“Who are the man’s enemies, then? Any with connections to Fillun?”
The response comes from behind me, not from Jhez. “Nothing so simple as a straight line, but it’s a place to start.”
No doubt the mighty monsieur could’ve thought of that without our assistance. I stop and turn back, studying him more closely. There’s something going on here, and it’s got my hackles up. “What of the security measures on the grounds?”
The vamp’s lips tense into a thin line as he returns my gaze in silence. “There are devices monitoring energy signatures.”
“And . . .?”
“They were deactivated before the first guests arrived. About forty-eight hours ago.”
Of course they were. It would be too easy otherwise. I fold my arms, cock my hip, and wait for the rest of it.
Garthelle arches a brow, but the expression melts away just as quickly. The reins of self-control are tight today, for whatever reason. “It is improper to blatantly monitor the movements of one’s guests in a situation such as this.”
“Obviously the situation you’re referencing doesn’t include the death of a prominent vampire.”
His eyes narrow, and I hear the unspoken retort resonating from every inch of his tense posture. There is no such thing as a vampire who isn’t prominent. “Lyche, you mean. That is what we call ourselves.” His hand flicks in a curt gesture of dismissal. “That other, that is a term you humans coined.”
Jhez remains impassive, one hip propped on the side of the couch and hands folded loosely on her thigh, gaze flickering between us. When I glare at her, she simply shrugs and turns to stare at the wall in a feint of innocence and deafness. No help from her. Great. Garthelle slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks and widens his stance. Casual passive aggression.
“So this investigation is crippled before it even begins.” In other words, you bloody prat, you functionally cut yourself off at the knees. “And I’m having difficulty figuring out just what you think the two of us can do about that.”
“It turns out you were right. There were physical traces at the scene.” He jerks his head in the direction of the coffee table, a few feet away. “Red and I catalogued what there was. She thought you might offer some insight.”
I want to scream. “Fingerprints, by any chance?” I ask instead, clearing my throat at the convulsing tickle.
“No, none at all.”
“Not even Fillun’s?”
Garthelle’s steadfast control falters. He looks back at me, brows arching. “No. Astute observation. The room was thoroughly scourged.”
“With energy, I take it.”
“Indeed.”
But of course. Far be it from a lyche to trouble doing something by hand when it can be resolved with a thought and a flick of the wrist. “A task of that magnitude would create a noticeable pulse?”
Garthelle hums softly and moves toward the coffee table. A handful of evidence collection bags populate the amber-tinted glass. “One would think. I’ve yet to speak with those individuals in the adjoining suites, however.” Couches, upholstered in leather the same hue as the paneling, flank the table. As I take in the space, open my awareness to it, my hackles rise. Judging by the tense and uncomfortable vibe, Garthelle interrogated someone in here not long ago. And it wasn’t a pleasant experience, either. Not surprising; even his idea of subtle hostility is acutely palpable.
With a grimace of distaste for the residue, I perch on the edge of the couch and study the clear plastic bags. Whoever left these items wanted them to be found. Given the murderer’s thoroughness, there’s no other logical conclusion.
A slip of thick sepia paper with writing scrawled on it in flowing, red script. As if the writing utensil were dipped in blood. A medallion much like the one that hung from Garthelle’s neck last night. A book, a thin volume, the spine and cover unmarked.
I push the items aside, moving them with jabs of my fingertips, to uncover the contents of the final bag. A small capsule easily recognizable as a drug cartridge from a hypno-hit injector.
“The money shot.” It’s difficult to contain the edge of excitement as I dangle the bag between thumb and forefinger.
Jhez grins. “Yes, I thought you’d like that.” Garthelle, occupied at the desk in the far corner of the room, glances up and grunts in distaste.
Like hell he’s going to get out of it that easily. “Is it a generally accepted practice for vampires to indulge in such . . . recreational activities?”
Garthelle hesitates, hands stilling on the surface of his desk, splayed fingers pale against the yellow wood grain. He leans his weight onto his locked arms, then lifts his head to meet my gaze. “While it’s not entirely unheard of, it’s not common practice. Ordinarily we lyche,” he continues, stressing the word with a slight drawl, “acquire such substances from secondary sources, as you witnessed yesterday evening.” His shoulders hunch with tension as he lowers his gaze back to the papers scattered on the desk.
He’s going to nitpick that lyche thing to death, isn’t he. That’s fine, I can be flexible. I learned more from our mother’s alten Geldes influence than how to smile and lure a person with my eyes. Vamps consider themselves the only remaining old money worthy of note. But I might be able to give him a run if I really put my mind to it.
I frown at Jhez. “So . . . what’re the odds of a lyche walking around with this in their possession? And I hope you didn’t maul this too badly in your retrieval. There’s a possibility of a partial print on this thing.”
“The likelihood is not as slim as you are obviously inclined to believe,” Garthelle retorts without raising his gaze. “It’s not unusual for one to carry such with the intent of drugging Nightwalkers.”
“There will be a code on it, identifying the source. And analyzing the specific concoction it contains might be of value too,” Jhez interjects. Her brow pulls into a faint scowl of disapproval as she stares at me.
“What’s the meaning of these other items?” I drop the lightweight bag onto the table and prop my chin in my hand. I’ve not eaten a single thing all day and it’s beginning to catch up with me. Culminating with the sudden rumble of my stomach.
Garthelle’s head snaps up, no doubt startled by the sound. Judging from the tension in his shoulders, he’s had his fill of the Black & Red Detective Agency for one day.
I interrupt just as the vampire’s lips part. “Perhaps my sister and I should head home for a while and get ready for this evening. I’m sure you’ve got plenty to keep you busy. Has the evidence been fingerprinted?”
“It was all clean, except for the pill. And the partials were too smudged to be of value,” she adds, sticking her tongue out at me to stress her point.
“Would it be acceptable for us to take the items home, then? I think I know someone who’d be able to identify the capsule, and I’d like to inspect the others more closely.”
The vampire’s shoulders relax; it makes him appear more exhausted than I would’ve imagined one of his ilk could be. “That’s acceptable. Come,” he says, pushing away from the desk, “I’ll walk you out.”
The Monsieur of York grips my elbow, halting me mid-stride. His touch isn’t strong enough to hold me back from reaching the limousine waiting just a few feet away; it’s the connection of energy, before he withdraws, that gooses my chi and gets my full attention.
When I look at him, the intensity in his gaze slams against my aura, threatens to overwhelm my senses. He hoods his eyes almost immediately, eyelids shielding me from seeing more than he wants me to.
“I will come for you later this evening.”
“Both of us?”
He inclines his head. Taking a deep breath, I stare after Jhez, waiting in the limo. She leans forward and peeks out, mouth twisted downward. More concern than disapproval, I realize, as tendrils of her aura reach out and brush against me.
“I’m sure I’ll have a fresh collection of irritating questions ready for you by then, Monsieur.”
<
br /> “I look forward to it.”
I blink and glance back at him. He actually sounded sincere, his tone soft. Much like it was this morning, when I woke in his bed. The reminder, however unintentional, sends a small jolt of lust through my blood. Tension cords through my shoulders, stiffens my back. I really didn’t want or need that. It’s more than I’m prepared to deal with just now, with his uncanny strength and abilities still so fresh in my mind.
“I doubt you’ll echo that sentiment for long. Enjoy your respite from Black and Red.” I move away, but once again his touch halts me. I turn back, stifling a sigh. “Yes?”
His gaze flicks over my face. Familiar now, that frantic pattern. How could I forget that he’d be able to sense that flare of response from me? He inhales sharply, chest expanding, shoulders lifting. His personal shield of restraint shatters, and a wave of hunger crashes into me. Instinctive energy-memories drive me toward him before I can stop myself, only inches away.
Garthelle reaches out and settles his hands on my hips. His fingertips trail up under my shirt to hover like feathers over my stomach.
My energy, what’s left of it, calling to him. Pulling at him. I blink furiously as I attempt to clear my mind, extract my thoughts from the haze of his influence.
“Stop,” I murmur, clumsily shoving his hands away. I stumble back a step, then another. Putting some space between us.
Realization dawns on his face as he registers the sound of my voice, the anxious tone. Garthelle steps away from me and, unable or perhaps unwilling to meet my gaze, retreats back into the confines of Dragulhaven.
His footsteps resonate in my mind the entire journey back to our new flat.
Jhez studies me carefully as I stumble through our door and collapse onto the soft brown of the couch. “What did he do?”
“Nothing I couldn’t handle.”
She meanders off to the kitchen to fix some food after dropping her pack, and the evidence in it, on the couch beside me.
“So what did you make of that woman?” Her conversational tone is forced.
“I don’t know what to think, Jhez. I know what I saw last night. What’s her brother’s name?”
“Monsieur Noire, of course.”
“Of course. It’d be much too simple if the similarity was coincidence and she married into the name.”
Jhez’s bright head of red hair pops out from around the corner. “Do you really think that would simplify matters?”
I sigh, close my eyes. “No.” Our father remarrying certainly wouldn’t. “How fucked are we?”
“Le Gross hasn’t figured it out yet, not that I can tell. Despite your moniker. Though how long that will last, I don’t know.”
“I don’t recall dad ever mentioning a sister.”
“Nor do I. That doesn’t mean much though, does it.”
“Sure doesn’t.”
“What’s going on with you and Garthelle?”
I love the way she shifts gears on me. “What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean.” There’s a pause, and a cold, moist projectile connects with my face. I look down to find a carrot slice in my lap and pop it in my mouth. Resorting to edible shrapnel means she’s serious.
“The pull hasn’t weakened any. From what I’ve discerned, it’s every bit as strong on his end as it is on mine.” His doing, that. I can’t say for sure, as I’m in uncharted territory with this vamp. Lyche.
Silence ensues, heavy and pregnant.
“Do you think being around him has much to do with it? Reinforcing it at all?” Her tone is cautious, gentle. Restrained.
“If that’s the case, I don’t know a way around it.”
“Nor do I. I take it you’ve not discussed it with him?”
“I tried.”
“Oh?”
“Sort of,” I amend. “I recall him rather bluntly informing me that I don’t know half of what I think I do. That was pretty much the end of that conversation.” Jhez gets a hearty laugh out of that, and the tension in the flat dissipates slightly. “What did you mean by ‘prominent member of lyche government’? I recall father being prominent before the disclosure, even.”
“I don’t know. Garthelle didn’t detail what position he holds, precisely.”
“Garthelle doesn’t detail very much.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
“He doesn’t think there’s any human involvement in this at all.” The derision in my tone is completely involuntary. We’re alone here. It doesn’t matter.
“You think otherwise?”
“I don’t think he should be so eager to dismiss it.”
“I talked to Blue earlier today.”
There she goes again. “Oh? How’d you end up way over there?”
“Had the driver swing by our old flat on the guise of needing to pick stuff up. Blue was lurking about, wondering where we were.”
“And?”
“I gave him the new address. Told him to stop by this afternoon.”
“How’d you know we’d be here?”
Jhez walks out and clunks a generous bowl of salad down on the coffee table in front of me, followed by a cylinder of dressing, a bag of my favorite croutons, and a fork. “Because I discussed our schedule with Le Gross in some detail. Let him know what was acceptable and what wasn’t.”
“Good. I want Blue to look at that capsule for us. He’ll be able to trace it.” I also want those chi-boosters. A necessary evil today. No sense worrying Jhez over it, though. That little detail will stay between me and Blue.
She nods. “Yes, I thought of that too. But the reason I asked him over here is because I was thinking he might be able to get you something. To help.”
“Oh.” I mumble the word around a mouthful of spinach, endive, and cucumber, generously applying the dressing. A special concoction of hers, from the smell of it. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
She pauses, staring down at me. I can feel her gaze, even if I’m determined not to look up from poking at the salad. “Like hell.” She says nothing more, just retreats back into the kitchen.
I decided some time ago that Blue’s the most eccentric individual in existence.
He doesn’t enter a room; his presence descends swiftly and without warning, saturating those in the vicinity with his exuberance and energy.
He is, whether one fully appreciates it or not, a wholly addicting quality. One who embraces life as it is and forges on through even the most insurmountable obstacles.
I’ve often wondered if his parentage resembles our own in some fashion, but it’s never been something I felt comfortable broaching, and he hasn’t ventured down that path of his own volition.
The past, he’s rather wont to say, is the past for a reason.
He doesn’t even knock.
The door to the flat simply hurries out of his path to hunker against the wall in fright, and Blue strolls in, scanning critically, a broad grin splitting his narrow face.
“Who set the two of you up?” His demand is accompanied by a waggle of his dyed eyebrows in my direction. “I know damn well you didn’t afford this on your own. Your energy can’t recuperate that fast.”
I smile so hard my cheeks cramp. Abandoning my steaming plate of couscous and stir-fry to circumvent the coffee table, I wrap his smaller frame in a suitably energetic hug. “It’s good to see you. Feels like forever.”
“Black.” His tone is chastising as he pushes away from me, vivid gaze studying my features. “What level of hell did you just return from?”
I grimace and ruffle his crop of unruly hair. He smells of freshly crushed blueberries. “I’ve been getting that a lot as of late. Red was hoping you’d have something to remedy it.”
He blinks and trails me to the couch. “Red?”
“Her new nickname.”
He laughs and vaults over the back of the couch to hunt down my sister. “Who dubbed you Madame Red?” His demanding squeal echoes off the kitchen walls. “Tell me, I want to know!”
Jhez laughs, no doubt indulging another of his exuberant greetings, and refuses to answer his question. “Ask Black. Out of the kitchen, now. You know better.”
Blue’s level of animation doesn’t respond well to the confines of a kitchen. Within moments, he slides over the back of the couch and settles next to me to observe my concentrated mastication.
He sits still, amazingly enough, but his gaze doesn’t. Hidden behind rose-tinted shades, his bright, sky-blue eyes roam the flat, critically assess my condition, and finally alight on Jhez’s rather innocuous pack. Nothing is safe in Blue’s presence for any predictable length of time. Hastily dropping my fork, I snatch the pack from his grasp.
“That reminds me, I wanted to show you something,” I tell him to distract his hurt expression. “You can trace a capsule to its source, right?”
His studious gaze narrows. “Sure I can.”
“Got a job for you then.”
“How much does it pay?”
I stare at him.
“Jobs always pay.” His grin is a shade too delayed.
“I’ll make sure it’s worth your while, Blue, don’t worry,” Jhez assures him as she emerges from the kitchen with two plates. She hands one to Blue and settles onto the couch on my other side.
I snag the evidence pouch in question and pass it to him. The fork en route to his mouth hastily concludes its journey, clanking abandoned against the coffee table as he takes the bag.
“Hypno-hit, eh?” he comments after hurriedly swallowing a mouthful of half-chewed vegetables.
“That’s what it looked like to me.”
Blue catches the notations on the bag’s label and his brows crawl down. It’s not his first time around the block; he’s seen evidence labels before. “Nothing good ever comes of this shite.”
“We don’t have any reason to believe the situation was influenced by hypno-induced persons,” I counter.
“On the other hand, Black, we’ve no reason to rule out the possibility, do we?” Jhez retorts before unloading her fork into her mouth.
Blacker than Black Page 9
