The symbol of the brand used to mark a man in Butte, Montana, nearly a decade before wasn’t at all similar to the one Claude had had me touch, but the symbol was relevant—scratch that, necessary—for the ritual it was used to complete.
But it was the why that got me.
The symbol allowed the woman who branded him to drain him of his energy, like a vampire could do through a blood drain, or a succubus could do with sex. The woman who had branded him simply had to touch the branded flesh with a bit of her blood to activate the magic. A magic she could then activate whenever she wanted from a distance, with a bit more blood and a lot of energy.
My breath caught. A shaman.
But shamans didn’t tend to deal in murder. With their connection to living things, killing wouldn’t be easy for them. I had a hard time wrapping my brain around the idea of a shaman being involved in this.
The sound of a door clicking shut had me reaching for my sidearm—a weapon I no longer possessed, and wouldn’t have again until I was back on official duty.
“Beatrice?” Claude’s voice rang out, and my blood pressure dropped.
“In the kitchen,” I called back.
“I brought lunch.” He held up a bag from a local fast food joint, Wolfy’s, and I grinned. For a man who didn’t require food to live, he sure knew his local eateries.
“Thanks.” I pulled a hot dog out of the bag and eyed Claude, who had already started in on his French fries.
“I didn’t realize vampires ate so often. I mean—food-food.” Had he eaten so much before and I simply hadn’t noticed? No. We’d both been too distracted to eat much then. By the case and by each other. For a moment, it was as if I could feel his hand sliding up my side to caress my breast, his clever tongue slipping into my mouth to tease moans from my lips. My breath caught at the memory.
He bit off the end of his fry, flashing me just a tip of fang. “It doesn’t give us sustenance like blood does, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t taste good.” His eyes twinkled and his mouth turned up in a most distracting grin. “Besides, I’ve found it makes humans more comfortable if they see me eat when they do.”
As if I could forget he was a vampire.
“I guess I can see why. Not really any shame in drinking blood though.”
His eyes widened and their color struck me again. The man should not be allowed such lovely eyes. “That’s not the typical reaction I get. Humans tend to be…uncomfortable when confronted by the realities of my existence.” He hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “I mean, it’s different—witnessing it during an intimate—”
“There’s no shame in it,” I plowed on and pretended my embarrassment wasn’t obvious on my heated cheeks. I refused to let him finish that sentence. Red hair and the pale skin that accompanied it didn’t make hiding emotions easy, but I didn’t have to acknowledge it. “I don’t see people looking askance at a plant for absorbing energy in a way different from us.”
“True. But plants aren’t potential predators—not of human prey.”
“Touché.” The easy conversation warmed me, especially since he didn’t try to bring up anything intimate again, and we ate the rest of our food in companionable silence. Swallowing the last of my Coke, I closed my eyes.
The brand, orange and bright and full of malice, filled my sight.
Claude patted my back as I choked, coughing out the soda I’d inhaled.
“Are you all right?” His hand lingered on my back, soft pressure sending warmth into my center and bits of electricity up my spine. And I almost imagined I felt a soft brush of his thumb stroking me before his hand dropped and he walked back around to the kitchen side of the breakfast bar.
“Sorry,” I spluttered out from behind the napkin I’d managed to cough most of the soda into. I didn’t want to tell him about the vision echo, so I didn’t give him a chance to ask. It would only worry him, make him want to send me home. I’d lose any chance at finding out what had happened all those years ago to my brother.
And he’d be trying to take down Nicolas Chevalier alone.
“What do you know about shamans?”
He didn’t blink at the sudden change of subject. “As much as the next man who’s been around awhile, I guess. Why do you ask?”
“Was there an indication of shamanic magic on the brand? Wherever you actually happened upon it?”
“It’s rude to answer a question with a question,” he said, but amusement laced his tone.
“Did I ever claim to be polite?” I couldn’t help grinning at my jibe.
His smile widened. “Quite right. You win—yes, there was shamanic magic on the brand. Just a touch, but my partner is a sensitive, and quite good at her job.”
I ignored the twinge in my chest at his obvious affection for his partner, and the desire to ask him where she was in all this. If they were so close—and she was so good at her job—then why wasn’t she here helping? Granted, sensitives didn’t get visions from objects like psychometrists did, but they were able to feel the energy exuded by otherworlders—even traces left behind on objects.
Useful was hardly a strong enough word for them.
“So as to what I know of them, shamans are a varied lot,” he continued. “They’re all spirit-oriented—both human and animal. As a result they tend to be very tied into the energy around them. Empathetic.”
“Nature lovers.”
He laughed. “That too, I suppose.”
“I found something similar to your brand in the OWEA database. Well, similar enough. A brand used in a ritual with shamanic magic involved.”
His smile faltered. “I told you—”
“I’m not looking deep enough for anyone to get pinged or even be able to see I was there beyond a standard search. I just hit the general objects database. Of course, if we want more details about the case—”
“Not now. Not yet anyway. Tell me what you found.”
Bossy. I frowned at him, but didn’t argue. “I don’t think it’s directly related to what you found, but a brand was used by a woman practicing shamanic magic a decade ago. She branded a symbol into a man’s chest and used it to drain him of his energy.”
“That sounds unlikely for a shaman.”
“I Googled it after. According to news articles, she’d utterly lost it after her child was killed. The branding victim was responsible—DUI.”
“How did it work exactly?”
“Not enough detail in the general database file to be able to tell. But it wasn’t an overnight thing. She killed him over a period of months.”
Claude interlaced his fingers and stretched his shoulders. “Well, guess we may need to risk exposure to get the file.”
“Do you really think he might have spies in the OWEA?”
“I think it’s possible—hell, probable. Why wouldn’t he?”
I opened my mouth to tell him that he was wrong. That the OWEA stood for something, and the people in it were decent, hardworking law enforcement officers who wouldn’t sell out. I snapped my mouth shut and gave him a short nod instead.
A wistful smile touched his mouth. “For a second there, you reminded me of someone.”
My heart jumped, racing for no reason I could fathom. “Who?”
“A fiery redheaded rookie, who believed that justice would always prevail.”
“You’re wrong. I was never that naive.” Not since I was a little girl who’d lost her older brother. Not since the mystery of what had happened to him had gone unsolved. Not since I’d seen a vision of Luc Chevalier when I was ten years old, a vision everyone had told me was simply a nightmare. “And I’m not fiery.”
“If you say so.” His joke failed. The wistfulness faded from his expression, and he almost looked a little sad. “But you did have a certain optimism.”
Years of visions and nightmares had robbed me of that, but I couldn’t say it aloud. “I’m a realist now.”
“Not a cynic?” His grin returned, and I couldn’t help the tug at
my own lips.
“Not yet.”
If I’d thought visiting the house of a Covenant witch in the cold Chicago winter irritating, I’d have been wrong. It had nothing on slinking down a dark alley with the wind whipping off Lake Michigan to visit a man the Covenant witch, Natalie, had suggested might have information about the brand. But the wind was the only relief to be found from the stink of old garbage and worse things that inundated the alley. The chill or the stench, I wasn’t sure which was worse.
And I wasn’t even getting paid to deal with this bullshit.
“Here we are.” Claude halted in front of a black door painted in such a flat tone it looked as if it had been done with a spray can.
I bumped elbows with Claude as he knocked and saw what had caught his vampire eyes. A tiny symbol—three lines stacked, evenly spaced, only about an inch long, with an odd swirl beneath them. They appeared to have been scratched into the paint.
“Lovely,” I muttered, and the door swung open.
I backed up a step, and with one hand I reached for the gun I no longer carried, and with the other hand I sought a badge that I’d surrendered. The man filled the doorway, a giant who I suspected would have to bend down simply to walk through the space. But he wasn’t only tall, his shoulders were wide and he had arms bigger than my head. I’d have thought him a giant, if giants had been real. He dwarfed Claude.
“Yeah?” he said through the long black beard, peppered in gray, that covered his face and neck.
“Customers.”
Claude looked as if he would have said more, but the man was no longer listening. After the word customers, he jerked his head at us and turned, letting the door fall from his grip. Claude caught it gracefully, as if he’d expected the man to take off. Thank goodness for vampire reflexes.
Claude shot me a reassuring grin and I frowned. I’d needed to be reassured by him at one point in my life—but no longer.
The alleyway had smelled bad, but the inky dark hallway smelled purely frightening. Not stinky—no. But the scents of the alleyway had at least been identifiable—normal, even. The hallway stank of fire and smoke and pain.
No. That was the memory of the vision talking. The smoke that had triggered the memory, yes, that was here, but not the pain. Not the blinding brightness of the enflamed branding iron. I blinked quickly even as I followed Claude closely, suppressing the urge to grip his jacket to make sure I didn’t get lost, and pushing down the urge to panic.
Claude didn’t seem to have any trouble navigating the hallway, and I silently envied him his vampire sight. We followed the man until the hallway tilted—a ramp leading down into even greater darkness.
My heart jumped into my throat. I didn’t speak, didn’t cry out, but Claude paused to reach back and take my hand in his. A rush of relief ran through me at the touch and, my resolve wavering, I let him hold my hand. But I managed to suppress my desire to grasp at him desperately.
After what felt like hours, the ramp evened out and a small room was revealed. Ventilation fans hovered over what looked like old-fashioned blacksmith fire pits, a curious mix of new and old. The fires weren’t lit. Instead, a single fluorescent bulb glowed uncovered above a large metal desk that seemed to divide the customer area from the fire pits in the back.
I assumed it was a desk. By the height, it was more accurately described as a counter. But when the big man sat behind it and pulled out a yellow, legal-sized notepad and pen, there was no doubt how he used the thing.
“What’re you want’n?” he asked, and I struggled to figure out the accent. Sounded Irish, but was a little off. Maybe he’d lived in the States long enough for it to change a bit. That didn’t sound quite right either. But I was no accent expert.
“Information,” Claude said.
The giant set the pen down on the notebook and leaned back in his oversized chair. Just as large as he’d appeared outside, he looked even more intimidating under the too-white glow of the fluorescent bulb. Thick gray hair stood at haphazard angles on his head, as if we’d woken him up in the middle of the night. Craggy skin covered the rest of his hide and the backs of his hands. Not pockmarked, but uneven and odd. Burned, I thought. I glanced at the fire pit behind him, and was rewarded with a scowl.
“Ain’t got no information for the likes of you.”
“What’s the matter? Don’t like cops?” Claude slapped his badge down on the counter.
The giant leaned back, crossing his big arms across his chest. “Don’t like fangers.”
Claude went still—too still—like only vampires could. “I don’t much care if you like me,” he said, voice still even, almost amused. “I’ll bet you don’t care either. When it comes down to it, my money spends just as well as the next guy’s.”
The beard moved, revealing yellowed teeth set in a frightening smile. “S’pose it does, at that.”
Claude pulled out my drawing of the brand and set it on the man’s desk. “I need to know everything you know about this symbol.”
The man named a figure that made me gasp.
“You’re ripping me off!” Claude jabbed his finger at the giant.
I gaped; I’d never seen the vampire yell.
“Damn right, I am! That’ll teach ya not to be so cocky.” An evil glint touched his narrowed eyes. “Maybe should charge ya double.”
“Maybe I should kick the piss out of your witch ass.”
“Like to see you try, shrimp.”
“Oaf!”
Their insults grew cruder and more extravagant, and amusement broke slowly onto both of their expressions as my mood darkened. They were friends and he’d let me assume we might be in danger. Not funny.
After Claude suggested something wholly anatomically unlikely, the witch laughed, and the booming sound filled all the corners of the room. He named another price, about half the original one he’d suggested. It was still astronomical by my scale.
Claude grinned, but didn’t hesitate in his reply. “Done.”
“But that’s—”
“It’s fine,” Claude said, shooting me a wink.
Whatever. It was his money. What did I care that it was more than I made in half a year?
“I’ll call you when I have somethin’ for ya, if there’s somethin’ to be found.”
I made an exasperated noise, and Claude glanced at me.
“How do you know you can trust him?” I asked him.
“I’ll be back in two days, whether you’ve called or not. I would like to have it in my possession before the gala,” Claude told the giant, ignoring my question.
“What gala?” I asked.
Finally Claude’s attention shifted to me, but before he could answer the giant spoke.
“There’s a fancy vampire bash this weekend. Goin’ to be borin’ as all get out, but a fanger’ll take any chance to put on a shiny suit, eh?”
Claude shot the giant a glare before turning back to me. “The Chevaliers throw a gala event for the local otherworlder elite every few months.”
“Tryin’ to remind people they think they’re in charge,” the giant grumbled.
Claude waved a hand. “It’s not important, but this brand and my timeline are. Two days.”
“Fine,” the man said. “Two days. But I’m gonna need some specifics from ya, about the metal and such. Can’t make nothin’ worth workin’ powerful magic with that ain’t made right. The metal—it’ll tell us somethin’.”
Claude nodded and set an envelope on the counter, no doubt the down payment for services that by my guess might not ever get done. We turned to go, but the giant’s words followed us down his endless hallway.
“Damn fanger.”
Chapter Five
“I can’t believe you paid a man—probably a criminal—that kind of money. And for what? Probably nothing,” I groused after Claude called Natalie and instructed her to send the details of the brand’s metal composition to the giant—how the witch would determine that, I had no idea. A spell? A home chemist
ry kit? Claude handed over some of the takeout he had again picked up. “Not to mention that show of insults. I take it you know each other?”
Of course they did, and probably well. And Claude hadn’t bothered to warn me about their weird, macho idea of friendship. I’d been convinced I’d have to run from a fight. Dammit. I needed my sidearm. At least it gave me the illusion of being on even ground.
“Judging people based on looks alone? Beneath you, mon chou, to stereotype. You don’t know for sure he’s a criminal.” The vampire was annoyingly unflappable, and he munched on his orange chicken like he didn’t have a care in the world.
I blinked. “Isn’t he?”
Claude’s grin widened. “Oh, yes. He’s quite the criminal. But that doesn’t mean you should stereotype.”
Ass.
“But minor things, nothing violent. Do you have a better idea than paying off my criminal friend?”
“As a matter of fact, yes. I do have a better idea. We could pull in your partner. A sensitive could probably help a ton. Hell, she could have helped us at that giant’s. She could’ve probably sensed out a dozen reasons for us to have arrested him, or avoided paying him for nothing.”
A flash of pain touched his expression. “Astrid is still recovering from injuries from the Chevalier’s casino ship case.”
I started at that. A month had passed since that case. She had to have been hurt worse than I’d thought. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she’d been so badly injured.”
“It could have been much worse. But I don’t particularly want to drag her into something new, even if she was at 100 percent. It takes a while to fully recover from something like that—more than just healing from physical wounds. If we get something that we need a sensitive for, I’ll consider it. But not unless we have something solid for her to check out.”
I suppressed the urge to yank on my hair out of pure frustration. “Let’s pull the OWEA file, then—in full.”
“Pulling the file will leave a trace. A trace that’ll lead right to your door.”
The file would lead right to Parker’s door, more likely, since I still didn’t have clearance. Or right to my supervisor’s door, because Bill would probably pull it for me if I asked. “Well, it’s a damn sight more likely to lead us somewhere—unlike paying off your giant friend. And how likely is it that someone would be looking for that exact file to be pulled?”
Vampire Games (Entangled Ever After) Page 4
