by Judy Teel
"That's one of the reasons I requested you on the case."
"Likely isn't the donor. She wouldn't be strong enough. Blood around the steel bar and staining the skin indicates that he wasn't dead when the murderer hung him up. That wouldn't have killed him anyway. Neither would the slit throat. I don't understand why he didn't fight back."
"I don't understand why he's naked," Cooper said.
I peered at the tattoo on his neck. It looked like a coat of arms—possibly a dragon holding a spear. Hard to tell with the skin so emaciated. "I can't believe you thought I could have done this."
"I'm required to pursue all avenues. Plus you're surprisingly innovative for a human."
"Normally I'd be flattered, but this...." I noted a few more things as my gaze continued to roam over the body. "This is just gross."
I straightened up and took a step back, not wanting to be near the remains any longer than I had to be. I'd seen a few bodies in my time. Anyone living on the streets during the attacks had, but not enough to get immune to the unpleasantness.
"I've never encountered any single creature strong enough to immobilize a freshly fed vampire," I commented. "That's bad enough, but he's also been completely drained of his blood with no sign of it around the body. He could have been killed somewhere else, drained and brought here," I speculated.
"We searched a five mile radius. Nothing turned up."
If a team of Weres plus a few talented practitioners couldn't find the remnants of several pints of paranormal blood, it didn't exist. "Then he must have been killed here and the blood consumed or taken." A cold chill ran across my neck. "I don't know who, or what, could have done that."
"But you have a theory."
"Two. And they're scary."
He waited patiently while I gathered together the unpleasant thoughts rolling around in my brain. "One possibility is a group of vampires have lost their minds and are eating their own kind," I said.
"Unlikely, since the Church would be on something like that faster than you could say 'damage control'."
"The other possibility is an outlaw group of practitioners."
Cooper tensed, his attention sharpening. "Explain."
"Paranormal blood is a powerful boost to certain types of magic. The darker the magic, the darker the blood needed and vampire blood is about as tainted as you can get. Because of the type of extra DNA in it, the blood also doesn't break down as quickly as other types and works well for long, elaborate spells."
"Tell me how you know this," he said in a steady, quiet tone that implied he'd just realized he was standing next to a ticking nuclear bomb.
I gave him a disgusted look. The FBI probably had a required test so they could hire the most suspicious minds on the planet. "One of my foster mothers was a practitioner, and not the 'do no harm' kind. I found her stash of black magic grimoires, picked the lock on her spell room and reported her."
His expression cleared as if this information unexpectedly explained a lot. "Don't tell me, let me guess. She laid a smart ass curse on you when she found out who blew the whistle."
"Ha, ha. She blamed her husband." A smile lifted my mouth. "He had a history of cheating on her, and this was apparently the last straw. Making certain parts of him shrivel up and fall off was satisfying poetic justice in her mind."
Cooper stared at me for a moment and then shook his head. "Thanks for the mental image. Besides that, what other kind of ugly spell needs para blood to work?"
"Animating the dead—very difficult, I hear—unusually powerful curses, magical enhancement of weapons...the usual unpleasantness. Nothing I want to be involved with." Dealing with magic of any kind was a tricky business. Black magic also had the lovely side effect of corrupting and deteriorating your soul—literally.
"Are you saying our murderer is a zombie practitioner with a cursed knife?" Cooper asked, amusement edging his voice.
"I'm saying you have your work cut out for you." I moved past him and started down the alley. The vamps would be arriving soon to claim the body, and I didn't want to be around when they did.
Cooper caught up to me without a lot of effort and blocked my way. His eyes flashed with frustration as he stared down at me. "That's it?"
"Spying on wayward husbands and finding lost pets are starting to look like the path to longevity to me."
A frown pulled down his mouth and brow. "I was hoping you'd comply without coercion."
I gritted my teeth, an uneasy anger twisting a knot in the pit of my stomach. "You can't force me to work for the FBI."
"What I said about the Church wanting you on the case?" Deep in his silver-green eyes a predatory light flared. "I lied."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"They believe this is a revenge killing. Guess who this guy attacked last night? Until the real murderer is found, the High Church holds you accountable for the killing. You have to take the case."
A surge of alarm gripped me. "This is coming from that Bellmonte jerk, isn't it?"
"As the Charlotte territory Regent, yes, Lord Bellmonte clarified their position." Cooper's brows drew together. "Even I won't be able to protect you if you refuse to help."
"He doesn't actually believe I killed this scum renegade. He wouldn't really care if I had, since he would have done it anyway. He's just using this as an excuse to get control of me." My worry receded as fury boiled up into my chest.
"You threw his money back in his face, Addie. There are going to be consequences."
I clenched my fists.
Sympathy flashed across his handsome features. "At least what I said about them liking you was true, which is why you're standing here and not on a slab in the morgue. Unfortunately, vamp favor is a mixed party."
I stomped away from him and then back, trying to get control of the helplessness and fear rolling through me, tangling with my anger. "Effing great. Fine, I'm on the blasted case. But I won't work for the FBI, do you understand?" I jabbed a finger at his chest. "You work for me."
A smile twitched along his mouth, breaking through the worry. "You have a good imagination, baby."
I returned his amusement with a cold smile. I didn't need the help of the FBI, and I didn't need him. I didn't need any of this crap, but it looked like I was stuck with it. "Good luck, Agent Daine. Don't get in my way."
I stalked past him and out of the alley feeling like steam was about to come out of my ears. For once, he showed some intelligence and didn't try to stop me.
* * *
By the time I'd looked quickly over Jim's copy of the FBI report and walked up the three flights of stairs to the donor's apartment, my temper had cooled off. Okay, it hadn't, I was still furious at Cooper for his condescending, I'm-superior-and-you-should-do-what-you're-told attitude, but at this point I was able to keep my abundance of feelings to myself.
I added pity to that bucket when the door of apartment 303 opened and a pretty, frightened looking African American woman peeped through the three-inch gap allowed by the chain. That amused me. Who did she think that dinky little chain lock was going to protect her from these days?
Marla Beaufort, nineteen, five-four and one hundred and twenty pounds took in the gun strapped to my right thigh, my serviceable black logger boots, worn jeans, black tank top, and the purple mess of bruising seeping out from the fresh med pack slapped on my upper arm. Her wide brown eyes got even bigger.
"I'm with the investigation," I said before she could shut the door.
She hesitated. "I already spoke with that awful orange-haired woman. I have nothing more to say."
"I'm not part of that investigation. This is private."
"Where's your ID?"
I flashed her a smile of approval, glad she still had some level of self-preservation functioning. I held up my hands and then slowly unclipped my old iC from the other side of my belt. After thumbing in the code, I showed her my license on the screen.
Uncertainty clouded her eyes. "You're a bounty hunter?"
Her gaze darted back to my gun, then my eyes, and finally settled on my wounded arm. "Who did that?"
From the wariness in her expression I knew she had a pretty good idea what my answer was going to be. By her own admission to the feds, she'd been the vamp's donor for over a year and there was a long record of hospital visits to prove it. I'd also noticed the discoloration across her collar bone that the scarf wrapped around her throat didn't quite hide.
Having something in common helped to build trust with a witness...as long as she didn't feel obligated to protect her dead lover. I took a gamble. "Your boyfriend bit me."
Her expression turned troubled.
"It wasn't consensual," I pressed.
"I'm sorry," she said in a frail, hesitant voice.
"Can I come in, Ms. Beaufort? The lady in 300 just cracked her door open to listen."
She studied me a moment longer. "Maybe you'd better."
Marla closed the door and after some rattling around, opened it again. Stepping back, she made room for me to enter.
The generic white walls and beige carpet of her apartment had been brightened by the presence of a periwinkle colored couch with orange and pink throw pillows and a dark pink overstuffed chair. Sliding glass doors that led onto a small balcony cheered up the space even more and splashed light across the breakfast nook and kitchen at the other end of the room. Dark pink placemats on the table and a smattering of small appliances of the same color kept everything pulled together, even to my un-artistic eye.
Like the woman, the room was neat and orderly except for the blood stain on the carpet next to the couch. It looked like Marla had made several attempts to clean it up but only succeeded in grinding the evidence of her violent lifestyle deeper into the synthetic fibers.
"Two tablespoons ammonia, four cups cold water," I said, nodding to the stain as I settled into the overstuffed chair. "Blot, don't scrub. Takes it right out."
Giving a pained half smile, she drifted down to the edge of the sofa, sitting as far from the blood stain as she could. "You know how he could be."
"Not really. That's why I wanted to see you."
An alarmed wariness skated across her exotic features.
"The Church wants me to find out who killed him," I said, keeping my voice soft and steady like I did when dealing with frightened children. "You told the police that you never knew his real name, that he used something different whenever he came into town. I don't believe that's true."
Her fingers gripped the ends of her scarf, weaving through the purple and turquoise fringe at the ends of the material. She stared at the floor. "It's not important now."
"Did you know he had other women?" I asked, hoping to shake her out of any false loyalty. I didn't know for sure that he had, but I knew vamps. If he was loyal to this delicate mouse of a girl, he would have been the first in the history of his race.
Marla swallowed and her eyes brightened with tears, confirming my theory that she'd known.
"That's what you mostly fought about, wasn't it?" I guessed.
"Do the police think I did it?" she asked.
"Should they?"
Her shoulders tightened with alarm and her gaze flew to mine. "No, of course not. Danny was good to me. I had no reason to—" Marla's eyes widened and she bit down on her bottom lip as the scarf twisting intensified. "You can't tell anyone. Promise you won't."
Where had I heard that name before, I wondered. Recently I was sure, but I couldn't quite place it. "I don't work with the police or the FBI," I dodged. "But telling me the truth is the best way to keep yourself out of it."
"He gave me this place. Credit units to spend," she said in a rush as if spilling the vamp's name had opened a flood gate of sharing. "Whatever I wanted. Now that he's gone, I'll lose everything."
"What can you tell me about him? That might be a good place to start."
"He was someone important. He told me that if anyone knew he was here, I'd be in danger."
"Then he had enemies. People who'd want him dead?"
Her gaze shifted to the potted tomato plant on the balcony, but I could tell her thoughts were focused on memories only she could see. "I'm sorry he attacked you," she said in a small, quiet voice. "Danny didn't like to be told no."
A slick change of subject. She might be young, but she wasn't stupid. "But he could be gentle and kind sometimes," I prodded, countering with a more sympathetic tact.
She nodded as the tears spilled out of her eyes and down her dark cheeks. "At the beginning, mostly."
"Did you know he was a renegade? Not part of the Church?"
"Yes. We were...that's why he said he could marry me," she whispered.
My eyes widened. "Had he married you, or did he just tell you he would?"
"He promised to turn me on my twenty-fifth birthday and then we'd get married."
"You were willing to risk dying to be with him, even knowing that he cheated on you?" I said, a little of my outrage slipping through.
She snapped her head around, her sad, exotic face turning fierce with a surge of protectiveness. "Danny was troubled. He didn't wanted to be...what he was, but his family didn't give him a choice."
I leaned forward, the picture of contrite sympathy. "I'm sorry. I should have realized."
"His uncle took him away from his parents and raised him to be a vampire," she continued, her indignation building. "After Danny was turned, he ran away. But he was lonely. Hurt. Sometimes he needed some space, you know? But none of the others were anything serious. I was the only one."
Hoo boy. What a line she'd fallen for. "Are there any names you can give me? Maybe one of them got tired of playing second fiddle and decided that if she couldn't have him no one would."
She glared at me. "Danny never threw his...other friends in my face. He loved me."
I looked pointedly at the stain on the carpet, my patience with her thinning as my temper expanded. "He had a strange way of showing it."
Marla's shoulders tightened and she stood up. "You need to leave now."
"Despite your delusional victimhood, I'd think that you'd want to know who killed Danny so you could see justice done," I commented as I got to my feet.
A fresh wave of tears welled up in Marla's brown eyes. "Justice? There's no such thing," she choked out. "Danny always said the Church protects its own interests and everyone else it destroys. That's what they did. They destroyed Danny."
I thanked her for her time and left. I had a hard time believing that anyone could be that loyal to a monster who'd consistently abused her, especially now that he was dead. Over the months, anger and hatred would have built and festered inside of her. It always did.
The cops didn't see how she could have done it. There were no records of her leaving the building and besides, she never could have overpowered a vampire like that. But after being a belligerent, resentful teen going through the system, there was one thing I knew from first-hand experience—
If you wanted something bad enough, you found a way to get it.
CHAPTER THREE
After leaving the Magical Gardens apartments, I grabbed the next southbound hoverbus and headed for my favorite pub. It had been a long time since breakfast and my stomach was letting me know that I'd better do something to rectify that.
Hoverbuses were one of the best benefits of the paranormals making themselves known to humans. Gliding in the air about fifteen feet above traffic in large cities all over the world, the efficient, bus-like tubes mysteriously combined hovercraft technology and magic in ways only their inventor understood. Not that many people cared how. It was good enough that the mass transit invention didn't pollute, was nearly silent, and ran on time.
I settled into one of the padded vinyl seats that lined the curved walls of the bus and mulled over the case I'd been roped into. There was a remote possibility that the Church had orchestrated the murder and was only using me to cover their butts. Vampires
didn't see the world the way normal people did. When an acolyte accepted the blood change, they became a whole new species, one with its own world view, philosophy and laws.
Vamps were manipulative, haughty, sneaky and violent. They loved to put on sophisticated airs and then send others out to do their dirty work. The way they had forced me to hunt down Danny's murderer was a perfect example and it pissed me off.
Unfortunately, there were two problems with my theory. One, I wasn't important enough for them to go to so much trouble just to inconvenience me, even for a little revenge. And two, it didn't make any sense for the Church to kill Danny in such a way, despite what his abused girlfriend claimed. The Church hated to be cheated of its entertainments. A fairly quick death in an alley would never be the preferred method of punishment for a renegade.
The hoverbus glided to a stop, and I got off with a half dozen other passengers. Clambering down the platform steps, I headed for the Duck and Fire a few shops down the sidewalk. The name alone was a good enough reason to make it one of my favorite spots to grab a meal, but it also happened to be the best place to ferret out information and gossip that wasn't for the ears of law enforcement.
I strolled into the cool interior of the pub and pushed my way through the crowded tables to the bar. As I slid onto the last free stool, my mind continued to roll around in the muck of nothing useful that Marla had handed me.
A thin, gray-haired man with a broad, patient face and intelligent hazel eyes stood behind the bar drying glasses. He looked up and smiled when he saw me. "Addison! Where've you been keeping yourself?" he asked, sliding a bowl of pretzels toward me.
"Hiya, Talli. Got any corned beef on rye left?"
"For you, anything," he said, sincere pleasure sending out a fan of creases around his mouth. As the kitchen door swung closed behind him, I heard his booming voice hustling the staff to get my order started.
It had been like this for two years, though I tried not to abuse my advantage over the other customers too often. Nothing like accidentally walking in on a robbery and kicking butt to get you in good with a business owner.
