No time for chit chat. We have to go. Keep an eye on things.” Bert removed his hat and jacket and stowed them under the desk. His black slacks were perfectly creased and his dress shoes would make the shine on a diamond weep with envy. She blinked twice as she realized her old friend was packing some serious guns beneath his concierge’s uniform. He looked in ultra-toned condition.
He shrugged into a white button down shirt, tucked the ends into his pants, and came around the corner. “Let’s go,” he said.
“Bye, Carlson,” she yelled as Bert hustled her to the door. As soon as they were on the street, she tugged free from his surprisingly strong grip. “What’s with the bum’s rush?”
Bert inhaled sharply. “Give me a minute here, Sheridan. I’m trying to come to terms with all this. Let’s go inside and sit.” He waved toward a building.
“Inside? It’s six blocks down the street, we’re not even halfway there.”
A smile touched his lips as he pointed. “Yes, we are.”
Sheridan followed his finger. BB’s Coffee House. She swallowed and looked over her shoulder at the crowded sidewalk then back at him. “What just happened?”
“More of what McCallister didn’t tell you.” Bert opened the door and waved her inside.
Sheridan stepped through and inhaled the delicious aroma of freshly ground coffee, decadent sweet cakes, and freshly baked cookies. “I’m gonna need something a lot stronger than a latte,” she muttered.
They ordered—double espresso for her and a light chai latte for him—then took the last booth in the most remote corner of the coffee shop.
Sheridan studied the old man as he sipped his drink. His silver hair, combed back in a modified pompadour, looked as thick as McCallister’s dark mane. In some ways, Bert reminded her a little of Dick Tracy with his no-nonsense attitude and gruff determination. After his third silent sip, Sheridan cleared her throat.
“Okay, spill it.”
“When did it happen?”
She thought briefly about denying it. “Last night. Why?”
“Of course. You weren’t marked earlier.”
Resisting the urge to look at her reflection in the window took all her willpower but she did it. “You said that before. What are you talking about?”
Bert played with the cardboard ring on his coffee cup. “Consort Joining is a sort of commitment, Sheridan.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that.”
“He did? Well, I have to give him credit for that. What else did he tell you?”
She shook her head. “No way. You tell me what you know and, by the way, just how the hell you know it.”
Bert blew air through his lips in a near raspberry. “All right, kiddo.” He unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the collar away. “I’m a Consort.”
Sheridan stared at the two tiny dots marking his skin. She cupped her hand over her neck where McCallister had bitten her. “I’ll be damned.”
Bert smiled and re-fastened his shirt. “Probably. But it’s not like you think. Vampires are not inherently evil. They have souls and hearts just like humans do. They just happen to have a few extras we don’t. Their body chemistry has been altered for near immortality and they’ve adapted in other ways over the years since they were created.”
Trying not to look as shocked as she felt, Sheridan slowly nodded. “McCallister told me the first vampire was a Templar.”
“It’s a long and involved history. Some day when we have more time, I’ll be happy to tell you all I know.”
“That would be cool.” She took a drink of her espresso. “So, how long have you been a Consort? And who’s your vampire?”
His smile widened. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes?”
“You don’t sound so sure.”
“Listen, Bert, I don’t know up from down and in from out right now. You being a part of this whole wacky assed world is just one more what-the-hell moment. I know my name and that’s about it. But, yes, I want to know about you and the other stuff you were talking about.” She checked her phone. “Steve thinks I’m running down leads on my Dust story, so he won’t be looking for me for at least an hour.” She hoped. His last admonition to keep him updated as to her whereabouts at all times rang in her head. “I have a billion questions.”
Bert wi
nced. “Shoot.”
She opened her mouth then closed it. “Hell, I don’t know where to start. I don’t have enough information about what’s going on with this whole world to even get a decent one out.”
“That’s usually how it goes until you’ve been around for a few years.”
“Great. I hate being in the dark.”
“All right, let’s start with me. I was born in 1905. I led a boring, ordinary life until the mid-70s.” He sighed and smiled big. “Disco was king, polyester suits were in, and excess was the name of the game. I was hitting my second mid-life crisis and boogieing my shoes off at nightclubs. That’s where I met her.”
“Her, huh?”
He snorted. “I was having a mid-life crisis, not a sexual identity crisis. I spotted her at a little disco in Chicago. We hooked up.” His cheeks reddened. “Well, you can imagine.”
Sheridan shuddered. “I can, but I won’t.”
Bert’s laugh was a little wheezy. “Gee, thanks. Anyway, Allison and I dated for a while before I even found out what she was.”
Sheridan was intrigued. “How did you find out?”
“We were at her house, it was the middle of the night, and there was a commotion from the kitchen. I stumbled in and saw her milking the neck of a young woman.”
“Holy shit.”
“Pretty much. There was a guy there, too. Another vamp and apparently the one who brought the girl to Allison. We all stared at each other for a very long, awkward, and silent moment then I turned around and went back to bed. Fifteen minutes later, Allison joined me. She turned on the light and asked me if I was leaving her. I told her hell no.” He grinned and leaned closer. “Actually what I said was ‘Hell no. A great pair of tits beats a pair of fangs any day.’”
Sheridan choked. Hearing such blue language from Bert was unheard of. “Boy, you must have been some kind of player back in the day.”
He blushed again. “I never had any complaints. That night Allison explained her turning, what a Consort was and that she was currently without one. I promptly volunteered.”
“And then she bit you? Just like that?”
“No, and that’s why I’m going to have a little chat with McCallister. She and I talked for days about what was going to happen, what the perils and pitfalls were as well as the benefits to both of us.”
Bound By His Blood Page 15
