Tabitha reappeared just as I was placing the frozen peas back against my jaw.
“Anything?” I asked.
“No male models in suits.” She hopped up on her divan and collapsed onto her side. “Sorry to disappoint you.”
Arnaud must have figured he’d made his point. Meaning I was now stuck between his warning and my pledge to help Detective Vega.
I prepared Tabitha a bowl of warm goat’s milk, fixed myself a pot of Colombian dark roast, and climbed the ladder to my library/lab. It was late, my face and stomach hurt, my ego was bruised, and I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed and shut off my brain, but I had work to do. Stepping past my hologram of the city—dim, thank God—I stopped and faced the wall of mundane books.
“Svelare,” I said in a low, thrumming voice.
A ripple moved across the spines. In the next moment, encyclopedias and classical titles became magical tomes and grimoires. I retrieved a thick black book from the bottom shelf, a tome on the undead. At my desk, I took my first sip of coffee and opened the book to a section concerning vampires—blood slaves, in particular. I jotted down notes on a yellow legal pad as I read.
An hour later, I closed the book and reviewed my notes, pen tapping between my teeth. It was looking like a good news, bad news scenario—and unfortunately, more of the second.
Good news: being unsophisticated creatures, blood slaves tended to lair in the same proximity to where they fed. That narrowed our search radius considerably. Bad news: that small radius also meant that if we failed to find the creature before he fed again, Ferguson Towers could be looking at body number three—and if Vega was right, at an all-out war between Stiles and this person Kahn in the west towers.
That was bad news item number one.
Bad news item number two was the blood slave itself. I hadn’t needed to read up on them to appreciate their speed, strength, and lethality. A blood slave, especially one without a master, would tear through Detective Vega and her squad like lunch meat. I would need to be physically involved, not only in the search, but in the creature’s eventual execution. Thanks to my research, I had plenty of material to work with in that second department—silver through the heart being the most surefire way of doing the deed.
But the fact that my direct involvement was needed led to bad news item number three: Arnaud Thorne.
The vampire had warned me off the case. If I ignored his warning, his slaves would be back, this time to deliver more than a stiff jaw. I had Grandpa’s ring now, sure, but we weren’t talking about a showdown at the O.K. Corral. Arnaud would pick the time and place, and not by mutual consent. I probably wouldn’t even see his slaves before I was missing limbs.
I stood with my cup of coffee and paced the length of the bookshelves. Though hard to understand at times, vampires had their own code of decorum. For an eminent vampire like Arnaud, losing control of a blood slave and having it run amok was tantamount to weakness, profoundly embarrassing. He probably wanted me off the case so he could take care of the errant slave without anyone knowing. Maybe all I had to do was back off for a couple of days. Let Arnaud’s blood slaves snatch up the killer and sweep him under the rug.
I returned to my desk and penned a report to the Order on the night’s riddler banishment. I had already asked for, and received, permission to work with Detective Vega, but I included a reminder anyway. When dealing with the Order, it was always better to err on the side of caution.
The message sent, I cut the lights and headed down to bed. Despite my exhaustion, I tossed and turned, seeing the disappointment in Caroline’s eyes when I told her I was leaving, remembering Angelus’s subtle possessiveness. I couldn’t shake the feeling I’d lost her, somehow.
Eventually, I fell into a dark and troubled sleep.
9
Though I had set my alarm, it was the ringing telephone that woke me the next morning. I held my wind-up clock to my face—eleven?—and thrashed out of bed. The phone rang again, hopefully Caroline responding to my message left last night.
I reached the telephone on the fourth ring, clearing the sleep from my throat, and lifted the receiver.
“Hello?”
“Sleeping in, Croft?”
“Oh.” My heart sank. “Hi, Detective.”
“What do you have for me?” she asked.
“Well, I had an interesting encounter last night,” I said, carrying the telephone over to my reading chair and plopping down. Tabitha regarded me dully before closing her eyes again. “After you dropped me off.”
“Related to the case?”
“Three of Arnaud’s blood slaves jumped me, warned me to stay away from Ferguson Towers.”
“Did they say why?”
“I’m fine, by the way. Thanks for asking.” I moved my jaw around. The knot was gone but the right hinge remained sore. “They didn’t say much other than that it was none of my business.”
“Good work, Croft. Be sure to turn in your hours. We’ll take it from here.”
I sat up. “Wait a minute. What are you talking about?”
“If Arnaud’s involved, the killer’s probably one of his.”
“Yeah, but you can’t just take an elevator up to his office and ask him.”
“Why not? He’s made himself a person of interest.”
I remembered my meeting with the vampire back in October, one that saw me offering Arnaud my throat before Grandpa’s ring blew him off me. “I can’t let you do that.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve told you what he is, but you can’t possibly understand.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“He’s dangerous, Vega. Like, super dangerous.”
“Right, and you said the vampires have survived by keeping a low profile. Offing an NYPD detective doesn’t strike me as fitting that M.O.”
She had a point—under normal circumstances. But if Arnaud was as desperate to make this go away as I suspected, the normal rules might not apply.
“Well, give it a couple of days,” I tried. “Maybe he’ll take care of the matter himself.”
“We don’t have a couple of days,” she cut in. I didn’t have to see her face to know her brows were crushing together. And it was my fault for telling her about last night’s encounter, dammit. In my just-woken state, I hadn’t been thinking clearly. I should have kept the run-in to myself.
“Why don’t…” I couldn’t believe what I was about to say. “Why don’t you let me talk to him?”
“One, you’re a consultant, not an investigator,” Vega replied. “And two, how would you even get downtown?”
Good question. The last time I’d made it past the wall that fortified the Financial District, I’d very nearly gotten shot. Scratch that—the last two times. A third run at the Wall would be testing fate.
“Then let me come with you,” I said.
“You’re still on the forbidden entry list. I can’t even get you through.”
An idea hit me. “I might be able to do something about that.” I carried the phone into my bedroom and over to where I’d thrown my tuxedo onto the back of a chair. I stooped toward the jacket, inspecting the fabric closely.
“Are you gonna clue me in?” Vega asked impatiently.
“Aha!” I plucked out a curly brown hair and held it up in triumph. “Just be here in an hour.”
“I don’t like surprises, Croft.”
“Oh, and grab me an ID.”
“What?”
I hung up and tried Caroline. Voice mail again.
I set the phone on the counter and held the hair I’d plucked closer to my eyes. I would have to put my concerns for Caroline aside for the moment.
I had a potion to cook.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” Vega said, staring over at me.
“Hey, watch where you’re going!” I shrank against the passenger seat as Vega jerked the steering wheel, narrowly missing the back of a stopping bus. We shot into the center lane of Broadway, Sa
turday morning traffic honking and hooking from our path. Vega swore and laid on her own horn. After seconds that felt like minutes, the view outside the windows stopped wobbling. “Sweet Jesus,” I sighed, releasing my death grip on the door handle.
She glanced over at me. “A little warning next time?”
I looked down, smoothing the tie over my now-ample paunch, and tugged my brown polyester jacket straight, part of the suit I’d picked up at the corner consignment store while my potion was cooking. “I warned you the copycat potion could take effect any minute.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d look just like him.”
I swung down the visor until my eyes stared back from the mirror. Detective Hoffman’s eyes, actually. I studied his damp red face, then turned my head slightly, combing thick fingers through the wreath of curly hair. The same hair my tuxedo jacket had picked up in his car last night.
“Well, I’m not sure how long it’s going to last,” I said. “I didn’t have a lot of his material to work with. Meaning we’re going to have to get through pretty damned fast.”
I watched the approaching Wall, a giant concrete barrier that fortified the Financial District from the rest of Manhattan. Sweat was already soaking through the back of my shirt as Vega slowed toward the short line for official vehicles. Ever since I’d climbed into the car, my wizard’s intuition had been tingling in the bad way.
“Be cool,” she said.
“And you be careful,” I replied.
The car ahead of us pulled through, and a pair of armored guards waved us forward with automatic rifles.
“ID,” the one on Vega’s side said.
The guard on my side tapped my window. I powered it down and squinted up at him. Though the private security guards all looked like steroid-infused clones, I recognized this one’s square jaw. He was the same guard who had tried to wrench Grandpa’s ring from my finger in the fall.
He caught me staring. “You got a problem?”
“No, no problem. ID’s right here.” I pulled it up by the cord around my neck.
He aimed his shield sunglasses at the card, then at my face. “What’s your business down here?”
Vega ducked to peer past me. “We’re following up on an investigation.”
“I asked Porky here,” the guard growled.
Though it was actually Hoffman he’d insulted, the muscles in my jaw bunched up anyway. I forced a deep breath. “Yeah, we’re following up on something,” I said as sedately as I could.
“With who?”
“Arnaud Thorne,” I said. “If he’ll see us.”
According to Vega, ever since I had used her car to leap the checkpoint, security at the Wall had become more stringent. If a vehicle, even an official one, didn’t proceed straight to the stated destination, the private guards would swarm.
Square Jaw remained staring at me. A tiny camera in the corner of his glasses clicked and whirred. By his silence, I guessed someone was speaking into his earpiece.
After a moment he opened the car door. “Out of the vehicle.”
My heart lurched. “What do you mean?”
“You deaf?” He took the rifle strapped around his torso into both of his hands. “I said out of the vehicle.”
“You too,” the guard on the other side ordered.
I peered over at Vega, the skin of her brow taut. I remembered her telling me these guys could turn an NYPD officer into Swiss cheese without fear of reprisal. All thanks to the vampires holding the city’s purse strings. Vega gave me a single nod before stepping out on her side.
“What’s this about?” I asked in a tone of professional impatience.
Square Jaw used his rifle barrel to jab me around. “Hands on the hood.” He spoke over the car to Vega. “You. Open the trunk.”
Fear and humiliation burned over my face as I splayed my hands against the sedan’s warm metal. A moment later, hands pummeled my pockets and slapped up and down my legs. I’d left my cane and necklace at home and secured Grandpa’s ring behind the metal button of my pants. The guard missed the last, no doubt because he wasn’t looking for it. I widened my stance to hold up my slipping waistband. The potion in my system was starting to thin.
“Where’s your piece?”
“I’m not carrying one today,” I said.
He called to the back of the vehicle. “Anything?”
I turned but couldn’t see Vega or the other guard behind the raised trunk door.
“Vehicle’s clean,” the other guard said. “Her piece is standard.”
Square Jaw pulled me from the hood and shoved me toward the car door. “You’re clear to pass.”
The trunk door slammed closed and Vega got in on her side, brows angled sharply down. I was ducking my head to join her, relieved the enhanced screening was over, when Square Jaw seized the scruff of my jacket and yanked me back.
“Hey,” I cried. “What do you think—”
He spun me around against the car, looking me up and down.
“What’s your problem?” I demanded.
But I knew. The firming of my face, the thinning of my body, the itch of hair growing back atop my head—my potion was running on fumes. I was changing before the man’s eyes.
“Hey, Parker,” the guard called to his partner. “Come take a look at this shit.”
Parker sauntered around the vehicle, rifle in his grip. He snorted. “Magic user. I’ve been itching to bag one of these freaks.”
“That’s not all,” Square Jaw said, a hard grin pulling his mouth to one side. “It’s the same guy who gave us shit about the ring, remember?”
Parker nodded slowly, then ducked to look into the sedan. “And isn’t this the broad who pulled her piece on us?”
“Sure is,” Square Jaw said. “Close the line.”
10
The hydraulic-powered gate whirred closed behind us, clunking into the cement wall and sealing us inside an area the size of a large garage. Bollards blocked our way forward. Parker trained his rifle on Vega, while Square Jaw moved his own rifle around to his back. He pushed his sleeves up.
“C’mon, guys,” I said, one hand held out, the other balling up the side of my pants to keep them from puddling around my ankles. “I’m sure we can work something out. I’m decent with love potions if you guys are having any trouble in that department.”
Square Jaw snarled.
“N-no,” I stammered, “I didn’t mean with each other.”
The fist Square Jaw drove into my chest stunned my heart. I pawed toward him, mouth gaping, no air going in or out. His other fist came up beneath my chin, slamming my mouth closed with a bloody clack. I landed against the car, my head thrown back on the roof.
“Not such a smartass now, are you?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I answered blearily, buildings whirling overhead. “My reserves are pretty impressive.”
I straightened and stared around. I could hear Parker behind me, shouting for Vega to drop her weapon and get out of the car. But the more immediate danger was Square Jaw, who was moving in with both hands as though to throttle me. I jacked my right knee up and caught him square in the jewels.
Square Jaw’s hands changed course, diving for his groin as he grunted and collapsed to his knees. Behind me Parker’s shouting rose in treble before getting drowned out by the sedan’s engine.
What the…?
I skipped back as rubber screamed over road top, foul smoke billowing from the rear tires. The sedan began to spin, slamming into walls. The front fender came around and clunked Square Jaw in the helmet, dropping him like a sack of bricks. Parker opened fire, bullets pinging off metal and reinforced glass.
I called power to my casting prism. Aiming a hand at Parker, I shouted, “Vigore!”
Without my sword to concentrate and direct the force, it burst from my palm like branch lightning. Launched from his feet, Parker slammed into a wall, his weapon and pieces of gear clattering around him. He landed face first, like a flipped pan
cake. But my force had also caught the rear of the sedan, pushing it sideways so that its front end was now aimed at me.
I could see by Vega’s startled expression that she’d lost control. She wasn’t going to be able to stop the car. And I wasn’t going to have time to cast.
I stumbled back against the steel door. The sedan fishtailed, Vega’s side plowing toward me—and then stopped with three feet to spare.
I looked from Vega, who had thrown her arms up, to either side of me. I was no longer alone. I recognized the blood slave to my right from last night, Blondie’s hands clutching the side of the hood. He and the other blood slave shoved the car away, the heels of their patent leather shoes braced against the metal gate. They looked at me dispassionately.
“Thanks?” I said.
“Mr. Thorne will see you,” Blondie said.
The other blood slave stepped over to Square Jaw, who was groaning on the pavement, and shoved him with a foot. “Let them through,” he ordered.
Vega killed the engine and peered past me to a pair of blood slaves in brass-button suits.
“Think it’s some kind of trap?” she asked.
I studied the doormen and then ran my gaze up Arnaud’s landmark skyscraper. “You can never tell with a vampire. But that we’re here at his invitation tells me no. It’s considered impolite for a vampire to tear apart his guests. That doesn’t mean we can relax our guard, though.”
“So why invite us?”
“Good question.” I began working to untie the thread I had used to secure Grandpa’s ring to the inside of my pants. “Either he wants to send a sterner warning or he wants something else entirely.”
“Like what?”
“No telling.” I freed the ring and slipped it onto my third finger. “Just stay close.”
“You think he’s going to let you in wearing that? Didn’t you say it burned him or something?”
At Vega’s question, the ring grasped the base of my finger more tightly. “Short of severing my finger, I don’t see how he’s going to get it off me. But I don’t think that’s his concern right now or else his blood slaves would’ve shaken me down back there. I think we’re good on the ring.”
The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Page 35