by Cate Lawley
I almost denied it, but he knew me too well. “I don’t mind dealing with the dead, but applying makeup is more complicated than I’d expected. That said, I’ve found that if I focus on giving the family the best possible version of their loved one that I can, it’s really rewarding. I also give the deceased a nice pep talk while I’m doing his or her face, which makes the whole job easier. It’s like I’m helping out a friend.”
Ben arched an eyebrow.
“What? Okay, it’s a little weird, but it works for me.”
He tipped his head. “It does. You’re good. I just wouldn’t go around advertising that you chat with the dead.”
“It’s not like they talk back.”
Ben kissed my cheek. “Just let me know when they do, sweetheart.”
“Please,” Camille said with put-upon look. “You two are disgustingly adorable. I’m happy for you, of course, but it’s so…young.”
Young? What did that even mean?
Her phone chirped, cutting off any reply.
Ben looked at it. “The phone just made a bird sound.”
As Camille answered the phone, I explained quietly, “She spelled it to make a different noise when someone from the Society calls. This late, it has to be Cornelius or one of his enforcement guys.”
“You mean like your ex?” he asked. And now he was just pushing my buttons. Alex and I got along just fine. So I didn’t like relying on a guy that I used to live with, a guy with a total hero complex. Was that so wrong?
Camille motioned for us to join her and then flicked the phone gently with her nail, activating some prearranged spell. I’ve told her a few times she could buy a speakerphone, but she claimed the non-magical variety had too much static.
“You’re on speaker, Cornelius.” As soon as she announced this, she took a fortifying gulp of her drink. Cornelius had that effect on a lot of people.
“Bennett Kowalski?” Cornelius’s clipped, sometimes British-sounding voice came across the line without a hint of distortion. Score one for Camille and the magic speakerphone.
“I’m here. How can I help you, sir?” Ben was a polite guy. He dealt with stressed-out and grieving people for a living, so he had a lot of practice handling delicate situations. Even so, I tensed. Cornelius had called specifically for Ben. Had hunted him down at Camille’s, in fact. Something was afoot, and no matter how capable Ben was, I couldn’t help worrying.
“We’ve completed our examination of the remains. Expect delivery tomorrow morning.” Cornelius relayed the message as if it was commonplace for him to handle such matters, never mind the fact his assistant was responsible for all administrative matters.
Ben and I both looked at the clock on the kitchen wall.
Since Ben wasn’t a part of this world and wouldn’t be as comfortable declining, that left it to me. With another glance at the clock—midnight, and we weren’t nearly done here—I said, “Right, ah—”
“I am aware, Ms. Lark, that the funeral home is not typically open on Mondays and that the hour is late, but you and your friend will accommodate us.”
Camille held up her hand, silencing me. “Of course she will. They’ll be there bright and early to meet Alex or Anton or whoever you’ve recruited to cart your carcasses around these days.”
The silence that followed wasn’t long, but it was impactful. When Cornelius spoke, he said, “Ten thirty. Any later wouldn’t be wise.”
“Thank you, Cornelius, I’m sure they’ll be there promptly. Goodnight.” And Camille ended the call. The woman had some gumption. I’d like to get to the point where I could hang up on Cornelius.
She flicked the phone again, and then turned to us with a glint in her eyes. “Opportunity has just knocked, Star. Pay closer attention in future and maybe you’ll hear it next time.”
“What?” I was still doing the math and figuring that we’d maybe squeeze in six hours of sleep, but only if we were lucky.
Ben’s warm fingers cupped the back of my neck and started to rub. “I think she’s talking about the body. I’m thinking magical autopsy.”
Camille nodded, and the little bit of tension Ben had been trying to work out of my neck quadrupled. Brightly and with too much fervor, given the hour, she said, “You’re up for a little magical slicing and dicing, aren’t you, Star?”
5
“A magical autopsy?” I asked. “Isn’t that what the Society just did?”
We’d gathered at the kitchen table again. Mostly I’d stumbled blindly into the nearest chair and everyone had followed me. I hadn’t ever done an autopsy. Well, naturally not the mundane kind. But even the magical kind. The one experience I’d had with an enhanced corpse, I’d only taken the barest of peeks with my magical sight and it had about knocked me out. It hadn’t been a pleasant experience.
“Clarice is their go-to gal for autopsies.” Camille shook her head. “Not her best skill.”
That didn’t sound like Cornelius. The man had exacting standards.
“Why don’t you do them?” I knew she’d done some work for the Society, though she wasn’t one of their regular contractors. And Camille would never provide substandard service.
Some of the mega-wattage, high-power witches might turn their noses up at Camille’s craft, but I knew how powerful her potions, talismans, and charms could be, and how much juice she kept in reserve. Did anyone but me know exactly how powerful she was? I didn’t think so. Camille was all about the slow burn, not the flash fire.
She made a tsking noise. “No. Autopsies are too political for me.”
“Okay.” That should scare me, but since I’d already decided to interrogate a horde of vamps, it only made me slightly more uncomfortable. The ship of caution had sailed, and my common sense was waving happily from the deck. “Why do you think I’d do any better than the incompetent Clarice?”
Ben snorted.
“Hey.” I pointed at him. “I know you think I’m capable of all things impossible, but let’s be realistic. A pro has already done the work, and I’m no autopsy pro.”
“It’s not a question of Ben’s faith in your abilities, or even mine,” Camille said. “Clarice is not only less than adequate. She’s also slow.”
I shook my head in confusion. “It’s only been a few days.”
“A day,” Camille corrected me. “Which is exactly my point. I do believe that Cornelius has just thrown an audition your way.”
“But my apprenticeship isn’t over yet!” Panic made my words sharper than I intended. I had so much to learn. No way was I ready to be cut loose from my mentor and wade into the depths of the Society.
“Calm down. Your apprenticeship is over when you and I agree it’s over, and no sooner. And you can always turn down Society gigs. You know that, since you’ve done so in the past.” Camille carefully tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. “That said…your apprenticeship has lasted longer than most.” She blinked innocent, dark eyes at me. “And I would like to retire in the next five to ten years.”
“Now you’re just making fun.” I leaned closer to Ben as his fingers dug into the base of my neck. Best. Boyfriend. Ever. Squinting at Camille, I said, “You know I just want to be prepared.” For everything. Once Camille was gone—because I knew she wouldn’t retire in Austin—then it would just be me. I had some witchy friends, including Bernard and CeeCee, but there was no one I trusted as much as Camille.
All teasing gone, Camille’s tone turned brisk. “Yes, well, we can discuss the trajectory of your apprenticeship later. For now, you have a list of suspects we need to chat about. You don’t want to be too exhausted when you do your first solo autopsy tomorrow morning.”
Don’t think about autopsies, magical or not. Just don’t.
Ben pushed the list closer to me, and I missed his talented hands immediately. Maybe I needed to work on my stress levels if I was relying on my guy to make sure I wasn’t tied up in knots all the time. That was a task for next week.
“So, these two starred vamps? G
ood sources?” I asked.
Camille laughed. “They’re working with Cornelius, but they’re still vampires. Unless there’s something in it for them, I wouldn’t count on them.”
I made a note to interview them last, since they were the worst suspects and no more likely to provide intel than the others. “That leaves six names. Bob Smith, Odette Martin, Lisette Wynter, and the terrible threesome: Max, Mike, and Mickey. Odette is his current…” Girlfriend wasn’t right.
“Lover is the word you’re looking for. Or mistress, since I’m certain there was no love in that relationship. She’s a successful businesswoman in her own right, but the way Alistair treated her, you’d have thought she was nothing but arm candy.”
“An ambitious, talented woman routinely treated with disrespect?” Ben tipped his head to the list. “I’d call that motive.”
“In the land of vampires, I think that’s pretty tame. If he tortured her every night…” But then I realized no vamp would put up with being physically attacked. “No, then she’d just rip his throat out—or try to. Maybe if he was undermining her business?” Either way, I made a note to see what we could find on her professional life. Camille mentioned an advertising firm in which Odette held a majority ownership share and Alistair a much smaller interest. I wrote that down, too. But I wasn’t really feeling it. “Next up is Bob Smith, another of Alistair’s business partners. Unlike Odette, Alistair had an interest in several on Bob’s businesses.”
“Bob Smith? Seriously?” Ben said. “Could the guy not come up with a better name? It screams fake identity.”
“To you,” Camille said. “But that’s only because you’re expecting one. Bob, otherwise known as Robert James Miller Smith, hasn’t used anything but some variation of his own name since he was turned a few hundred years ago.”
Ben still looked skeptical. “Okay, Bob it is. As Alistair’s business partner, he had to have intimate access, but what’s the motive? What businesses, and how are they doing?”
“They have several,” Camille replied. “Real estate, a used car dealership, interest in a medical practice, a private lab, and some other concerns.”
There was definitely a theme. All of their businesses aided in underground, enhanced living in some way.
Ben must have seen it as well, because he asked, “Any chance that medical practice is a group of plastic surgeons?”
Camille nodded, which prompted me to review the notes I’d scribbled as she’d listed Bob and Alistair’s various concerns. “Oh.” I looked again. “Oh, this is disturbing. Not only can they skim blood from the bank—which is actually quite clever—but they can test human blood to see who lacks an immunity to the vampire virus and pick out their next victims. That’s a step beyond clever.”
Camille nodded, ticking her fingers for each of the businesses. “The plastic surgeons, to hide in plain sight. The used car dealership, because every good criminal or newly created identity needs access to wheels. The same for real estate. Come to Austin, newly turned vamp, and we’ll provide you with a new abode, hassle-free but at great cost. And the list goes on.”
Ben nodded, not nearly as bothered—or surprised—by this development as me. “It makes sense, Star. When there’s an entire layer of society that doesn’t age or ages slowly, that creates demand for certain kinds of businesses.”
I laughed, but without humor. “Yeah, I get that. But something specifically about the vamps screening poor, unsuspecting medical clients really bothers me. It’s a terrible invasion of privacy. Oh, and illegal. Super, crazy illegal.”
“I’m more surprised that the witches haven’t cornered the market on shady underground capitalism. Witches are terrifyingly proficient when it comes to capitalism. Present company included but in a less terrifying, more ethical way.” Ben grinned at Camille and me.
I didn’t take offense—witches were notoriously business-minded, but not quite in this way. I paused as I tried to pin down the exact difference between Alistair’s businesses and typical witch business. By the time I hit on the major difference—witches were makers, and how had I not ever thought of us that way before?—Camille was already explaining.
“Witches are entrepreneurs, sure. We can also be mercenary as a group, but we’re not nearly as criminally inclined as vamps. We’re more likely to invent something clever to exploit a need, than to pervert the system to satisfy that need.”
Wow. This was way too much introspection and philosophy for the middle of a night. Focusing back on the murder, I said, “Can we agree that where there are shady dealings, there’s a possible motivation for murder?” When Ben and Camille both agreed, I made a note that Bob was a strong suspect. “How about Tweedledee, Tweedledum, and Tweedledumber? The three Ms: Max, Mike, and Mickey. They seem to always be around, but I don’t know their relationship to Alistair.”
“They’re all members of Alistair’s goon squad and would have had ample opportunity to act against him. They were as close physically to Alistair as anyone would have been, but there are rumors of a loyalty contract.”
“Oh.” I fiddled with the pen, trying to decide if I should scratch them. “That would prevent them doing any harm to Alistair, depending on what kind of contract it was.”
“If the contract exists. But if it doesn’t, what’s their motivation?” Ben asked.
Camille shrugged. “A grudge over Alistair’s continued disrespect? They had to take on new names when Alistair took them on because he couldn’t be bothered to learn their real names.”
“Really?” I’d seen that in movies, where a butler or driver assumed the name of some long ago former employee—but that was fiction. Who did that in real life?
“A reflection of the privilege in which he was raised, I’m sure.” Camille’s tone was dismissive, but her words implied some deeper knowledge of Alistair than I would have thought her to have.
“So…Camille…” I raised my eyebrows. “Anything important you want to tell me about your relationship with the dead guy?”
She frowned at me. “No. Everyone knows he was one of the privileged back in the day. Most old vampires were. It required resources to hide and feed, so you were either wealthy, connected, or both if you were a vampire before the turn of the century.” She sighed. “The turn of the previous century. I’m getting old, aren’t I?”
Ben and I quickly disagreed. Not only because she really wasn’t—or didn’t look it; I had no idea how old she was in actual years—but I also had selfish motivations. I really didn’t want her to retire yet.
“Back to the three Ms,” I said. “I’ll make a note that motivation is questionable, but means are plentiful. And Lisette? She seems to be a fixture in Alistair’s life. She’s in attendance and not far from him at every function I’ve attended.”
Camille winced. “They do run in the same circles, but she’s also his former lover and former business partner.”
“Winner, winner, chicken dinner.” I hopped up. “That’s our first interview tomorrow…after we deal with the body.” I pulled Ben out of his chair, where he was looking much too comfortable. “What’s our best in with Lisette?”
“Her PA. Don’t worry about it. I know her and can get you an appointment. Get home, get some sleep, and take care of your business tomorrow morning at the funeral home. I’ll call Suze and get you an appointment. Just be sure to check in when you’re done and get the details, because Lisette isn’t someone you stand up.”
Lovely. An autopsy I wasn’t qualified to conduct that was an interview for a job I wasn’t sure I wanted, followed by a date with a vamp who’d likely bleed me if I was running late.
Tomorrow was looking fabulous.
6
I grabbed Ben’s mobile phone from the bedside table and answered it. No, I didn’t usually answer his phone, but it was early, Ben was in the bathroom, and I hadn’t exactly slept long or well last night. My brain was at about a third of its normal capacity.
“Stephanie?” came a confused voice.
> Since I was Stephanie when I wasn’t witching around Austin, I said, “Yes. Wait, Will? Is that you?”
“Yeah. Hey, I’m trying to reach Ben. There’s a problem at the funeral home.”
Which was closed, because it was Monday. Dang it. Will did the books, so he came in occasionally on Mondays. Who could blame the guy? It was quiet and he was less likely to run into grieving family members. Dead people he had no problem with.
I glanced at the digital clock. Five after eight? No way Cornelius would show up that early and risk a civilian encounter or a mix-up.
“Is there a problem with the books?” I asked. I’d taken over some of the day-to-day bookkeeping, so I held my breath as I waited for Will to tell me I’d overdrawn the business account or double-paid someone.
“Oh, no, no. Nothing like that. You’re doing great. You’ve got a good eye for detail. So, uh, Ben…?”
“He’s in the shower. Can I take a message?”
“The shower? Oh! You guys… Right.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, didn’t know you guys were an item.”
“Yeah. So, is it an emergency?” If it wasn’t the bank or a bookkeeping mistake, what the heck was going on? And please let it not be some magical problem I’d brought to Ben’s doorstep.
Right about the time the butterflies in my stomach had reached a fluttering frenzy, Will said, “I was calling to tell him it looks like someone might have broken into the warehouse.”
“What?” I hollered.
Ben rushed into the room dripping and disheveled, but staggered to a stop when he saw me still in bed and on the phone. “What’s wrong?”
I handed him the phone.
“Hello, this is Bennett Kawolski.” Some of the tension eased from his face. “Oh, hey, Will. Wait, what? The warehouse? Right. Thanks for calling.” His jaw tensed and he said, “No. Don’t call the cops. I’ll head over now to check it out. If it’s anything more than a little vandalism, I’ll call the police. No, just leave everything like it is and go home. I don’t want you there…just in case. Thanks, I’ll be careful.”
