“Would it be possible to try again, miss?” McConnell asked. “I could compensate you for your efforts.”
Aileen’s fingers turned white around the teacup. “I’m not sure I could … vampires are strange souls. I’ve never seen one before your partner and it was … I mean, I don’t believe—”
“Please, Lady Cassandra,” McConnell said, leaning forward.
“Leave her be!” I snapped. “Can’t you see she’s shaken up from her ordeal? You’d put her through that again?”
McConnell rounded on me. “If it will help catch a murderer,” he said.
“You’ve already caught one!”
“The real murderer, Miss Hollis,” he said, his voice—and his anger—quieter now, and all the more frightening for it. “As I believe you well know.”
I opened my mouth and closed it. Tread carefully, Zephyr. If I admitted knowledge of the letters, McConnell might very well arrest me on Mrs. Brodsky’s ottoman.
“Real murderer?” I said, as innocently as I could manage. “Do you mean that informant Zuckerman mentioned during the séance?”
Aileen looked startled and I recalled that though she’d been inhabited by the ghost, she knew nothing of what he had said.
“No, no.” McConnell gave a tiny, frustrated shake of his head. “The informant Mort referred to was Brad, the man who assaulted you.”
“You had an informant in Madison’s office? Your own spy killed…” I fumbled to a stop, realizing it was perhaps impolitic to state it so baldly.
McConnell looked away, his grief suddenly quite clear.
“So what do you mean real murderer?” Aileen asked. “It sounds to me like you’ve caught him.”
McConnell shifted uncomfortably, but he answered readily enough. “It appears Madison’s man had an accomplice.”
“An accomplice?” I said, with what I hoped was adequate surprise. “In that case, I hope you’ll start with Madison himself.”
McConnell tilted his head, examining me. “We don’t think it’s Madison,” he said.
I tried to swallow, but my mouth had gone too dry. “Didn’t Zuckerman say something about a Blood Bank?” I said, flailing but unable to stop. “Aren’t there plenty of leads to investigate? You can’t imagine that I … I mean…”
“Miss Hollis,” McConnell said, leaning forward. He regarded me so intently I half-expected him to pull a quizzing glass from his suit pocket. “Whyever would you imagine we suspect you?”
Normally, fear helped me focus. My reactions grew swifter, my aim inerrant. But now I felt as helpless as a trapped mouse. It was all I could do not to panic, but my flush must have looked damning.
“I don’t know why you would,” I said.
“You can rest assured, Miss Hollis, we will be investigating every possible lead.” McConnell smiled pleasantly and stood. “Good day, Lady Cassandra, Miss Hollis. I’m sure you’ll be hearing more from me.”
“Delighted to hear it,” I said, in tones considerably less so.
“Oh, one more thing,” McConnell said, pausing on his way to the door. “It seems this accomplice was the one who told Brad to kill a vampire officer. The letter—there were letters, you see—used some odd language. Something about ‘furthering the cause’?”
Oh, Christ. Mrs. Brandon hadn’t told Amir that. McConnell let himself out.
CHAPTER NINE
I should have been plotting ways to prove my innocence, but instead I wandered around the city in a daze. My disastrous interview with McConnell ran through my head like a toy train on a looped track. I was in bigger trouble than ever, and I had no idea how to save myself. I had less than a day to go until the mayor’s dinner on Saturday—if Nicholas didn’t contact him by then, who knew what McConnell would do to me. But perhaps Nicholas already had. If I was lucky, Jimmy Walker had already called Commissioner Warren and told him to halt the investigation regarding Judah. That would be one less worry, but I had a nagging feeling of uncertainty. What if Nicholas told the mayor about the original supplier and Walker demanded an introduction? Impossible, I reassured myself. Since Nicholas didn’t know about my continuing relationship with Amir, he couldn’t betray me. And Mrs. Brandon thought Amir was an Arabian prince, not a djinni.
On the other hand, while a phone call from the mayor might convince the police commissioner to drop the investigation into Judah, I doubted even a call from the Vatican would stop McConnell and the other vice squad officers from investigating the murders. I was incalculably grateful to Mrs. Brandon for taking the trouble to forewarn me about the letters, and touched by her faith in my innocence. The letters were damning. I hadn’t sent them, but someone had gone through a great deal of trouble to make it seem like I had. Who would do such a thing?
Eventually, old habits reasserted themselves and I recalled my obligations for the day. First among them, I needed to tell Elspeth about the developments in the murder investigation. Perhaps she would have some idea of who might want to frame me.
She wasn’t in the office, but a note on the door said she’d return in ten minutes. I had waited half that long when I heard her climbing the steps. “Zephyr!” she said. “I hoped I’d see you! How is your head?” She unlocked the door.
“Better,” I said, though just her question reminded me of the throb at my temple.
I followed her inside, unsure of where to begin.
Elspeth sat behind her desk. “That’s quite a bruise,” she said. “I’m impressed you came at all.” She paused. “I trust you know more than the papers?”
I hesitated, but I couldn’t in good conscience not tell her. “They think the man had an accomplice,” I said. “There’s some implication that the person might be someone politically motivated to oppose Faust.”
“How?”
I explained about the letters, but didn’t name Mrs. Brandon specifically as my source. “But I didn’t—”
Elspeth sliced her hand through the air, emphatically cutting me off. “How absurd. You’re the last person I’d believe capable of such a thing. No, someone is trying to frame you—or all of us. Someone, I imagine, who wouldn’t himself mind if Faust went down along with his enemies.”
“Madison?”
She gave a tiny shrug. “It seems plausible. But without knowing his method, his guilt is hard to prove. They’re saying that he used some sort of tainted blood. The Faust itself has been ruled out.” She looked oddly disappointed.
“Would it be better if it had been the Faust?”
“No, you’re right, of course. It’s a horrible thought. Much better for all of us that this man is behind bars. It’s just—well, you must see, Zephyr, how much easier our task would have been if Faust itself had proved to be deadly after long exposure.”
“But when Iris suggested we say so—”
“Iris suggested we say so as propaganda! She wasn’t interested in the truth of the matter, only the uses to which we could put a plausible fiction.”
I understood now that I had misunderstood Elspeth’s position entirely. She had wanted Faust to be poisonous, but she hadn’t been willing to lie to make the case. She’d asked me to investigate the possibility of murder in the hope that there wouldn’t be any.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“Don’t be,” she said. “It was a shameful desire. However much I might disapprove of Faust, no one deserves to die for it.”
I looked into her eyes—clear and alert, a sign of a recent feeding. I wondered where Elspeth got her blood. Probably a Blood Bank. I doubted she could afford the private delivery services and human volunteers I’d seen advertised in the Times for the genteel undead. I wondered if she was afraid of the possibility that tainted blood had made its way into the public supply.
“But they deserve to go to jail?” I said.
She narrowed her eyes. “That’s the argument of an opponent, Zephyr.”
“Even if you don’t approve of Faust—”
“Approve? How could I? It’s destroying our community, one
drink at a time. It makes the humans hate us, and it makes vampires lose all judgment, all sense of safety and proportion. It puts us all in danger. Or have you already forgotten the dozen perfectly innocent vampires shot with silver bullets last January during the first Faust scares?”
I swallowed. Of course I hadn’t forgotten—I’d nearly been crushed to death by a human mob that was desperate to rip a wounded vampire to shreds. “But jail?” I repeated, though the question felt asinine even as I said it.
“If it protects the rest of us? If the threat of jail stops us from succumbing? Then yes, I do support that.”
“But it…” Elspeth’s expression was harrowing enough that I nearly swallowed my words, but something made me press on. Stupidity, probably. “It hasn’t worked out quite that way with alcohol.”
“What is this, Zephyr? Alcohol and Faust are two very different beasts. Yes, I’m sure there will be some illegal trade, but there are far fewer vampires than humans. A ban will be much easier to enforce.”
“But shouldn’t we be trying to help them? Teach about drinking safely and promote responsible behavior—”
Elspeth laughed. “Responsible behavior? With Faust? I appreciate all of your efforts on our behalf, Zephyr, I truly do, but sometimes your human hubris is staggering. Faust makes vampires blood mad. I know you think you understand what that means, but you clearly don’t. Imagine the worst hunger you’ve ever felt. Imagine you haven’t eaten for days and days. Imagine how desperate you’d be for something, anything to eat. Now make it twice as bad. That’s blood madness, Zephyr. An uncontrollable hunger, only for other sentient beings. And you think it’s wise to let something that causes such madness flow freely on the streets?”
I felt clammy and cold, though the air in this tiny, darkened office was stifling. Elspeth had an uncanny ability to make those who disagreed with her feel smaller than a snowpea. “But they do resist,” I said. “If all the vampires who drank Faust felt that way…”
Well, there wouldn’t be a human left in the city who hadn’t been bitten by a vampire.
She sighed. “They’ve found ways to mitigate it. Drinking Faust with a blood chaser. Or keeping a few bags of blood around the speakeasies and stalls to help someone who’s coming down with the madness. Some people stepped in—the gangs, mostly, if you can believe it—and put some safety mechanisms in place after that first disastrous week. They say the brew itself is less potent now, though you know how little I believe it. But yes, before you say so, Faust has become far less dangerous.”
“So why…”
Elspeth glared at me. Her eyes glowed for just a second. Not a Sway, but a sign of surging emotion. “Because this cannot happen again! We have to show that we will police ourselves, that we won’t let any foreign drug destroy the progress that we’ve made integrating with society. What happens when someone invents the next Faust, Zephyr? What happens when we get as many drugs as you humans enjoy? When we can be demonized as a group because so many of us are already so persecuted and poverty-stricken that any momentary release might be enough? So we come down on this now, with as strong of a blow as possible. We educate each other and pressure the government for civil rights and better living conditions. That is the way forward. Is it unfair to an individual vampire who might go to jail for being desperate enough to drink Faust? Of course it is. Don’t imagine that you’ve brought up some moral dilemma that I hadn’t yet considered. I have considered it. And I think it’s worth the price.”
I took a shaky breath. I couldn’t argue with that, and I wouldn’t if I could. I wasn’t a vampire, and I didn’t live with that prejudice every day of my life, as Elspeth did. If the thought of going to jail for a drink made me feel slightly ill, that wasn’t much of an argument given my circumstances. Maybe in different ways both of us could be right.
Some of the fervor seemed to leave Elspeth; she closed her eyes briefly and leaned against her desk, piled with books and papers.
“Was there something else, Zephyr?” she asked.
“You must really hate the one who brought it here,” I said.
“You mean the gangs?” She seemed surprised.
“No, the original distributor. The one who brought it from Germany.”
She shook out her dark, curly hair and rested her chin on her hand. “You mistake me, Zephyr,” she said. “Faust is an evil, but I would never fault its creation. It’s the uses to which we put those creations that pose problems. How many drugs do humans have? Dozens? Impossible to destroy them, but we can try to mitigate the effects. No one person is responsible for Faust—we all are. If your apocryphal original distributor hadn’t brought it here in January, someone else would have in March. What’s important is for vampires to show that we can police our own borders.”
I was startled into silence. I would never have guessed Elspeth would defend Amir, even unknowingly. And I was surprised, as well, that her pragmatic argument had never once occurred to me. Of course someone else would have brought Faust to New York—it had been making the rounds in Dresden for months before. I suddenly realized Amir had been willing to shoulder all the blame, just as I had been willing to give it.
“Oh, Zephyr, I nearly forgot. Sofia wanted me to ask you if you still wanted her to try the spell. She seemed to think you might like that djinni more than you let on.”
I blushed. Elspeth raised her eyebrows. “Could I let her know Sunday? I have to make him tell me the truth about what it might do.”
“What if he doesn’t know?”
“I’ll decide by Sunday, I promise.”
“Why not? I’m sure Sofia won’t mind. She likes the djinni too.” She sighed. “Humans.”
* * *
I’d harbored a faint hope that Ysabel might have reopened the Blood Bank, but it was shuttered and dark with the sign now slightly yellowed and wrinkled from rain. I stared at it for too long, disappointment giving way to fear. The tainted blood had come from a Bank, Mrs. Brandon had said. There were hundreds in the city, but I couldn’t shake the coincidence from my thoughts. Ysabel had been so clearly worried when I last saw her. I had believed her story about her family, but now I wondered. Had a tainted bag slipped through? Had she panicked?
But no, Ysabel was always so careful about those she allowed to donate, and a taint of the kind that could kill a dozen vampires would cause a deathly illness in a human. The St. Marks Place Blood Bank was well known for its drug-free, healthy donors. It was impossible for her to have distributed tainted blood. She was just having family trouble, like she said. I released a slow breath and fanned myself with my hat. Panic about the murder investigation was making me see conspiracies everywhere.
I left a note for Nicholas with Bruno at the Beast’s Rum, informing him that I could get us into the morgue tonight. I realized this meant reintroducing him to Amir, but at this point I imagined that was the least of my problems. Either the mayor would help me or he wouldn’t, but I doubted he would be inviting Nicholas back for drinks anytime soon.
It took me another forty minutes to walk to Twentieth Street, by which time gnawing fear, withering heat, and overexertion made me feel likely to faint on the steps of the Spiritualist Society. I unchained my bicycle from where I had left it the night before and wondered if I had enough energy to take it back home. A heat shimmer radiated from the sidewalk and I drooped painfully over the handlebars. My head began to throb.
“That’s it,” I muttered. “Find someplace to rest.”
So I wobbled over to the Flatiron Building, which was the only likely spot I could think of in the area. I might as well see if Lily had made any progress investigating Zuckerman’s final words to Aileen. I found her at her desk, staring balefully at some papers.
“You look like Marie Antoinette on her way to the guillotine,” I said, pulling up an empty chair and flopping down beside her.
Her dolorous expression deepened. “Give me a few more days and I might follow her. You look oversteamed.”
I closed my eyes.
“Water.”
“Am I your maid?”
“Please?”
Lily huffed, took pity on me, and came back a few moments later with a glass. It even had ice in it. I sipped its glorious chill and eventually my headache receded enough to allow me to open my eyes.
The papers that so perturbed Lily were an article she had written, now covered with furious scrawls in heavy black ink. “Editor not fond of your latest story?”
“My editor,” she said, looking daggers at the only person near enough to hear us, “is not fond of vampires. Which is a problem, given that he hired me as an Other reporter.”
I pursed my lips and nodded. “That could be an issue.” I felt badly for her, though I knew she didn’t need my pity. Lily had been ecstatic about this job when she’d received the offer. I think she liked the Other beat and wanted greater recognition for her efforts. But it looked like the New Star-Ledger wanted the same kind of Other reporting the big journals did: pro-human.
She sighed and put down her paper. “Why are you here? Did someone else try to kill you?”
“Nothing too serious,” I said. “Find anything interesting about Nussbaum?”
“If I found the right case. In oh-three a man from Spuyten Duyvil killed his infant son. He confessed immediately and killed himself in custody. It caused a minor scandal at the time, as you can imagine, but I don’t know what it has to do with Faust.”
“Maybe there’s another case you missed?”
She shrugged. “And maybe Zuckerman is dead and Aileen was not precisely lucid. Who knows what he said. I need those letters, Zeph.”
I glared at her. “Pardon me for continuing to enjoy free air.”
“Fine,” she said. “Then go off somewhere else and enjoy it. I have work to do.”
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