Deadline (Blood Trails Book 1)

by Jennifer Blackstream

  Then nothing. One second I could practically feel Peasblossom’s heartbeat through the bond, and the next it was gone, and I was alone.

  My eyes shot open and I drew in the breath to shout for her, discretion be damned.

  I was not sitting behind the wheel of my car.

  Shock turned my spine to steel. My car was gone. My house was gone. My driveway, my yard—Dresden was gone. In its place stood a massive black lacquered desk. Directly behind the desk, two heavy bookcases flanked a small bar with glass shelves lined with expensive liquor and crystal glasses. The mirrored wall behind the bar offered whoever made the drinks a good view of the room—though the fact that the mirror ended six inches above the counter meant the rest of the room had a less advantaged view of what was going into the drinks.

  Gauzy white curtains covered the two windows to my right, but a heavy electric shade at the top of the windows could be lowered to block the light completely. I guessed the employees here were under strict instructions to ensure that the shade was always lowered during daylight hours. I wanted to look behind me at the rest of the office just to ground myself in my new surroundings, but instinct wouldn’t let me turn my head from the vampire sitting behind the desk.

  Anton sat with his hands close together but not folded on the desk, waiting for me to get my bearings.

  I didn’t speak until I was sure I could do so without either shouting or betraying the waver I was sure would be in my voice. “What did you do?”

  “I did what I said I would do. I brought you to my office.”

  I tightened my grip on the padded arms of my chair. “So I deduced. But how did you bring me here?”

  “The how is not important. What is important is that we establish here and now the details of our professional relationship.”

  He put his fingers on a sheet of paper to his right and slid it in front of me. “This is a confidentiality agreement. It stipulates that you will not share the information I provide you without my express written consent.”

  I stared at the paper, but made no move to touch it. “You want me to sign a contract?”

  “A confidentiality agreement.” He laid a pen down beside the document. “Very standard, I assure you.”

  My doubt must have shown on my face, because he gave me a condescending smile.

  “Mother Renard, signing this document represents your dedication to keeping any secrets I may share with you. It does not bind you to my service, nor does it obligate you to take my case.” He pulled another sheet of paper to sit beside the first one. “This is the one you will sign if you take my case.”

  “Still big on signatures, I see.” The words escaped before I could stop them. I looked up at Anton, but his expression didn’t change.

  “I find it’s best to be clear.”

  There’d been another time, another world, when this vampire’s contracts had been famous. Or, perhaps, infamous. Back then he’d been a vampire prince determined to be a vampire king, and he’d collected alliances the way some men today collected stamps. Only his methods had been less…civilized.

  Never had I thought for a second that I would find myself being offered such a contract.

  “So I’ll sign the confidentiality agreement,” I said slowly, “then you’ll tell me what you want to hire me for. And if I take the case, I’ll sign the second one.”

  “Exactly.”

  Curiosity, monster that it was, grew stronger with every passing second. There couldn’t be any harm in just hearing him out…right? I took the offered pen and scrawled my name on the dotted line before my more rational voice could talk me out of it.

  Something pricked my finger and I hissed. Blood flowed from a tiny cut on my fingertip, following the lines of ink until my signature shone red in the dim office lights. Anton pulled the paper toward him, blowing on it to help it dry. Maybe it was my imagination, but I could have sworn I saw his nostrils flare, a spark of crimson lighting his eyes.

  Before I could say anything, he put the paper in his desk drawer, locked it, and returned his attention to me.

  “On January twentieth, someone came into this building and broke into my vault. They killed three guards and stole a book. I want you to find the thief and recover the book.” He pulled a file from the top left drawer of his desk and put it in front of me.

  The fact that he referred to the culprit as a thief and not a murderer spoke volumes for his priorities. I stared at the three-inch-thick file. Colored tabs stuck out from the top and sides, each one labeled.

  “In addition to crime scene reports, I’ve included the employee records of everyone I believe could have known of the book’s existence. You will also find a dossier on everyone with a connection to the stolen item. Those are summaries only, I have more detailed files in boxes that can be delivered to your office at your convenience. Would you like me to go over the summaries with you now, or do you prefer to do your own research first to avoid prejudice?”

  It wasn’t a thin file, summaries or no, and I didn’t relish the idea of being in the vampire’s office all night. I pulled the file closer and leafed through the pages. There were photographs too, and I pulled one of the glossy prints out to get a better look.

  It was a photograph of one of the victims, a guard, Anton had said. He’d been decapitated. The corpse remained cradled in the desk chair, slumped back, but still posed as if it would continue working any minute.

  “It doesn’t look like he put up much of a fight.”

  “No,” Anton agreed.

  I squinted, noting that the man’s head lay on the floor beside the chair. Dark hair, cut short. He’d been a slender man, leanly muscled and as pale as the belly of a snake. On the wall in front of the body, six monitors glowed brightly, depicting what I assumed were different parts of the building housing the vault. The victim should have seen his attacker coming.

  “He was looking at a lot of monitors when he died,” I said. “Do any of these show the entrance to this room?”

  “Yes. But the recordings have been erased, and obviously, Aaron is not available to tell us what he saw.”

  “But he could have set off an alarm if it’d been someone who shouldn’t be there, yes?”

  “Yes. But no such alarm was triggered.”

  “So either it was someone who had a right to be there…”

  Anton narrowed his eyes. “No one has a right to be there but the guards on duty, myself, and my wife.”

  “Then someone hid from the cameras.” I tapped a finger on the photograph. “There are ways, of course. It’s too bad we can’t recover the footage. It would help if we knew whether the culprit used mundane or magical means to get past the camera.” I looked down at the photo as I continued tapping. “There’s something off about this picture,” I murmured. Then it hit me, and it was so obvious, I almost smacked myself. “There’s no blood. The wound’s been cauterized.” I looked at Anton. “Cauterized as it was cut?”

  Anton nodded. “The coroner believes the blade was magic. Swords that cauterize as they cut are not difficult to find, if you have the funds to purchase one.”

  I stared at the victim’s neck—the flesh and blood was mottled, looking like some sort of macabre candle. “So someone snuck up on him and cut his head off with a magic sword.”

  “Look at the other photos.”

  I thumbed through the photographs, pulling out those that depicted the other victims. Another man, and a woman. Both killed the same way, their wounds cauterized. I frowned. “That’s not possible. He couldn’t have snuck up on all of them.” I pointed to the cup of pens on the shelf behind the long counter, the stool that remained upright. “It doesn’t look like there was a struggle.”

  “And your deduction?”

  I stared at the photograph without really seeing it. “No bonds, so they weren’t tied up. They couldn’t have been gassed or drugged, because they were obviously still upright when they were beheaded.” I pointed at the tiled floor, the lack of slashes that would ha
ve indicated the killer had removed the heads while the bodies lay on the floor. I looked up at Anton. “Magic again. Someone had to use a spell to keep them frozen in place.”

  My stomach rolled. There were spells to hold creatures immobile, but they didn’t numb the creature affected. The victims would have known what was happening to them. They would have stood there, watching their killer approach, but unable to move to defend themselves or run. Helpless to do anything but watched their death come closer.

  And they would have felt it.

  “It was probably a quick death,” I said, mostly to comfort myself. I tried not to think of what the third victim would have felt, watching the killer decapitate the first two, knowing the same fate awaited them.

  “Magic to hold them, a magic sword to kill them.” I looked at Anton. “Whoever did this is powerful. The sword can be bought, but the spell to hold them? I assume these guards were not easy marks?”

  “A werewolf, a half-goblin, and a siren,” he replied. “All of them highly trained, and very disciplined.”

  “The killer would only have needed to hold them a short time,” I murmured, half to myself. “Just long enough to behead them. It’s not that easy to decapitate someone, though.”

  “If the sword was enchanted, it would have taken significantly less effort. I have a cauterizing sword myself, and I’ve found it slides through even the most monstrous neck with great ease. My wife could do it with one hand.”

  I very firmly put that mental image aside. I didn’t need the reminder that the vampire trying to hire me spoke of using a sword to decapitate someone the way I talked about what an excellent job my new carrot peeler did.

  “Even so, the spell alone tells me we’re dealing with someone experienced. Whoever did this isn’t squeamish about death, has no empathy…” I looked up. “And isn’t afraid of you.”

  Anton’s eyes glittered with that same sparkle of crimson I’d seen earlier. “A small list.”

  A question that had been plaguing me since the vampire had first shown up leapt onto my tongue. I spoke before I could think better of it. “Why aren’t you having one of your own people do this?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “You’re the vampire mastermind of Dacia. You’ve been building a spy network for centuries—maybe longer. You’ve been here since this world started—well, before the timeline changed, but still. You must have someone who could investigate this for you?”

  Anton straightened the contract in front of him, settling it directly across from me. “I do. But if this was an inside job, then it is prudent to hire outside people to look into it to avoid inadvertently hiring the fox to watch the henhouse, so to speak. Don’t you agree?”

  “But why me?” I gave up any pretense of pride. “I’m just starting. Wouldn’t you rather have someone with more experience?”

  The sparks of red vanished from his eyes, leaving them icy rings of pale blue. In that moment, I felt as if the vampire could see my every weakness, read all my secrets. He leaned forward, and I stiffened my spine, pressing my feet into the floor as I resisted the urge to shove my chair farther back.

  “You are investigating the disappearance of one Helen Miller,” he said. “An architect from Cleveland who specialized in building secret chambers?”

  The vein in my temple pulsed a little harder. “Yes.”

  “Helen Miller was the architect who designed the security measures for the compromised vault.”

  I jerked back before I could stop myself, my fingers twitching with the urge to draw a spell. “Did you…?”

  Anton held up a hand. “No, Mother Renard. I am not responsible for the young woman’s disappearance. However, if you search her records, you will not find any evidence of the work she did for me. Nor will she herself share any such detail with you should you find her.” He paused. “Unless she is dead, as I strongly suspect is the case. Upon her completion of the work I hired her for, she destroyed all records of our dealings—in my presence. Before she left, I assured that her memory was equally clean of our history.”

  He’d used vampiric powers to wipe her memory. I swallowed hard and busied my hands by flipping through the file again to hide their trembling. “When you…cleaned out her memory. Would there have been any lasting effects?”

  “Such as?”

  Again, I hesitated before revealing Mrs. Miller’s state of mind. The fewer people who knew about it, the more I would be able to bluff later, to pretend Mrs. Miller had told me something. That was leverage I couldn’t get back once it was gone.

  “Could she have recovered those memories?” I asked instead.

  Anton didn’t blink. Again I had the unsettling feeling he was reading my mind. “No.”

  I looked down at the file again. “Before I agree to take this case, why don’t you tell me a little more about what was stolen?”

  “It was a book, leather-bound, black, the size of a small journal.”

  “And what was in it?”

  “Notes.”

  I waited. He didn’t say more.

  I sighed and propped an elbow on the desk, vaguely gesturing toward the drawer where he’d locked up the document I’d signed. “I signed a confidentiality agreement. I assume the bloodletting means something horrific will happen to me if I violate it?”

  Anton’s eyes flashed red, more than a dusting of embers—a hot glow of burning coals. “Oh, yes.”

  “Then this isn’t the time to be coy, is it? What’s in the book?”

  The corner of his mouth twitched. “The book contained notes I’ve taken over the years about various individuals with whom I have entered negotiations with, or, in some cases, individuals with whom I am planning to enter negotiations with. A sort of…leverage.”

  “So, blackmail.”

  He shrugged. “If you wish. The book is also enchanted. In addition to my personal notes, each page holds a small…pocket, if you will. Evidence to support my notes is contained within.”

  “So not only could someone you’re blackmailing want it to take away your leverage,” I said slowly, “but anyone who wanted to become a blackmailer themselves might see this as a one-stop shop.” I put my hand on the file. “Shouldn’t this be thicker?”

  “Very astute. I will admit the list of individuals who would like to get their hands on that book is longer than the list of suspects I’ve provided you. However, that book is one of many. The vault is one of many. Few individuals could locate any book, let alone the specific book that pertains to them.”

  I thought of Arianne and what Peasblossom had said about her penchant for blackmail. She could have known about the books. If one of Anton’s victims or guards had slept at her hotel, she could have known. I frowned. For that matter, she was a dream sorceress. If she wanted to, she could get into anyone’s dreams. I stared at Anton. Did vampires dream?

  “So it’s more likely that someone wanted any book, not a specific book,” I said.

  “Perhaps.”

  I shook my head. The list of people who wouldn’t want that book would be shorter than my current list of suspects. “You said Helen Miller designed the traps that protect your vault?”

  “The mundane ones, yes. Mrs. Miller is wonderfully skilled in this area. Her creativity delighted me, and I assure you, bypassing her handiwork was no small feat. In fact, I daresay whoever managed it must have gotten their hands on Mrs. Miller herself.”

  “Or gotten hold of her plans.”

  Anton shook his head. “There are no plans. I saw to that personally.”

  I almost pointed out that many creative types doodled or sketched their ideas before drawing up anything official, but decided not to. No sense riling up the secret-hoarding vampire. “You said the mundane traps. There are magical traps as well?”

  “There are wards. Wards designed and implemented by my personal wizard.”

  “And I assume your wizard is very skilled as well?”

  Anton steepled his fingers in front of him. “Isai is one of
the most powerful wizards from the Old Kingdom. I also consider him a strong suspect.”

  “You suspect your own wizard?”

  “I suspect everyone.”

  I flipped through the file he’d given me, thumbing through the pages until I found Isai’s dossier. “Why would your wizard want the book?”

  Anton lifted the pen I’d used to sign the contract, studying it as he spoke. “In recent years, Isai has begun to voice…frustration with how I handle my affairs in this world. It is his belief that humans have far too much control, and he would like to see the Otherworld take a more…active role. Isai has always been hotheaded and power-hungry, and his arrogance is largely what led to his current predicament as my servant—a role he does not always accept with grace. It is my belief that Isai had finally built up the necessary courage for a coup, and getting that book was the first step. With it, he would have been able to simultaneously gain powerful allies and undermine my position with those same allies.”

  “Since he laid the wards, he would have been able to get through those,” I noted. “I assume he has no alibi?”

  “None. Also, he was found at the scene.”

  I stared at the file, quickly reading through the crime scene description. “The guards reported they found him unconscious in front of the vault. A wound on the back of his skull suggests he was struck from behind.”

  “Indeed. But I don’t have to tell you how easy it would be for him to inflict that injury on himself.”

  “He didn’t have your book on him.”

  “No. But again, it would have been simple for him to hide it. He could have teleported the book away if he chose to do so.”

  I tapped a finger on the page. “If he stole it, why hasn’t he used it?”

  “The book is locked with blood. Even with his spellbook, Isai would need time to force it open. And then, of course, it would take time to contact those within the book, make arrangements to solidify his position.”

  “What do you mean, ‘even with his spellbook?’” My jaw dropped and the file sagged in my hand. “Wait a minute. You… You have his spellbook?”