by Sierra Dean
Nevertheless, when I arrived at the front door of her personal apartment with a werewolf in tow, she didn’t think twice about letting me in.
For a seven-hundred-year-old milkmaid from Germany, Ingrid had held up well. She was human, but the bond she shared with Sig meant she’d inherited his longevity. As long as Sig lived on, so would Ingrid. She had traded a life in service to him for immortality, and it didn’t seem to bother her in the slightest.
She had been in her late teens when she’d met Sig, and retained the youthful roundness of her face and figure. Her cheeks had a ruddy, flushed complexion from hours spent in the sun with no fear of cancer, and her blonde hair looked especially flaxen this season. I hated her for her daytime privilege.
“Secret,” she acknowledged, stepping away from the front door. “Won’t you please come in.”
The gesture, while unnecessary, was flattering. Full vampires couldn’t enter a human residence without invitation. Since I was not a full-blooded vampire, the rule didn’t seem to apply to me, but I appreciated that she offered it.
“Wolf,” she said in the tone of someone speaking to a pet rather than a person.
“Desmond,” he corrected, and extended a hand to her. They’d met once, but the circumstances hadn’t been ideal for introductions.
Ingrid looked at him like he’d performed a particularly humorous trick, and then rewarded him by shaking his hand. “Ingrid.”
“Now that we’re done playing name that paranormal creature, can we get on with it? I don’t think you want us here all night.” And I wondered why Ingrid disliked me.
“Surely not.” Her smile remained bemused as she continued to look Desmond over. “But Sig did tell me to expect you, and therefore I will do my utmost to make you feel welcome.”
We followed her through the small foyer and into a sunken living room with huge picture windows overlooking Central Park. She had no balcony, but the view was worth the sacrifice. The city gleamed like an unbroken promise, beautiful and safe.
For the first time I noticed how casual Ingrid appeared tonight. Her hair was tied back in a messy fishtail plait, and she wore a pair of skinny black jeans and a long black tank top. If Audrey Hepburn had a perpetually cranky German cousin, Ingrid would be it.
She indicated the sectional sofa, which wrapped around three sides of the sunk-in area. On the fourth side was a large flat-screen television and a fancy stereo which was playing Mozart’s “Eine kleine Nachtmusik” through hidden speakers all over the apartment. That Ingrid predated the original performance of the symphony was not lost on me.
“Sig told you we were coming?” I sat on the sofa, and Desmond found a comfortable place next to me. He was perfectly at ease in the room, having been raised in the opulence of life with the Rain family. I, on the other hand, would never be comfortable surrounded by such obvious displays of wealth. You couldn’t grow up in a town like Elmwood and make a smooth adjustment to things like driving BMWs or having an original Rothko hanging in the dining room.
“He knew you’d sort things out eventually.” She sat opposite us and smiled. “What have you brought me?”
I pulled the journal from my purse, opened it to the correct page and held it out to her. She read it, saying nothing, then closed the book, placed it next to her on the couch and waited for me to continue.
“If I understand Sig, and what he told me the other night, then one of the protected vampires was killed on December sixth of that year.”
Her smile thinned, and she brushed her hand over the cover of the book. “Perhaps.”
“Then Holden couldn’t have done it. He was with me.”
“And the Tribunal will take the word of a half-breed, why?” She wasn’t attacking me, I realized, she was testing me. I was prepared to answer this question; I just hadn’t expected her to be the one to ask it.
“The death of the three rogues I killed is on record. I had to stand before the Tribunal to account for the unsanctioned assassinations. Holden’s account was given the same night as mine.” My eyes flared defiantly. Take that.
“It is as Sig feared.” Ingrid picked up the book, then rose from the couch and took it into another room. I don’t know what she did with it, but when she returned, the journal was gone.
“Sig knew Holden was innocent.”
“He did not believe a warden in Holden’s position would be capable of the charges in question.”
“So why agree to the warrant?”
Ingrid looked at Desmond, then back at me, debating whether or not to continue while he was still present. She seemed to make up her mind and carried on. “Sig believes there is a betrayer in the council. He is quite certain it is someone in a position of tremendous power. An elder.”
“Someone who would know about those under protection.”
“Yes. Even I know nothing of their names or whereabouts. There are few who are trusted with such knowledge. Only a fool would believe Holden Chancery would be given such a treasured gift. But Sig agreed to the warrant because Holden was an easy target. Others in the council would be quick to mistrust him because—”
“Because he was my warden.”
“His attachment to you…” She treaded lightly, knowing anything she said about Holden could apply to her master as well. “It put him in a regrettable position, especially with such a low rank. You are, at times, viewed as a corrupting influence, Secret.”
If I didn’t know better, I might think she was complimenting me.
“Who knew the names of the vampires who were killed?”
“The Tribunal, of course. And a few select elders. But something else should be mentioned.”
“Yes?”
“Several of the kills were, according to Sig, perpetrated a great distance away. In order for vampires to travel any great distance, they must have help.”
“Daytime help,” I concluded.
“Yes.”
“Ingrid.” I shuffled forward on my seat. “Did you drive Sig when he came to collect me?”
She smirked. “No. That was a short drive. He could do it without me. I wouldn’t have minded to see your face when he showed up, though.”
I shook the thought off. “So we’re looking for a vampire who knows how unpopular I can be and is old enough and powerful enough for a daytime servant?”
“Yes.”
“Narrows it down a little, doesn’t it?”
“Well, it eliminates some possibilities, yes.”
“It narrows them all down, Ingrid. I know who is responsible.” If a little light bulb could have gone off over my head at that moment, it would have.
Who hated me enough to create a perfect situation for killing me? If Holden took the blame and I was assigned his warrant, then I was being set up to fail. They must have known I wouldn’t go through with it, and the expectation would then be that my life would be forfeit for my failure.
And if that person was the one responsible for killing those other vampires, it would be a win-win for him. Pass off responsibility for his own murders and be rid of an annoying half-breed thorn in his side all at the same time.
I was a fool for not seeing it sooner.
“It’s Juan Carlos.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Never in all my years of knowing her had I ever heard Ingrid laugh like she did then.
Dismissive chuckles, sure. Loaded trills, showing a little too much enjoyment at my suffering? Absolutely. But this was something new. Her face lit up, mouth fell open, and she all-out belly laughed like what I’d said was either the funniest or most ridiculously stupid thing she’d ever heard.
I was placing my meager funds on the latter.
Desmond was enchanted by her mirth. I saw him smile, and the corners of his lips twitched with the urge to laugh along with her. I was less appreciative of the laughter and was sitting on the edge of the couch, trying to kill Ingrid with my stare.
When she stopped laughing, she wiped away a tear from the corner of each eye and t
ook a swallow of air.
“Oh, Secret. I’m sorry.” She was smiling, and the amusement hadn’t left her face. She looked positively youthful with her usual scowl dissipated. “I don’t mean it to seem like I’m insulting your assessment. Quite the contrary. Juan Carlos would seem like the perfect candidate, I don’t disagree. Especially given his dislike of you.”
“Thanks.”
Ingrid shrugged one shoulder, dismissing my grumblings. “The problem is, he doesn’t fit the profile you already established.” She held one palm out flat, offering me something invisible. “We know the vampire responsible must have a daytime servant, yes?”
“Yes.”
She held out her other empty palm. “Juan Carlos does not.”
Well, that put a damper on my accusation. “Are you sure? Could he have one and no one knows?” Ingrid was shaking her head through every word. “Not even a Renfield?”
“No.” The period at the end of the sentence was so matter-of-fact it wouldn’t allow for argument. That was that. She could sense my disappointment. “I’m no friend of Juan Carlos, believe me. I wish he were guilty on many levels. But he chides Sig and Daria for having daytime servants. He calls us their daylight wives.” Her lip curled.
“Man, I’d love to hear what he calls me behind my back.”
“Half-breed wh—”
Desmond choked on a laugh, and I raised my hand to stop Ingrid before she could finish. “Rhetorical.”
In the silence that fell, a tinny, muffled version of “Free Fallin’” did its best to make things that much more awkward. Tom Petty sang while I scrambled for my purse and tried to find my cell phone.
I quieted the ringer with a sheepish smile and looked at Desmond, who seemed a little surprised by the ring tone choice. Ingrid appeared to have never heard the song before. I didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID screen.
“Sorry,” I said, and stepped out of the living room to answer the call. “Hello?”
“McQueen?” It was a gruff, unfamiliar male voice, strained with worry. In the background I heard someone shout, followed by the sound of something smashing. “It’s Jameson.”
The voice matched up in my head with a visual of the burly vampire hunter from Bramley. Judging by the ruckus in the background, it would seem like he had found himself in a bit of a bind.
“What’s wrong?”
“We stumbled on a nest. We thought it was only one vamp, but we got here and it was a fucking ambush.” Another holler and more breaking glass. “Noriko vanished, and someone’s got Nolan.” There was a long pause and I strained to make out any sounds, thinking the line had gone dead.
All I needed to hear was that Nolan was in trouble to decide I would go. I don’t know what it was about the kid, but I wanted to keep him safe from the big bads going bump in the night. He deserved better than my life.
But he’d have to live if that was going to be possible.
“Jameson?”
“We need help.” There was a crackle of static on the line.
“Where are you?” More silence. “Jameson, where are you?”
I heard a low breath inhale, followed by the kind of laughter that sends chills into every corner of your body. A voice, neither male nor female, barely human, clucked into the phone. “Jameson can’t come out to play,” it said. “But if you’d like to join him…” It let the open invitation linger.
Son of a bitch. My mind was arranging fractured memories of a vampire who had twice very nearly been the death of me. The voice on the other end of the phone did not belong to Alexandre Peyton, but the coldness of the laugh and the demonic pleasure it took in evoking terror was the same.
Vampires like this were the reason I had a job. Demented nutjobs who were so scarily confident in themselves they believed they were really unkillable.
“I’d rather play with you,” I said, my hand reaching instinctively to my back to make sure my gun was still there.
The vampire didn’t know what to do with that. There was a pause filled with nothing but the eerie clucking and the sound of an oft-unused tongue sucking air at the back of a throat, learning how to work again. Finally it spoke. “Play with us.”
“I will.”
“We are where the fun has gone to die.”
I shivered. “Care to vague that up a bit for me?”
It clucked loudly, annoyed. “Where the midway lights no longer shine and the carnival games are no longer played.”
That narrowed things down for me. I had a pretty solid idea of where the voice meant. The abandoned amusement park near Rhinebeck, about two hours north of the city. I’d been reading about the plans to convert it into a garden park or any number of other ridiculous things, but much like all abandoned property, no conclusions were easy to reach.
I, for one, wished every abandoned property would be torn the hell down. They create perfect dwellings for vampires, and I was not too fond of walking into dark, spooky places with lots of good hiding spots.
I sighed. “Leave the good prizes until I get there.”
In the living room, I was a little surprised to find they hadn’t sat in silence waiting for my return. Desmond was leaning forward on the sofa, talking animatedly about Roman architecture, and Ingrid was defending him to the death about the merits of the Gothic style.
Capturing Desmond’s attention, I nodded towards the door. “I’m sorry to leave so soon, Ingrid, but something has come up. Please see that Sig gets Holden’s journal.”
Desmond met me at the entrance and politely shook Ingrid’s hand a second time. “Pleasure to meet you, Ingrid.”
“You as well.” She smiled at him, then turned her focus to me. “Holden won’t be safe until we can prove someone else was responsible. Sig will believe the evidence, but in order to have the council respect his annulment of the warrant, someone else will need to stand accused.”
“So, even though I found you evidence to clear him…”
“You still need to find out who actually did it.”
I had been worried about that since she’d taken the book. “Can’t I blame Juan Carlos and call it a day?”
“Would that you could, Secret.” She held the door open and let us out. Before she closed the door, she offered me a business card made of the same stiff material as the warrants Sig issued me. On it was her first name and a 212 area code number.
Leave it to Ingrid to score a 212. She’d probably had it since seven-digit dialing still existed in Manhattan. In the living room, Mozart played on. Ingrid existed simultaneously in several centuries and seemed to feel comfortable that way.
“What’s this for?” I asked.
“For whatever you need.” She rested her head against the half-open door. “I’ve been told I am responsible for ensuring your needs are met.” She didn’t explain any further, but she didn’t need to.
Sig had told her she had to do anything I asked.
“Just get him the book,” I said, and slipped the card into my pocket, along with my phone. I hoped I wouldn’t ever have cause to use it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
“I’m dropping you off at the apartment,” I told Desmond once the valet had returned with my car. He began to protest, which I knew he would. “There’s something I need you to do for me, and I don’t have time to argue about it. Please.”
Mollified, he climbed into the passenger seat, and while we drove he waited patiently for me to give him his assignment. I chose to stay silent until we were almost back at the apartment before I continued.
“You need to call Lucas. He needs to ask Jackson who the man was who helped him kidnap me. Then you need to find that man and tell him if he doesn’t pay reparation to me, I will find a goddess to make sure the rule of three comes to bite his witch ass with a vengeance.”
“What. The. Hell?”
“Just trust me.”
He opened the car door and looked over at me. “Do you actually know a goddess?”
“Half-goddess.”
“Yes.”
“Where are you going?”
“To save three sad-sack vampire slayers from the scariest-sounding vampire I’ve ever had the displeasure of speaking to. At an amusement park. In Rhinebeck.” There was more to it, but I didn’t have time to explain my gut feeling about the vampire on the phone being linked to the dead elders. I wasn’t sure why, but something inside me told me the two things were connected.
Desmond straightened. “My life would be so much simpler if I thought you’d made that up.”
“Your life would have been a lot simpler if you’d decided to date Kellen Rain instead of me.”
He frowned, but I couldn’t tell if it was because he was surprised I knew about Kellen’s former love for him, or if he’d been oblivious to it. I regretted saying it, like so many things I’d said recently, and grabbed his hand before he could leave. “Desmond?”
“Yes?” He looked down at me again, his face barely concealing the concern.
“I’ll be fine.”
His tight smile didn’t reach all the way to his eyes. “I know you think so.”
“But if I’m not…” Oh hell, let’s just throw all caution to the wind. Honesty was a contagious disease. Once you started telling people the truth, it was hard to stop. “If not, I want you to know—”
“Say it when you come back, Secret.”
“But…”
He squeezed my hand, brought it to his lips and dusted my knuckle with a kiss. “I need to call a wolf about a witch. And you have a heck of a drive ahead.”
“Clearly you’ve never driven on the highway with a vampire.” I revved the engine for good measure, which brought a smile to his lips, but it was a smile I’d seen before. Without taking more time than necessary to dwell on Desmond’s sad smiles, I pulled away from the curb and into the dark.
