Feral Dust Bunnies (Offbeat Crimes Book 4)

by Angel Martinez

  “Manda,” he whispered, and she was right there, ever watchful. He wished she didn’t have to be. The only reason she was here was that Carrington had been encouraged—nagged—to bring a non-male date. So he had, despite the fact that his mother despised Amanda and was icily condescending to her at every opportunity.

  Amanda took his elbow and supported him discreetly as she steered him toward the patio doors. “Gonna make it?”

  “Doing my level best,” Carrington murmured, spine still as straight as he could manage. Every step sent spears of pain through his head. Every breath made him wish he hadn’t had breakfast. An unrelenting hand squeezed at his heart while his vision faded in and out like a badly edited movie.

  “I know, Carr. Almost there. Library?”

  “Please. It’s always dark in there.”

  Blessed, blessed dark. He made it to one of the absurdly large armchairs beside the fireplace—functional but never lit—and sank into the cushions under his own power, letting his head thump against the back as he removed his dark glasses and let his abused eyes bask in the gloom. The drapes were normally drawn here so the fabrics and portraits wouldn’t suffer from sun fading. It wasn’t as if anyone actually read the armies of books on the floor-to-ceiling shelves. Like the fireplace, they were mainly for show.

  “Good job. Your cooler’s in the trunk?”

  “It is. As always, you’re too good to me.” Carrington slumped in the chair. Why had he agreed to this birthday nonsense, anyway? His mother could have come up with another excuse for a garden party. “Manda…I’m sorry.”

  Amanda stopped in mid-stride on her way out of the room and pinned him with her best glare. “Don’t start. If it’s about your mom, you’re not her keeper and you can’t make her like me. If it’s about getting me to come today, I had some great food. If it’s about not being the world’s best vamp and being a sucky partner again, shut it. Not doing this with you today.”

  He almost apologized again but managed to clamp his jaw shut around the words. Ever sensible, Amanda didn’t allow him to whine and wallow, even though he could’ve done with a teensy bit of a whine that afternoon. Her more practical solution of going out to his car to bring him an insulated coffee mug of skim blood made more sense, of course.

  Movement out of the corner of his eye startled him. A prickle of alarm skittered over his skin, the one that often warned him something not quite right was in his vicinity. When he turned toward the end table at his elbow, though, there was nothing, not even a bee or a moth. An antique lamp sat on the table, colorful dragonflies forever caught in stained-glass amber, and a book stood beside it. Odd. Someone had left the book partially open and standing on its cover and spine.

  That’s no way to treat a book. As Carrington reached out to close it, intending to lay it down flat, the paranormal prickle intensified. With a rustling of pages, the book used its open cover to rock quickly back and forth, scuttling away from his outstretched hand. That was unexpected.

  Recovering quickly, he withdrew his hand and whispered, “It’s all right, little book. I won’t harm you, or even read you if you’d rather I didn’t. Do you need help?”

  If the book had some intelligence, it wouldn’t be the first thinking, animated object he’d ever encountered. One of his colleagues was a leather jacket with a dubious past and a wicked sense of humor.

  The book rattled violently on the table in an imitation of a step dance and printed words leaped out of the pages at frightening speed. Just before they slammed into Carrington’s head, the flying words shrieked at him.

  “You starveling, you eel-skin, you dried neat’s tongue, you bull’s pizzle!”

  He had time for a split second of horror before the words rammed into him with the force of several fists.

  * * * *

  When he woke, he lay on the carpet with Amanda leaning over him.

  “Carr? You didn’t say it was this bad. Should I call it in?”

  “Words hit me,” Carrington blurted out before his brain properly reconnected. “Book…it was…the book over there.”

  Amanda followed the wave of his hand, her forehead creased. “Yeah. There’s a lot of books in here. Did you get up to snag a book and faint?”

  “No. There was a book. On the table. It attacked me. With words.”

  “Shit.” Amanda put an arm under him, supporting him against her while she handed over his blood snack. “Drink that, Carr. I’m calling the medics.”

  He seized her hand when she pulled out her phone. “Manda, no. I’m fine. Well, more or less. There was an animated book in here, one that moved independently like LJ. It…I’m not certain how to describe it, but it hurled an insult at me and the words…the words hit me.”

  Amanda stilled. Her expression shut down from concerned to that iron blankness her face took on in a dangerous situation. Silently, she got up and shut the door. Turning on lights as she went, Amanda searched the room, checking under furniture, climbing on chairs to check the chandeliers.

  “Would you recognize the book, Carr? Is it back on the shelves?”

  “It was rather distinctive.” Mug still in hand, Carrington used the furniture to lever himself up. “Shining black leather with gold. It should be easy to pick out of a literary lineup.”

  He searched visually, his predator’s eyes processing much more quickly than a human’s could, but the book wasn’t on the shelves. “It’s not here.”

  “You sure?”

  “It’s gone.” Carrington shook his head. “I swear it was here, Manda. I didn’t have some odd sunstroke episode.”

  She held up a hand. “I believe you. If the freaky thing’s moving on its cover, it can’t get far. Stay here.”

  In case we missed it, she meant rather than, Stay out of my way. They’d worked together enough years to develop a shorthand and a rhythm to their partnership. Carrington guarded the door, determined nothing would scurry past him while Amanda cleared the nearby rooms.

  Thankfully, it didn’t take long and no guests wandered by to ask why he was guarding an open doorway, radiating cop, straining every sense for any sign of that paranormal frisson. After the last room in the east wing, Amanda strode back down the hall shaking her head.

  “Nothing.” She gestured toward Carrington’s temple. “Got a nasty bump coming up there, Carr.”

  “It won’t last long.” Carrington let out a gusty sigh. “It must be gone. I don’t feel it nearby, at any rate. I’m going to pull my mother aside and let her know, discreetly, that she may have a paranormal entity visiting her house and to call us immediately if they spot it again.”

  “Ask the LT for a sweep?”

  “Yes. Later this evening. My mother will never forgive me if I disrupt her party. The entity may well have dis-manifested from the area entirely and popped up somewhere else by now.”

  Amanda frowned. “Even I’m pretty sure that’s not a word.”

  “Sometimes language requires improvisation. Do you mind terribly if we leave the party early?”

  “Oh, hell no. Let’s blow this fancy pop stand.”

  Mom was disapproving, of course, but not at all distressed by the situation when Carrington pulled her aside. She annoyed him in many respects, but he had to admire her unflappability.

  “We never had any of this hocus-pocus nonsense before you contracted your illness.” She huffed. “Fine, I’ll keep an eye out and make excuses to your guests for you and tell them you weren’t feeling well. I suppose it wouldn’t do for you to rejoin the party looking like you’ve been brawling, in any case.”

  “I do not look—”

  She flapped a ring-encrusted hand at him. “It doesn’t matter, Carrington. I don’t want to argue. You’ve made it quite clear already that you’re determined not to make an effort today.”

  “Mom…” No, she was right. Arguing never changed the mind of any Loveless. Carrington pulled up a smile for her, hoping it wasn’t too twisted, and kissed her cheek. “Thank you.”

  I
n the car later, Amanda eyed him sideways from the driver’s seat. “What the hell were you thanking her for? For throwing a party on a sunny day, with food you couldn’t eat, and with people you don’t like?”

  Slumped in the passenger seat with his hat pulled down low, Carrington didn’t even pause to consider his answer. “She remembered my birthday.”

  “Well, crap. You do know how pitiful that sounds, right?”

  “I know.”

  She reached across at the next stop light and patted his knee. “What do you wanna do with the rest of your birthday?”

  “I need a nap.” Carrington despised the tremor in his voice. Another day of too much sun followed by hiding in his blackout-curtained room, brooding about that damnable book. No, wait… “A short one. Then I want to go to the library.”

  Amanda neither laughed nor questioned. She just headed toward Carrington’s Fairmount condominium, knowing he would explain later when he felt better. When she finally received a promotion, Carrington was going to be devastated. He’d have to petition the department to let him work solo.

  * * * *

  The clouds had finally rolled in when Carrington woke in the late afternoon. Beautiful in their pendulous, roiling splendor, they spread a heavy blanket of humidity over the city and teased by dangling the promise of exhilarating storms.

  The public library’s central branch was just down the street from his condominium across from the art museum. If he leaned out of his window far enough, he could almost see it.

  “What’re you doing?”

  Carrington pulled his head back in and shut the window before he turned to Amanda. “Taking a breath of non-toxic daylight. Ready for a little walk?”

  “Yeah. It’s perfect vamp weather. We’re probably gonna get soaked.”

  “I have exactly nine umbrellas in the stand by the door, you know. You’re more than welcome to take one.”

  “Nah. They’re such a pain. You get there and you got no place to put the thing and it’s dripping all over the floor—”

  “Fine. No complaints about rain then.”

  “I’ll complain about whatever I damn well please, vamp boy.” She shoulder-bumped him and laughed when he bumped back. “You feel better?”

  “Much. Thank you. It was a stupid idea to agree to Mom’s insanity. I guess I’m always hoping for some sort of, I don’t know? Reconciliation? Though that’s probably asking too much.”

  Amanda just grunted as they made their way down the stairs, still in the smart but now rumpled suit she’d worn to the party. Carrington cringed. She must have slept on his couch while he’d napped.

  “Please tell me you didn’t crumple up that nice tie and stuff it in your pocket.” Granted, the yellow and orange tie was a repeated pattern of Applejack from My Little Pony that Amanda had worn to annoy the other guests, but it was still a good silk tie.

  “I folded it and put it in my jacket pocket. It’s not my first tie.”

  “My mistake. Terribly sorry.”

  “What’re you looking for at the library, anyway?”

  “Not a what, Manda. Who.”

  Just as they crossed into Logan Circle, the rain began to patter down. Carrington picked up his pace and only patted the Shakespeare memorial as they jogged past rather than stopping to say good afternoon to Touchstone and Hamlet. It was a silly thing, but he liked to acknowledge both characters in the Calder piece in case no one passing by that day realized who they were.

  Absurd, really. But his life had been absurd for several years. His concern over the hurt feelings of statues was mild compared to most of it. They gained the entry hall just as the rain started a heavy drumbeat on the stone steps. The heels of their dress shoes rang loud in the nearly empty space. No longer worried about Amanda getting soaked—he couldn’t have cared less about himself since he didn’t chill—he slowed to a stroll and finally answered her question.

  “I want to visit the Rare Books Department and see if anyone’s heard of our word-throwing book before.”

  “So it looked like it was an old book? An antique or something?”

  Carrington let out a little huff as they climbed the stairs past Dr. Pepper’s statue, the one his idiot brother always snickered at, even though the library’s founder had nothing to do with carbonated beverages.

  “I didn’t have a chance to examine it. It’s possible the book was old and it certainly qualifies as rare.”

  “Sure as hell hope it does,” Amanda muttered.

  They wound their way up the marble steps to the third floor where Carrington led them to a short set of stairs behind a glass door. This door declared Rare Book Department in gold letters in the center of the door, with an additional notice painted on the glass partition to the left in more sober black letters—Please Ring Bell for Admittance.

  “Please knock if answer is not required,” Carrington murmured as he pushed the button.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Sorry. Winnie the Pooh reference.”

  Amanda’s eyebrows drew together. “Got it. One of your weird brain days.”

  It took a few minutes of pacing and a second ring before one of the librarians, a young African American man, hurried down the steps. Rail thin and shorter than average, he arrived apparently out of breath, huffing as he opened the door.

  “Hey, sorry, did you have an appointment?”

  Carrington nearly smacked his forehead. Of course. Access to the Rare Book section was by appointment. He should have called out of courtesy. “No, we—”

  “Oh. I am sorry, but the tour was at eleven this morning, and I’m the only one here right now.”

  Which means you don’t give tours? Or you have other pressing duties in a department filled with ancient books in cases and can’t give tours when you’re alone? Carrington shoved aside his wanderings into speculation and pulled out his badge. “I’m Officer Loveless. This is Officer Zacchini. We just need a moment of your time, please.”

  Dark eyes darted between Carrington and Amanda in a worried fashion. “Has something happened? Is my mother all right?”

  “I don’t have any news about your mother. We just have a few questions. It’s your expertise in unusual books we need.”

  The librarian sagged in visible relief and held the door open. “Come in, Officers. I’m Erasmus Graham, one of the staff librarians. My particular area is Beatrix Potter, but I’ll help any way I can.”

  “Beatrix Potter?” Amanda shrugged out of her jacket as they entered a room lined with locked cases of books behind glass. “Like Peter Rabbit?”

  Graham’s chuckle was warm and self-deprecating. “Yes. We have the largest collection of Miss Potter’s drawings in the country here. I spend a good part of my days with charming English bunnies and ducks.”

  “The world could use more charm.” Carrington stopped at a glass case with a stuffed raven on which the plaque declared the raven to be Grip, pet to Charles Dickens and muse to Edgar Allan Poe. Wonder if the raven was related to our Edgar? “Mr. Graham, we’re from the 77th. The paranormal crimes unit.”

  “Erasmus, please.” He led them back to a desk and produced enough chairs for everyone to sit. “I do hear about your unit sometimes. My mom’s wife’s cousin is your department commander.”

  “Oh, thank freaking jam on toast,” Amanda said. “Explaining us first takes longer than the interview sometimes.”

  Erasmus’ laugh was soft and muted, like a librarian’s should be. It was difficult to imagine him ever raising his voice. “So, how can I help you, Officers? Are you looking for an old manuscript?”

  “Possibly.” Carrington shifted uncomfortably in the metal chair, propped one ankle on his knee, crossed his legs, then finally went for a stretched-out slouch. Nonchalance was harder when one’s butt was bruised. “We encountered an odd book today. That is, I did. Amanda didn’t see the book.”

  Erasmus had a pencil poised over a scratch pad as if he might need to take notes. “Was the subject matter odd? The language?”


  “It smacked Carr—Officer Loveless—in the face with words.”

  “With…words?” Erasmus put the pencil down to tug on his right earlobe. “I’m not sure I understand.”

  “I had a paranormal encounter this afternoon.” Carrington shifted forward again, hands clasped between his knees. Sometimes prolonged eye contact helped regular humans believe what he said, though he had to admit that it worked better on slow-witted people. “There was a book on a table that moved on its own. It rattled about on its cover a bit and when I tried to speak to it, it hurled insulting words at me. Actual, physical letters that struck me in the head.”

  The ear tugging grew worse and Erasmus opened his mouth several times before he blurted out, “A book punched you?”

  Carrington dropped his head into his hands.

  “He kinda forgets sometimes.” Amanda’s voice shook and it wasn’t from tears. “Not everybody deals with the crap we do. Some of the paranormal stuff we run into is normal stuff. Like vampires and werewolves.”

  Erasmus made a sound that could have doubled for a chair squeak. “All right. I suppose for your unit that would be normal-ish.”

  “Yeah. But sometimes we run into things that should be un-movey…Carr? What’s the word?”

  “Inanimate.”

  “That. But the things move under their own power. We have a smartass leather jacket who’s a sort of consultant to the department. Thinks he’s funny, but his heart’s in the right place. Though… You know what I mean. So this book was moving on its own. Carr thought he could talk to it maybe, and instead it spit nasty, hard words at him. Left a mark, too.”

  “Taking the concept of hurtful words a little too far.” Erasmus put a hand on his shoulder and left it there until Carrington looked up. “Are you all right?”

  Arrested by warm, dark eyes, he nodded. Lovely eyes. If only he were bigger. A little less skeletal. “Yes, fine. I’ve had worse thrown at me. But the reason we came to you is to ask if you or your colleagues had ever heard of such a book.”