Supernatural Vigilante series Box Set

by D. R. Perry

  “What’s so special about this lizard anyway, Scott?” I ask him because he’s the one who arranged this missing pet case.

  “Dunno.” He turns the wheel and pulls out on to the street.

  We ride along in silence until we’re almost to the highway. Then I realize my mistake.

  “Shitballs.”

  “What the fuck?” Esther blinks.

  “What? I can’t cuss?” I shake my head. “Um, I forgot to, uh, check in with Stephanie.”

  Yeah, I’m lying, and it’s possible that Scott knows it. Esther seems clueless though. My partners in private investigation and the occasional technically heroic crime know about the vamp who turned me. They don’t know that the vampires have a king I’m required to contact every time I’m in the city limits.

  “Can’t you just call her?”

  “Oh.” Scott’s right.

  I can phone instead of drop by. That’s one of the fringe benefits of passing my Trials and becoming a full member of vampire society last month. But I don’t want to do it in the truck where they can overhear anything. I’m allowed to tell people like Esther and Scott that I’m a vampire but supposed to keep details about our ways secret from the other supernaturals.

  “Um, but there’s something kinda, uh, personal that I—”

  “Get the fuck out.” Esther opens the door.

  “Woah, holy shit!” Scott’s usually the chillest person in any given group, but even he can’t relax when the alchemist opens the door of a moving vehicle.

  The werewolf pulls over while the magician cackles like a Golden Age Silver Screen witch. I just roll my eyes. Once the vehicle stops, I unbuckle the belt and hand the glove to Esther again. Then I climb over her lap to get out.

  And there is definitely something unnatural about her right leg. Her left arm, too. They’re colder than they should be, for one thing. For another, the pulse in them is slower and stronger than the ones in her other two limbs. Does she have some cockamamie kind of magicked-together prosthetics?

  I promised I wouldn’t ask her again, so I let it ride and focus on getting my feet on the pavement. The phone in my pocket buzzes before I can even get it out. There’s a text from Ma, but I let it sit while I dial the number at what’s essentially vampire HQ in the city of Providence. It rings three times before I hear the voice on the other end.

  “Valentino.”

  “Raven.” I’m glad it’s not King DeCampo on the other end of the line. Raven’s annoying, but way less intimidating to talk to about official stuff.

  “I’m, uh, in Providence.” I cup my chin with my free hand and the phone to cut down on road noise.

  “Why?” I can almost see Raven arching their eyebrow. And no, the king’s attaché isn’t two people. Whenever anyone asks what gender Raven is, the eternal answer is vampire. When we first met, I took that interaction a step further and asked for pronouns. Hey, if I can get my brain around the idea that vampires are real, accepting that one happens to be Enby is no biggie. And Raven’s at least as influential as Stephanie, the vamp who turned me. Probably more even though I think she's older. It’s a good idea to stay on Raven's good side.

  “On a case,” I answer. Honesty is easier than making up a story I’ll only forget.

  “Murder?”

  “No. Missing, uh, person.” The last thing I want to do is admit to the vampire nobility that I chase amphibians through Providence’s old tunnels.

  “Some night, I hope you’ll tell me what an uh-person is. Because even I’ve never heard of one before.”

  “It’s a long story.” The last-ditch utterance doesn’t spare me from Raven’s curiosity.

  “We’re vampires, Valentino. We’ve got all the time in the world for that.”

  The blast on the horn would have scared the piss out of me if vampires still had that bodily function. I glare back at the big blue clunker to find Scott trying to shoo Esther’s hands away from the middle of the steering wheel. She flips me both birds.

  “Hurry it up, asshole! I need a fucking cheeseburger!”

  “Go cheeseburger yourself!” I flip her one right back. It’s impossible to keep up with Esther’s foul language, so I never bother. One-finger salutes are another story.

  “Where are you again, Valentino?” Raven’s chuckling on the other end of the line. The king’s attaché seems to enjoy my distress way too much.

  “Near the Mall. By the highway exit.”

  “Oh, God, don’t get hit.” Raven’s tone carries more genuine concern that I expect. “People would discover what we are if you total someone’s car.” Yeah. That concern? Not for me. It figures.

  “Yeah, trying not to cause wrecks. But this influential vamp I’m checking in with keeps asking me a million questions. You know how it is.”

  “Fine, you’re in the clear. But so help me, if letting you off the hook ends up biting me in the ass later, you’ll owe.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Raven hangs up, so I pocket the phone. Climbing back into the car is just as awkward as before. I have to flat-out ignore Esther’s weird left arm and right leg, which sucks because I’m one curious dude. Which is a good thing, what with me being a PI and all. Anyway, as Scott drives away, I’m relieved. We got the salamander and managed not to piss off the vampire royalty.

  But I know better than to count my five-hundred-dollar share of the fee before it’s paid. There’s something about this simple case that’s got my gut instinct in a twist. Staring out at the hypnotic dashes painted on the surface of I-95, I do my best to shake it off.

  How much trouble can one little amphibian be?

  I hope those aren’t famous last words.

  Chapter Two

  I prop the door on the way in. Not only is it good for business, but it’s also an act of rebellion. The guys who own the building hate that, and I don’t like them either. They had a hit list with my name on it, after all. But I got their hitwoman to quit, rented a space in their building under an alias, and have bugs set up to make sure I can stop them if they manage to hire another one. And now, I'm breaking their petty slumlord rules like some punk kid instead of a creature of the night. Maybe that’s why I chuckle all the way up the stairs to the third floor.

  We’re in the studio space that’s also our Private Investigation firm's office. Which the Caprice crime family I mentioned before knows nothing about. It’s complicated. Anyway, Scott gets on the phone, dialing the client’s number who hired us to get her lizard. Instead of asking us to hang on to him she wants to come over to the office right now and pick him up.

  I’m surprised but not upset. This means we get paid quicker. It also means we’re getting our first actual guest in the office. This is nerve-wracking because the decor and furniture are all junked or abandoned items we picked up during off-campus college move-outs last month. What do you want, it was free, okay? But that makes our space look and feel less than professional.

  I’m pacing and wringing my hands. Esther grumbles something about amateurs and heads downstairs. I don’t bother trying to decipher her words or actions, which is why I’m surprised when she comes back up maybe a minute later.

  “Get off the chair, you son of a bitch.” She’s brandishing a piece of chalk and talking to Scott, who’s sitting at his desk.

  “Hey!” He stands and puts his hands on his hips. “My dad’s the werewolf, not my mom!”

  “Boo-fucking-hoo.” Esther points her chalk at Scott’s posterior. “Move your candy-ass!”

  Scott’s probably one of the most laid-back people I know despite being a dude who does a furry hulk out when things get dangerous. Or maybe he's chill because nobody likes him when he's angry. But I don’t blame him for scuttling out of the way.

  We’ve seen Esther bring down literal walls with a fistful of alchemical Post-it notes, wrecking her own apartment during a battle with the hunter who broke into it. I haven’t seen her place since then, but she delivers epithet-laden descriptions of the contractor’s lack of progre
ss with repairs on a regular basis. She says she won't fix it with magic because it's too much energy on a place she doesn't own.

  The surly alchemist chalks out a circle on the back of the threadbare office chair and mumbles a few words sans cussing. Glittering green haze shimmers in the air around the cast-off seat, and before our eyes, it changes.

  I’m so busy staring at the shiny new poshness now gracing the area behind Scott’s desk I fail at watching Esther work more of this magic around the room. When she’s done, the place looks like we spent ten grand on decking it out.

  Scott’s blinking. I’m standing so still my undeadness is showing. Esther’s brushing off her hands and stowing the chalk in her pocket. She looks at me, then the teenage werewolf. After that, she pulls the chalk out again and marks the glove. It turns into a fishbowl with a plastic mesh lid. I shake my head.

  “What?” Esther sets the bowl on my desk. “I’m a goddamned fucking alchemist, and you expect me not to do any fucking Alchemy?”

  “Um—” I’m about to mention my now missing glove and how I kind of need it, but her narrowed eyes make me think better of saying all that. Her next statement proves my wisdom.

  “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

  “Thanks!” I give Esther a big friendly smile then put my hand over my mouth because I just basically fanged out at her. It’s worse than flipping the bird because I kind of tried to eat her once. And Scott, too. I totally didn’t mean to, and still feel bad about it. My friend Maya says not to worry about turning into a monster until I stop feeling sorry. So I apologize.

  Esther just rolls her eyes, which is normal for her. She stalks over to the door and opens it. A kid’s standing there, fist raised, green eyes wide. Rust-colored brows dip down as she lowers her hand and scans the room. This girl can’t be a day over thirteen with a room full of particularly scary adults staring at her. But she makes a face like she just caught the ice cream truck before it left her street. Her mouth transforms from a flat line to a smiling Cupid’s bow. She only has eyes for the lizard. Salamander. Whatever.

  “Sparky!” She dashes across the threshold, ducks under Scott’s arm, dodges my hand, outstretched for a handshake. “I thought you were a goner.”

  The kid pulls the mesh lid off the fishbowl. Instead of scooping the little red amphibian up, she sets her hand against the glass rim, and the salamander hot-tails it up and out of the container. She giggles as he climbs her arm to put one little foot on her cheek.

  “I missed you, too.” The girl boops him on the nose. “Get in.” She opens a pouch strapped across her shoulder, kind of like a cross between a handbag and a shoulder holster.

  Sparky scrambles down her shoulder and into the bag. A moment later, he sticks his head out and winks at me. I shit you not.

  The kid walks right up to my desk and mouths the three words on the swanky little placard that came with Esther’s alchemical redecorating. Her eyes glance from Scott to me and back again because neither of us is behind that desk. She shrugs at Esther.

  “Which one of you is Mister Crispo?”

  “That’d be me.” I cross over to get behind my desk. “Hi there.”

  She pulls wads of ones and fives from pockets in her pants and the hoodie she’s wearing. A few twenties join the mix. Then she takes off her left shoe and slaps a handful of Benjamins down in front of me.

  “Crap.” The girl shakes her head. “I’m short.”

  Scott’s standing frozen, blinking at me as I uncrumple and count every bill. I put the money in piles, the stack of ones dwarfing all four of the others. Esther’s mouthing something like “What the fuck” at me. I don’t care. Kid or not, she’s a client. And unless she’s standing here crying or bleeding, which she’s not, I’m going to let her pay by whatever means she has at her disposal.

  “It’s only two dollars. You can owe me, okay?” I grin.

  “Are you sure, Mister Crispo? It’s just that Sparky’s, like, the most important thing in the world right now, and I should pay what my Baba told me it cost.”

  “Absolutely.” I'm not sure what a Baba is, but she's too old to be talking about a baby bottle. Maybe it means Grandma, like “Nana” does in my family.

  “When do you want the money?”

  “Take your time. I can wait a year if you need.”

  “Wow, Mister Crispo. You really are a nice guy, just like my Baba said you’d be.” The kid turns and heads back through the room. This time, none of us try to get in her way. Once she’s at the door, she looks over her shoulder. “Thanks!”

  “Oh, any time, Miss—” I grin. “I didn’t catch your name.”

  “I’m Leora Kupala.”

  “Well, it’s good to meet you, Miss Kupala. Call us if you need help again. We give discounts for repeat customers.”

  “Kay, thanks, bye!” Leora dashes out the door and down the hall.

  Something’s off, but I can’t put my finger on it. I split the bills into three nearly equal dollar amounts, then give the two full shares to Esther and Scott. I pocket the stack that’s short by two dollars. That’s when my face hits my palm.

  “Did the two of you also hear Leora tell us her friend hired us for her?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Fuckin’ A.”

  “Shitballs.”

  “Why?” Scott scratches his head.

  “Because she’s maybe thirteen, and out past curfew for any kid that age, even though she says her grandma’s the one who hired us. And paying us in scrounged bills.” I put both hands on my desk and lean forward. “What’s that tell a good investigator, Scott?”

  “You’re a fucking sucker for helping critters and kids?” Esther’s eyes are rolling like dropped coins.

  “Is your name Scott?” I roll my eyes right back.

  She shuts her mouth and shakes her head. But Esther's grinning, so we're good. It's all part of our continuous snarkfest.

  “Well, it could mean a couple of things.” Scott leans one hip on his desk.

  “Such as?”

  “Leora’s adult supervision can’t get here?”

  “Go on.” I turn my finger in a circle. “Tell me why.”

  “Disabled. Agoraphobic. Can't do stairs?”

  “Occam’s fucking razor, shit for brains.” Of course, Esther knows way more than Alchemy. Which is a good thing, and explains why she looks like a fish on a bicycle whenever I’m teaching Scott this stuff.

  “Oh, yeah. The whole keep it simple thing.” Scott stands. “Something happened to the nice lady who called us and Leora’s on her own.”

  “Bingo!” I tap my nose with one finger. “Ten points to Wolfenpuff!”

  “So let’s go after her, then.”

  Scott grabs his keys and sprints for the door. He’s got a point, but blood-drinking vampires like me who get toasted by sunlight can’t put little girls up in their apartments. Neither can Esther because her place is still trashed.

  But a pack of benevolent werewolves might be willing and able to protect Leora Kupala. I let Scott go since he knows more about that possibility than I do. Though I wrack my brain for a backup. Maybe my mundane and in-the-dark about supernaturals bestie, Maury could help? Nah. I’ve got nothing, not even by the time Scott returns a handful of minutes later.

  “Can’t find her.”

  “Huh.”

  “No trace of the kid’s scent, either.” Scott’s eyebrows try to meet in the middle. “That makes no sense. It’s been over a month since I had any problem catching a scent.”

  “When was that?”

  “Funeral home.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I try to hide the reflexive wince I make over my forgetfulness. I was supposed to ask Scott what was up with the strange veiled figure standing in the back at a murdered police detective’s funeral. But I spaced.

  “It was weird, but Gramps said not to worry about it.” Scott shrugs. “Anyway. I don’t know what to do now. Do you guys?”

  I grab my phone and dial back the number that called u
s earlier. But it goes straight to a voicemail that says the Inbox is full. I set the phone down and stare at it. But that’s no good. I have to do better.

  “Well, we tracked the salamander.” I pace a couple of times behind my desk. “And it definitely didn't act normal for its species. So my theory is, she’s not a regular kid.”

  “No shit, Sherlock.” Esther’s holding one of her rocks on a string over the stack of bills I handed her. There’s a smudge of red on one of the Benjamins that smells faintly of something sweet. “Alchemists don’t need our fucking noses to find people. Blood and the right tools do the fucking job.”

  Maybe a minute later, she huffs and puffs, then chalks a small circle on the floor. After drawing lines and the weird symbols she uses inside it, she puts the money in the middle and tries again with the pendulum.

  “Can’t fucking track the little shit, even with blood on the bills.” Esther stows her pendulum and the cash, then heads out the door. “Need my fucking lab.”

  “Ahem.” I clear my throat, pointing at the chalk she left all over the middle of the floor.

  Esther stops in the doorway and snaps her fingers. The chalk blows away. She slams the door behind her, and Scott sneezes. I know she’s in a hurry and wants to get downstairs to the Alchemy lab I’ll forever think of as the weirdo factory, but that’s no excuse for leaving chalk everywhere. At least the one time I made a mess in her lab I tried to put it back. And made her botch her spell in progress. But that's a story for another time.

  I sit at my desk and pull the top drawer open. Inside is a tray of writing implements, a stack of Post-its, and a legal pad, which was exactly what I put in there before Esther magicked its appearance. I pull out the yellow pad and slap it on the desk’s surface. Then, I grab a pencil and let my thoughts go to town.

  “Huh. I wouldn’t have thought of that.” Scott's reading over my shoulder.

  “Shush, kid. I’m thinking here.”

  “Okay.”

  Scott leaves me with my brain-to-paper-exercise. I’m jotting words from left to right and leaving space in case more ideas come from me or the others later. I flare my nostrils, trying to remember how I managed to count all that money without noticing bloodstains on any of the bills. I smack my forehead, nearly staking myself in the eye with the yellow number two pencil.