by Ilana Waters
Her audacity at the pub still vexed him. Had she really been there to document a rudimentary exchange? Or did her composure stem from something else? Years of experience in drawing out the true object of her research, perhaps. Say, an ancient melding of witch and vampire?
Right now, the only thing linking her to him was that damnable monkey. He didn’t dare approach the PIA directly about it. No, better to stay in the shadows this time, and conduct his own investigation. The monkey was a logical starting point. He knew the docks would be a place supernaturals dealt in such matters. With so many of them still using the old methods of transport, it wouldn’t take long for Titus to ascertain the statue’s origins, who had expressed an interest in it, and the like. Maybe that would tell him why the woman had chosen it as an excuse to draw him out. It was a tedious way to determine her motives, but it would have to do.
His vampire eyes caught a flicker of motion near the entrance of C41. A small figure with a large hat was pulling at the front door’s knob. When the door didn’t open, he moved a crate in front of one of the broken windows. Stepping onto the crate, he carefully made his way over the casement. He was not careful enough; there was the sound of something inside being knocked over. Titus heard a distinctly female voice say: “Shit!”
Titus froze. No. It couldn’t be. He couldn’t tell if Fate was being kind, or playing a cruel joke on him. He’d hoped never to hear that voice again. Yet her appearance here couldn’t be a coincidence. If he was looking for the perfect opportunity to see what Abigail Silver was up to, this was it. He could always dispose of her later, if necessary. He slipped inside C41 silently; not even the stray cats realized he’d left.
The interior of the building yielded about as many answers as the exterior. Though the mortal was using a flashlight, Titus hardly needed it to see the array of empty shelves, dusty crates, and large steel doors that opened to the loading dock. On the second floor, he caught the sounds of someone shuffling about. If there were any answers to be found, they were probably up there. He smiled as he crept behind the woman.
“You can continue looking here if you like,” Titus whispered, “but I thin—”
She whipped her body around much faster than he expected. The sudden brightness from her flashlight stung his sensitive eyes.
“Son of a . . . Titus?” Abigail squinted at him in the darkness. “What the hell? You scared me half to death! Thank God it’s only you.”
Only me? Titus was too busy shielding his eyes to reply.
“Get that cursed light out of my face!” he hissed. “You’d do better to turn it off entirely. And keep your voice down. Or do you want to alert whoever’s upstairs to our presence?”
“How am I supposed to see in the dark without a flashlight?” she asked. “We don’t all have Exacto vision like you vampires.”
“I can see well enough for both of us. You’ll have to trust me.” Which you seem to have no trouble doing, even though you shouldn’t.
“I’ll keep it on ‘low.’ How’s that?” She adjusted the flashlight until it was no more than a dim glow in the empty space. His eyes flickered to the thin fabric of her blouse. For a moment, he thought he caught a glimpse of her bare chest.
Doesn’t she have the decency to wear modern undergarments, like other women? He quickly looked away. If she wants to show her whole ass to the world, what concern is it of mine?
“Why on earth are you wearing that ridiculous hat?” he blurted.
“What’s so ridiculous about it?” Abigail put one hand on her hip. “Besides, you’re wearing a hat.”
I took it as a trophy when I nearly killed its owner, he thought. Out loud, he sighed. “It’s hardly the same thing. Some of the old styles are hard to give up. Men wore hats for centuries. Then, all of a sudden, they evaporated. Tasteless.”
“Well, this one hides my face,” Abigail said. “In case I need to go incognito.”
“On the contrary: it makes you look conspicuous, at least as a woman in this part of the city. Do you see any other ladies here wearing sun hats?” He motioned to the empty room.
Abigail pursed her lips. “I don’t see any other ladies here, period, unless you count yourself.”
He took a deep breath and ignored the jibe. “Furthermore, it obscures your peripheral vision. You’d never be able to see an enemy approaching from either side with that thing on.”
“That’s what I have you for.”
“For pity’s sake, I am the enem—”
The light in the room above them went out. Abigail grabbed his arm.
“Shhh! Did you hear that?”
There was silence while they both listened hard.
“You’re imagining things,” Titus finally said, glancing at the now-dark room above them. He waited several seconds, but no one emerged from behind the door. “If there was anything to hear, I’d have heard it.” He moved his arm out of Abigail’s grasp. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“What are you doing here?” She raised her eyebrows. “Did you come to investigate the jade monkey, too?”
Titus paused. “Yes. That’s it, exactly. Why else would I be here?” When she turned around, he narrowed his eyes. Was it possible she was truly not trying to dig into his life? Or she could be putting on an act, he thought. But if she was, it was a damn good one.
Abigail turned back around. Her hat bobbed up and down in a nod. “Thought so. I knew Cunningham was lying. There must be more to this than meets the eye.” They tiptoed along. He listened carefully as she relayed the strange conversation she’d had with her superior.
“So.” He folded his arms. “Your exchange with Cunningham did not dampen your curiosity.” Does the strange and unusual hold no power to terrify her? She wouldn’t be the first mortal to find vampires intriguing.
“Just the opposite: my curiosity levels are maxed out.” Abigail’s flashlight beam continued to swing right and left. Titus was still concerned it might alert the second-floor occupant. He glanced up. The light remained off.
“What makes you think Cunningham is lying?” he asked, still following her.
“Because nothing she told me fits with the way the PIA operates. And they’ve been operating long enough to know when a sitch may turn dangerous, and when it won’t.”
“Were your other bookwormy, bespectacled colleagues able to offer any insight?”
Abigail turned around just long enough to roll her eyes. “I can’t ask them. Not without accusing Cunningham of being a liar. You should see how tight-knit that group is. Although Arthur and Richard seem like okay guys.” Titus did not bother to ask who Arthur and Richard were.
“Of course, that’s all the more reason I don’t want to ask questions that could get them in trouble, even if they’d answer,” Abigail said, mostly to herself. Then, to Titus: “I mean, can you believe Cunningham wanted me to alphabetize the Reynolds wing? That woman can take the Reynolds wing and shove it up her tuchus,” she muttered. “I knew the PIA was shadowy, but I’m kinda feeling there are shadows within the shadows here.”
Titus was inclined to agree, but not in the way Abigail meant. A new thought was worming its way into his mind. What if this Silver woman is just a pawn? A tenacious, irritating pawn. But a pawn, nonetheless. Someone Cunningham sent to investigate him. That would mean the target of his own investigation would change. But the objective remained the same: find out if the PIA was investigating him, and why. It could just be their routine interest in vampires and the like.
Or it could be something more sinister. After all, this Cunningham appeared ready to go to great lengths to get information. She was even willing to dispose of members of her own organization. He was almost curious to meet the lady. They sounded like kindred spirits.
He could always kill Cunningham, of course, if she was a threat. But without knowing more about her interest in him—or lack thereof—that would be premature. Titus didn’t want the rest of the PIA coming after him because he d
rained the blood of one of their high-ranking members. Normally, he wouldn’t be afraid of mortals. But they had the vexing habit, when necessary, of finding out where a vampire slept during the day. When he was vulnerable.
Titus sighed. Mortals were so easy to pick off individually. But, as Abigail said, in large groups, they were dangerous. Almost more dangerous than the most murderous supernaturals, he sometimes thought.
He trailed after Abigail as she crept around the warehouse. Her slow movements were likely due to a mortal’s weaker eyesight. But even the soft glow of her flashlight yielded little more than what Titus had previously seen. A WWII standard-issue British sailor’s cap. A dead radio, its parts spewed across a crate. Paper littering the floor, stamped “emergency leave certificate,” or “honorable discharge.” The dusty flotsam and jetsam from bygone shipping days. The entire room was a ghost town. He observed Abigail again.
Is she meeting someone here? She seemed as unfamiliar with this building as he, though it could be part of the act.
“How did you know to choose this particular dock?” he whispered.
“The books in the PIA’s library said it was a hot spot for illicit supernatural dealings back in the ’40s,” she whispered back. “I kinda hoped that would still be the case.”
“I was aware of this spot’s reputation for such dealings around that time,” he said. “Even took part in a few myself. Old habits die hard amongst immortals.”
“So, I’m right, then? There is someone here who can tell us about the statue?”
Titus closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he was looking toward the second story, where they’d seen the light go off. “There is definitely someone else here who is not human.”
“Wow, you can sense that? Incredible,” Abigail murmured. “Let me know if you can pick winning horses, too.”
“My vampire senses are not a money-printing machine,” he snapped.
Abigail snorted. “Right. Like you’ve never used them for that before.”
It took all of Titus’s self-control not to strangle her with his bare hands. She’d never see it coming either. “It’s mostly ancients like myself who can sense the presence of others of my kind. Though, if they are blood drinkers, I’m surprised they didn’t hear the commotion when you so deftly broke in.” Of course, if whoever it is doesn’t have vampire senses, that could explain why.
“Well, blood drinkers or not, if someone’s doing business here, they shouldn’t be.” The beams from Abigail’s flashlight moved this way and that along the walls. “The guy I called at the city planning commission this afternoon said C41’s has been abandoned for years.”
“Then why was a light on upstairs?” Titus asked. They had almost completed a circle around the room. There was nothing else to investigate, unless Cunningham was hiding something behind the back door. The steps to the second floor were only a few yards away.
Abigail turned to him and grinned. “I’m glad to have a big, strong vampire with me while I try to answer that very question. Though, technically, I’m not supposed to be hanging around you.”
“A wise idea if you wish to live a normal human life span,” he intoned humorlessly.
“No, I mean if any member of the PIA is caught being in league with a supernatural—”
“I know what they do. But I don’t think momentarily joining forces in a pub fight or a warehouse crawl makes us ‘in league’ with one another. Besides, you nearly got us both killed with that flying-disc-of-death stunt.”
“Look, sometimes you find yourself in unexpected situations. When that happens, you have to make do with what’s available.”
“So you thought you’d forge a weapon out of barware?”
“Hey, it worked, didn’t it?”
“You should’ve left it at that. I thought you were just going to go back to the PIA. You know, to jot down some notes for them, and file said notes away until they crumbled to dust.”
Abigail looked Titus’s tall, pale frame up and down. “That was before I had to rescue a hairless talking yeti. Rather changed my view of things. Now, I want to know what Cunningham’s hiding. Ouch!” She stopped short, then bent down to pick something up.
“What have you got there?” Titus asked.
Abigail held out a rusty nail. “I don’t know. Tetanus?” She rubbed her sandaled foot and tossed the nail aside. It hit the concrete floor with a clink. Abigail raised her head. “Maybe the person—or people—who were here before us are still here. Guess there’s nowhere to go but up.”
Abigail’s shoulders were shaking. At first, Titus thought she was afraid. She’s shivering, he realized. He shrugged off his coat.
“Here. Take th—”
He heard the sound of an engine just outside. Without thinking, he threw the coat to the ground and grabbed Abigail’s arm. His hat hit the corner of a crate and flew off his head, landing a few feet from the coat. He pulled Abigail behind an open shelf full of paint cans and fuel canisters, their contents long dried up. Her flashlight clattered to the floor, went out, and rolled under a pallet. Titus threw an invisibility spell over both of them. Abigail saw the magic; her eyes bulged.
“Titus,” she whispered, “what the hell is going—”
He pressed his fingers to his lips and jutted his chin at the loading dock. Slowly, the steel door wound open, rising to the ceiling. A large truck backed into the warehouse. A hand near the door pulled down a lever, and the room was flooded with light.
Titus was not one used to hiding. He preferred to confront threats head-on—violently, when necessary, and sometimes when unnecessary. But such tactics were at odds with his new intel-gathering mission. Best to learn what he could without risking further exposure, especially if the PIA was zeroing in on him. Shielding the woman is just protecting a potential asset, he told himself. Nothing more.
The room on the second floor lit up again. A man came down the stairs: mid-thirties, brown suit, all business. He held a pen in one hand and a clipboard in the other. His brisk footsteps kicked up dust as his loafers hit the steps. Around his neck was a slim, black cord that disappeared into his shirt.
Witch, Titus mouthed to Abigail. She gave a knowing nod.
The truck stopped backing up. The driver’s-side door opened. A male vampire hopped out. Another emerged from the passenger-side door. Together with their compatriot who’d turned on the lights, Titus thought they made a charming trio. Greasy, sullen men who could’ve done with a shave.
One of the three men unlocked the back of the truck. He and the others began unloading large wooden crates. They piled them around the room, flying up and placing some on top of others.
“Gods’ sake, Beller!” The witch reached the bottom of the stairs. “It’s about time you got here.”
The driver vampire spat on the ground, his saliva tinged with blood.
“Don’t piss your knickers, Gregson.” He and one of the other vampires were carrying an enormous crate, which they let fall to the floor with a loud thud. “You’ve only got forever. What’s your rush?”
Gregson glanced at the crate. He made a notation on the clipboard and glared at Beller. “It’s not my rush I’m worried about. It’s the boss’s. And you should be worried, too.”
“Look, the shipment gets here when it gets here,” one of the other vampires said. “So now that it’s here, we can unload it, then go get tea.” He grinned at his companions. They chuckled coarsely. With vampiric speed, they used crowbars to pry open crates stuffed with straw. They pulled large packages wrapped in brown paper from inside the straw, placing them on various shelves.
“Easy for you to say.” Gregson picked up one of the packages, turned it over, and put it down again. His clipboard and pen hovered in the air next to him. “But our employer says this stuff has to be sorted, cataloged, and—antiquities go over there.” The pen and clipboard dropped back into his hands. “Over there, for gods’ sake.” He pointed to the opposite end of the room. �
��In All Fate’s name, do you have half a brain in your head?”
The vampire he addressed stopped unloading the truck. He set his jaw and glowered at Gregson.
“Might wanna rethink your tone there, mate.” He bent his neck at an angle, making a cracking sound. “Unless you wanna have your brains splattered all over the floor.”
Gregson let out a long, pained sigh. “Just do your job, and quickly. I’ve got enough trouble with the electricity in this old building as it is.” He glanced above him. “Damn thing keeps cutting in and out.”
“His being a witch explains why no one heard that awful racket you made breaking in,” Titus mouthed to Abigail. It was difficult to keep his voice loud enough for her to hear, but quiet enough not to alert the other blood drinkers. “A vampire’s ears would’ve caught it immediately.”
“Bloody lights on and off,” Beller muttered, helping his companion lift a large wardrobe out of the truck. “Can’t you just say ‘abracadabra’ and make it all better?”
Gregson pursed his lips. “Magic doesn’t work that way. Do you know how difficult it is to fix wiring this old, even with magic?”
Titus snorted. “I could do it. Electricity is part of the fire element. Clearly, he’s not a fire witch.”
Abigail rolled her eyes. “We get it, Titus. Your magic is bigger than his.”
If you kill her now, he reminded himself, it will blow your cover.
One of the vampires slowly put down the package he was unloading. He breathed in deeply. “You lot smell anything?”
Titus and Abigail froze. Their eyes darted at one another.
The other vampires sniffed the air. “Yeah, I do,” said Beller. He raised his eyebrows at the vampire carrying the wardrobe with him.
“Real distinct-like.” The vampire set his end of the wardrobe down and leaned against it. “Something that ain’t supposed to be here.
“What’s that?” Gregson asked. He wrinkled his nose, his eyes scanning the warehouse. “I don’t smell anything.”