by S. J. Harper
“Are you any closer to finding Julie?” Rain asks.
“We’re hoping you can help with that,” I tell her. “We have a few more questions.”
Rain glances toward her mother, who has yet to sit down. “I can handle this, Harmony. You don’t need to stick around.”
“You sure?”
Rain nods. “I’m fine, really.”
“I volunteer at the co-op on Wednesdays and Fridays,” Harmony explains.
Zack rises. “If you’re the white Prius, we pulled into the driveway right behind you. I’ll walk out with you and move our car.” He glances back over his shoulder at me then follows Harmony toward the front door.
Suddenly Rain and I are alone.
I hear the front door close. Zack will stay outside, giving me time to work my mojo with Rain. The ability to extract truth is one of my gifts but it’s not an exact science. If I’m not careful, anyone near me when I unleash the power can get caught in the wake. It’s happened with Zack before. I need to make sure it doesn’t happen again. As Liz keeps reminding me, an encounter like that might awaken feelings in him better left undisturbed. It’s the memory of certain events that was altered, not the feelings that led up to them.
I listen to the sound of Zack’s voice, drifting in through the open living room window as he makes idle chitchat with Harmony. Assured that we won’t be disturbed, I begin the process of lowering my shields and tapping into my power.
The temperature in the room climbs a few degrees. A wind rises up within me, escaping on a subtle, perfumed breeze. A delicate yet complex blend of white florals layered atop citrus begins to permeate the room. The drapes flutter. A strand of hair escapes the coil at the nape of my neck and drifts in front of my eyes. I tuck it back behind my ear.
Rain watches me, eyes wide, lips parted. She leans toward me, attracted by a force she cannot begin to understand. “Something’s different . . . your skin.”
I fight to contain the glamour, but hints of my true self have obviously begun to leak through.
“I’m trying out a new moisturizer. We don’t have much time, and I know you want to help find Julie. Right?”
“Absolutely!”
I move so that I can sit next to her on the sofa. “Rain. I’d like you to think about the conversations you’ve had with Julie over the past six months.”
“Okay.”
She’s no longer withdrawn, curled up in the corner of the sofa. She’s engaged, expectant—sitting up, leaning forward, hanging on my every word and anxious to help.
“Did Julie ever talk about needing money?”
“She used to, but not so much anymore. Not in quite a while.”
“We spoke before about the fact that Julie has an account at the bank. That she’s been making regular deposits. Do you know where the money comes from?”
There’s a long pause.
I wait.
Seconds tick by.
“I’m not sure,” she says at last.
“Not sure?”
“I feel like I should know . . . but I can’t remember.”
I watch as she struggles to answer my question. But it’s not her memory that’s a problem. Or her willingness, for that matter. She wants to answer—she can’t help but do otherwise—and she knows she should be able to. I’m certain of it.
So is she.
Now that I’ve required her to sift through her store of memories, she’s detecting something. A hole. A blank file where something should be.
I’ve encountered this a few times before over the centuries. The possible explanations can be narrowed down to two: a vampire’s thrall or magic. Either way, someone wiped a memory, the memory. At one point in time, Rain knew something about the money. The realization is unsettling. It means we’re up against someone supernatural in nature. And it means finding the girls has become even more urgent.
Rain’s level of agitation is rising. “Why can’t I remember?”
It would do no good to press her further, so I lie. “It’s not important. Don’t worry about it. Relax.” I wait a moment for my suggestion to take root, to allow her to stop fighting to remember what she can’t and focus on the second thing that’s stymied Zack and me. “You said before that Julie wasn’t friends with Hannah and Sylvia.”
“They didn’t hang out or anything, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Maybe not in school. But we’re trying to look for connections, Rain. Any activities they might have shared outside of school? Anything at all occur to you?”
Her eyes widen.
I hold my breath.
“The college trip,” she says.
“College trip?”
“Every year the school takes sophomores on a college trip. A few seniors go along, to share what their college search experience has been like, encourage the younger girls to ask questions, really weigh the pros and cons of each college they visit. I just now remembered, Julie was assigned to room with Hannah and Sylvia during the trip.”
We’re getting close to something. I can feel it. Every case has a turning point, a moment when the pieces, all seemingly unrelated, start to one by one fall into place.
If the trip occurred in the first half of June, that certainly would fit our timeline in terms of the bank deposits. Hannah and Sylvia both opened their accounts in late June. Could Julie have shared whatever was netting her almost a thousand per month with Hannah and Sylvia during this trip? All three girls were scholarship recipients. Money might certainly have been a topic of conversation among them.
I sit back. “Rain, when was the trip?”
“Sometime in June. Right after school got out. I don’t remember the exact dates. I didn’t go. I already have plans to go to CalTech. They’re offering me a full ride. Plus, I’m not so much about the bonding.”
“Did Julie mention anything that happened on the trip? Anything out of the ordinary or upsetting? Anything about Hannah or Sylvia?”
Rain shakes her head. “I gave her my condolences when I heard she had to room with the Barbie twins. We didn’t really have much of a chance to connect over the summer since, you know, Julie’s parents don’t approve of me.”
“You said the school sponsors the trip. Who does the chaperoning?”
“Teachers, sometimes parents.”
Hope sparks. The three girls roomed together for a number of days. Zack didn’t come up with anything suspicious about the staff at Point Loma Academy. This new information makes me want to dig deeper. The college trip was an important catalyst. I’m certain of it. We need to follow the money. Rain won’t be of any help, but one of these girls must have confided in someone.
Rain is looking at me with big eyes. She senses my excitement. “Did I help?” Absently, the fingers of her right hand trace the leaf tattoo winding up her left arm. I realize the last time I saw her, she was wearing a jacket. I’d only noticed the lone shoot that trailed from her neckline to her right earlobe. Now I see that the design is much more intricate than that.
It’s like a dash of cold water.
A sense of dread washes over me.
I reach out and touch the tattoo gently. “I love this. Is it like the tattoo Julie got?”
Rain shakes her head. “No. She was afraid her parents would freak if she got anything so obvious. She got a tramp stamp. Kind of a butterfly design. No color, at least not yet.”
“You took Julie to the same artist that did yours?”
“Yeah. They do great work. Julie was impressed with mine so—”
“Where do you go?”
“Wicked Ink. It’s this supercool place in the Gaslamp.”
I know exactly where it is. Wicked Ink may be a supercool tattoo parlor, but it’s also a front for one of the largest Blood Emporium distribution centers in all of California. Something Kallistos has a huge stake in, both financially and politically.
My stomach clenches. “Did anything unusual happen while the two of you were at Wicked Ink?”
Rain frowns
with the effort of trying to fill the gap in her memory. After a long moment she gives in with a shrug. “Whatever it was, I guess it isn’t important,” she replies.
She echoes the same words I used earlier when she couldn’t answer my questions about the money. At some point Rain was privy to the details about the money. She knew where it came from. Until someone, some vampire, took that memory away.
At least now I know who to ask.
CHAPTER 11
I waste no time pulling in my power, bringing the walls back up. Rain will remember the details of our conversation, including my suggestion that she no longer worry about what she can’t remember. The suggestion will continue to bring her solace, a fact for which I’m grateful. I don’t want her to think about the void in her memory. Especially since I have a suspicion who might be behind it.
Rain’s eyes clear. “Now what?” she asks eagerly.
I stand up. “Now we take you to school.”
She frowns. “I was afraid you were going to say that.” She glances at her watch. “I missed the bus.”
I tell her we will give her a ride and wait for her to gather up her backpack. Then we head out. Zack is alone, sitting on the front porch steps. “We need to take Rain to school,” I tell him as I approach. “We made her miss her bus.”
He stands, his back to Rain, who’s paused to lock up. I can tell he wants to ask how things went. He scans my face, looking for any clue as to the success of my “interrogation.”
Rain bounds down the stairs and rushes ahead to the car. As soon as her back is to us, I give him a stealthy thumbs-up.
“Yes!” Zack starts to pump a fist in the air but catches Rain looking back over her shoulder and stops.
“Very mature,” I whisper, keeping my expression studiously neutral. To Rain, “Hop in the back.”
“You must have been some spy,” I comment quietly to Zack as I pass him on my way to the passenger seat.
Zack keeps Rain engaged in conversation on the short drive to Point Loma Academy, asking her about her classes and her teachers. I’m glad. The gut wrench I experienced when Rain first mentioned Wicked Ink has now turned into a full-blown stomachache. We need to find out whether Hannah or Sylvia was a patron, and I need to arrange for a conversation with Rose, the vampire who runs the establishment. A vampire. Capable of wiping a memory, certainly, but capable of kidnapping? And to what end?
I’m jolted out of my thoughts by Zack’s hand on my arm. “Emma? Rain is talking to you.”
I blink back to the present. We’re in front of the school and Rain is standing by the open passenger side window.
“Will you let me know when you have any news about Julie?” she’s asking.
I nod. “Yes. Rain, we’ll do everything we can to bring her back. Thank you for meeting with us this morning.”
I recognize how perfunctory the reply sounds as soon as the words leave my mouth. Rain recognizes it, too.
She shrugs, frowning. “Yeah. Whatever.”
Then she turns on her heel and heads through the school gate.
“Good job, Emma. Way to secure the cooperation of the only person who’s provided us with a solid lead.” He raises an eyebrow. “What did she tell you?”
I counter with a question of my own. “Remember when I told you about Rose at Wicked Ink?”
“How could I forget. She’s a vampire. But what—no, don’t tell me. Rain took Julie to Wicked Ink to get her tattoo.”
“Yes. And when I asked Rain if anything unusual happened when Julie got her tatt, she couldn’t remember. People always remember, Zack, unless there are holes.”
“Holes? You mean, her memory’s been wiped?”
“I think so. She exhibited all the symptoms. It’s like when you get that itchy feeling you’re forgetting something but can’t bring it into focus. The harder you try, the more the memory eludes you. But Rain did remember that Julie roomed with Hannah and Sylvia during that college trip last June.”
“Right before the deposits started for the two of them?”
“She didn’t have the exact date, but I think so.”
Zack reaches into the backseat for his laptop. Within a few seconds he’s logged in and clicking away.
“What are you looking for?”
“Checking to see if Hannah and Sylvia were reported as having any tattoos.”
I turn and stare out the window. Should I call Kallistos? Suddenly I’m aware Zack’s eyes are on me. I’m wearing a white mock turtleneck under today’s black suit jacket. It was a deliberate choice, meant to hide the evidence of Kallistos’ mark. Apparently, I didn’t choose carefully enough.
Zack reaches out, hooks his finger in the edge of my collar, and gently peels it back, exposing my neck.
I hold my breath. I know what’s coming.
“You’re letting him feed from you now?” he says. The disdain in his voice is undeniable. It pisses me off. “How old is this bite?”
I pull away. “How is that any of your business?”
“Are you kidding me? You weren’t born yesterday, Emma. You know how this works. If he marks you, he’ll be able to control you. I’m counting on you. We’re partners. I don’t trust Kallistos and you shouldn’t, either. I don’t care how good he is in the sack. Kallistos has one priority. Kallistos.”
His words come out in a rush. He’s trying to be reasonable and I know what he’s saying is true, in part.
“I’m not some naive ingenue. I’ve been around a long time and I’ve been with a lot of men. None of them have ever gotten the upper hand, and neither will he. The bite brought me pleasure. It doesn’t mean anything. You need to trust me.”
I can tell he wants to say more. But, to his credit, he lets it go.
“Any luck with the tattoo question?”
He shakes his head and logs out. “Nothing.”
“Could be their parents don’t realize they have any,” Zack points out.
His attitude is once again professional. It’s back to business as usual. For now.
“I think we should pay Rose a visit,” I say.
Zack glances at the clock on the dash.
“You have somewhere you have to be?”
“Not right away.”
“Oh?”
He frowns. “I have a lunch meeting with Sarah. And Seamus.”
I wait for more. The set of his jaw tells me I’m not going to get details. “I can cancel if I need to, of course,” he finally adds.
“No need. We both have to eat.”
“Since we’re here at the school, what do you say we nail down the dates of that college trip first?” he asks before dropping his laptop onto the backseat.
I unbuckle and open the door. “We should also ask for a list of the chaperones. Rain indicated some of them could be parents. Anyone associated with the trip deserves a second look, don’t you think?”
“Definitely.”
He walks around the Suburban and together we proceed up the walkway that leads to the front doors of Point Loma Academy. The grounds are eerily quiet. The students, no doubt, are all safely ensconced in their classrooms.
“The college trip might have somehow connected these girls,” he says. “But I’d bet you the recipe for my momma’s secret barbecue sauce that the answer to what they were involved in is going to be found at Wicked Ink.”
And with Kallistos? Zack doesn’t say it, but I know he must be thinking it.
I am.
Zack opens the door for me, then lets out a low whistle. I’d forgotten how opulent the place is. The interior of the building is every bit as impressive as the outside and the grounds. A cathedral ceiling arcs over the foyer and enormous windows spill natural sunlight onto gleaming hardwood floors. In the center, a large, round mahogany table holds an arrangement of fresh flowers. To the right is a door marked OFFICE and, at the far end of the room, a pair of carved wooden doors. I know from a tour during that long-ago fund-raiser that beyond them are the classrooms, the theater, and the gymnasi
um.
I head toward the office, Zack follows. The door is open. A receptionist greets us, a matronly woman, dressed to the nines in a gray suit that sets off her silver hair.
“May I help you?”
We quickly dispense with the ritual of introductions. Displaying our badges and explaining the reason for our visit gets us through the door and into Principal Robinson’s office.
The woman who greets us is not the same principal I remember. The five-foot-seven African-American is slender, incredibly poised, and, if her handshake is any indication, a no-nonsense lady. She motions for us to sit and we settle into the chairs across from her desk.
“This has been a terrible ordeal for us,” she says, hands clasped on the top of a neat, orderly desk. “Please, tell me what I can do to help.”
Her openness throws me for a moment. I’d been expecting a stonewalling bureaucrat more concerned with maintaining image than doing the right thing.
“We have a few questions concerning the college trip that took place last summer,” Zack says.
Her expression clouds. “You think that has something to do with the girls’ disappearance? That never occurred to me. Why would you think that?”
Zack reaches into his breast pocket for his notebook. “The three girls roomed together during that trip. What were the dates, exactly?”
Robinson refers to her computer. After a few clicks she answers, “June thirteenth through the sixteenth. Would you like a copy of the itinerary?”
“Yes, and a list of the chaperones,” I reply.
She hesitates a moment, and then, “Are you saying one of our teachers might be under suspicion? None of our staff could possibly be involved in anything like this.”
I counter with a question. “Were all of the chaperones teachers? I understand parents sometimes go along on these trips.”
Another heartbeat of hesitation. “Sometimes we do use parents to chaperone. But on this particular trip, they were all teachers.”
