“All right. Nick. But if it bites my hand or stinks up the car, I'm footing you the bill.”
“Just get it done.” He growled, and hung up.
Nick had a bad habit of being snappy at times. I shrugged, and put my phone away. I peeked into the kitchen. “Hey, gotta make a run, guys.”
Matt looked up. “Wait, what?”
“I've got some case stuff to look into, going to do it alone. Hey, Serena, how are you with kids?”
“What?” She looked between us, panic setting in.
“Matt works at a school. I mean, if you don't feel comfortable, you don't have to go with him. I just don't want you alone so close after all this.”
Serena sighed. “I'll be fine, really. But I'll give you or Matt a call if I do need anything. All right?”
Both Matt and I smiled. “All right,” Matt offered a warm smile. The man knew how to be reassuring. I guess they teach you that when you become a therapist.
“Well, I'm going to go chase down a lead. Catch you all later.” I offered my best, pleasant smile, and departed.
Chapter 13
Hannigan Meats was a bistro in the Covens. I decided that, since I was on business related to Nick, I had best go prepared. I wore a leather jacket over my hoodie, the best choice I had for body armor on a city street. I slipped my pistol into one of the inside pockets of the jacket, keeping it hidden from plain view. And as always, my knife was on my left ankle for a quick draw.
The butcher's shop, however, wasn't exactly a fortress of evil. There was a fruit cart outside the shop, and as I walked up to it I bought an apple. I walked in, the smell of fresh meat and salt and all other delicious aromas hit me like a freight train. I approached the counter, where a large redheaded woman lurked behind the counter. “Hey there, what can I get for you?”
I smiled politely. I get nervous around butchers. People with that much experience with knives can creep me out. “I'm here for a delivery. Eric Carpenter, for Nick.”
She paused for a moment, and I saw one of her hands disappear beneath the counter. I tensed, the urge to grab my gun rising. I fought that urge. “Did Nick happen to give you a keyword?”
Oh, Nick. You jerk. I decided to just place my hands on the counter. “Nick didn't give me a keyword.”
The woman behind the counter relaxed, and she smiled. “Professional tip. Nick doesn't do that stuff. He told me you'd be coming. Your face was priceless, though. Eric, Knight of the Bay, right?”
“Yeah, that's me.”
She smiled. “Wait just a second, I'll be right out with something.”
I started to snack on my apple as she left for the back, and I stated to wonder just what this was. Did Nick just have civilian contacts all throughout town? Knowing Nick, I wouldn't have been too surprised.
The woman came back out just a moment later. “Here you go, Mister Carpenter.” She had a small wooden box about the size of a pencil case in one hand. She placed it on the counter.
I smiled. “Thank you very much, ah....”
“Winifred Hannigan, at your service.” She stuck out a big hand, which I shook.
“Pleasure to meet you, Winifred.” I nodded, and I picked up the box. “Did Nick have any instructions over whether to open this or not?”
“Go ahead and open it. It's not like he's having you pick up Pandora's box.” Winifred shrugged.
I undid the little latch on the front of the box to open it. Inside were a few dozen bullets, placed in perfect little slots. “He wanted bullets?”
A little smile crept across the butcher's face. “They're iron bullets. Not as well-balanced as your typical lead, but they are made to take on certain things that lead and silver usually aren't as effective against.”
“Wait, what?” I looked back down to the bullets. “What are you talking about?”
She shrugged. “I don't ask questions. All I know is that you were supposed to pick up iron bullets. I can't tell you, because I don't know, what they're for.” She gave me a smirk. “I try not to ask too many questions. Safer that way.”
“With Nick, my routine is more trust, but verify. I know enough about him to have my suspicions.”
Winifred nodded. “Of course. Well, Eric, good luck with whatever you need these for.”
I nodded. “Yeah, let's see.” I looked down at the bullets. Forty-fives. Nick knew me too well. I closed the box and nodded. “Thanks for this.” I said. “Cheers,” I nodded, and I left the butcher's shop with my apple and my box of bullets.
I went to the car, and put the box of the bullets underneath a blanket. After that, I went to the car and looked up New Age stores in the San Francisco area. Trying that with the extra search term Corazon, I found the Corazon Shoppe. I checked the address, and got into the car, driving my way through the streets of San Francisco.
The Corazon Shoppe was situated underneath an apartment building, a hole-in-the-wall joint. The shop had a hand-painted sign hanging over the door, and as I entered, a bell clanked overhead.
The store held a number of aromas. I could only pick out a few. Sage, oak, cinnamon. I looked around the store, where a number of shelves stood with product. Many of them had books, on a variety of subjects ranging from diets to practice of magic, while others held various objects or totems.
I walked to the counter, where a woman in her thirties with glasses was pouring over some accounts. “Hello, I'm looking for Renee Corazon.”
The woman looked up and smiled. “Well, you've found her, cher.” She took off her glasses, looking up at me with brown eyes. “I'm Renee Corazon, owner of this establishment. How can I help you?”
I returned the smile. “My name's Eric Carpenter. I'm working with the police investigating a homicide, and I was hoping you could help me with something.”
Renee nodded. “Of course, sure.” She stood, and offered her hand to me. “Are you a detective?”
“Ah, no,” I shook her hand. “More like a consultant. I help with Arcane-related cases, on occasion.”
She looked me over for a second, then came out from behind the table. She was a woman of average height, with dark skin and short hair. She wore a vest over her t-shirt and tattered jeans with cowboy boots. “Well, something Arcane-related? Show me what you've got.”
“I wanted to talk to you about magic, actually. Blood magic.”
She stared at me for a long moment. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Two vampires were murdered a few nights ago, Miss Corazon. And I think the killer used their blood to do something magical with them.”
Renee looked at me for a long moment. “You're not human, are you?”
“What makes you say that?” I asked.
She moved back behind the counter, sitting down and reaching underneath the desk. “Because people usually preface things they say like that with 'oh, it's crazy', or 'I know this sounds nuts, but'. Normal humans don't just jump into things and not preface it with a warning.”
I thought about that for a second. “Well, we do live in a world with vampires and all that.”
“Still. It's magic you're talking about.” Renee pulled a thick leather-bound tome from underneath the counter. “You look human. You don't have a vampiric pallor, and you haven't been sniffing the air constantly so you aren't a were.”
“So you want to know what I am.” I surmised.
“Frankly, yes.” Renee pointed down at the book. “This is a book of secrets. It's been passed down in my family for generations.”
I frowned. I didn't know such books existed. My mother had her journals, but nothing so formal as this thing that looked like it was pulled off the set of Charmed. “I'm a witch,” I said quietly.
“You mean a warlock.” Renee responded.
“Witch. Homo arcanis or something.” I shrugged. “I can see magic. Manipulate it. Use it.”
“That's more than I can do.” She said. “I can do some minor rituals, but I can't just...see magic, or manipulate it.” Renee kept a discerning lo
ok on me. “How long have you been able to do this?”
I offered a shrug. “Six months or so. I guess you're not too in on the Arcane politics.”
“No, I'm not.” Renee said. “I'm human. Non-arcane in every way except my practice.”
“I'm the Knight of the Bay, it's sort of my job to help the Arcanes here.” I looked back down at the book. “So, does that thing have anything about vampires?”
“Depends on what you want to know about vampires.” She opened the book, flipping through the pages. They were written on older paper, vellum, by the looks of it. The penmanship was flowing, intricate in some places.
“Specifically, I want to know what magic you can do with the blood of a vampire.” I said. “Can I ask you to keep quiet about this?”
Renee glanced up from flipping the pages, looking at me for a long moment. “Sure, certainly, Eric.” She said. “I don't suppose there's any way I can send the police a bill for my time, is there?”
I shrugged. “You'd probably be better off trying to bill Ishmael.” I saw her look up again when I mentioned the Count's name. “You're not a fan?”
“I try my best to stay away from the players of the city.” She said. “Between running a business and the like, I don't have much time for power-hungry vampires.” As she started to flip through the book, she said. “Pull up a chair, and we'll see what we can find.” She gestured towards a small reading area near the window of the shop.
I grabbed a chair from the reading area and returned to the counter with it. I watched as Renee skimmed through the pages. “It's not in English, is it?”
Renee shook her head. “No, it's mostly in French. My family lived there until the seventies. Most of the contributions to the book are centuries old, however. It's a collection of recipes and spells, rituals and the like.”
“What kind of spells?” I asked.
“Things like weather spells, divination.”
“And you can just do it? You don't need to be a witch?”
She shrugged. “There's a little bit of magic in all of us. Most people ignore it, or never realize that it exists. There are names for those humans with no innate talent that learn to sue it. Warlocks, wizards, Wiccans. But witches? There are notes about witches in some of the earlier parts of this book. Those were written in pre-Revolutionary France. After the Revolution, those mentions of witches stop.”
“Huh. I've been asking around, and it seems like that it was a global thing. Around the turn of the nineteenth century, the witches just disappeared off the face of the earth.”
“It's curious, certainly.” Renee said. “Now, can you tell me what these murders were like?”
“Certainly. They were a married vamp couple, the Oteros. Both were naked, and bound by silver. They had a large cut across both their stomachs, from chest to navel. Their blood had been spilled all over their sheets.” I reeled off the facts of the case. “No signs of forced entry, no signs of a struggle. It makes no freaking sense. What vampires just let themselves be butchered?”
“I don't know. It's strange.” She shook her head. “There aren't too many notes of vampires in these works, but if it is, I'll need some time. Can you wait for a day or two for me to look through this? My ancestors did not exactly have the clearest of writing.”
I smiled and stood up. “Sure, I'd be all right with waiting.” I just hoped that there would be something that would be helpful. I reached into one of my coat pockets, and pulled out an old cigarette case. Inside were my business cards, and I placed one on the coutner. “Gimme a ring. Any hour. I'll be there.”
“Really?” She smiled. “I'll keep that in mind. See you around, Eric Carpenter.” She said as the door bell chimed.
I had been taking a moment to check my phone when whoever that new customer was bumped into me. “Oh, sorry!” A male voice said.
“Oh, ah, no prob.” I shook my head, and pulled my jacket around me. I headed out back to my car, when my cell rang.
I checked the caller ID, and rolled my eyes. “Yes, Nick, I got your bullets.” I grumbled as I headed back to the car.
“That's good. I was calling because I did find something in our files.”
“You did? That's great!” I felt a surge of confidence. Finally some information.
“Yes, there's a murder with a similar MO in it.”
“Really? That's...interesting.” I opened up the car and got into the driver's seat. I pulled a notebook from the glove compartment.
“This was back in '03 down in San Diego. I'll send you a copy of the file to your work email.” He said.
I paused, confused. “Wait, it happened back in '03? That was before four-thirteen.”
Nick laughed. “You think the Arcanes came out of nowhere? They didn't just magically appear.”
“Right. So, the murders match?”
“Most of the details. Vics were two vampires, both restrained the same way. Bellies were slit open, left to bleed out. We didn't have any witches, obviously, so we weren't able to deduce it was real magic. It went cold pretty fast.”
I frowned as I wrote everything done. “All right, Nick, now I-” My phone, which was on speaker on my lap, started vibrating. I looked down, and saw that it was a number from Ishmael's offices. “Nick, this was very helpful, but I've got another call. Business.”
“You're very welcome, Mister Carpenter. Tata.” He hung up, and I picked up the new incoming call. “Eric Carpenter,” I answered.
“Eric, it's Teresa.” I relaxed into the seat of the car. “I need you at Wilson Managements.”
“Wilson Managements?” I furrowed my brow. “You guys have never had me come to the home office.” I plugged my phone into the car as I started up.
“Well, Ishmael is holding a press conference. We'd like you to be here for that.”
“When you say 'we', did Ishmael request my presence?”
She paused a moment. “Yes. The community's been finding out about the Oteros. Someone in the police talked, and now Ishmael wants to address the situation to both the Arcanes and the general public.”
I hit my head against the headrest of the driver's seat. “He's punishing me. Great.” I sighed as I put the car into drive. “Well, okay, I can be there in...fifteen minutes?”
“You're wearing a suit, I hope?”
“Oh. It's that kind of press conference. Make it thirty.” I sighed. “See you then.” I started to pull onto the street. “Hey, how's your evening look?” Part of me dreaded this. I hoped I wasn't going to get grilled. Public speaking was not my deal.
“I'm sure I can finagle something. How about a coffee?”
“Coffee, I can do. Say, after this whole press conference?”
“I look forward to it.” She said. “See you then.”
“See you,” I said, and changed my destination. I needed to change. Suits, great.
Chapter 14
Working in the official business of working with the arcane powers in the city had taught me an appreciation for suits. Even amongst vampires who had lived for centuries, appearances were everything. I'd picked up a few suits for the work, and I didn't.
I wasn't exactly red carpet material in it, but I felt good. That's half the job of a good suit, my grandpa had said. I walked to the front desk of Wilson Managements, which was situated in a building of its own. For a business owned by the undead, it was well-lit, clean, and gave every sense of professionalism. The only sign that it might have been anything but every other firm in San Francisco was the coat of arms that was the company's logo, Ishmael's personal crest.
I smiled at the admin manning the desk. “Hi, Eric Carpenter for the presser?
The admin, a man in his twenties with brown hair and a sharp gray suit, smiled. “Of course. It's the meeting room to the left.” He gestured, and I saw the ajar double doors.
“Thank you, Mister Perry.” I said as I nodded to the man, taking a quick glance at the desk plate.
I headed into the meeting room. In the past six months, I
had spent as much time as I could learning how to be an investigator. Part of that was watching tape of press conferences, learning the speech for dealing with journalists, and how to dodge barbed questions. I saw a seat open at the table where Ishmael and Teresa were settling in, and Teresa gave me a gesture to come. I sighed, and walked around the pool of chairs were various reporters. I took the seat, which ended up being on Ishmael's left. I swallowed down a lump at my throat, looked over to the Count.
Ishmael had his hair slicked back, and he wore a dark suit that fit his solid, stocky frame quite well. “Mister Carpenter, before we begin,” He whispered. “I do wish to apologize for my outburst last night. It was uncharacteristic of me, and while I do not appreciate your possible accusation, I did act out of line.”
“And I apologize for making such a claim without founding, Count Ishmael.” I replied. “Let's feed the rabid predators now, shall we?”
Ishmael broke a smile. I considered that a victory for the day. “Very well.” He signaled for the microphone to turn on in front of him, and he began. “Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to thank you all for coming.” While most people didn't notice the change in his voice, Teresa and I certainly did. When speaking to crowds, Ishmael's voice grew slightly deeper, a tactic he used to assert control. “I am Ishmael Giat, and I have asked you here today to answer questions regarding two vampires in this city, and their untimely demises.
“Katrina and Luis Otero were murdered in their home two nights ago. Their killer chained them, and murdered them. With me today are Teresa Crespo and Eric Carpenter, who are currently liaising with the San Francisco Police Department to investigate the matter.”
I had to force myself from just whipping my head around to stare at Ishmael. What was his play here? One of the reporters spoke up. “Mister Giat, do you believe these killings to be racially motivated?”
Ishmael paused a moment. “I believe they are. Two vampires, brutally murdered. They had no enemies. There have been no threats, no promise to kill again, but the Life-First groups do have their more militant factions.” He frowned.
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