The first time I ring through, predictably, the call goes to voice mail.
I picture Williams reading the caller ID and refusing to answer. I leave a curt message, telling him it’s important and to take my call.
I don’t add that if he doesn’t, I’ll find a way in and rip his head off. My hand is shaking with impatience. I wait two minutes and call again.
This time Williams does answer, his tone cold. “What do you want?”
“A witch.”
There’s a moment of silence before he asks why.
When I tell him, some of the antagonism drops from his tone. “Where are you?”
“Outside by the fountain. Seems I’ve been locked out of the clubhouse. My key no longer works.”
“Try it again,” he says, disconnecting.
The kid and her parents are still hanging around the bench. I ’m not sure what to do. If I walk right past them and they watch to see where I go, how will they react when I disappear? Always before it’s been early in the morning or late at night when I’ve shown up here and nosy humans have not been a problem.
I can’t wait. Not with Culebra’s life at stake.
I sidle past them, pretending to be interested in the flora, touching the bushes as I walk. Williams always said supernaturals could access this place without attracting attention. Damned if he isn’t right. This time, the three don’t so much as glance my way as I pass right by them and disappear again through the magic portal.
Now the key works. The door opens and I’m in a small windowless room equipped only with a desk and a computer. I punch in a few keys, and the room becomes an elevator that whisks me downward.
Williams is waiting. No exchange of pleasantries. He gestures for me to follow him, leading me away from the busy command center in the middle of the room to an area off to the side—an area I’ve never seen before.
He opens a door. “Inside,” he says.
It’s a small room with a circular table and five chairs. Three women are seated around the table—each as different from one another as is humanly possible—for they are humans. No supernatural emanations.
Williams makes the introductions quickly, pointing as he goes. “Min Liu.” A small Chinese woman with piercing eyes and waist-length black hair. “Susan Powers.” Middle-aged WASP with a quick, bright smile, chin-length bob of salt-and-pepper hair. “Ariela Acosta.” The youngest of the three, midtwenties, I’d guess, Latina, pretty, dark eyes and hair drawn back into a ponytail.
He finishes up with a jab of the thumb in my direction. “Anna Strong.” Pain in the ass, he adds, for my ears only.
It’s his only diversion. “Tell them what you need.”
They are witches?
Isn’t that what you asked for?
He is still pissed over what happened yesterday. His tone resonates with it. Well, I am, too. It’s surprising he took my second call.
Quickly I explain about Culebra—his symptoms, who I suspect is behind the spell. They listen with careful attention. Williams listens, too. He knows of Burke. He remembers what she tried to do, how close Frey came to dying at her hand.
When I’m done, Min speaks first.
“We know of Belinda Burke. She, alone, is more powerful than we are working collectively. We cannot reverse her spell. That would take an equal.”
“But we may be able to locate her,” Susan adds.
Ariela is nodding. “We can follow her telekinetic trail. To cast a spell such as the one you described involves creating a psychic bond between victim and witch. We can tap into that trail and follow it to its source.”
Susan must read the question on my face because she says, “It’s like a GPS system. We follow the signal to its point of origin.”
“You said you couldn’t reverse the spell,” I say. “What would happen if Burke was to die? Would that break the spell?”
Min frowns. “It would be dangerous to attempt to kill this one, ” she says. “She has a powerful protective glamour. You must tread carefully.”
“But would killing her break the spell?”
She nods.
That’s all I need. I have some pretty powerful glamour myself—vampire strength and if that’s not enough, a nice .38. Witch or no, Burke is human. Once I have her in my sights, I’ll know what to do. “How long will it take to locate her?”
The three exchange calculating glances. “If we can do it, an hour.” Ariela says. “Maybe less.”
“If you can do it?”
Another exchange of glances. “If she’s on this—an earthly—plane we can find her. If not—” Ariela’s shoulders raise in a shrug.
Williams touches my arm. “We’ll let you get to it. We’ll be in my office.”
Great. Bad enough that I may be wasting an hour of Culebra’s life, but the idea of spending that hour alone with Williams sets my teeth on edge.
I don’t like it any better than you do, he snaps. But something else has happened that you should be aware of. It affects the vampire community.
When I don’t respond fast enough, he bristles with indignation. You can’t choose to be a part of this community only when it suits you. I’ve made my resources available to you. The least you can do is hear me out.
He’s right. I lift my shoulders in a half shrug of resignation and reluctantly follow the lion into his den.
CHAPTER 11
GUILT GOT ME HERE. BUT ONCE WE’RE SEATED in uncomfortable silence around Williams ’ desk, I’m reminded of my conversation last night with Lance—and what happened after. I smile, letting some of the good stuff through.
“My boyfriend says hello.”
Williams acts like he doesn’t hear me, but the coil of his antipathy tightens. He pretends to ignore me, shuffling papers around his desk as if searching for one in particular, but a muscle at the base of his jaw jumps, betraying his agitation.
After another minute of thumbing through the piles on his desk, he finds what he’s looking for and shoves a sheet toward me.
The first thing I notice is the letterhead: “SDPD Headquarters.” Then, in bold letters: “Internal Memo.”
I glance over at him. Are you supposed to have this?
Again no reply, concentration focused instead on arranging the discarded papers he’d shoved aside in search of the one I’m holding.
I take that as a no.
His mind is shut so tight, his jaw muscles strain with the effort.
That must hurt.
I barely suppress a smile as I start reading.
The memo is the summation of three police reports filed during the last twenty -four hours. Both involve males attacked by females who cut their victims with knives and suck at the wounds. The men describe their attackers as in their early thirties, attractive, seductive. Not the same woman, though the MO is the same in all three cases. The men meet the women in bars, the women agree to go home with them but instead of engaging in sexual activity, the women attack. They don’t appear to want to kill their victims, the wounds are superficial, on the arms or legs, and the men easily subdue the women once they get over the shock. The women seem to just want to suck their blood. All three women have managed to escape before the police arrive.
Weird, I say, handing the report back to Williams. They’re obviously not vampires. Newly made vampires are still stronger than the strongest human. I pause a second before adding, Are you getting information from Ortiz?
Ortiz is a vampire. Also, a member of San Diego’s finest. He worked for Williams before the shake-up.
He nods. Ortiz is keeping me in the loop. He’s assistant to the new acting police chief. Gives him access to information pertinent to our community.
A hint of wistfulness comes through. He misses his job. I wish I could muster some sympathy.
Instead, I gesture to the report.
Sounds like a weird cult to me. No one has been killed. No one has been seriously hurt. So why is this important to the community?
I’m not sure.
And looks at me . . . until I get it. This is the favor he wants in return for lending me the witches.
So what do you want me to do? Work with Ortiz? Question these guys again? What can I find out that the police haven’t?
A shrug. I don’t know. You fancy yourself a smart cookie. Come up with an angle. All three victims have been picked up in bars around the Gaslamp district. You know the area. Maybe you can stake it out, catch one of these women in the act. Find out what the game is. Between real vamp corpses showing up and these wannabes out there attacking men, it won’t be long before the Revengers involve themselves. We don’t need that.
Especially if the Revengers get it in their heads that one of these human women is a vampire and decide to take her out. Killing a mortal would bring the worst kind of attention—to them and to us. Still—
I can’t promise to do anything until I know Culebra is safe.
Agreed.
I stare at him. Too quick.
There’s a knock on the door.
Ariel pokes her head in. “We have a location,” she says.
I’m on my feet before she’s finished the sentence.
Williams and I follow her back to the room. The table has been pushed to one side, a pentagram chalked on the floor. Crystals wink from each of the star’s five points. In the middle, three candles burn. Under the candles, a map is laid out.
It’s a detailed map of the city.
“She’s in San Diego?” I ask.
Susan points to a tiny diamond on the end of a silken rope. The gem rests on a street in National City, a suburb to the south of San Diego.
“How could you—?”
Min smiles. “We started out with a bigger area,” she says. “A map of the U.S. Working such a powerful spell would require proximity.
When we were shown the way, a map of California. Finally, the energy led us right here. She’s close.”
She hands me a piece of paper with an address written in neat script. “But I must warn you, Anna, the same energy that led us to her location may have warned her that she was being sought.”
My thoughts jump to Frey. “I have a friend who is working his own spell to counteract Burke’s magic. What happens if Burke becomes aware of our interference?”
The three exchange anxious looks. Min speaks first. “He is in danger,” she says shortly. “The sooner you find and deal with Burke the better.”
Ariel holds something out to me on the palm of her hand. “Wear this.”
I hold it up. It’s a charm, a filigree ball, on a silver chain. Light reflects off the surface like sparks from a pinwheel. “What does it do?”
“It’s an amulet. For protection and guidance.” She helps me slip it over my head. “It will tell you when you are close.”
“How?”
“You’ll know.”
I drop the charm inside my shirt, between my breasts. It’s warm where it touches my skin.
“Don’t take it off,” Susan says. The seriousness in her eyes is mirrored in the expressions of the other two. “Promise us.”
I don’t believe in charms but neither did I believe in vampires until about nine months ago. Besides, what could it hurt?
“Sure,” I reply. “Promise.”
CHAPTER 12
I CAN’T WAIT TO GET GOING. WILLIAMS FOLLOWS me back to the elevator, droning on about how I owe him. All I can think about is getting to Burke and I mumble a “yeah, yeah, I know” as the doors slide shut.
When I’m alone, I look at the paper.
The address is in an industrial park on the outskirts of National City. I’ll head there directly after making one stop—I keep my gun in our office safe. When I’ve retrieved it, and it’s reassuring weight is snug against the small of my back, I’m ready.
The exact address is a warehouse with a sign on the side that reads “Second Chance Products.” The name means nothing to me. The way the building is situated, though, does. It’s located below street level and surrounded by a parking lot and chain link fence. It’s the last building in a string of utilitarian, prefab warehouses, the nearest neighbor a half mile to the west. To the east is a vacant lot.
It’s perfect for surveillance. I pull onto the shoulder of a frontage road where I have an unobstructed view of the entrance.
I touch the amulet through the fabric of my blouse. I don ’t know what magic it possesses, but I won’t need it to recognize Belinda Burke. I remember the first time I saw her with Culebra at Beso de la Muerte. Remember the dark hair and eyes, the belligerent way she stared at me. She was arguing with Culebra in rapid-fire Spanish, standing over him, thin face drawn with anger. I see that face in my mind now, features burned into my memory.
I won’t need an amulet to recognize her.
It’s close to noon. The parking lot is full, trucks and workers streaming in and out. It’s what keeps me from taking the direct approach, barge in, guns blazing. I’m not detecting any supernatural signatures. Only human. I don’t know yet if Burke is inside.
At one p.m., a limo pulls up to the entrance. The driver disappears through the main entrance.
A few minutes later, he returns with a woman. He holds open the rear passenger door for her and stands aside. The woman is tall, slender. She’s wearing a charcoal pantsuit tailored to accentuate broad shoulders, a small waist, narrow hips. She has red hair, fair skin.
She pauses outside the limo and her gaze sweeps upward.
Directly at me.
I have the absurd impulse to duck. I resist. I know there’s no way she can possibly tell that there’s anyone sitting in a car so far away.
Besides, this is a busy frontage road and there are two other cars, one parked in front and one, behind me.
Still, she is looking only at my car.
Then, a strange thing happens.
The amulet around my neck begins to burn.
CHAPTER 13
I YELP AND PULL THE AMULET FREE. IT’S GLOWING red.
What the hell? If this is what Ariel meant by telling me the amulet would let me know when I was close to Burke, she could have warned me.
I start to yank it off, but the image of those three women and the promise I made to keep it on stays my hand. I let it fall against the outside of my blouse. It still smarts through the fabric, but not nearly as much.
By the time I look again at the parking lot, the limo is gone.
Shit.
The amulet’s glow diminishes.
It takes me a second to regroup. There’s only one egress from the warehouse. If it didn’t come by me, the limo must have gone the other way.
Burke must have been in the limo.
I hang a U and take off.
The limo is a quarter mile ahead. I hang back and follow. They jump on 805 North and proceed up the coast. At the junction with 52, they head west, into La Jolla.
La Jolla is a wealthy enclave of the rich and famous. It attracts lots of tourists—so forget about finding a place on the street to park. But people try. As a consequence, traffic along Prospect, the main drag, is usually stop -and-go. At lunchtime, it’s stop and stop and stop before a short go. But it gives me plenty of time to watch the limo as it pulls up in front of La Valencia hotel.
The driver doesn’t get out this time. Instead, an extremely big, extremely burly guy in a cheap black suit that strains across his chest gets out of the driver’s passenger side door, scans the street, then opens the rear door.
The redhead steps out and goes straight into the hotel. Burly guy slams the door, scans the street once again, then slaps the roof of the limo. It pulls off and he follows the woman into the hotel.
So where is Burke? Is she meeting the redhead inside? The damned amulet is throwing off heat again. Whoever the redhead is, she must have a powerful connection to Burke.
I know this hotel. Un
less the redhead is staying here, she’s probably on her way to lunch in one its four restaurants. I can narrow her choices further because one of those restaurants, the Sky Room, is open only for dinner. I’m hoping she’ll go for one of the two places that open onto the patio. That would make it easier for me to check her out.
First though, I have to find a parking spot. Not valet. Not with this crowd. If I have to beat it out of there in a hurry, I don ’t want to stand around with my thumb up my ass waiting for a kid to find my keys. That burly guy in the bad suit is probably not a date.
There’s a parking structure across the street on Girard. I leave the Jag there and jog back to the hotel. I realize I ’m taking a chance, assuming Burke is meeting the redhead. What if she’s not? What if she left with the limo? Too late to worry about that now. Besides, the amulet is still glowing. If Burke is not inside, my backup plan will be to keep tailing the redhead.
It wouldn’t be smart to walk into the hotel and start scoping out the restaurants. If she ’s here, Burke will recognize me. Instead, I go around to the back. The hotel is built to take advantage of an ocean view. Prospect sits above Coast Boulevard and a green ribbon of park that snakes along the shore. The hotel is built another twenty feet or so higher. There is a terrace along this side that two of the restaurants open onto. It’s not a pretty day, cloudy, cold with an ocean breeze dropping the ambient temperature another ten degrees. Since anything below seventy-two sends most San Diegans scurrying for winter coats, no one will be eating outside today.
Which works to my advantage.
The base of the hotel is ringed with evergreens and bou gainvillea. Perfect cover for a person scurrying like a lizard up the wall to the deck. Thorns tug at my clothes and tangle my hair, but at the top, I slide over a wooden railing and hide myself behind stacked tables.
Retribution asc-5 Page 5
