by A. J. Colby
He was a traitor, and a murderer! You should be glad he’s dead, I scolded myself, even as I tried to clamp down on the guilt threatening to choke me.
The beefy vamp standing guard at the door could have been a twin to Chuckles, with his milk-white eyes, pallid skin, and shaved head. As I grew closer I could make out the subtle sheen of white-blonde fuzz capping his skull, and the eyes that turned to inspect me held none of Chuckles’ sarcastic humor. Expecting to be challenged, I faltered when the vamp greeted me in a smooth voice and business-like manner.
“Good evening, Ms. Cray. The Shepherd is expecting you.”
“Thanks,” was all I could manage as I mounted the steps and pulled open the heavy door.
Like her counterpart at the door, the female vamp perched on a stool behind the coffin shaped podium made no move to stop me. Instead, she turned her gaze away when I looked in her direction. It was a far cry from the disinterested reaction I’d received the last time I was with Chrismer, and I couldn’t help feeling unsettled by the frosty welcome.
Entering the main part of the club, the air of wrongness continued; although the girls wore the same seductive smiles and truck loads of body glitter, a melancholy air hung over the club. The patrons, of course, were as oblivious as ever, but the scantily clad men and women toting drinks and gyrating on the stage wore brittle masks of happiness. Chuckles had been as much a part of the club as the gleaming brass poles and pulpit DJ booth. Sure, he’d been a traitor to his kind and his Shepherd, but he’d still been one of them. A vamp meeting the final death is a rare occurrence, and the feeling of fear and sadness was palpable.
I received more than a few sidelong looks as I moved through the club, many of them far from friendly. While Cordova had been the one to send Chuckles to his final resting place, I had no doubt that everyone knew that I’d been the one who uncovered his duplicitousness.
Eager to escape the accusatory glances, I walked up the hidden staircase to Cordova’s private office. Katarina looked up at my entrance, her kohl rimmed eyes red and puffy from crying. I hadn’t sensed any kind of deeper connection between her and the bald-headed vamp, but I supposed that even they must have developed some kind of rapport working together night after night.
“H-hello, Ms. Cray,” she sniffled as I approached her desk, glimpsing a trashcan half full with used tissues beside her chair.
“Is his lordship available?” I asked, making no effort to conceal my desire to be anywhere but here.
She directed a reproachful scowl at me, evidently not approving of my sarcastic address for the Shepherd of the City. Personally, I didn’t give a flying fuck what she thought. I just wanted the night to be over and to crawl into the safety of my own bed.
Katarina’s voice had lost all of its pathetic sniveling and transformed into the haughty tone that only librarians and receptionists seem to possess. “One moment please. I’ll see if he’s available.”
Well shit, I’m just losing friends left and right, I thought as I wandered over to the waiting area and slumped down onto the couch. I had the feeling I would be in for a bit of a wait.
* * *
“Mr. Cordova will see you now,” Katarina announced, having lost some of her haughtiness, but none of her reproach.
Jerking upright, I wiped a puddle of drool from my shirt where my chin had fallen forward to rest on my chest. Katarina’s small sound of disgust drew my gaze up to the polished receptionist as she turned on her heel and stalked around her desk to open the doors to Cordova’s office with an extravagant flourish. Wiping the last of the drool off my face, I rose from the couch and ran a hand through my hair before dismissing it for the lost cause I knew it to be. If the Shepherd of the City wanted another primped and coiffed Barbie doll, he was shopping in the wrong place.
“The conquering hero returns,” he said in greeting, green eyes as dazzling as the shark smile that curved his lips.
Not waiting for an invitation, I plopped down in one of the chairs in front of his desk, too tired to feign politeness. He frowned at my stooped posture and less than polished appearance, but made no comments about the dark bruises on my face or the lingering smell of burnt were that clung to my hair and clothes.
When I voiced no reply, he said, “I assume that is why you are here. Marcus’s accomplice has been apprehended?”
“Apprehended isn’t the word I would choose,” I evaded.
“No?”
“More like burned to a crisp. Either way, he’s dead. It’s over.”
Cordova’s brows arched a little at that revelation, but he otherwise maintained his composed and unflappable appearance. “And who was Marcus working with?”
“Metembe Olujimi. Hank Stone’s lieutenant.”
I’ll admit I enjoyed seeing Cordova lose the battle to keep the surprise from his face, and the stunned silence that followed for several moments. It was good to know that even the Shepherd of the City could still be surprised.
Point for team Riley.
“That is a surprise,” he said, seeming to struggle to find the words to convey his shock as his brows drew together in a look of deep thought. “And Mr. Stone...” he trailed off, leaving the question to hang in the air like a foul odor.
“Didn’t know a thing as far as I can tell,” I replied though I hated how the words felt like shards of glass on my tongue.
It was true as far as it went. From the little information I’d been able to get out of Metembe before Marvin had turned him into a charcoal briquette, Hank hadn’t been involved in the plot to dethrone Cordova, but that didn’t silence the small voice in the back of my mind. How plausible was it to believe that a pack master could really be oblivious to his lieutenant’s machinations? I didn’t like the thoughts that the question conjured up, and I felt sick to my stomach as I pushed them down into the darkness to be examined later when I was alone.
Cordova appeared to loosen a little at my words, and it occurred to me just how dangerous it would have been if it had turned out that Hank was behind the attempted coup. If Hank had been involved it would have led to an all-out race war; a few murdered supes would have been just be the tip of the iceberg. I shuddered at the thought of how blind I’d been not to see the real danger behind my efforts to uncover the culprit. I’d been shamefully naive.
Removing an envelope from the top drawer of his desk, Cordova slid it across to me. The sound of the paper sliding on the glass was eerily similar to the noise Chuckles’ skin had made when his head was torn from his body, forcing me to swallow the sudden surge of vomit in the back of my throat. I cautiously accepted the slim envelope, afraid it might jump up and bite me.
Stranger things have happened.
When nothing happened, I tore it open and pulled out the check within. I don’t normally do something as rude as counting my money in front of a client, but I thought it best to make an exception when working with the undead. As I’d suspected, the amount on the check wasn’t what we’d agreed upon in our original arrangement, but not in the way I’d expected.
“I think there might be a mistake,” I said, puzzling over the extra zero in the amount.
“I assure you, there is no mistake.”
“But it’s way more than we agreed,” I persisted while my brain screamed at me to shut the hell up. It had been ages since I’d had a house fully stocked with groceries, and the check I held in my hands would easily feed me for at least six months, cover a set of new tires for my Jeep, and still leave me with a tidy sum in my savings.
“Let’s call it an incentive,” Cordova replied, his voice slipping into a dulcet purr that sent a shiver down my spine, though likely not for the reason he had intended. It was the voice of a cold blooded predator, and the wolf knew as well as I did that we needed to be on guard.
“For what?”
“I’d like to make you an offer...”
Here it comes, I thought, already feeling my stomach bubble with nausea at the thought of those cold, dead lips on my skin. Gross.
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“...of employment.”
My relief at not being subjected to a come-on from the master vamp was trumped only by my surprise.
“You know, if you’re gonna make a go of this whole comedy thing, you really need to work on your material, ’cause it stinks.”
Ignoring my jibe, Cordova pulled another sheaf of paper from his desk drawer and pushed it towards me. Humoring him, I scanned over it quickly and felt my surprise increase exponentially. It was a fairly straight forward employment contract; in fact, it wasn’t all that different from the one I’d signed for him a week before, though the time frame of my proposed employment was suspiciously vague.
He’s got to be joking.
“You’re joking, right?” I asked, echoing my thoughts while struggling to smother my laughter.
Cordova’s blank expression implied that he wasn’t, but I still couldn’t accept the ridiculousness of the paper I held in my hand.
“You’re offering me a job? As what, your janitor?”
“Against all expectations, you fulfilled the objectives of your job rather well.”
“Against all expectations?” I repeated, feeling my amused smile turn sour. “You thought I’d fail, didn’t you?”
“There were some doubts as to your abilities, yes.”
“And you hired me anyway? Why?”
Rolling his eyes at my perceived dramatics, Cordova leaned forward in his chair to steeple his hands beneath his chin. “You are a rare asset. For all your faults, you possess a particular skillset, one which I believe to have its merits.”
“Be still my beating heart,” I deadpanned while laying a hand on my chest. “How can I possibly control myself in the face of such glowing praise?”
“Joke all you like, Ms. Cray, but the truth remains—you require a steady source of income, and I could use someone with your skills on my payroll. It is a leader doomed to failure who believes himself infallible. A king intent to rule with any hope at longevity must surround himself with warriors upon whom he can rely,” Cordova said, his choice of words and their intensity tugging at a dark thread in the back of my mind I didn’t want to acknowledge just yet.
“I’ve already got a job,” I hastened to remind him, not at all comfortable with the idea of prolonging our business relationship. Then again, I wasn’t interested in continuing any kind of relationship with Cordova.
“And yet, you gladly accepted my previous offer. I would have happily paid double for your services.”
“What would you want me to do?” I heard myself asking while the voice in the back of my mind reminded me that the water heater at the cabin needed replacing before the year was over. “I won’t do anything illegal,” I added as an afterthought, deciding that it was best to keep my nose as clean as possible while dating an FBI agent.
If that is, in fact, what we’re doing.
“At the moment, nothing,” he replied, and my brain churned uselessly trying to figure out what his game was. “But should the need arise, I would like to know that I may call upon you.”
“For what? I’m not signing up to be your new blood bag.”
Cordova’s professional mask slipped for the briefest of moments, revealing his anger at my use of the less than friendly term for a vamp’s blood donor, but moved past the slight. “I have no designs on your blood, Ms. Cray. I am more interested in your other uses.”
“You still haven’t specified what those are.”
“Your connections and lack of loyalties. As I said before, your status as a lone wolf places you in a unique position. From all accounts, you are quite personable, even if I have not seen the evidence of it myself.”
Touché.
“Fair enough. How much are we talking?” I asked, thinking again about the new water heater.
“Three thousand a month and full health benefits, with the possibility for renegotiation after six months.”
Holy shit on a stick.
The temptation to jump up out of my seat and whoop for joy was hard to resist, but I forced myself to settle instead for pressing my lips together and nodding as I made a contemplative sound in the back of my throat. From Cordova’s gleaming gaze it was obvious I wasn’t fooling anyone, but I maintained the air of nonchalance, nonetheless. Although my fingers itched to reach for the pen conveniently positioned on the desktop, the rational half of my brain managed to make itself heard over the clamor of fantasies of what a steady income like that could do. I was in no hurry to sign my life away to the master vamp, and wouldn’t have put it past him to include some kind of clause that could come back to bite me in the ass later.
And what’s to say you haven’t already? the snarky voice in the back of my mind asked. I’d been so desperate for the money I’d given little thought to the likelihood of Cordova slipping something into the previous contract. There wasn’t anything to be done about that now, but I could at least try to cover my ass in the future.
“Do you mind if I have my lawyer take a look at this?” I asked, relieved when my voice sounded cool and professional.
Inclining his head in a gesture of assent, Cordova graced me with a brief smile. “Not at all. You can notify Katarina when you have made your decision.”
“Okay. Well, thanks for this,” I said, holding up the check that felt like it might burn a hole in my hand at any moment. “I should get going.”
Now that our immediate business was over, I was eager to get as far away from Cordova and Asylum as I could.
“Oh, one last thing, Ms. Cray,” he said, his voice once again dipping into the velvety purr that made goose bumps rise along my arms.
“Y-yes?” I stammered, unnerved by the predatory look in his eyes.
“Your vehicle has been repaired and is parked in the lot behind the club,” he said, producing my car keys from the drawer.
My hand trembled a little when I accepted the keys from him, his cool fingers brushing against my palm. It took a herculean effort not to wipe my hand on my jeans to erase the lingering cold spot where he had touched me. “Right. Thanks.”
His smile held all the warmth of the grave as he bid me farewell. “Goodnight, Ms. Cray. I do hope to see you again soon.”
I didn’t stop looking over my shoulder until I’d made it several blocks away, though the walking corpse smell lingered, probably permanently embedded in the interior of my Jeep.
First thing I’m buying as soon as this check clears is some damn air fresheners.
Although the smell of coffee emanating from the small golden bag on the passenger seat seemed to be doing just fine.
I guess I got my hazard pay after all.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
TUCKED IN BETWEEN a realtor’s office and a dry cleaner, Phoebe’s was a quaint neighborhood diner a couple blocks from Hank’s house. It wasn’t much to look at with its chipped purple and blue paint and withered honeysuckle vines framing the windows, but I could smell the homemade butter biscuits and crispy hash browns from a block away. Hank had picked the place when I called him after leaving Asylum, telling him that we needed to meet.
Anxiety weighed heavily in the pit of my stomach, but the growls of hunger drowned it out as I drew in a deep lungful of the deliciously scented air. I was sure I’d eaten something in the last twenty-four hours, but for the life of me couldn’t remember what, or when, it was.
Rock salt crunched underfoot as I approached the door, and I felt a stab of alarm when I caught my reflection in the glass. I’d pulled my hair up into a ponytail, but nothing short of a shower and half a bottle of detangler would tame my bushy mane. It had been just over twelve hours since Metembe tried to give me a one-way ticket to the afterlife, and even my lycanthrope healing couldn’t eradicate all the evidence of his beating in that amount of time.
Deciding that my bedraggled appearance was a lost cause, I pulled open the door and stepped into the quiet warmth. The only folks inside, other than a weary looking waitress, were an old man with grizzled stubble and a couple college age ki
ds who looked like they hadn’t made it to bed yet from the previous night. Catching a whiff of my own delightful aroma, I felt a renewed longing for my bed.
And a shower.
Choosing a table by one of the windows overlooking the cracked pavement, I reveled in the warmth of the sunlight streaming through the glass to warm my fingers where they were splayed on the table, the fine tracery of newly healed cuts just visible on my knuckles. Once my fingers were sufficiently warmed, I flipped over my mug to signal to the waitress I was ready for coffee. After a few minutes she ambled over with a steaming pot and a menu.
I tried to ignore her surreptitious glances at my bruised and swollen face as she filled my cup, but there was no avoiding her heartfelt whisper. “Just leave him, honey. No man is worth that.”
“I... what?” I asked, but she just offered me a sympathetic smile and walked away. It took a few seconds for my sluggish thoughts to decipher the meaning of her words, leaving me cursing into my cup.
Great. I look like the poster child for domestic violence.
Dumping several packets of sugar and creamer into my coffee, I let my mind wander as I gazed out the window. Ten minutes later I spotted Hank’s familiar silhouette walking along the sidewalk, his breath steaming on the early morning air. He’d donned the same red and white plaid jacket I’d seen him wearing a few days before, but had made no other concessions to the cold, wearing his usual jeans and work boots.
Seeing me through the window as he approached, he raised a hand in greeting before ducking through the door. Shrugging out of his jacket, he slid into the opposite chair with a fluid grace rarely seen in a man of his size. Although it hadn’t yet reached eight o’clock he appeared bright-eyed and freshly shaven, his shoulder length hair left loose to catch the sunlight as it curled around his face.
