“Fine, but this is still an official investigation. I’m asking the questions.”
I showed my palms—no arguments here—and we got out of the car. The copycat potion spent, I cinched my belt around my too-large pants and followed Vega toward the front entrance. As the blood slaves opened the glass doors, Grandpa’s ring began to pulse with the enchantment of the Brasov Pact, the centuries-old truce between European wizards and vampires.
“Welcome,” a lilting voice called from across the chilly lobby. As my eyes adjusted to the gloom, I made out the pretty face and white-blond hair of the undead receptionist. “Mr. Thorne is expecting you.”
“Thanks,” I muttered, then signaled for Vega to follow me to the elevators, where two more blood slaves stood.
“I’m sorry,” the receptionist said pleasantly. “Not her.”
I stopped. “What?”
The receptionist tilted her head in a show of apology. “Mr. Thorne has requested to meet with you alone, Mr. Croft.” She nodded at Detective Vega. “She can wait down here.”
Vega’s hands balled into fists as she stalked toward the desk. “Excuse me, Miss, but I’m an NYPD detective on official business. I need to speak to Mr. Thorne as part of an investigation.”
The receptionist’s smile conveyed coldness now rather than empathy. “His lawyers are off today. If you’d like to make an appointment, Mr. Thorne may agree to see you next week.”
“Listen to me, you little—”
“We understand,” I interrupted, gripping Vega’s upper arm. I whispered into her ear as I turned her away, “I’ve been through this song and dance with them before. It’s pointless. I say you let me go up there and see what I can get him to tell me about Ferguson Towers.”
“I don’t care what he is,” Vega seethed. “This is bullshit.”
“Yeah, I know.”
Vega was having a bad run, from her confrontation with Stiles to the checkpoint guards and now this. But I was relieved, to be honest. I’d seen Vega in action enough times to know she only knew one speed—full throttle. If she went into Arnaud’s office, jabbing him with questions and accusations, he would grin, fold his hands, and tell us nothing.
“Thinks he’s above the law,” Vega went on, her accent regressing to her housing-project roots. “I don’t care what City Hall says. I’ll take the pale son of a bitch down myself.”
“Now, now.” As I steered her toward a sitting area, I noted several blood slaves watching us. “Let’s keep that kind of talk to ourselves, hmm?”
Vega looked around, seeming to pick up on the attention, too. She straightened, as though to re-professionalize, and looked me straight in the eyes. “Get me a name, a location, something we can use.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Before Vega could change her mind about letting me go up alone, I hurried toward the elevators.
I shifted my weight on the swift ride up, wondering what in the hell I was getting myself into. After the St. Martin’s case, I had resolved never to return to the Financial District. And now here I was—not only in Arnaud’s territory, but en route to his executive office. I shuddered at the memory of the vampire’s fangs and cold breath against my throat.
The elevator door slid open on the top floor, and the blood slaves escorted me down a long hallway of dark carpet and oiled wood. The tantalizing scent of Arnaud’s office, a mixture of leather and musk, seemed to beckon. Arnaud’s head blood slave received me at the tall doors of the office. I recognized him by his almond-shaped eyes and short monk’s bangs.
“How nice to see you again,” Zarko said in a mocking voice.
“I can’t say the feeling’s mutual,” I replied. I wasn’t being smart. The last time we’d seen one another, his hand was wrapped around my throat, and he was holding me two feet in the air.
He opened the right door, grinning as he bowed.
The strong scent of Arnaud’s office enveloped me and penetrated my thoughts. I struggled to hold them together—I needed to be coherent to face Arnaud—but the soft carpet underfoot told me I had already entered his lair.
Through a pool of tannic brown light, I made out a lean figure, a pale mane of hair falling to his shoulders. The mane shook with soft laughter.
“Oh, my poor boy,” came Arnaud’s silky voice. “You have really gotten yourself into a pickle this time.”
11
I squinted through the distorting light, forcing Arnaud into focus. He was wearing one of his patent silk suits, light-colored, loose around the arms and legs, a scarf draping his shoulders, open shirt underneath. His dark eyes sparkled as he looked me over, a smile forking his thin lips.
“And just when I’d begun to forget about our unpleasant encounter last fall,” Arnaud said. “You were very nearly in the clear, my boy.”
Though he spoke with an edge of menace, he wasn’t trying to incite fear. Not like the last time. On the contrary, he was layering the atmosphere with an opiate mist. Whether as insurance against me trying to use the ring or as a simple demonstration of his power, I couldn’t say.
“What do you want?” I asked, correcting my sagging posture.
He chuckled. “I’m not the one who came seeking you, Mr. Croft.”
“Would’ve made things easier,” I grumbled, rubbing my swollen jaw.
“Would that have been your preference? To sit and talk at your place? Next time, perhaps.”
“Yeah, sure,” I said, waving a hand. Before my weakening legs could give out, I made my way to his arrangement of oxblood leather chairs and sat. “Do you mind?”
I caught a subtle tensing in Arnaud. I was being a poor guest.
“Zarko,” he called. “Be a dear and prepare Mr. Croft and me a couple of Scotch on the rocks. The vintage ’32 would be nice.”
“Depression-era?” I said. “Wow, that makes me all warm inside.”
“This is an eighteen thirty-two,” Arnaud corrected me.
“Oh.”
The vampire took a seat opposite me. He folded his legs neatly and studied me for a long moment before opening a hand of slender fingers. “Well?”
“Fine, we’ll start with why I came, and then you can tell me why you agreed to meet.” I blinked against the blearing effect of the opiate and cleared my throat. “I received a visit from three of yours last night. Why?”
“Oh, were they not clear? I shall have to speak to them about that.”
“Cut the crap,” I said. “You know what I’m talking about. Why warn me away from Ferguson Towers?”
With the ring to protect me, I felt I could be a little more forward. Especially since I didn’t know how long I could hold out.
Seeming to understand time was on his side, Arnaud accepted his drink from Zarko, sniffed it, and then swirled it several times. At last he took a small sip and sat back, pale tongue slipping across his lips. “You cannot beat a good Scotch,” he said. “Distilled right here in New York, in fact, shortly before the Great Fire of ’35. Very tragic. So many fine buildings lost. Well, go on.” He nodded toward the glass Zarko had set on my end table. “That’s a small fortune you’re neglecting.”
“I didn’t come here for the spirits,” I said. “What’s your interest in Ferguson Towers?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “As an investor, I have interests throughout the city.”
“A housing project? Please. Let’s walk through it, shall we? Two junkies are found murdered in a boiler room yesterday, their throats ripped open. Someone pours salt around the site to prevent magic from connecting the evidence to the murderer. And shortly after a wizard leaves the crime scene, three more someones shove him around and tell him to get off the case. Seems like an awful lot of trouble to protect a killer. One of yours, I assume?”
“Oh, assumptions are such dangerous things.”
“If you’re willing to spell out an alternate theory, I’m all ears.”
“Mr. Croft,” he said, swirling his glass lightly. “Do you know how many people I employ here
?”
“Oh, they’re people now?”
“Hundreds. And of those, do you know how many have resigned without my consent?” He leaned toward me. “Exactly none.”
I struggled to hold his blurring face in focus. “There’s a first time for everything.”
“Not in this case, Mr. Croft.”
“Then the creature belongs to one of your banking buddies, and you’re trying to corral it before it can draw a spotlight on what you really are.”
Arnaud sat back with a chuckle. “There you go again, Mr. Croft. Assumptions, assumptions. What makes you think the killer is one of ours?”
“Oh, I don’t know—that the victims are all blood drained.”
“Ours isn’t the only kind with a taste for blood, you know. And was it merely blood the creature, as you call it, was after?”
My head dipped, and I jerked it upright. I wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer. “Look, whatever we’re dealing with, do I at least have your assurance that you’re going to take care of it? I get that this has to be an embarrassment for you.”
“How I choose to act is none of your concern.”
“Well, maybe it concerns the six thousand people living in those towers.” In my drug-hazed state, the silhouetted faces I’d seen in the windows seemed to be moving around me.
“Ah, you humans and your sentimentalities,” Arnaud said. “You could accomplish so much more without them.”
I nearly swooned again. When I righted myself and blinked, it felt as though the skin around my eyes had puckered. And what had I accomplished here? Denials from Arnaud that the killer was one of his. Another warning to stay away from the case. Vega wasn’t going to be happy.
“You brought me up here to tell me something,” I managed. “So tell me.”
He drained the rest of his glass and set it on his oiled end table. “I can keep eyes on you, Mr. Croft, but not at all hours. It seems your domicile is rather well protected, and you have that exquisite feline watching the street. After observing the dramatic lengths you and your partner just undertook in attempting to bypass the Wall, it occurred to me that you might agree to stay away from Ferguson Towers but still advise the detective from afar. And with that bit of insight, a more superior solution came to my mind.”
“Oh, and what’s that?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know.
“Put my last warning out of your head. You’re back on the case.”
“Huh?”
“However.” Arnaud held up a finger. “Your instructions are now to mislead the detective.” I was already shaking my head when he added, “Send her on a wild goose chase.”
“Forget it.”
“The alternative is to have her removed from the investigation. And though I suppose I could tug certain strings to make that happen, someone would just step into her place.” Arnaud seemed to be talking to himself before redirecting his voice back at me. “And then we’d be back to square one, wouldn’t we? Frankly, Mr. Croft, I’m too busy to meddle in such matters.”
The thought of misleading Vega struck me as wrong in so many ways. “I’m not doing that.”
“Oh, I think you will, Mr. Croft,” Arnaud said.
“And why’s that?”
“Because Detective Vega has a young child. And your humanity will prevent you from carrying out any foolishness that would lead to his disappearance. Such as contradicting my directive.”
His words hit me like a fist in the face. “You wouldn’t,” I growled.
He smiled.
“You son of a bitch.”
“Oh, come now,” Arnaud said, eyes gleaming. “We were getting along so pleasantly.”
“I’ll… I’ll…” But in the muddy atmosphere of the room, I couldn’t complete the sentence, much less the thought.
“It seems you need some fresh air, Mr. Croft. But before you return outside, do we have an agreement? Or would you rather have to explain to the detective why her son is imperiled?”
That was the reason for the opiate. To make an impossible offer and then prevent me from thinking clearly enough to see my way through it. Blasting him with the ring was out of the question, though I was damn sure tempted. That would only earn me—and probably Vega—a bloody date with Death.
“What am I supposed to tell her?” I asked.
Without taking his eyes from mine, Arnaud said, “Zarko, I’ve written something on the blotter on my desk. Could you bring it here?” A moment later, he reached back and accepted a folded piece of paper from his head blood slave. “You will begin by telling the detective that I warned you away last night out of concern for your safety. After all, your grandfather and I go back many centuries, and I feel a certain tenderness toward his descendants.” He grinned as though at a clever joke, then rattled the paper softly. “I have here a name and an address. Someone who, you will tell the detective, I feel may have information as to the killer’s identity and whereabouts. I want you to visit him together. I am supplying this information in exchange for the assurance that I will no longer be questioned on the matter.” He raised his pale eyebrows. “Are we agreed, Mr. Croft?”
Though I’d been beating my thoughts around for the last minute, trying to resuscitate them, they would only coalesce around the photo on Detective Vega’s desk of her and her young son.
“Mr. Croft?” Arnaud said.
“Just give it to me.”
“I’ll take that as a yes.” Arnaud placed the paper into my groping hand. “I will be watching to ensure you share this information post haste. And if you tip the detective off to our agreement, I will know that as well.”
“How?” I challenged.
“Changes in the detective’s behavior, the patterns she sets for her son, extra protection, so forth and so on. I have little patience for such duplicity and will show even less mercy. Do not test me there, Mr. Croft. Keep the detective occupied with what I have given you. If there is any additional information I wish to impart, I will have one of my men deliver it to you. Are we on the same page?”
I couldn’t take the atmosphere any longer. My head was dizzy and pounding. I stood, the paper clutched in one hand, and staggered toward the door.
“And Mr. Croft,” he called after me. I turned at the doorway to find Arnaud standing from his chair. “I like to think I can offer treats and not merely threats, so I’ll say something else. Should this…” He circled a hand as though in search of the right word. “…arrangement conclude to the satisfaction of all concerned, there may be something in it for you.”
“I don’t want your stinking money,” I mumbled.
“Money?” He chuckled. “Oh, no. I’m talking about something far more valuable, Mr. Croft. Information.”
The angle of his voice made me hesitate. “Such as…?”
“Such as what became of your dear mother.”
I stopped breathing. “What?”
“That will be waiting for you on the other side. Consider it a blood deal.”
I took two heavy steps toward Arnaud before Zarko gripped my arm and steered me toward the door. Though I struggled, I was no match for his strength. A moment later I stumbled into the hallway, the slaves who had brought me up already guiding me toward the elevator.
I looked at the folded-over piece of paper, then back at Arnaud’s closed door feeling like I’d been offered a deal by the devil himself.
And goddammit, I knew I had to take it.
12
I rooted around in Vega’s glove compartment until I found the aspirin bottle. My head hurt like hell, and it wasn’t only from the toxicity of Arnaud’s office. It was from just feeding Vega the crap about the person on the piece of paper, Sonny Shoat, being a potential lead. It was from not being able to tell her about the threat to her son, or about the promise Arnaud had made to tell me what had happened to my mother, who had died when I was one.
I shook two bitter tablets into my mouth, chewed and swallowed them dry, and then leaned my head back against the rest.
“Why is he insisting you come with me?” Vega asked.
“I don’t know,” I said, eyes closed. I couldn’t look her in the face. “It was just one of his conditions for doling out information.”
“He has more?”
Yeah, more to mislead you. “He suggested he might.”
“What the hell? Does he think this is some kind of game?”
“Probably.”
Vega cussed again, and I felt the car cut hard in and out of several lanes before she turned left. “I have some things to do at the office, including finding out what I can about this Sonny Shoat, and then I need to talk to Stiles, make sure he’s still good on our deal. I’ll drop you at your place and call you later.”
“Fine by me.”
Besides needing to sort out my thoughts, I wanted to get a hold of Caroline. With the vampire’s opiate leaving my system, my wizard’s intuition was tapping the base of my skull again, telling me something was off.
“There were no calls,” Tabitha said languidly from her divan.
I shushed her as I finished dialing my voice mail service. But she was right. Zero messages.
I thumbed the switch hook for a fresh dial tone and then spun Caroline’s number. As had happened last night and this morning, the call went straight to her recorded voice: “Hi, you’ve reached Caroline Reid. I’m sorry I’m not here to take your call…”
I waited out the rest of the message, then cleared my throat.
“Hey, Caroline. It’s Everson again. Look, I’m getting a little worried here, so if you could call me as soon as you get this, I’d really appreciate it.” I could understand her turning her phone off for the night, but it was two in the afternoon.
I leaned my arms against the kitchen counter, my sternum and jaw aching from my encounter at the checkpoint, my head pounding from my meeting with Arnaud, and now my stomach in nervous knots for Caroline. And I had been planning to spend my spring-break week in a bathrobe and furry slippers, catching up on some arcane reading while sipping artisan coffee.
The Prof Croft Series: Books 0-4 (Prof Croft Box Sets Book 1) Page 36