The glaring bouncer opens the door, all but growling at me as I pass. I suppress the urge to hiss at him like a cat. I zoom straight to the bar. “Vodka shot.” Mathilda, the bartender, glances back, I presume at Connor, then fills my shot glass. I chug the nasty crap and shudder. Still, I ask for another. Connor must grant her permission because Mathilda fills the glass again. Another shot and another shudder. I’ve never gotten black out drunk but tonight seems like a good time to try it out. Probably should have done it from the moment I touched down in San Diego. “Another.”
“No, we are returning to my apartment,” Connor says, taking my arm, “before you pass out.”
“No! I want to dance again!”
“Beatrice—”
“Leave me alone!” I pause. “Just…not now.”
He studies my pained face with a straight scowl but does release my arm. “Fine.”
Motion. Must stay in constant motion. No quiet. No rest. Thoughts come when I don’t.
I stumble toward the dance floor and begin gyrating with the equally fucked up horde. All of us here trying to drink, to dance, to screw the shittyness of life away if just for the night. What the hell is so fantastic about reality? Who needs it? Here’s better. Dancing until I die. At least you die having fun instead of…tears suddenly fill my eyes, but I blink them away. Just dance, bitch.
I dance to two more songs until my arms and legs begin to ache and the vodka begins its job. The whole world, the whole of me blurs and dulls just like before he ruined everything. Home. Hope. Two made up concepts that only exist in the human mind. I don’t have either? Here is home, this dance floor, because it makes me happy. Kansas and the F.R.E.A.K.S. aren’t home. I don’t belong there. Probably never did. And hope? I have hope. Hope is the hangover isn’t too terrible tomorrow. See? Nothing to fight for or against, Oliver. If this is the abyss, the dark side, it’s a hell of a lot better than where I was before.
Except I have to pee now. See? Stupid reality sucking away all my fun. I must be drunker than I realized because I can barely walk straight toward the toilets. Damn it, the line is all the way down the hall. I’ll go back to Connor’s and—
Wait, I know that guy. I stop dead at one of the tables along the wall where a chatting foursome, one of whom I vaguely recognize. I have to blink to buy my brain time to make sure I’m right. Thin frame, long stringy hair, white peasant top, busy beard, yeah it is so him. The asshole vamp who abused his teenage consort then ratted me out to Connor for trying to help her escape him. Pathetic little prick, couldn’t even face me man-to-woman. Had to hide behind Connor. My eyes jut to the girl he now has his arm around dressed in a matching peasant top. Her I’ve never seen. She sure as hell isn’t Mariah, though they appear the same age and with the familiar hollow cheeks, frail frame, and bruises not quite concealed by make-up. Looking at this new lost girl my whole body tingles with fury. Out of nowhere the table they sit at suddenly flips, doing a full one eighty, spilling the drinks all over the couples. The startled and confused group all leap away from the table.
“What the hell?” Moon Lipmann gasps. “What—”
Peering around for the source of this unexplained occurrence, Moon finally lays eyes on me. “Boo, asshole.”
It takes him a second to place me too, but the moment he does fear quickly morphs into anger. “I-I remember you. The F.R.E.A.K. who assaulted me.”
“And you’re the pathetic shithead who likes to starve and beat little girls.” I stare at the doe-eyed teen shrinking against her boyfriend. “This your latest victim? What happened to the last one?”
“None of your business,” Moon snaps.
“The hell it isn’t. Where is she? Where’s Mariah?”
“I don’t have to answer to you, bitch,” he spews back.
That’s it. I lose my mind with that last word. Be it the booze or rage or both, the bastard flies against the back wall, pinned by my invisible grasp. His friends gasp again. Guess they’ve never met a psychokinetic before. I step toward Moon and his three companions give me wide berth. Nice friends. “I’ll ask you again, asshole. Where is Mariah?”
“Let me go! You’re cra—”
My grip on his heart as I squeeze stops his words. “Where is Mariah?” I squeeze harder. “Answer me or I swear I will fucking kill you. I—”
“What the hell is going on here?” Connor asks behind me. “Release him. Now.”
I glance back at the infuriated Connor and concerned Krista, whose probably been watching me for him this whole time. Narc. “Not until he tells me where Mariah is.”
“Sir…” Moon whispers.
“Agent Alexander, cease this assault now!” Connor booms.
Those first two words knock some sense into my addled brain. I release his heart after those two words and the rest of him by the end of his sentence. Moon falls to his knees, clutching his pained chest. The very least he deserves. If we were alone I’d do what I’m dying to and kick him a few times in the ribs. I take a step back in case my resolve breaks.
“I-I wa-want that woman arrested. Th-this is the second time—”
Connor merely raises his hand, and the vamp shuts his mouth. My boyfriend peers at me with the same disdain he has for his underling. “What happened?”
“He won’t tell me where Mariah is.” My head whips Moon’s direction again. “He beat her and scarred her and did who knows what else to her before, and now he won’t tell me what happened to her.”
“And I told her it’s none of her damn—”
Connor holds up his hand again, silencing the worm. “This is easily remedied. Tell Agent Alexander where the woman is, and we can go our separate ways.”
For a flickering movement something close to terror flashes across Moon’s ferrety face. I’ve seen it a dozen times as I questioned perps, and in that moment I know she’s dead. He killed her. The bastard…it’s like a literal punch to the stomach. Bile rises into my throat. “She left me months ago,” Moon says. “She packed up her shit and left, I think home to her parents, alright?”
“Liar!” I roar as I lunge toward him again.
A tight grip latches onto my arm, stopping me. “Krista, please escort Beatrice to my apartment. I will be there shortly.”
“Connor—”
“Beatrice, I shall handle this. Leave. Now.”
Even in my drunken, crazed state, I’m cognizant enough to be afraid and not push my luck. Plus I’m pretty sure I’m about to throw up and really need a toilet. “Fine. Kick his ass for me, Danny Boy.” With my narc shadow in tow, I stumble a few steps before Krista grabs my arm to steady me. Why is walking so damn hard? The world spins so much the nausea becomes almost unbearable. I barely made it to Connor’s downstairs bathroom before puking.
“Gross,” Krista says. “I’ll, uh, go get you some water.”
Oh crap, I think I puked in my hair. I pull it aside when I throw up again.
Krista returns with a glass of water but the cold tile floor feels so amazing against my cheek, I don’t move. I don’t think I could move if I wanted to. I concentrate on stopping the world from spinning. Oh alcohol, I love and hate you so, though the dial is more toward hate right now.
I hear muffed voices in the living room, no doubt with me as the topic, but I don’t care. The alcohol’s still doing its job there at least. A few seconds later the voices stop and a few more after that someone steps into the bathroom. “Are you alright?” Connor asks sternly.
“I think I drank too much,” I mutter against the lovely floor.
“How astute of you,” he says.
“Did you arrest that child killing bastard?”
He’s silent for a moment. “No.”
Though the word twists and turns and the nausea returns, I force myself to sit up and face the stony Connor looming in the doorway. “Why the hell not? He killed his consort! He killed a teenage girl, Connor.”
“And he swore under oath that she left him months ago.”
“Of course he s
aid that! Oath or no oath, he’s not going to admit killing a helpless, love-struck teenager. I-I told you what he was doing to her at Christmas, Connor. Or don’t you care?”
“She is also one of my subjects. Of course I care. The matter was investigated then and if I can recall correctly, the girl refused to take it further.”
“And that was it? You talked to her once and decided that was enough? You let her…stay with that evil asshole and never thought about her again, didn’t you? Didn’t you?”
He tilts his head to the side. “Now are we talking about my alleged indifference or yours right now?” I can’t handle his scrutiny right now. I look away. “Is that why you assaulted him? Why you embarrassed me, placed me in an untenable situation, made me appear weak to my subjects for the second time in one night? Because Oliver stirred up some misplaced sense of remorse inside you? The man is a master manipulator, Beatrice. I have personally seen him seduce a nun with a few minutes of conversation. He will say or do anything to get what he wants from you, and in your current frame of mind, you are all but powerless to resist.” I chuckle wryly. “What?”
“Nothing. He just said the exact same thing about you. That you’re taking advantage of me. Using me.”
Those violet eyes narrow as his mouth and shoulders drop, I think in disappointment with a hint of sadness too. He shakes his head before sneering at the ceiling. “I do not…” His pained gaze returns to me. “What have I done, Beatrice? What have I asked you to do for me that would give even the slightest credence to those suspicions? Have I asked you to use your gift against my enemies? Turn your back on your morals and ethics to better my life? What have I done but attempt to make your life easier? Enjoyable. And what strings have I put on those attempts? Or are you so far gone it is impossible for you to believe someone can genuinely care for you and expect naught in return? Because I do. I genuinely like you. I could even…” He stops that train of thought. Thank God. “It has been…decades since I have met a woman I can engage with both intellectually and physically. Who is both gay and responsible when it is called for. So perhaps I am using you. I am using you to bring a bit of fun and joy into my frantic, maddening, dangerous existence. But if I am guilty of that crime then so are you, fairest. So is every human currently coupled on this earth. And I will remind you, you are not a prisoner here. The front door is wide open. You can leave whenever you fancy. But do not expect it to remain unlocked should you chose to use it. On the other side is a one way road back to where you were before with no return. The choice is yours, Agent Alexander, and quite frankly after tonight…after this conversation…I almost wish you were halfway through that bloody door already.”
He steps out of the bathroom, I think before his veneer breaks down further. I sit stunned for a moment. Another far too familiar wave of guilt crashes through me. I hurt him. I genuinely hurt his feelings. Blood from a stone my butt. I manage to stand up and though the world somersaults a few times, I walk into the living room where Connor just stands with his back to me and his head hung a little. “I’m sorry,” I say as I approach.
“No, I am sorry,” he says, not turning around. “I did not mean what I said. I lost my composure. That is not…like me.”
I reach him and wrap my arms around his torso, resting my head on his shoulder blade. He hugs my forearms with his own. “At least I now know you’re not the emotionless automaton everyone says you are. I just wish I didn’t have to piss you off for you to show it.”
“If I appear cold or indifferent…it is how one plays the game. The mask, the façade has saved me and mine countless times.”
“Well, you don’t need it around me, okay?” I kiss his back. “And I’m sorry I made you look bad in public. It didn’t even occur to me that was possible.”
“No, I…should have not ordered you about as I do others. Oliver is your…friend. You have every right to converse with him whenever you choose. I merely knew that if you did, this would happen. He would use every trick to cast suspicion upon me, upon my motives, and we would quarrel. Worse, you would believe him and…” He ceases speaking and just kisses my hand. “I merely want you to be happy, Beatrice, and he upsets you. I want to spare you as much pain as I can.”
I kiss his shoulder again. “And I appreciate that. I do. You are the only thing that’s made me happy in months.” I squeeze him tighter. “And I like you too.”
He chuckles and kisses my knuckles again. “Then you are the member of a truly exclusive club.” He releases my arms and slowly turns around to face me, that crinkle-eyed grin of his greeting me. “One I hope I never give you cause to leave.” He kisses my forehead. “Now let me get you cleaned up and into bed.” He kisses my forehead again. “Oh, I do not envy being you tomorrow.”
I look up into his gorgeous eyes. “And Mariah…”
“The situation is now delicate, fairest. You assaulted him without provocation and used your gift to do so in clear sight of humans. The law dictates I punish you and inform your former colleagues. With the truce with Antonia sitting on a razor’s edge, and us still under intense scrutiny, the incident could draw you and I into peril as well. So for now we must let it go. Let Mr. Lipmann calm down and forget.” He brushes a stray strand of hair from my cheek. “But I promise I will investigate the matter.”
“But—”
He shushes me and places a finger over my lips. “This is for your own good, fairest. To protect you as I promised I would. Trust me, Beatrice. Please.” I don’t have any fight left inside me tonight, so I simply smile and nod. That brings a smile to his face. “My word, you are a handful woman. A beautiful…” He kisses my forehead. “Enchanting…” Another kiss. “Infuriating…” He scoops me up like a bride and I chuckle. “Handful. But well worth the trouble.”
As he carries me upstairs, I almost believe those words.
Almost.
Chapter Nine
True Detective
Hangover. From. Hell.
What the hell was I thinking? What the—? I can’t even finish that thought as I throw up again, making my aching head and beat up body flare with pain again. This is so bad. Never again. So not worth this. Maybe if I blacked out it would be but not only is there the physical torture but the mental torture accompanies it at the same intensity. Mariah and Moon. The fights with Connor. The scene with Oliver. At least one of those troubles ended on a nice note. Connor drew me a bubble bath, massaged my shoulders, and even washed my hair for me before tucking me into bed without attempting sex. He even left the light on in the bathroom so I could move around the dark bedroom with minimal stumbling. If only he were awake now to turn me into a vampire so this pain would go away.
The shower helps with the physical torment a little. The rest not so much. Horrid flashes come into my head fast and furious. Oliver’s face when I went to Connor. Mariah’s face when I last saw her in that house. When I left her. That fleeting look of terror when I confronted Moon and knew she was dead. I don’t care what Connor said last night. I failed that girl. I should have followed up. Kept going to that house and befriended the teen. Or at least put another scare into her abuser. But I didn’t give her a second thought until now. What if he’d killed her in a fit of rage right after I left? That is when an abused woman is most likely to get killed by her partner, when he finds out she plans to leave him. Life got insane at Christmas, but as a sworn officer of the law it is literally my job to protect the innocent. Another failure. More blood on my hands. Well if I can’t save her, I damn well can find her body. Give her a proper burial. Let her family know what happened. Show her someone cared. Let her soul rest in peace.
What I did last night was stupid. I never should have gotten physical and spouted off my suspicions. I tipped my hand. Of course now he has Connor keeping me in check, he probably thinks he’s golden. He’s gotten away with it. And though Connor promised to investigate he’s got so much else on his plate, and God knows what will happen in the future. This isn’t a priority. What’s one dead teena
ge girl involved in a domestic? Well she damn well matters to me, and I have nothing but time on my hands. I pull my aching carcass out of the shower, drink two glasses of water, down another Alleve, and dress in jeans, sneakers, and pink t-shirt. I know Connor said I shouldn’t be doing what I intend to, but if all goes right he won’t find out until I have proof against Moon. He’ll still be pissed, I’m sure, but the damage will be minimal to him. I just have to not get caught.
Krista’s watching television downstairs in the living room when I come down with my suitcases again. My gauntlet to pass through. She tattled on me more than once…
“Afternoon,” I call cheerfully.
Krista leaps off the couch to help me. “Hi! How are you feeling?”
“Mortified. I don’t know what got into me last night. I’m so sorry you had to see me like that.”
“If I had a dollar for every time I saw someone in our circle barf, Jack and I could buy our own island.” She set the suitcase down beside the couch and I do the same. “Matt, the chef, was here earlier. He left you a smoothie that works miracles on hangovers. It cured mine.”
“Where is this magical elixir? Gimmie.”
With a smile that matches mine but is actually genuine, Krista hurries to the kitchen as I sit at the bar. The smoothie is a rusted color and reeks of raw meat even from here. I take one sip of what can only be described as old blood covered Brussel sprouts left out in the sun for a week. I literally gag and push it away. “I am not that desperate. I’ll just get Starbucks on my way to the hospital.”
“Hospital?”
“It’s just a check-up.” I lift my bangs to show her my ragged scar. She cringes. “I had a car accident a few months ago. The doctor scheduled one last CT scan to make sure everything healed right.” All of this is true, it just happened a few weeks before. “It’s nothing.”
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