The agent stood and gathered the empty pizza box and grease-stained paper plates and napkins they’d used and pitched them into the trash. It was a start, but there was considerably more to do.
Then, as she walked farther back into the office, she was unsurprised to hear Bobby stand and move to a different computer, likely for privacy reasons. She sighed.
While she gathered a bevy of empty coffee cups, the receptionist made a phone call to Remington.
Most of their discussion was unintelligible, but she did hear “social media” and “good reviews,” which made her curious. It probably had something to do with a different case of theirs. She didn’t want to barge in on private matters with their other clients, so she let it go.
She crunched the cups so they’d take up less space, then stuffed them into the waste bin on top of the pizza box and its associated accouterments.
Once most of the surfaces were clear of trash, she located paper towels, dampened them with a splash of water and hand soap, and wiped the desks, counters, and any other surface that looked like it could use it.
In only twenty minutes, she had the main office floor at least looking presentable. She stood with her hands on her hips and admired her handiwork. It made her wonder why it had apparently been so difficult for the people who actually owned the place and worked there to take care of it themselves.
That line of thought led her to Remington’s office. Volz wasn’t resting in there so there was no reason why she couldn’t head in and clean it as well.
She opened the door and stepped through. The place was, she noted with approval, in slightly better condition than the main floor. Still, there was a little dust here, a coffee cup there, and a forgotten jacket dangling from the chair. And that damn ceramic mug, for some reason.
Kendra threw the paper cup in the bin, brushed the dust away, and took the jacket over one arm to hang it on a proper coat rack once she left the office. Her gaze turned to the mug.
Each time she’d been in there previously, it had been turned upside down. It was probably a gift from a family member that he constantly forgot to use or didn’t want to dirty, hence the empty paper cups for his daily percolated bean-water. Oddly enough, though, it was currently turned right side up.
She took it by the handle, lifted it and frowned. It seemed too heavy for its size, yet it appeared to be empty. It must have been made of especially dense ceramic.
Kendra took the mug and the jacket out, closed the door behind her, and put the coat where it belonged. She carried the cup and a few other non-disposable dishes over to the little kitchenette in the break area. Earlier, she’d noticed that the office had its own dishwasher.
When she opened it, however, it was already half-loaded with junk. She deposited the few plates, glasses, and knives and forks into the available slots and added the mug. As she turned it upside down to hook it onto the upper rack, it almost felt like something fell out of it.
“Weird,” she muttered to herself. “I’ve been working too hard lately.”
Without giving it a second thought, she slammed shut the door, set the dial to Normal Rinse, and turned the appliance on.
“There,” she muttered. “That ought to restore a little normality around here.”
Chapter Sixteen
Taylor’s House, Harrison, Westchester County, New York
Remy slouched in his shotgun position, smiled in a vacant, subtly cocky way, and occasionally scratched the back of his neck, while Taylor lectured him from the driver’s seat of the Tesla. It felt like being fifteen again and pretending not to care when his mother gave him a good talking-to.
“I will acknowledge,” Taylor said, “that having to take only my car home rather than both simplifies our commute considerably, not to mention conserves fuel and slightly reduces our ozone emissions.”
Hah! Remy laughed inwardly. She actually admitted that I’m still right, after all.
“But,” she continued and her voice sharpened considerably, “I thought it was perfectly clear by now that you are not to take any of my cars without permission. I’m astounded that Presley failed to stop you, but it’s not as though you’re a child under his care. You are well past the age of responsibility for your own ignorant, hasty, ill-considered actions.”
“Aww,” he drawled, “I tried to ask permission, actually, but you didn’t pick up the phone. Where were you in Israel, anyway, that you were physically incapable of answering? The Land of Nod or some shit?”
“Jerusalem,” she grated. “And if I don’t answer, that is the same thing as not granting permission. Any condition other than hearing me say ‘yes, Remington, you may take my car’ should be considered a no.”
He adjusted his tie at his neck. “I’ll assume that doesn’t apply to emergencies where you need me to take the car to save your life, but otherwise…fine. Point taken.”
“Good.” Some of the tension fell away from her, and she drummed her nails on the steering wheel. “When we arrive home, there is something I’d like to tell you. An expansion, you might say, on the subject of my recent trip to the Levant. You were right about one thing—I owe you an explanation.”
“That’s good to hear,” he replied. “I know you kind of already explained but not in much detail. Then again, I’m sure some of it is obscure arcane stuff that I have only a novice’s grasp of, anyway.”
“That,” stated Taylor, “is mostly correct. But you should hear about it, nonetheless. Still, we ought not to spend too much time on it. There’s not much we can do to help Bobby with the tech stuff, I’m afraid, so the best we can do is to get some rest so we’re at full strength when we do find a proper witch to help us.”
Remy squirmed in his seat. “Does that mean Conrad will spend the night?”
“Yes,” Taylor said. “I might have to leave the house briefly, in which case, for your protection, I think we can agree that two werewolves are better than one.”
She cut his protest off but, as it turned out, only to reassure him. “Although I see no reason why he can’t sleep on the couch as opposed to in your room. Maybe even another guest room with its own bed.”
He breathed a long sigh of profound relief.
Conrad was a slightly more conservative driver than Taylor was, but he nonetheless arrived at the house only about a minute later than they did. To all their delight and even relief, Presley had prepared a pleasant meal and a pot of tea for them.
As they sat to eat, he reflected on how his health was on the verge of suffering lately. He hadn’t slept enough or had much exercise, and he’d mostly subsisted on coffee, donuts, and the occasional deli sandwich. As he enjoyed a fresh salad, boiled potatoes, and savory roasted chicken, he could almost hear his body thanking him.
Even Taylor seemed to enjoy the meal. She did not eat any of the food but appeared to savor its aroma, and she accepted a cup of regular tea with only a couple of drops of blood added to it from one of the bags in the fridge.
Remy gestured his thanks to the butler. “Thanks, Presley. I think we all needed that.”
“Don’t mention it, sir,” he replied with a noticeable smile of sleepy satisfaction. “I’m well aware of your ghastly eating habits when you’re distracted or hurried.”
Conrad raised a hand. “You know, I can recommend some healthier than average drive-throughs that you might want to consider.”
“Later,” Remy said. “Taylor, you said we had to discuss something, right?”
“Yes.” The vampire set her cup down and stood. “Come with me. Down to my crypt, if you please. I find it more private there than in the bedroom.”
Consumed with curiosity, he followed her closely and didn’t notice the odd, focused way the two werewolves watched the two of them leave.
“Mr. Warfield,” the butler intoned behind them, “allow me to show you to your couch for the night.”
They descended the stairs, closed the cellar door behind them, and walked to the sarcophagus-like stone structure that enclosed
the vampire’s old wooden coffin.
“David,” Taylor said and stared at him with her black eyes, “do you recall when Gabriel’s lackeys stole my coffin and you came looking for it to rescue me, only to discover that I was not even in it at the time?”
He put his hands into his pockets. “Of course. What does that have to do with…anything, though? Sorry, I’m merely wondering.”
“Well, stop wondering out loud and I’ll show you. Come this way.” She beckoned and led him around to one of the back corners of the basement behind one of her wine casks, where an old-fashioned black iron candle holder was attached to the grimy stone wall.
Remy nodded with approval. “Ooh, spooky. This seems like the kind of thing a vampire should have in her cellar if you ask me. It’s far more dramatic than the books on music and maths and all that stuff.”
“You have no idea,” she remarked and pulled down on the metal fixture. It scraped as it pivoted like a lever, and the section of wall beside it made a grinding sound and swung inward on secret hinges.
“Well,” he had to admit, “this is even more haunted-castle-esque. Nicely done. What’s down there? Three dudes in billowing white gowns to whom you feed the occasional baby?”
“No,” she replied sharply. “And please don’t joke about things like that. There are vampires who…truly behave that way. I am not one of them.”
Without bothering to produce a light, she led him down a crude stone staircase. It spiraled around the walls of a roughly circular cave that was much like a dried well or cistern and ended in a pit filled with musty, chilly air and little else. Barely enough ambient light from the cellar above filtered down for him to faintly make out a rectangular hole in the earth at the very bottom. A shallow grave in a deep, dark tomb was the thought that immediately came to mind.
“I must say,” he began, “I didn’t realize you had this much extra space here. It’s certainly…atmospheric.”
Despite himself, he shuddered. The darkness, the claustrophobia, and the forlorn nature of the cave-crypt all served to remind him that the beautiful woman he was speaking to was, in fact, an animated cadaver.
Taylor stretched over his shoulder and touched a small iron brazier which he hadn’t noticed at first. It burst into eerie blue flame, startling him but at least making the pit slightly more hospitable.
“Now,” she stated, “I will tell you the full story of what happened when Moswen and I met in that tunnel beneath her warehouse. What you’ve heard thus far is only the loose outline. There are certain details which you must know.”
He shrugged. “So be it. I’ll try not to cover my eyes during the scary parts.”
She told him everything. The way her enemy had taken her by surprise and the entire course of the fight. How the two vampires seemed evenly matched and inflicted severe damage on one another’s bodies before they briefly reached a stalemate.
Grimly, she related that terrible moment when Moswen had shed even the pretense of being something like a human being at all to become a hideous jackal-serpent creature, losing the last vestiges of reason but gaining even greater strength and ferocity.
Remy shook his head slowly from side to side. “Well, damn. I didn’t even know she could do that. I assume it’s a unique thing that she—”
“No,” Taylor interrupted. “She is not the only one. I can as well. And I did.”
“Oh.” He wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Uh…”
She laid a hand softly on his arm. “David, please don’t tell anyone about this. You must understand that in order for a vampire to shift into an alternate form like that requires…how shall I put this?…the unleashing of ancient forces of darkness which are better left untouched. There have been some who shift to this form and never return. They live out their immortal lives as the kinds of monsters who are the reason nightmares exist.”
“Do you mean,” he asked and narrowed his eyes, “that you’re worried that you won’t be able to control yourself?” Something—almost a sixth sense—had informed him that she was half-hiding this from him, that she’d wanted to confess it but would need him to prod her before she did.
“Yes,” she confirmed. He could recall only a handful of occasions when she seemed this vulnerable and almost bashful. “For most of my life—my second life, which has been far, far longer than my first—I have sought to control those urges. If I give myself up to them completely, I am no better than Moswen. That is her true form. The shape of a woman is the mask she wears for others’ benefit. And, I must say also that even if I did, that would be no guarantee of victory.”
It began to make sense, now. She didn’t trust herself to overcome the Egyptian with her own powers alone.
“She wounded me very badly,” the dark lady continued. “I was close to death, to be honest, although I gave as good as I got and she fled before either of us could finish it. It is fortunate that I had a few hours to heal before you led Greyhammer’s posse to my doorstep.”
“Aye,” he said. “I’m sorry about that.”
She waved a hand dismissively. “Anyway, I hope you now understand why I had to go to Israel. There is almost no way I can defeat Moswen without an unfair advantage. An ace in the hole. I’m simply not strong enough.”
He shrugged. “Most people, myself included, would disagree, but fair enough. At least with the dagger, we have a chance, right?”
“Yes,” she confirmed. “I have searched, with ever-increasing urgency, for a spell that can bind Moswen once more. We need something to return her to insensate impotence, lying forever in darkness as she did for two hundred and fifty years in the forgotten tomb she crawled out of. I’ve done the research, pursued leads, and laid the foundations of our plan for months now.”
Remy raised an eyebrow. “Oh, so that’s what you’ve been up to all these nights when no one really knew what you were doing or where you were. And I suppose it ties into the infamous incident when you used me as bait.”
The vampire did not respond right away, so he continued. “Well, at least we have Alex now. That is why you sent him off to randomly interview New York’s other folk from Down Under, isn’t it? I can’t think of any other reason unless you merely wanted to get rid of him for a while. In any event, it’s good to learn that you were doing something constructive.”
Taylor folded her arms over her chest. “Yes, the whole endeavor has required considerable study, using resources that most people have never even heard of. Why, what did you think I did with my time? Simply sit around all night sipping red salt tea until dawn?”
He folded his hands in front of him and tried to look innocent. “Well…er, yeah, something like that. After all, why do any work yourself when you have us minions to take care of the dirty jobs you don’t want?”
His gaze grew as distant as his mind and his jaw clenched even as his spine went cold. “Like that fucking…septic…thing a few days ago. Good Lord—”
Taylor gestured impatiently and chose not to respond to what was clearly a rhetorical question.
“Let us continue with the important part of this discussion, thank you. While the others continue with the search for a qualified magical adept, there is something else we can do. Namely, we can brainstorm a location where the deed should be done.”
Remington’s brow furrowed. He was now legitimately confused. “You mean, kicking Moswen’s ass in private? It does seem like something that would require numerous mindwipes if too many normies saw it. I suppose her abandoned warehouse would work, although this being New York and all, you can never—”
“No,” she interjected, “I mean a location for her entombment. The dagger’s power will work in the place. It’s not as though we can activate it here and coax her onto a barge destined for Antarctica before we finish the process under the Thiel Mountains, sadly. The Negev Bedouin had the advantage of encountering her in a forsaken desert where they assumed no one would ever think to look.”
Her gaze was distant again, searching within rath
er than scanning the outside world. “This city is rather more densely populated, but there must be someplace where we can put her away forever—or as close to forever as possible. Some nook or cranny that will remain untouched for a long, long time.”
Remy leaned against one of the stone pillars that braced the basement ceiling and looked up and around. By local standards, this house was practically ancient. By the standards of the region from which Moswen came, however, it was a different story.
“Well, that’s a toughie,” he admitted. “As I started to say a moment ago, there’s never any real guarantee of privacy in this city or of permanency, either. Even in the most people-packed areas of the Old World, it seems like things remain as they are for longer periods of time. But here? Things are always changing.”
“Yes,” she agreed and grimaced. “I’ve noticed. Sometimes, that’s a good thing. In this case, far less so.”
His mind wandered to one of the companies his father owned stock in. “They’re always rebuilding old stuff or making new housing for all our immigrants, or looking for ways to spend this year’s public works budget on random improvements that sometimes delve deep underground. The real estate firms and construction outfits knock down buildings and dig up lots all the time. Even the darkest, most desolate sub-basement of an abandoned subway line might provide only ten or twenty years of isolation. Then, who knows? Hell, our oldest buildings are only two hundred years old, tops.”
The vampire’s fingers drummed against her opposite arms with an increasingly frenetic and aggressive tic.
“Yes, you’re right. But we’re running out of options. We cannot delay. Moswen must be overcome with all due haste. Sealing her away for even one paltry decade is better than nothing. What choices do we have?”
Remington suddenly felt the length of the day and the weight of its responsibilities upon him and clenched his hands into fists. The task suddenly seemed borderline impossible.
“I don’t know,” he grumbled. “Maybe a vault holding really boring technical reference manuals at the bottom of the New York Public Library? That’s where the Ghostbusters did their thing that one time, isn’t it? If it was good enough for them, ought to be good enough for us.”
Under Pressure (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 4) Page 15