by Judy Teel
I propped my arms on the polished wood surface of the bar and contently munched on pretzels while I thought over my next move.
Talli had just enough practitioner in him to keep him from being classified as human, but not quite enough to do much more than a few minor spells. What his trickle of para talent did get him was trusted standing in both the paranormal and human communities. It didn't hurt that he also made the best corned beef sandwiches in Charlotte, was active with several charities and generally one heck of a guy. If anything odd was going on in the city, Talli would know about it, or know someone who did.
He came back from the kitchen, shook his head when I offered him my credit unit for deduction, and bustled off to the other end of the bar to wait on another customer. A young guy I hadn't seen before ambled in behind the bar, and after consulting with Talli, placed a large glass of iced Dr. Pepper in front of me. Not long after that, a hot corned beef on toasted rye with a side of homemade potato chips joined the party. I was in heaven.
After about forty minutes, the crowd thinned out, the businessmen next to me toddled back to their offices, and I continued to nurse my third refill while I waited for Talli to have a spare moment.
All through my meal, I'd mulled over the fact that Marla had more than enough motivation to kill the renegade vamp. How she might have managed what I'd seen in the alley was what stumped me. Subduing a vampire was beyond a human's abilities, not without swinging the odds in your favor like I did with my Browning. In order to do it, she would have to have paranormal accomplices. But who?
Like I'd told Cooper, three or more fairly skilled practitioners might be able to manage it. So could a few Weres. Vamps too, though I'd never heard of them draining each other. The problem with that scenario was that a fight like that would inevitably draw in a few witnesses, and no one had heard or seen a thing. At least, not that they were telling. That's where I hoped Talli could help me.
But the piece nagging me the most was the name Marla had given me. I'd realized about halfway through my second Dr. Pepper that it was the same name Bellmonte had thrown around when he nearly lost his temper with the Jamaican renegade. Apparently Marla's boyfriend was important to the Regent.
Whether a coincidence or a significant clue, I had no idea. Was Marla's vamp just pretending to be the one Bellmonte wanted so desperately to retrieve, or was he it? Either way, why? Whenever a vamp broke from the fold, their best course of action was to keep a low profile. If Danny was a hot commodity, why would he hang around? And why use the name that would be known?
Was he so vain that he thought he was invincible? I remembered how quickly he'd taken off after I shot him. A vamp with a superiority complex wouldn't have done that. His pride would have driven him to go after me again.
"That serious face you got going on bodes poorly for someone," Talli observed as he settled onto the stool next to me. "Digging for answers?"
I smiled at the older man. "You know me too well."
He shrugged. "What's up?"
"Know anything about the excitement by the Bone and Bat last night?"
"Besides Ramiro trying to copy my specialty sandwich recipe?"
"Even bigger than that."
Talli snagged a pretzel from the bottom of the bowl in front of me and popped it into his mouth. "I heard a dried up vamp was found in the alley."
"Anyone know how he got there?"
"Only that the Church has some interest in the case beyond their usual snoopiness." He narrowed his gaze at me. "You involved?"
I took a sip of my soda.
"Don't be. The Parishes are backing away from this faster than cockroaches when the light goes on. Worse than that, they're nervous. More like scared, but you didn't hear it from me."
"Frightened outlying parishes don't concern me."
"They should. Vamps is vamps." He grabbed another couple of pretzels.
I slid the bowl in front of him. "Any word about illegal blood trafficking?" I asked in a low voice.
Talli's hand froze above the bowl, and he gave me a sharp look. "You're the second person to ask that."
I used the straw in my glass to jab at the melting ice as if I had all the time in the world, and we were chatting about the weather. "Who?" I asked under my breath.
Talli leaned across me to snag a napkin. "Little gal a few days ago. Sat at the bar near on to three hours buying drinks for any para who came in. After she chatted them up a bit, she'd ask if they'd like to make some easy money."
"Blood donations?"
He nodded. "I told her she was killing business and asked her to leave."
"What'd she look like?"
"Pretty enough with straight blonde hair and tinted glasses that hid her eyes. Human though. Didn't look like the type that could manage a vamp kill." He gave me pointed look.
"The FBI cleared me, Talli. You can relax."
He made a non-committal grunt.
"You think she was a runner for someone?" I asked, interested in getting the conversation back on track.
"Maybe." He casually wiped the bar in front of him as he slid off his stool. "There was something not quite right. Had an ugly vibe coming off of her."
He unexpectedly gave me a look that I imagined fathers gave their daughters when the boyfriend they disapproved of was back in town. "A good-looking Were guy was in here yesterday. Said he was FBI."
My breath caught in my throat.
"Asked about the Banagher case."
"The Were killing during the V raid last year?" Vampire venom was the hottest street drug on the market. The Church forbade its people to provide it, making the drug extremely rare, expensive and sought after.
"Thought you should know." Talli scooped up the now empty pretzel bowl. "So you could avoid him."
"Too late."
The corner of his mouth twitched, and he turned toward the kitchen. "Wouldn't get involved in that piece of business either if I were you."
"The Were or the case?" I asked, but the kitchen door had already swung shut behind him. Figuring retreat was the better part of valor, I headed for the street.
The sun was sliding steadily toward the horizon in a blaze of orange and pink glory, the colors reminding me of Marla's apartment. Danny's lover had been holding out on me, I felt sure of it. I just wasn't certain how.
If only I had more to go on. A vampire that the Regent was personally interested in had been drained, and the murderer was now running around with the blood. He might have also tapped Danny's venom, easy to do with a needle and syringe when you knew where to look. Both substances were dangerous and valuable, so motivation for the murder might be nothing more than money. If that was all there was to it, I had about a hundred thousand suspects to track down.
Except there was more—the possible Bellmonte connection. I contemplated the setting sun and my only next move with distaste. Only fools and heroes faced down a Regent in his lair after dark. Guess which one I was?
I'll give you a hint.
I was no hero.
* * *
The sky had turned a dark indigo by the time the hoverbus I'd hopped glided up to the platform at South King and Baxton. As I followed my fellow commoners out onto the receiving platform, I contemplated the Charlotte stronghold of the vampire regime across the street.
When I was a kid, a Trader Joe's had claimed the spot, but when the criminal paranormals did their best to destroy human civilization, the grocery store building had been leveled. Once the terrorists were subdued and rebuilding started, the Church constructed the modern skyscraper.
The building was all tinted, mirrored glass and chrome and towered into the sky for probably fifty floors. I always thought it was the vamps' way of thumbing their noses at the curse of the sun.
From what human scientists could determine, it was the UV rays that interacted with their blood, over exciting the molecules to a deadly level. When I was fifteen, I saw a video on the internet where a caged vamp was dragged out into the sun by a gang of masked vig
ilantes.
She screamed and convulsed for nearly three minutes while blood seeped out of her eyes, nose and ears, and then she combusted into a cloud of red mist. The mist smoked for a second or two more while the only sound was the group of vigilantes whooping and hollering. The cameraman zoomed in to show what was left of her—nothing but rust-brown dust scattered in and around the cage.
The video was gone the next day and the guy who put it up never posted again. I wondered for a few days what had happened to him and the others. Now that I was grown, I had a pretty good idea how it had probably played out. What Marla had said about the Church was true. It protected its own.
I crossed the street and stopped in front of the double glass doors only long enough to unbuckle my holster. As I pushed through into the marble and chrome elegance of the lobby, I held my hands in the air, dangling the holster from one finger.
Saturday night didn't mean anything to vamp commerce. The long days and short nights of summer necessitated adjustments, and that included their working hours. The lobby bustled with suited-up human and vamp professional business types enthralled with their electronic gadgets or talking seriously in small groups. They all froze in surprise at the sight of me.
A pretty woman with short dark-blonde hair and a trim white business suit sat behind the reception station. An armed guard flanked either end of her curved, white marble fortress. When they spotted me, the guards pulled their Sigs and ordered me to drop my weapon.
I laid it carefully on the floor and then stood patiently while they cautiously retrieved it. They shoved me into a spread eagle against the reception desk so they could frisk me and quickly relieved me of the knives I carried, one in each custom made sheath in my boots. They also took my PRCs. Warm welcomes are always so special.
"State your business," the older guard growled while the younger one scanned me with his iC.
"I have a report to make to Lord Bellmonte. I'm investigating a case for him," I said.
The younger guard aimed his iC at a port on the wide-eyed receptionist's computer and transferred my ID file. "Clearance level nine," the receptionist said after a moment, but the high level didn't seem to reassure her. "As of this morning."
The older guard backed off, and I straightened away from the desk. I rubbed my cold palms against my jeans to warm them while we sized each other up.
"You can claim your possessions when you leave," he finally said, his suspicious gaze nearly as hard and cool as the marble had been.
In case he was a telepath, I focused on picturing my sandwich from lunch instead of the bits and pieces of hardware scattered around my person that could easily become a weapon. "Not a problem." I gave him my best reassuring smile.
The receptionist finished typing something into her computer and then peered at the screen. She looked up, her expression an interesting mixture of curiosity and concern. "Lord Bellmonte's secretary will receive you in the penthouse."
"Swell. Thanks for the hospitality, boys." I headed across the lobby to the elevators, amused by the wide clearance the vampire corporation kiss-ups gave me. Whether because of the guard's treatment or the fact that I was told to come right up by the big kahuna himself, I had no idea.
The ride to the top floor was smooth and silent except for the Beethoven string quartet playing over the intercom. When the doors slid open, a middle-aged woman with even features and sharp brown eyes was waiting for me.
"Ms. Kittner?" she said in a soothing voice. "I'm Ms. Fairview. Lord Bellmonte requests that you enjoy his hospitality while he finishes with another meeting. What may I get for you? Anything you want can be prepared by our chef and sent up."
Never be too proud or moral to turn down the chance at a free dinner was my philosophy. "Spaghetti with meatballs and a side salad to go," I said. "Just in case."
I expected her to look offended since some of the herbs found in a good Italian recipe were poisonous to vamps, but she gave me a pleased smile and glided off to her desk to place the order. Her secretarial stronghold was made of solid, highly-polished dark wood and sat protectively to the side next to a matching door with a fancy, gigantic brass handle on it. The door, the desk and everything else in the private reception area looked like something you'd find in a Regency period English manor house or museum.
The older vampires tended to favor environments from their time period or ones they'd particularly enjoyed. That meant this Bellmonte character was at least three hundred years old. I guess you didn't make it all the way to Regent without having some experience under your belt.
Dealing with the old ones meant being patient. They never hurried unless absolutely necessary. I entertained myself by eating a leisurely dinner and brazenly ordering another to take home. After an hour and a half, a little chime went off on the secretary's computer. A moment later, the door opened and three men came out. One was tall and slender with sharp features and a fringe of gray hair around his shiny head—the esteemed practitioner Jacob Laswell, inventor and owner of the hoverbus technology. The other two were his burly, no-neck goons.
Not only a powerful businessman, Laswell reined as the head of the practitioner community for the entire state. I should have been impressed since he could probably blow half the building up given enough time to focus. I wasn't.
Normally I had a lot of respect for practitioners. Most of them were good people who used their skills to heal and help others. The rest were more interested in gaining power and keeping it. Laswell landed in that camp, despite the training schools he sponsored and the high-profile charities he supported.
He looked pissed as the door swung shut behind him and didn't even glance my way. His goons were another matter. I enjoyed their undivided attention, particularly from the biggest one who kept his burning puke-yellow Were gaze locked onto me as they passed.
The presence of a Were in a practitioner's employ was a surprise, but I managed to keep it to myself and give the goons a benign smile. Everyone knew that Weres made the best bodyguards, just like everyone knew they only worked for humans and other Weres in accordance with their religious beliefs.
The bodyguards kept me, the secretary, and the inner sanctum under surveillance until the doors of the elevator glided shut. Even without my sidearm I guess I looked too much like a killer for their comfort. Heh. And here I thought I was so feminine and dainty.
Ms. Fairview stared at the elevator, her mouth pinched down into a disapproving frown. After a moment, she turned a pleasant smile on me. "Lord Bellmonte is ready to see you, Ms. Kittner."
My stomach knotted. I wasn't looking forward to playing verbal cat and mouse with Lord High-and-Mighty or the fight I'd have keeping my temper under control. Unfortunately, there were questions that needed answering, and he was my best bet for that at the moment.
The monstrous door swung silently open again, and the secretary gave me an expectant look. Releasing a long sigh, I pushed myself out of the wing-backed chair with its red watered silk upholstery and headed into the dragon's lair.
* * *
Lord Bellmonte looked pleased to see me. Not a good sign.
The perfectly fitted black Italian suit of the night before had been replaced with a navy blue one along with a pearl gray dress shirt, tasteful blue silk tie and matching hanky thingy in the pocket. An image of Cooper with his crazy cartoon ties and ruffled hair sprang into my mind.
Unlike the Were, the vamp looked cool, confident, powerful and elegant sitting behind his outrageously huge desk made from some kind of bloodred wood that reeked of expensive. He was on the small side by modern standards, maybe five-eight, but he oozed enough deadly to make up for it. Give me Bugs Bunny any day.
His gray-blue eyes studied me as his classic, artist-worthy face mobilized into a polite no teeth smile. "You have a name for me?"
I had a lot of names for him, but even I didn't dare say them out loud. Instead, I settled into the leather chair that Laswell had probably just vacated. It was still warm, which was kind of creepy.
"I know it wasn't me. That's all I can give you until I find out more."
"Ah. Since you are here interrupting my night, I must assume that you believe I have this...more." A gleam of curiosity flashed through his eyes.
"Considering you're the victim's nearest kin, yeah. You could say that."
His gaze turned glacial—a horrifying and instant shift from pleasant to cruel that reinforced the fact that only a thin, civilized veneer covered a monster capable of anything. "This is your question for me?"
"A standard PI kind of thing. You understand."
Between one blink and the next he was towering over me with his hand wrapped around my throat. "How do you know this?"
"While I was nodding off in your reception area, I added it up," I choked out. "The name, your concern for his whereabouts, a definite family resemblance. But the real clincher was the old embroidered coat of arms framed and hanging in the corner. It matched his tattoo."
His hand tightened and stars popped at the edge of my vision. "Dangerous information. Even if speculative."
I stayed quiet for once, busy trying to breathe and all. His grip continued to constrict my throat, slowly and steadily, and I knew I was going to have to do my best to stop him. That meant killing him, which was bound to lead to my immediate execution. But since it looked like I was about to die anyway, what the heck.
From the hidden slot in the hem of my shirt, I slipped out one of the hard plastic versions of the needles I used in my gun. Each one held a dose of my special vamp and Were poison. As the stars blurred and faded into an unpleasantly dense darkness, a tingle of energy skimmed over my body. I braced myself to plunge the needle into his stomach.
A quick succession of knocks echoed from the door and suddenly Bellmonte was gone. I sucked in a reflexive gulp of air. My bruised throat gave a sharp, stinging spasm, and I started coughing. Gripping the arms of the chair, I tried to keep the coughing fit from making me sick.
Bellmonte watched me from behind his desk, looking as if the only thing happening between us was a friendly little interview. "Enter," he called out in his mildly accented baritone.
