by Kallysten
A little bored, he turned his attention to the television at the end of the bar area. As it had been since the announcement of her death, MacAlair's name was a hot topic again during the newscast.
"I can't believe they're still talking about her,” Terry said disgustedly. He looked up from the paperwork spread out on his table to the television set. “Turn that crap off, Lucas."
Rather than obeying, Lucas leaned against the counter across his boss. “They're not talking about her. They're talking about that vamp law the town council is discussing. They're naming it after her."
"What law is that?” Ray asked, curious. He hadn't heard about any new vampire law.
Lucas glanced at him. “They're talking about requiring all vamps who reside in Blackwood to register and be tracked by magic. Like making those of us who hold a professional license jump through hoops wasn't enough."
"They're just trying to run my customers away from the town,” Terry groused. “They should just cancel all blood bar licenses; it'd be faster."
Ray finished his glass and didn't comment. Such a law would be blatantly unconstitutional, and if the town council ever came to pass it, it'd be challenged and stricken from the statutes within months. Vampires would leave rather than subject themselves to magical tracking spells—he would, at least—but they would also return once the requirement ceased to exist.
He left after paying for his blood and returned home. It was much too early for him to go to bed, so he straightened out the apartment, emptying ashtrays and opening the windows to get some fresh air in. He didn't know if Mistress Red would want to come in before they went to Carte Blanche, but if she did, he wanted everything to be perfect. Praise from her was as interesting as punishment in its own way.
He slept fitfully that morning, his mind reeling with the possibilities of what might happen later. So far, they had gone to Carte Blanche and left the club separately. Going and leaving together would be something entirely different, and Ray couldn't wait to see the reactions of a couple of Dominants who had shown interest in playing with him. His cock hardened at the thought of being displayed as hers, at least for the night. Not being able to do a thing to make himself comfortable only added to his arousal, because she was the one who had ordered him not to touch himself.
Getting up by mid afternoon, he spent some time getting ready. He thought about spiking up his hair, but Mistress Red might not appreciate getting gel on her hand if she ran her fingers through his hair again. On the other hand, the last time they had played she had stared at his eyes for a little while, apparently liking the eyeliner. It was a pain to apply, but worth it if it pleased her. Choosing his clothes took less time than he had expected. She had asked for him to impress her; he could do that.
He was just finishing getting dressed by buckling the collar around his neck, which matched the bands on his wrists, when he heard noise just outside the front door. If his heart had still been beating, he thought, grinning, it would have been racing in his chest.
Excited, impatient, and practically bouncing with pent-up energy, he went to open the door.
Chapter 13
That morning, rather than going straight to the agency, Grace stopped by the local television station. She had been there the previous day, having arranged a meeting with a reporter to talk about MacAlair, but Shirley Landon had forgotten their rendezvous and had gone out on assignment. Grace wasn't pleased when her second attempt at meeting the woman turned out the same way as the first and an assistant informed her Landon wasn't there.
"But maybe I can help,” the young man offered. “If you tell me what it was you wanted to talk to Shirley about ... S.E. business has to be important."
Grace shrugged and decided to try her luck. When she had called the station and introduced herself as Hugo's partner, she had been directed at once to Landon as the specialist of everything and everyone dealing with vampires in town. If the woman was too busy to meet with her, however, she'd take the information wherever she could.
"I'm investigating the death of Dorothy MacAlair. Specifically, I'm looking into groups or individuals that might have been most vocal about fighting her ideas."
He nodded thoughtfully. “I see. I might have something for you. Please, come with me."
He led her to a windowless office and ushered her past the door on which was taped a simple piece of white paper printed with the words ‘James Allen—Assistant to Ms. Landon.’ The room looked like its primary purpose, not that long ago, had been storage, and piles of boxes still lined the walls. The desk was nothing more than a card table with a filing cabinet underneath it. It was covered with piles of folders that reminded Grace of the mess that had been in Hugo's office before she had arrived and started organizing his files. Allen dug a laptop out from underneath the folders and sat down in front of it.
"I do Shirley's research,” he explained. “We're preparing a piece on the evolution of the legislation in...” A glance up at Grace, and he grinned ruefully. “And you don't care. Bottom line is, there's this group, vamps and humans, who keep a close watch on what laws are being discussed. They call themselves L.E.V., though apparently they pronounce it ‘levy.’ The League for the Equality of Vampires."
Grace frowned. “I've never heard of them."
On a pile of boxes behind Allen, a printer started chirping.
"I'm not surprised you haven't. They're pretty quiet about their lobbying activities, and even getting an idea of who belongs to the group is mostly guesswork.” Standing, he picked up the printed sheet of paper behind him and handed it out to Grace. “Here's my best guess so far."
Grace skimmed the list, barely realizing that she held her breath until she was sure Ray wasn't on it. There were maybe two dozen names on there, along with occupations, addresses, and phone numbers. The meaning of the ‘V’ next to two-thirds of the names was easy enough to guess. A second read-through left her disappointed, however, when she recognized one of the names at the very bottom of the list and between parentheses. She had firmly placed it in her own ‘allies of MacAlair’ list just the previous day.
"Are you sure Spencer Nihls is part of this group?” She looked back at Allen, only to find he was observing her expectantly. “He has been rather vocal about supporting MacAlair."
Allen nodded. “True, but only in the past few months. Before that, he was on the other side of the fence. I left him on the list for reference purposes."
Spencer Nihls wasn't a vampire, but if his views had truly changed, it might be worth asking him if he knew anyone who might want to hurt MacAlair. If that brought no results, Grace would still have about fifteen vampires to investigate.
"Thanks a lot,” she said, shaking Allen's hand. “This should be very helpful."
He beamed at her. “Glad to be of service. And if you find her murderer thanks to this list ... I'd appreciate it if you'd consider giving me an interview about your investigation. It could really help boost my career."
"If he's on this list, I'll think about it,” she promised.
As she left the building, she was a little surprised to realize she had meant it. She wasn't one for public spotlight, far from it, but if she was to become Blackwood Falls’ sole Special Enforcer, she would need to make a name for herself rather than hide behind Hugo's. Not only that, but she might need more help from reporters in the future, and it would be helpful to have an ally at the station.
She spent the next few hours going through the vampires’ names one by one. A handful of them were licensed professionals and had therefore been marked by magic. Their presence in MacAlair's dungeon would have been revealed by the spell Grace had performed there. She would check on the others in the regular manner, but before that she wanted to meet Nihls. A call to his town hall office found him reluctant to talk over the phone, but he invited her to visit him at his house the next morning. She wasn't too happy about having to wait, but at least he had agreed to see her.
Throughout the day, the image of Ray kept po
pping into her head at the most unexpected moments. She wondered what he was doing, and whether he was sleeping late or waiting for her already. She thought about calling him, but in the end decided against it. She didn't want him to think she was so impatient to play with him that she couldn't wait—even if it was true.
At five o'clock, Hugo waved her away when she said her goodbyes for the day. He had been irritable ever since she had arrived at the agency with news of the L.E.V. group. He'd admitted having heard of it before, but not having ever had any idea about who belonged to it. It seemed that he was starting to think he might have been too prompt in declaring Owens’ guilt. Being mistaken didn't seem to sit well with him. Grace didn't care too much about it. Her job did not consist of making him happy.
She picked up Laura from soccer practice, and they went home together. She tried to keep her mind on her daughter as she babbled about school and the team, but it was harder as hours passed and the time to go to Ray came closer. Focusing on the story she and Laura read at bedtime was sheer torture, but she forced herself not to rush through the words. Ray could wait; Laura couldn't.
At last, with an amused eye roll from her mother at the red corset, molding black skirt, and black lace camisole she hid beneath her jacket, Grace left the apartment to go pick up Ray. She might have driven a little faster than was strictly necessary, and even in high heels the five flights of stairs were nothing.
She tried to wipe the grin off her face as she knocked on the door. It wouldn't do for her to appear too eager. No more than a handful of seconds passed before the door creaked open and Ray appeared. She lost her breath for a moment as her eyes slid over him. She had asked to be impressed, and he definitely hit the mark on that.
Tight black leather pants molded his legs and crotch, leaving very little to the imagination. A mesh t-shirt, black as well, revealed just enough of his skin to make her want to see more. He had put eyeliner on again, deepening his eyes. The leather cuffs with silver rings at his wrists gave her interesting ideas about how the rest of the night might turn out, but the matching collar would need to go. She might put a collar on him eventually, but it wouldn't be an option for quite some time. Until then, she wouldn't let him wear a collar she hadn't given him.
Before she could ask him to take it off, however, even before she could step in, he said urgently: “It's not a good time, Grace. You should leave."
She stared at him, her good mood and anticipation entirely forgotten. She had thought they were past these games. “Not a good time?” she repeated, her voice hardening with each word. “I should leave? I don't think that's up to you to decide."
He dropped his gaze but did not move out of the way. “I'm very sorry. I have company."
The idea that he might not be alone was so outlandish that she frowned, certain she had misunderstood his words. “I told you I'd come for you."
He glanced up again, looking miserable. “I know you did, but this was very much unexpected. I'm sorry, more than I can say, but—"
One single word booming behind him explained everything. “Childe?"
Grace's confusion disappeared at once, replaced by a single-minded focus. She tried to look over Ray's shoulder, but without much result, and turned sharp eyes back to him.
"Is Owens here?"
He started closing the door, but not before she caught a glimpse of someone entering the living room a few steps behind Ray; someone who looked nothing like the portrait he had drawn.
"Please, leave."
The last thing she saw was the pleading look he was giving her, a perfect match to his words. She stared at the closed door for a moment, stunned speechless, then ground her teeth and got a grip on herself. There would be time later for her to think about Ray and what he had done, time for her to regret putting any trust in him. The game was over, but there was still work to do.
Banging on the door with one hand, she pulled out her Special Enforcer badge and a stake from her pockets with the other.
"Keller Owens,” she called out. “Special Enforcer business. Open the door."
She was just finishing when the door opened again, more widely this time. A dark-haired man stood on the threshold, his eyes going in one instant from the badge she was showing in her left hand to the stake she now held in her right to the clothes she wore beneath the unbuttoned jacket. That brought forth a raised eyebrow.
"I am Keller Owens,” he said, sounding a little puzzled. “Can I help you?"
"Grace Alkins.” She tilted her head toward the badge. “I'm a Special Enforcer and need to ask you a few questions. Can I come in?"
He opened the door wider and stepped aside to let her in, apparently as wary of her as she was of him. She slipped her badge into her jacket's pocket as she walked into the living room and put some distance between the two of them. Her jaw tightened when she noticed Ray leaning against the wall across from her, arms crossed over his chest and a completely blank expression on his face as he looked at her. Trying to ignore him, she focused on Owens.
"Do you know a woman called Dorothy MacAlair?” she asked, all business, despite the pain of betrayal still searing her.
He gave her a confused look. “MacAlair? I don't think—"
"Mistress Dorothy,” Ray chimed in quietly.
Owens threw a slight frown at him before looking back at Grace, now nodding. “I do, yes. Why are you asking?"
"She's dead."
He looked genuinely surprised, but that didn't mean anything. For all she knew, he was a great actor. His surprise only seemed to increase when he realized why a Special Enforcer was standing in his living room.
"Wait ... You think I killed her?"
"All I know is that your name was in her address book. This is a routine check. Can you tell me where you were Saturday night to Sunday morning, the week before last?"
She could see him think for a moment, then his face lit up. “I can do more than tell you.” He glanced back at Ray. “Get my coat from the bedroom."
Grace would have expected Ray to jump at the order and hurry to obey. Instead, he shook his head, looking sullenly at a spot on the floor. “Get it yourself."
If he had dared talk to her like this, Grace would have been incensed. She wasn't surprised to hear the same anger in Owens’ voice, tightly controlled but obvious nonetheless.
"Childe. Don't make me repeat myself."
Ray's head came up, and he looked at Grace. His eyes were pleading again, though she had no idea what he expected from her. When she didn't react, he pushed away from the wall and walked down the hallway to the bedroom. Grace watched him go, only returning her eyes to Owens to discover he was considering her thoughtfully. A few tense seconds passed; she was sure he would guess something had been going on between her and Ray, sure he would ask about it, but he said nothing until Ray came back and handed him a trench coat.
"Down."
The word lashed out in the air like a whip. This time, Ray obeyed without showing a trace of hesitation and sunk to his knees, wrists crossing behind his back. Grace's throat was dry suddenly, and something inside her ached more than it had any right to.
"Here you go.” Owens had fished something out of the coat's inside pocket and was handing it out to her. “I was in California from Friday two weeks ago until last night."
She had to get closer to him to take the boarding pass stubs. Doing so, she realized she wasn't afraid of him. Nothing in his demeanor was threatening in the least, and before she even looked at the stubs, that instinct of hers she trusted so often told her he was telling the truth. A quick, involuntary look at Ray reminded her that her instincts weren't always correct, however, and she examined the stubs carefully.
"I can also give you the name of my hotel,” Owens said. “And the information of a couple people who can vouch for my whereabouts."
"The hotel should be enough."
He searched his pockets again, this time pulling out what looked like a credit card receipt. He ripped off the top of it and ha
nded it to Grace. The fragment held the name and address of a hotel in Haventown in California. She had heard of the city; it had the reputation of being one of the friendliest places for vampires in the United States.
"Anything else, miss?"
Grace made an effort to give him a polite smile. “Just one last question. Are you aware of any threats that might have been made against MacAlair?"
"We were nothing more than acquaintances,” Owens replied, shrugging. “If someone had threatened her, I doubt she'd have told me."
Every fiber of Grace's being wanted to look down at Ray, but she managed to keep her eyes on Owens. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Owens. Sorry for the disruption, and good night."
She let herself out, never looking back, and started down the staircase. She had to stop on the fourth floor landing, however, when her heart started to beat painfully fast. Her hands shaking, she pulled out her cell phone and called Hugo, leaving a message on his voice mail to explain, in as few words as possible, that she had found Owens and his alibi checked out. She didn't mention the portrait or how inaccurate it was, so she wouldn't need to explain how she had recognized Owens. By the time she hung up, her chest still felt too tight, but she ignored the pain and left. She drove back home completely on instinct, her mind buzzing with everything that had happened, everything she had heard and said, every second she had spent with Ray in the past week. She had rarely felt so stupid.
"Back so soon?” Caroline was clearly taken aback when Grace entered the apartment and came to sit by her on the sofa in front on the television. “What went wrong?"
Leaning her head against her mother's shoulder, Grace shrugged, letting out just one word.
"Men."
Caroline didn't reply, but she started caressing her hair, soothing her as she had done a few times in the past when crushes, boyfriends and even her husband had left Grace's heart raw and aching. She could only wonder why she had thought Ray would be any different.
