Blood Bane Tower: An Ian Dex Supernatural Novel, #3 (Las Vegas Paranormal Police Department)

by John P. Logsdon

  “You got it, sugar. Do you need Mr. Portman, too?”

  Portman was the man in charge at the supernatural morgue in town. He was a werebear. Strong, fast, loyal, and just an all-around good guy. He was also good friends with Harvey, which played in to my giving Harvey the job with pick-up.

  “Probably not a bad idea,” I stated, thinking that those on the inside had to have been aware of the goings on out here by now. That meant there was a fight coming, which meant bullets would be flying. With me, Chuck, and Felicia all carrying Desert Eagles, that spelled the need for Portman. “Yeah, go ahead and give him the heads-up too, please.”

  There was a pause. “Do you want me to send in Paula Rose, too?”

  Everyone cringed at that thought, especially me.

  Paula served as the head of The Spin, an organization whose job it was to put a spin on supernatural events.

  Marketing helped keep the locals from going bonkers while also keeping the tourists pouring in. If everyone thought there were a bunch of vampires, werewolves, fae, pixies, djinn, and so on running around the town, there’d be mass panic.

  Those creatures, and more, were running all over the world, of course. They came up through the Netherworld, which some called the “Labyrinth” due to the odd layout of the place. The Netherworld was accessible via a dimensional portal, of which there were only a few in each city. The majority of supernaturals were allowed to live among the normals as long as they went back every so often for reintegration. It was usually on a thirty-day cycle, but that was extended as the supernatural demonstrated their ability to function nicely in the world of the normals. Everyone went through a psych eval, mental programming to help avoid attacks on normals, and training on the latest techniques to help keep them from getting into trouble.

  Anyway, it was Paula’s job to keep the normals oblivious as best as possible.

  Some normals knew, of course. You couldn’t keep something like that from everyone. It just wasn’t logistically possible. But those who knew were sworn to secrecy, and if they ended up blabbing, they’d be discredited and made to look the fool.

  Worse, Paula was one of my ex-girlfriends. Let’s just say that it hadn’t ended well.

  “I suppose you should,” I said with much effort, recalling how Paula had nearly skinned me alive for telling her about the zombie thing a little late. “But tell her not to come down here just yet. I don’t want her to make a trip for nothing.”

  “You got it, lover.”

  “Ugh,” said Rachel, who really despised the fact that Lydia flirted with me.

  A window on the second level shattering and the sound of a bullet ricocheting off the ground behind me made it clear that we were in the shit.

  “Run,” I yelled as everyone scattered toward the house.

  If that bullet had been a few inches over, I’d have been pushing up daises. Yeah, I’m strong as an ox and I heal incredibly fast, but a bullet to the skull or the heart would pretty much spell the end of days for me.

  “You’re lucky that didn’t hit me, you fucker,” I yelled out.

  “Come get some, cop,” a gruff voice replied. “Next one won’t miss.”

  I looked across the way and saw two glowing red orbs.

  Felicia was pissed.

  CHAPTER 4

  M y first thought was to send a direct message to Felicia, telling her to keep her cool, but then another round of bullets littered the ground in front of us.

  “Sic’em,” I said to her as if she were a Doberman Pinscher.

  Rachel slapped me on the back of my head, but Felicia didn’t seem to mind as she howled and then dived through the nearest window.

  Soon after, Jasmine blew out the front door with a fireball, clearly wanting to get to her partner as soon as possible. Felicia wasn’t bulletproof, after all, and she also wasn’t exactly in the proper frame of mind to remember that fact, so we had to cover her back.

  I shouldn’t have worried.

  Felicia was in full wolf form now, meaning her clothes were torn to shreds and she was big and hairy with a long muzzle. This look wasn’t exactly what I’d call attractive. Deadly, yes, but not attractive.

  Two vampires were lying on the ground, shredded.

  There was nobody else around.

  Felicia wasn’t done, though. She was sniffing the air, trying to catch the scent of her next victim.

  “Felicia,” I yelled, “heel!”

  Rachel slapped me again and this time Felicia gave me a “Do you want to rethink what you just said?” look.

  “Sorry,” I stated quickly. “I was just…” I trailed off and cleared my throat. “Anyway, I don’t want you inadvertently attacking the normal.”

  “I won’t.” Her voice was deeper and came out in a growl.

  “I’m sure you think that, but there—”

  “I won’t,” she repeated with menace.

  “Right.”

  She looked up the stairs near the end of the room. “I’m going.”

  “No,” I commanded, knowing I had to keep control of the situation. “I can’t have you going berserk. It’s too risky.”

  “I said—”

  “And I said it’s not happening.” Our eyes met. Hers were red. Mine were watering. “Now get back into human form while we take care of finding the lady.”

  She growled, but I held my stare until she tore her eyes away. Dealing with werewolves was rarely fun. Fortunately, Felicia was able to keep her senses about her enough to honor the chain of command.

  “Griff and Chuck,” I said, quickly changing the point of discussion, “secure the upstairs.”

  They ran off.

  “Jasmine, stay here with Felicia and make sure nobody gets out.”

  “You got it, Chief,” Jasmine replied as she patted Felicia’s fur, clearly working to calm her partner down.

  “Warren,” I said, turning to the wizard, “I have a feeling we’re going to find this normal—”

  “Her name is Charlotte Davenport,” Rachel interjected.

  “Swell,” I said, noting in my tone of voice that I honestly didn’t care at the moment. “Anyway, she’s most likely in the basement.”

  “Why?” said Warren.

  “Because that’s how these things are done,” I explained. “Just watch any movie where there’s a kidnapping or a hostage situation and you’ll find that they’re almost always in the basement.”

  “Not if it’s a bank robbery,” Warren pointed out.

  “Is this a bank robbery?” I asked pointedly.

  “There’s another flaw with that theory,” Rachel said as Warren studied his feet. “There’s no basement in this building.”

  I went to reply, but she was right. Damn it.

  A quick look around the room told me I was in an art gallery of some sort. I was not much in the way of art collecting, but a mostly empty space with paintings hanging on the walls with little lights above them told me all I needed to know.

  “Then what’s that door lead to?” I asked.

  They both looked at me dully.

  I reached out.

  “You sure you want to do that?” Warren said. “Could be a rune on that door.”

  “Could you check?” I asked with frustrated sarcasm.

  “You got it, Chief,” he said, “but it’ll take time to figure them out.”

  Rachel grunted at Warren. “I’ll search for the runes and you disable any we find.”

  This worked out perfectly since Rachel could cast spells fast. She’d be able to highlight any runes in the area much more quickly than Warren could. He’d still have to disable them, but at least it wouldn’t take twice as long.

  She motioned about with her hands for a few seconds and then launched a spell at the door, sending down cascades of light like snow flurries.

  “Nothing.”

  “Good,” I said, reaching out and pushing the door open.

  It was dark inside, but my eyes adjusted almost immediately. It was just a closet. There wer
e boxes stacked up, shelves with various painting supplies, a mop and a broom, and…

  I peered down and saw a thin crack of light coming from the back of the space.

  Rachel went for the light switch, but I caught her hand and lowered it until she was pointing at the crack of light I’d seen.

  “Huh,” she said.

  I flipped over to my connector so that we could communicate without being heard.

  “Obviously there’s something in there,” I more thought than said, but it was effectively the same thing via the connector. “Check for runes, please?”

  Rachel did. Again, there were none.

  This made sense seeing that we were standing in a building that was owned or rented by a normal. But the supers who were holding her hostage may have had some skills with runes, or maybe they even had a wizard of their own.

  “I’m going through. Cover me.”

  Pulling forth Boomy, I got set, took a deep breath, and shoved through the door.

  CHAPTER 5

  I t opened up into the kitchen.

  “Good find, Ian,” Rachel said in snarky way. “If we ever run into another great flour caper, you’ll be the guy to call.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  “There was a great flour caper?” asked Warren.

  Both Rachel and I stared at him for a moment, regarding his intellect. Well, at least I was doing that. I could only assume Rachel was, too. All I knew was that Rachel wasn’t actively judging my smarts, or lack thereof, and that was good enough for me.

  “Mmm!”

  I spun to find a woman tied to a chair. She was in the shadows by a small table.

  Next to her stood two very rough-looking fellows.

  “Drop ‘em,” the guy with a beard said.

  “What are we dropping, again?” I asked, feeling somewhat concerned.

  “Your gun, idiot,” Rachel answered for the man, demonstrating that she was again judging my intellect.

  “Oh, right.”

  I lowered my gun to the floor.

  “Kick it over.”

  I did.

  Mr. Beard snapped up Boomy. This made me rather uncomfortable. I didn’t like it when other people handled my weapon.

  “It’s gonna be fun shootin’ you three,” Mr. Beard said as he set his gun down and took aim with mine.

  Unfortunately for him, Jasmine and Felicia had walked in from the other side of the kitchen, startling the guy.

  I dived forward into a roll as he unleashed a .50 caliber round. It sailed over me as I placed my feet on the underside of the table and kicked it straight up. Ms. Davenport was far enough out of the way that the table didn’t impact her, but Mr. Beard and his counterpart, a weathered-looking old guy, took the brunt of the hit dead on.

  Mr. Beard fired Boomy again, but this time he only sufficed in knocking a hole in the ceiling.

  Rachel and Jasmine launched a line of fireballs at the two men as they screamed and hit the ground, causing Boomy to bounce around on the marble tiles. I’d yanked out my smaller gun and unloaded it through the table.

  Everything went silent except for the sobbing cries of Ms. Davenport.

  I shoved the table out of the way, picked up Boomy, and pointed it at Mr. Beard.

  It was too late. His eyes were lifeless. So were his buddy’s. Not only had the fireballs spelled doom, my breaker bullets hit both of them solidly.

  “Griff?” I said through the connector. “Chuck? You guys okay?”

  “All clear up here, Chief,” Chuck replied. “How are things there? We heard noises.”

  “We’re good. Come on back down.”

  By now, Jasmine had gotten over to the captive normal and set about untying her.

  Ms. Davenport was quite the looker. Crimson hair, green eyes, high cheekbones, and she was dressed just like you’d expect an art gallery owner in Las Vegas to dress—to the nines.

  “Oh, I don’t know how to thank you,” she said as Jasmine worked on freeing her hands. “You have no idea how terrified I was! I thought those men were going to kill me!”

  “Think nothing of it,” I said as I moved back toward Rachel and Warren, always feeling uncomfortable with these praise situations. “We’re just doing our jobs.”

  Ms. Davenport looked like someone who had a serious need for a hug at that moment. She was clearly in a state of shock as the tears streamed down her cheeks.

  Once Jasmine finished untying her legs, Ms. Davenport rushed from the chair and came directly toward me.

  What was I to do? I had this effect on the ladies in general, but when I was coming in as the knight in shining armor, I was downright irresistible.

  “Okay, okay,” I said, opening my arms in anticipation.

  She pushed past me and buried her head in Warren’s chest, hugging him with all her might.

  “You saved me,” she said as the wizard’s face registered the same level of shock that I was currently feeling.

  “What the fuck?” I said to nobody in particular.

  Rachel, Jasmine, and Felicia all found this rather amusing. They made this abundantly clear by chuckling. Rachel walked over to join the other two ladies on my squad.

  “Laugh it up, assholes,” I said to them with a frown. “Not cool.”

  “What’s going on?” Chuck asked as he and Griff entered the room, looking over at Warren and Ms. Davenport, who were still engaged in an embrace.

  “Ian thought he was all that,” Rachel said, still smiling from ear to ear. “Turns out that our art dealer is not attracted to him in the least.”

  I balked. “She never said that!”

  “Artistic liberty,” Rachel countered. “We are in a studio, after all.”

  Warren was standing there like a deer in the headlights. He was staring at me apologetically, too. Not that it was his fault or anything, but I appreciated the sentiment.

  “Knock, knock,” came the booming voice of Portman from the main room. “Any bodies we gotta pick up or are you still in the process of killin’ people?”

  “In here,” called Chuck.

  Portman and Harvey stepped around the corner a couple of seconds later. They looked similar to each other, almost as if they could have been brothers. Tall, bulky, hairy. It was a standard werebear thing.

  “Looks like Warren’s got himself a girlfriend, eh?” said Portman.

  “She just needed someone to hug,” answered Rachel, “and she found Ian repulsive.”

  “What?”

  “Ah,” Portman said, nodding at Harvey. “Told ya, man. Some women just prefer that scrawny-guy look.”

  Harvey handed over a twenty. Why they were betting on something like that was beyond me. I knew they played poker together and they also hit the casinos a lot, but resorting to betting on something so menial as what women—in general—liked or didn’t, teetered on the edge of gambling addiction.

  “Or the not-Ian-Dex look,” Rachel noted.

  I winced at her. “Seriously?”

  She glanced away as her smile quickly faded. It was clear that even she realized she’d overstepped a boundary with that remark. Ribbing was fine, but being downright mean about it wasn’t really Rachel’s thing…typically.

  “Thank you for saving me,” Ms. Davenport said, looking longingly up into Warren’s eyes.

  “He flashed a light,” I complained. “That’s it! I nearly got shot…twice!”

  She ignored me and just kept holding Warren as if being in his arms would ward off even the nastiest monster.

  Everyone else just giggled.

  CHAPTER 6

  A fter Harvey and Portman split with the bad guys and the dead guys, I sent everyone else back to the office so Rachel and I could speak with Ms. Davenport to get the full story. Much to my chagrin, she insisted that Warren stay behind.

  We went to a lounge area that had a couple of red fabric chairs and a floral loveseat. Ms. Davenport and Warren took the loveseat.

  “So what exactly happened, Ms. Davenport?” I asked, trying to i
gnore the way she was ogling the PPD’s wizard.

  She closed her eyes as if gathering herself together.

  “They were outside chanting things at the gallery,” she said, gripping Warren tightly. “It was like they were placing a curse on my place of business. I was so terrified.”

  This wasn’t going to be easy.

  “You’re safe now, Ms. Davenport,” I said in a steady voice.

  “That’s right,” agreed Warren. “I won’t let anything happen to you.”

  Unable to stop myself, I said, “And as long as the only things that attack us are a bunch of skeletons, he’ll be the protector you’ve always dreamed about. Until then, we need some answers.”

  “Dick,” said Rachel with a cough.

  I ignored her.

  “What I need to know is if you knew who those people were, Ms. Davenport.” She was looking off into nowhere. “Ms. Davenport? Did you know who those men were?”

  “Yes,” she said distantly. “Before I was an art dealer, I worked as a parole officer.”

  “For the supernatural community?” asked Rachel, leaning forward.

  Ms. Davenport shook her head in confusion.

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” I answered smoothly. “You were saying that you were a parole officer, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  “I did the job to the letter,” she said, just above a whisper. “The two men you killed in the kitchen were out on parole a number of years ago, but they failed to show up as scheduled on multiple occasions. I warned them repeatedly, but they wouldn’t listen.” She was visibly shaken. “The last time they didn’t show, I reported them. They were taken into custody and they swore they’d get me for ratting them out.”

  She began sobbing on Warren’s jacket. He was rubbing her head and saying “There, there” a lot.

  I pressed on. “How long ago were you a parole officer, Ms. Davenport?”

  Rachel gave me a look that conveyed I should show a little compassion. I don’t know how trying to figure out a way to further protect this woman wasn’t a sign of compassion, but maybe I was reading things wrong.