by AE Jones
The door to the back office sat open and I sauntered through. While the front reception area was reminiscent of a Mickey Spillane novel, with its beige walls, dark wood moldings and a beat-up wooden desk, the main back office area had been upgraded to the seventies.
There was a seating area and an almond-colored faux wood table we gathered around for meetings. At one point there had been a mustard yellow refrigerator I finally put out of commission with a fork that “accidentally” lodged itself into the back cooling unit. No one should have to store food in something the color of baby poop.
Even though the office reminded me of a bad acid flashback, it was more of a home than any I’d had growing up. Which was a pathetically sad statement, but true nonetheless.
Misha was parked on the lime green sofa eating a breakfast sandwich. Between bites he mumbled, “No cannoli?”
“Not today.”
Misha was an amazing eating machine. Apparently his demon metabolism pretty much let him eat anything. And even though intimidation radiated from him, in reality he was a teddy bear. The irony was, his name in Russian actually meant “little bear.” When I first started working with him, I gained fifteen pounds trying to keep up. Now I just sat back and watched him eat.
“Where’s Jean Luc?”
“He’ll be here in a few minutes. Get some coffee.”
I hesitated. “Who made it?”
Misha grinned. “I did.”
Taking my mug off the hook, I poured a cup and liberally doused it with cream, then sat down next to him. He finished the last of his sandwich, crumpling the paper wrapper.
“While we wait,” he said, “have you heard anything interesting about the new TV season? What shows should I be watching?”
I rolled my eyes. Misha swore the best thing that had happened to him in his two hundred and sixty-year life was the invention of television. If it had been on TV at any time in the last fifty years, he had watched it. Hell, he had memorized it, since he had a photographic memory. This worked very well for the job, but not so well during stakeouts, especially when he quoted entire episodes of The Brady Bunch. All except the ones with Oliver. He hated those episodes.
“I haven’t heard anything yet.” I sipped the coffee, reminding myself to add cream to my grocery list. After another minute, I bounced my foot with impatience. “What is taking Jean Luc so long? I thought we had a briefing with Nicholas.”
“He went to get the new guy.”
I glared at him. “What new guy?” You wouldn’t think it would be possible to freak out a high-level demon, so his scared-rabbit gaze would have been amusing if I wasn’t starting to see red. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Um… Nicholas said he was assigning a new guy to the team. I thought he told you.”
“Obviously not. So, what is he?”
He refused to meet my eyes. This couldn’t be good. “Misha?”
“He isn’t a supe.”
My stomach dropped like I was on a roller coaster at Cedar Point. No, no, no. “Please tell me Nicholas is not assigning a normal to the team again. After what happened last time, why would he risk it?”
Our last normal teammate, Steve, had been a disaster. Soon as he realized Jean Luc was a vampire, he started wearing garlic necklaces and declared me a “traitor to humanity.” I’d thought his pronouncement was over the top until he tried to stab Jean Luc with a wooden stake. Another myth. Stakes won’t kill vamps, although I learned they hurt like a bitch. Misha had to hold Jean Luc down while I pulled it out. Needless to say, good ol’ Steve was not back the next day.
Before I could continue my rant, the monitor beeped. Time for our briefing. Misha turned on the screen and Nicholas’s face appeared. He was ridiculously handsome, which I’m sure helped him get his way in most things. He reminded me of Cary Grant from the classic movies Misha made me watch.
“Misha, Kyle, good morning. Where is Jean Luc?”
“Apparently, he’s gone to pick up our newest team member,” I answered.
Nicholas sighed. “Even from you I don’t expect such hostility this early in the morning.”
“Why am I the last to know about this?”
“This is not a conspiracy, Kyle. The decision was made overnight. Until we have a better idea of what’s going on, it would make sense to have a human on the team to run interference.”
“What am I exactly?” I asked flippantly, even though I was feeling anything but.
“I meant no disrespect. But you are not the most diplomatic person.”
“That’s a load of bull!”
Misha snorted next to me.
I huffed. “Point taken. So who is this guy?”
“He’s a Cleveland police officer who is the department’s media liaison. He should be perfect for the job.”
“What happens when he sees his first demon? Or a rogue shifter tries to eviscerate him?”
“He’ll do fine,” Nicholas replied.
“You said the same thing about Steve, and I ended up spending an hour pulling splinters out of a very pissed-off vampire.”
Nicholas smirked. “If you’re so worried about it, I’ll put you in charge of making sure our newest member falls in line. Do you think you can handle him?”
“Oh yeah, I can handle him.”
Misha shot me a nervous glance and Nicholas got down to business. “Misha, give me your take on the scene last night and your interview with the shifter.”
I sat there half listening and had the strangest thought. We were the supernatural version of Charlie’s Angels. The original TV show of course, since I agreed with Misha that it was better than the movies. I was Kate Jackson’s character. She was spunky and the true brains of the group. Jean Luc was definitely Farrah Fawcett, which would make Misha Jacqueline Smith. Nicholas was Charlie. God, I had really been spending too much time with Misha and his TV addiction. That or I had finally OD’d on caffeine.
Nicholas interrupted my tripped-out thoughts. “Do you have anything to add regarding the interview, Kyle?”
“No, as usual, Mr. Photographic Memory here didn’t miss a beat.”
“Contact me again when you have more information.”
Nodding, Misha logged off. The door opened behind us and I turned. Jean Luc stepped into the room, alone.
“Where’s the new guy?” I blurted.
He angled his head toward the door. “In the reception area with Dolly.”
“Did you check him for wood?”
“Very funny.”
“Does he know what you are?”
“No.”
I smiled. “Please, let me tell him.”
“I am not sure that is a good idea,” Jean Luc said.
“Nicholas put me in charge of him,” I countered.
Misha confirmed my statement by nodding. Jean Luc shrugged and stepped aside. I started for the door, then stopped.
Misha scowled. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Jean Luc, please tell him I’ll be out in a bit to give him his orientation. That will give Dolly a couple of minutes to welcome him.”
If Dolly’s picture appeared in the dictionary it would be next to the words gorgeous, tall, blonde, and sleek. But beneath that beauty beat the heart of a barracuda when it came to overseeing the front desk. I had actually seen Dolly make school children peddling candy bars cry. So I was more than a little surprised when I finally opened the door and found new guy perched on her desk. Their heads were close together and she was giggling. Actually giggling like a tweener.
I took a long gander at the man. Not sure what I’d expected to see. The stereotypical cop who had eaten one too many donuts? I mean, a cop who sat behind a desk all day couldn’t be in very good shape, right? Wrong.
I highly doubted his lean body had ever been exposed to processed sugar…or saturated fat, for that matter. He was wearing khakis and a blue polo shirt that accentuated his muscles. I studied his profile and decided he wasn’t too bad looking. Dark brown hair and a
strong nose. What exactly was the big deal?
Then he turned toward me and I knew immediately what had reduced Dolly to a pile of Jell-O. His eyes were the most gorgeous blue I had ever seen. They were almost turquoise—practically iridescent. Good God.
I rearranged my face into its normal petulant position. “Come with me.”
He didn’t flinch. “Nice to meet you, Dolly. I’ll give you the recipe later.”
I had already started to walk away and faltered when he spoke. His voice was a gorgeous, deep tone that vibrated down my spinal column and spilled over me like liquid sex. It was official. It had been way too long since I had been involved with anyone. I needed to take care of that soon. But first I had to get rid of the new guy.
I hatched my plan quickly. Scaring the crap out of him was the best way to move him along and demonstrate to Nicholas the team was fine the way it was. I was the only human needed.
I walked the new guy down the hall into my cluttered office. Paperwork was not my friend. Pointing to the visitor’s chair, I plopped down in mine behind the desk.
He smiled but then his eyebrows drew together in confusion.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No. Jean Luc mentioned I would be meeting with Kyle McKinley. Are you his assistant?”
Wow, in one sentence Mr.-Blue-Eyes-Liquid-Sex had managed to turn me off. I wasn’t going to succumb to his charms after all. “I’m Kyle.”
“Sorry. Honest mistake.”
“Not really. While we’re at it, I’m going to do you a favor. Whatever you do, don’t make fun of Jean Luc’s name—or Misha’s, for that matter.” I didn’t volunteer that the only time Jean Luc had ever gotten mad at me was when we had first met and I had called him Captain Picard. I hadn’t been able to help myself. I had never met a Jean Luc in real life. After I apologized and his fangs retracted, we became good friends.
“Do you have to have an unusual name to work here?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“So let me guess, your name is John Smith?”
He smiled at me. “Joe Dalton. You can call me Joe.”
Clearing my throat, I drummed my fingers on the cool metal desk and stared at him. Where to begin? “Dalton, do you know why you’ve been assigned to work with us?”
“I was told by the captain your group is working on a case that could cause some bad press for the city. He didn’t give me any specific details. Just said it could be volatile.”
Which was an understatement. Captain Morrison was one of the few people the BSR told about the supernatural events we covered up. But there was only so much we could hide before people became suspicious, so Morrison ran interference for us when necessary.
“Yeah, I would say we have a volatile situation in the making. Do you know what our company does?”
“Only from my research online and from asking some of the other cops if they have ever worked with you before. You’re a detective agency, but your site is somewhat vague about the types of cases you handle.”
I’d give him a point for doing his homework. “We’re very selective about our clients. We’ve even helped the police department on occasion.”
He pulled his chair closer to the desk, scraping the wood floor. “Then why am I here, Kyle?”
“Last night, we responded to a call at the Erie Bar.”
He nodded. “I review the call sheets after each shift. The report stated there was a fight at the bar, but by the time the squad car responded the bouncers had taken care of it.”
“It’s what we want the public to believe.”
“What really happened?”
It was time to put Operation Freak-Out into play. “There was a murder at the bar last night.”
“And who exactly was killed?”
“Not who, what. A vampire was decapitated.”
“A vampire?” His eyes narrowed in disbelief, and I hadn’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.
“Yeah. According to our witness, the vamp came running into the bar followed closely by a Pavel demon, and they started to fight.”
He sat up straighter. “Let me see if I have this right. You’re telling me a real vampire…and a what?”
“Pavel demon.”
“A real vampire and a Pavel demon got in a fight at one of the most popular bars in the city and no one reported it?”
“That’s exactly what I’m telling you.”
“How is that even possible?”
I had to hand it to him; he hadn’t a) called me crazy, b) run from the room, or c) wet his pants. Yet. “I know this is hard to believe, but there are really things that go bump in the night. They exist. Vampires, demons, shifters, they’re all real.”
He waved his hand dismissively. “No, I know about the supernatural. What I’m asking is how did you cover it up?”
I stared at him. Well, dang. Didn’t that just sink my battleship? “How do you know about supes?”
“Who do you think helps Captain Morrison come up with cover stories when something supernatural occurs? After one too many incidents, I asked enough questions to make the captain nervous. He filled me in on what he knows.”
I scowled. “Who else has he been talking to about us?”
“No one I know of. I know about the supes, as you call them, but he didn’t tell me about your agency, or what you do. Which brings me back to the question of how you covered up the murder?”
“I’m a Mind Sweeper.”
“Isn’t that a game on your computer with the grid and little bombs?”
“That’s Minesweeper. I’m a Min-duh Sweeper.” Okay, it was a good thing he was cute, since he was not Mensa material. “I have the ability to wipe people’s memories and replace them with new ones.”
“Are you human?”
Wasn’t that the question of the century? He didn’t waste any time getting right to the point. “I’m human, but for some reason I’ve been given this ability.”
And I waited for the look. The one I always got when someone realized I wasn’t “normal.” It was similar to the look you get from people when you have a giant pimple on your forehead and they try not to stare at it, which makes the situation even more awkward.
Surprisingly, he kept looking me straight in the eye and didn’t appear fazed by my announcement. “What about your teammates. What are they?”
I released the breath I had been holding. “Jean Luc is a vampire and Misha’s a Shamat demon.”
He paused before continuing, “Does Dolly know about you?”
I laughed. “Oh, yeah. Dolly’s a shifter. She can sniff out supernatural a mile away. That’s why she works the front desk. She screens the clients and dissuades norms from trying to hire us.”
“Norms?”
“Sorry, short for normals or humans.”
“Well…okay.” He leaned back from the desk and took a deep breath. “So you were at the bar and wiped everyone’s memories so they don’t remember seeing a demon kill a vampire?”
“Yep. Except it wasn’t a demon that killed the vampire. It was an angel.”
He stood up. “Excuse me. Did you just say an angel killed him? How?”
“He pulled out a sword and whacked his head off.”
He paled, making his turquoise eyes stand out even more. I had finally gotten to him.
“What did the angel look like?” he asked.
That question threw me. “I don’t know. They don’t have wings, if that’s what you mean.”
“Didn’t you say there was a witness?”
“Yes, a shifter.”
“And this shifter didn’t give you a description of the angel?” he pushed.
“We didn’t think to ask. It’s not like we can go to heaven and arrest him, now, can we?”
“We need to question this witness again.”
A nervous tickle grew in my chest. “That could be a problem. I, ahhh…scrubbed his memory.”
He laid his hands on the desk and leaned forward. �
�You what?”
His Alpha male posturing set off my temper. The nervousness I experienced moments ago coalesced into tendrils of angry heat in my chest. I shot up and did some leaning of my own. “Listen. You weren’t there. He was terrified and had every right to be. Since when do angels come down and start lopping off heads? He begged me to wipe his memory, so I did. Now do yourself a favor and back the hell off.”
Dalton kept his hands there for a few seconds longer, glaring at me, before he shoved away from the desk. He took a breath and ran his hands through his hair. “Sorry. I was thinking like a cop. You’re right. It’s not like we can go to heaven and flash around drawings, asking ‘Have you seen this angel before?’”
I took a deep breath as well, trying to calm down. I wasn’t sure how this guy had pushed my buttons so quickly. “We probably should have asked him to describe the angel. I can’t imagine they all look the same.”
“Do you think we could talk to the witness again?”
Shrugging, I stepped around my desk toward the door. “It couldn’t hurt. I’ve never tried to reverse a mind sweep before, but there’s always a first time.”
Chapter 3
We came to a stop in front of the Erie Bar. I blew out a hard breath. What were we going to accomplish at nine in the morning when the place didn’t open until lunch? But Dalton wanted to check out the alley behind the bar. I had insisted on driving, which I had expected would piss off Super Cop, but he didn’t bat an eye. And I wasn’t sure how I was going to shake him now, since he was already aware of the supernatural and didn’t seem too freaked out about it. Of course, knowing about it was a different thing altogether from seeing it in the lumpy green flesh.
After parking and popping a few coins in the meter, we walked across the street and down the alley. It looked even more pathetic during the day. Not much to see, other than a very aromatic dumpster, random garbage strewn everywhere, and a pile of old rags heaped against the wall.
“Here we are. What do you hope to find?” I asked.
