“Certainly.” The butler stood and headed to the kitchen.
Remy looked at the vampire. “In all honesty, nothing yet, although a few proverbial little birds have pointed me in the right direction.”
“That’s a terrible mixed metaphor, Remy,” she observed. “The expression has to do with little birds telling a person something, not pointing them in a direction.”
He pretended to ignore her and went on. “Tomorrow, I’ll follow up on a lead in Harlem. A few rumors seem to have emerged from the neighborhood of late. There’s nothing too specific, but it sounds like dwarves are involved so it could get us closer to whatever Surrly is so concerned with.”
“Good,” the woman said, “but that could be hazardous. Not least because we know that Moswen is finally out for blood. Sending three of her servants after Presley and me could not have possibly been intended as a real assault but sending two after a lone human suggests that she legitimately intended to kill or at least capture you.”
Remy swallowed and wiped the palms of his hands on his pant legs. “The thought had occurred to me, yeah.”
“I don’t want you out there without backup. She knows who you are and probably has ways to track at least some of your movements.” Judging by her tone of voice, she did try to express honest concern but also hinted that she had no patience for arguments right now.
He twisted his neck and it responded with a satisfying crack before he retorted, “Yes, yes. I’ll bring Riley with me. She’ll be available again in the morning.”
Presley’s soft footsteps moved back toward the sitting room as Taylor leaned forward in her chair and drew Remy’s gaze back to hers.
“I’m afraid that’s not good enough this time, Remington. When you were hunting Alex, Riley was barely able to keep you alive. Something extra is required.”
He started to protest but she cut him off with a raised hand and a sharp increase in volume.
“Don’t squabble with me over this,” she snapped and put the preternatural power of command into her voice. For an instant, he felt as if his larynx were paralyzed.
The vampire continued. “I know that you learned a few things from that experience and that you’ve availed yourself of a month or so’s worth of basic martial arts training since then. Well and good. However, for your own safety, we’ll get you a little extra help, and it’s to your benefit to be accommodating.”
Presley stood in the doorway until she finished. He approached and handed Remy a short glass with barely enough brandy to cover a pair of ice cubes. “Your drink, sir.”
“Thanks, Jeeves.” He sighed.
Taylor caught the butler’s attention. “Presley, we need to make a phone call.”
Chapter Five
Taylor’s House, Harrison, Westchester County, New York
Three hours had passed. Taylor had insisted that Remington remain at her home while the individual they’d called readied himself and traveled to meet them.
On the plus side, the delay meant he could get away with having a second drink. He had, of course, snuck a third, which he prepared himself when Presley wasn’t looking since she had advised against it.
“You know,” he said a little too loudly to the butler, “I still don’t see the point of this nonsense. I’ve been in this business for, like, about five months already and none of these big, scary, supernatural—sorry, preternatural—creatures has killed me yet. That has to count for something.”
Presley, who attempted to clean the kitchen counters before their guest arrived, cleared his throat. “It does count for something, sir. But not for everything. Luck has always been a factor in your case, and luck has an unfortunate way of running out at inconvenient times. We’re only trying to stack the odds more in your favor.”
“Odds?” he marveled. “Do you have any idea how good I am at poker? I beat a whole room full of mobster card sharks that one time. Fair enough, I wasn’t positive that I’d win, but I had a good feeling about it, dammit. Besides, maybe luck is, itself, a preternatural ability. See? I’m really one of you guys.”
“Splendid, sir,” the old man murmured. “You didn’t exceed your two-drink limit during a moment of inattention on my part, did you?”
“That’s immaterial,” Remy sputtered and somehow pronounced the word correctly. Still, he was a little embarrassed that he felt drunk after a measly three glasses of brandy. It had been a while since he’d had more than a single drink within the span of a single night. And even then, he only drank about two nights per week.
Things had certainly changed.
Taylor stepped into the kitchen. “Remington, stop pestering Presley. He has work to do. The kitchen looks reasonably nice as is, but I won’t object to it being spic and span. Go sit in the foyer and wait. Conrad will be here any minute.”
He sighed. “Fiiiiine. Who the hell is this Conrad guy, anyway? Some ex-Spetsnaz dude who owes you a favor or something?” He took two halfhearted backward steps toward the doorway out of the kitchen.
“No,” she answered and planted her small white fists on her hips. “And I cannot believe that your alcohol tolerance has decayed to the point where only two drinks would have this effect. Did you sneak a third while Presley was distracted?”
Remy wagged a finger. “Before I answer that, I need to remember whether or not you have magical powers of lie detection. I’m fairly sure you do.”
The vampire looked toward the ceiling and beyond, perhaps for guidance. “For God’s sake. Sit in the foyer. In a moment, I’ll bring you a glass of water and a cup of coffee. Fortunately, we’ll have things to discuss before you’re expected to drive home, although if all else fails, you can pay for your own Uber and reimburse us for the gas it will take to drive your car to the office tomorrow.”
He trudged toward his usual chair. “Yeah, yeah, whatever.” Thoroughly disgruntled, he slumped into the seat and brooded.
After all the progress he’d made since he joined the agency, she still thought that, on some level, he wasn’t capable of handling himself—like a little kid. And she thought, therefore, that he needed a babysitter.
The vampire herself, now dressed in black slacks and a black blouse, emerged from the kitchen after a few minutes and ordered him to drink an entire eight-ounce glass of water, which, begrudgingly, he did. She placed a steaming cup of coffee beside him.
“Drink that over the course of the next half-hour or so,” she instructed. “Presley can get you a sleeping pill for the road if you’re concerned about your ability to drowse off later this evening. For now, though, it’s more important that you sober up.”
“Yes, Mother,” he grumbled.
She ignored the remark and took the empty glass to the kitchen.
Another five minutes passed before a car pulled into the driveway. Its headlights made the curtains glow and white light spilled around their edges.
Presley emerged almost instantly. About three heartbeats after the lights died and the car’s engine shut off, he unlocked and opened the door.
“Conrad,” he proclaimed. “Welcome. So good to see you again.”
It took a few seconds for Remy’s brain—which was not operating quite at one hundred percent functionality—to register the fact that Presley had called the new arrival by his first name. Normally, he addressed everyone as Mr This or Ms That.
Taylor materialized at the back of the foyer at the same time as a sharply dressed young man stepped through the door. He had dark-brown hair and a neat goatee of the same color, which accentuated rather than hid his strong jawline.
“Good evening,” their guest said. Like Remy, he spoke with a slight Mid-Atlantic accent that suggested a background among the high-society families of the American east coast. Officially, this accent, a relic of the old Social Register days, wasn’t used much anymore but traces of it remained if one knew where to listen for it.
Conrad’s voice was a little deeper and smoother than Remy’s, though.
He also appeared to be about
the investigator’s age or perhaps slightly younger—at least twenty-seven but no older than thirty-two. Unless, of course, he knew and could afford an exceedingly good plastic surgeon.
Furthermore, compared to Remy, he was approximately one inch taller.
The vampire stepped forward. “Good evening, Conrad. Thank you for coming on such short notice. We apologize for the inconvenience, but matters have grown serious. Besides, this ought to be a great opportunity for you.”
The dapper fellow smiled. His face lit up in a way that was pleasantly amiable but also a tad smug.
“It’s quite all right. I’m glad to be here, truth be told. And you’re right about that. I look forward to being of service.”
Remy groaned inwardly. Christ, this guy is a complete Boy Scout. I bet he’s a vegetarian and a teetotaler as well. And he looks like a goddamn jeans model.
Not to mention that he is most likely still welcome in high society.
Something on his cheeks and the back of his neck felt hot, almost stinging.
Presley smiled and placed a hand on the man’s broad shoulder. “You will be, have no fear.” He closed the door.
So, they know each other. Taylor did say once that Presley had many friends in interesting places.
Taylor turned to the side. “Remington, please stand and introduce yourself to our guest. Feel free to have another sip of coffee first, if necessary.” There was a noticeably sharp-edged undertone to her voice.
He did exactly as she’d requested and took a long, slow drink from his mug before he hoisted himself gradually from his chair. Rather than move, however, he remained in place, extended his hand, and smiled.
Conrad looked a little surprised but returned the smile and walked the four steps it took to be within range of his handshake.
“Hello, sir,” the newcomer opened. “You must be Remington Davis. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
His hand wrapped around the one proffered, and although he didn’t squeeze much, it was impossible not to notice that he had a hell of a powerful grip.
Remy shook the hand and released it. “The one and only. You, meanwhile, must be Conrad, since that’s the word Taylor and Presley used to refer to you, whoever you are.”
The vampire shot him a blood-curdling death-glare, but Conrad merely laughed it off. “Yes, sir, quite correct. Conrad Warfield, at your service.”
“Awesome,” he drawled. “Wait, are you human?”
Conrad seemed to register the significance of this question with a strategic raising of his eyebrows. “Most of the time,” he replied. “I take it you’ve been…ah, initiated into certain facts about our world.”
“Well,” he said, “if that’s your overly coy way of referring to vampires, werewolves, ghosts, goblins, fairies, and so forth, then yeah, I have.”
The man laughed again, although it seemed to require a little more effort this time. “Good, that will simplify matters. I’m a lycanthrope. Clearly, you’ve met Presley. Let’s simply say that both he and I were educated within the same tradition and aim to fulfill similar roles in society.”
Remy widened his eyes in mock surprise and looked over the man’s shoulder at Taylor. “Wow, you got me a butler for Christmas. It’s a little late, but still. Thanks, Taylor. You’re the best.”
Presley had folded his hands behind his back and turned to stone, although he almost looked amused. The vampire, on the other hand, did not appear amused in the slightest.
“That’s enough, Remy,” she snapped. “Conrad will act as your bodyguard. Provided, of course, that you don’t scare him off with your obnoxious and immature behavior before I can finish negotiating a contract with him.”
She paused and turned to speak to their guest. “Conrad, I can assure you that Remington is not, in fact, like this all the time. He was actually improving for a month or so there, but the recent stresses drove him back toward bad old habits. Which, hopefully, his liver ought to clear from his system come morning.”
“I see.” Conrad nodded but his expression and body language betrayed the slightest awkwardness. All things considered, though, he did a rather good job of maintaining his affected balance between proper, high-class behavior and affable relaxation.
Presley stepped forward and cleared his throat again. “All right, then, if you’d all like to have a seat, I can bring drinks—within certain limits—to anyone who’d like them.”
Remy ignored the offer. Taylor said she was fine, and Conrad requested tea. The old man nodded and strode away to the kitchen.
“Now,” Taylor said, “let us negotiate a workable short-term contract.”
Without bothering to ask for Remy’s feedback, the vampire and the young werewolf engaged in a polite exchange over exactly what the responsibilities would be. The gist was that he would protect the investigator for at least the next two weeks or until otherwise noted during the investigations to come during the hours of daylight, at least.
“I’m flexible,” the young man stated, “but as a freelancer, I do have to insist on not getting locked into anything too firmly, too quickly, or for too long. Of course, if all goes well, I’d likely be happy to renew our contract or negotiate a new one.”
Presley appeared and handed a cup of tea, with saucer, to his fellow lycanthrope, who sipped it with one pinky extended.
“Of course.” Taylor drummed her fingernails on the armrest of her chair. “The nature of our work makes it difficult to give ironclad assurances, but we will be happy to update you on any changes in the situation as soon as we ourselves are aware of them. Mostly, we merely need to be certain that Remy will have proper backup if his assignment takes him into dangerous places in the near future. Which may indeed be the case.”
They continued to, essentially, restate what they’d already said for the next several minutes. Remy realized he was already tired of listening to them.
“Okay,” he blurted, “there’s something else you should know, Conrad. I own the company. No, really. Taylor runs it, but in point of fact, I own a majority of its shares, so when you come right down to it, whatever she agrees to pay you is my money. And frankly, I don’t think I really need a babysitter. I already have a fairy. And I kicked those two thralls’ asses this afternoon.”
The vampire looked directly at Remington, while the two werewolves exchanged a glance. “David, since you have also been doing the lion’s share of our accounting, you of all people should know that our business expenses have repeatedly been ameliorated by infusions of cash from my personal fortune.”
“Right,” he muttered. “I forgot about that.”
“And,” she went on, “you needn’t act as though this is all some kind of insult to your abilities. You’ve proven yourself far more capable than I ever would have expected. We’re simply bringing Conrad on due to the magnitude of the threat we face. You ought to appreciate the fact that we are simply trying to keep you alive.”
Remy sighed. “Fine.”
It wasn’t only his abilities that felt insulted, though. Somehow, his brain had projected onto the clean-cut lycanthrope every single one of the Ivy-Leaguers who’d washed their hands of him over the years.
He leaned forward, locked eyes with Conrad, and extended the index finger of his right hand over the spread palm of his left. “But,” he went on, “you’re still our employee, which is another way of saying that we have the power to fire you, and so forth. So let’s lay out some ground rules. My rules, to be specific.”
Conrad nodded innocently, although Remy wasn’t sure he liked the vague hint of swaggering humor he detected beneath the man’s professional façade.
“First,” he began and allowed his right index finger to descend upon his left, “I’m in charge. I call the shots, always. Is that clear?”
“Of course, sir, perfectly clear.”
“Right.” He mimicked the man’s nod and moved his right index to his left middle finger. “Second, I’m the one who decides where we go. No backseat driving, whether in the c
ar or on foot or even in a frickin’ helicopter if by some chance we end up in one of those, I guess.”
“Yes, sir, of course.”
“Third, anytime we encounter anyone, you let me do all the talking unless I specifically ask you to contribute or ask you a question.”
“Absolutely, sir, yes.”
He continued to respond with polite nods and the faint shadow of a smirk. Something about it made Remy’s stomach clench, and he wondered if the over-polished bastard really meant what he said.
Taylor stepped in. “Conrad, the rules that I have established and the terms of our formal contract trump Remington’s personal stipulations any time there is conflict between the two.”
Soon, the vampire had finished ironing out the financial and administrative specifics of their arrangement.
Conrad and Taylor rose from their chairs in perfect unison, and Remy struggled somewhat to join them. The combination of all the excitement yesterday, the bruise on his chest from where the South Asian guy had punched him, and his unexpected drunkenness had taken a toll that he could not quite hide.
The young werewolf looked at each of them in turn. “Well, then, it’s been a pleasure.” He smiled again. “I’ll take my leave now and meet you, Remington, at the Brooklyn office tomorrow morning, at nine o'clock sharp.”
The vampire returned the smile and shook the man’s hand. “Thanks again, Conrad. And, once more, I promise that Remy will be in a better state in the morning. His current condition is a direct result of…well, the same things that inspired us to hire you.”
“I understand.” He said his final goodbyes, turned, and left, with Presley holding the door for him and then closing it.
Remy sighed. “Such a nice young man,” he quipped.
“He is,” Taylor stated. “Don’t abuse the privilege of having someone so well-mannered at your beck and call. And make sure you sleep well tonight since I don’t want you to behave the same way tomorrow that you did tonight. That would make me a liar.”
She glared at him and he adjusted his tie to hide the sudden urge to swallow saliva.
A Girl’s Best Friend (Moonlight Detective Agency Book 3) Page 6