He turned to face me. My gaze locked with his, and raw emotion flashed in his eyes. What emotion, I couldn’t be certain. It was gone before I could get a read on it.
“I’m not breaking any laws. There aren’t any bodies that can be tied to this brand—not yet. Once I get that tie, I’ll have enough to make a case.” His expression turned grim. “But I think that’s going to be especially difficult. The brand must have been spelled, somehow, to affect your power.”
“Excuse me?” If I’d been a cat, my fur would have bristled. The idea of something affecting my power was ridiculous. “That’s impossible. Why the hell would you think that?”
“Because the face you drew—it’s not possible he was involved.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because he’s a friend.”
My pride flared at the insinuation that my powers could be corrupted. “Maybe you know him, but I’ll bet you anything that you’re wrong.”
“Anything?” He quirked an eyebrow at me and I felt my face flush. As if my reaction invited him, he leaned into my space. My stomach tensed, but I didn’t move back. Not even when he reached up and tucked a bit of hair behind my ear. “Now that’s a bet I’d like to lose.”
Chapter Three
A couple of hours later, Claude was showing me to his guest room.
We’d just returned from delivering the brand to Natalie, a Covenant witch, who seemed more like a friend than a colleague to Claude. She thought his theory that the brand was spelled to give an inaccurate vision to be far-fetched. But she had promised to look into it—for a fee, of course. Friend of Claude’s or no, she was still a Covenant witch.
The vampire guided me down the corridor, confident and a little distracted, as if my staying with him wasn’t a big deal. As if he lent the room often. For all I knew, he did.
Staying here made more sense than going to a hotel. And the part of my mind that disagreed could kindly shut the hell up.
But he had a point. If this vampire Nicolas had gone after cops on his trail before, he’d be likely to do it again. I would rest just a little easier with a powerful vampire down the hall. A hotel might not be safe.
“Do you get a lot of visitors?” I asked, once I’d freshened up and met him back in the kitchen. Takeout Indian food lined the countertop, and I climbed onto a bar stool and reached for my Styrofoam container.
“Loads. It’s a regular hotel-motel around here,” he said from the other side of the breakfast bar. I raised an eyebrow at that and he laughed. “Occasionally. Vampires have friends, you know.”
Heat flushed my cheeks. Of course vampires had friends, and after working in the OWEA with all sorts of different otherworlders, I had to admit that most were very similar to humans in how they acted—at least on the surface. But behind closed doors…
Well, I’d seen a lot of weird shit on the job, too.
“So let’s talk about it,” I said. No point in avoiding the topic any longer. I needed to know who the man in that picture was. That was why I was still here, after all. Helping Claude was purely secondary. And if I continued to repeat that, eventually I’d believe it.
He sipped a dark red wine that lingered on the glass in such a way that it made me wonder. But Claude was private, and didn’t strike me as brazen enough to drink blood in front of me without asking.
“Talk about what? The Indian food? Because it smells divine—”
“Drop the bullshit, Claude. Who is the man in the picture?”
“Why is he so important to you?”
Because my vision of the vampire was real, whether Claude believed it or not. More than that, it confirmed the vision I’d had during my childhood—when I should have been too young to have a psychometric vision—had been real, despite everyone’s insistence.
And that meant Claude’s friend had been involved in more than one murder.
Suddenly the air around me disappeared, and the world twisted. Of course. Few events were traumatic enough to psychically imprint an event on an object.
The same bit of logic followed for that piece of my brother’s coat.
My older brother, Eddie—nine years my senior—had almost definitely died before they found part of his jacket. Before I’d touched it. Before the police officer had brought it by for my parents to identify.
The officer had been careless while he comforted my parents and had left it on the table where I, a curious ten-year-old, happened upon it. But how could he have known it would spur a vision that would influence my entire life?
“I’m the one who’s taking time out of my life to help you on an investigation that could lead to misconduct charges. I deserve to know what you know,” I said.
“Oh, I hardly think your job is at risk—you are far too valuable.” He leaned toward me. The breakfast bar kept a safe distance between us, but the slight smell of him—spicy and clean—drifted to me, present even with the Indian food permeating the air. A grin touched his lips, as if he could see my mental squirming and he resumed his perfectly straight posture. “Your powers as a psychometrist are quite important to them.”
That I’d been thinking almost the exact same thing irritated me. That I wanted to lean toward him to see if the intoxicating smell of him was real or imagined irritated me even more. “Not the point.”
“And what would you be doing if you weren’t here, helping? Not working a case, that’s for sure.” He took a sip of his hopefully-wine as I processed what he’d said. “Not until psych signs off on you.”
Embarrassment warred with anger, and they mixed to run through me in a sickening wave. He knew. He knew that I’d been put on a leave of absence. Sure, it was something that happened to psychometrists, and most went back to work afterward for another year or two, until the pressure built back up and they had to decompress again.
Until the dreams and dark thoughts pushed them to a point where they couldn’t function in their jobs anymore.
But the idea that Claude knew—a man I’d admired, a man who had probably never shown a moment of weakness in his life—shook me to my core.
Who else knew? Fuck.
I couldn’t let him know how much this bothered me. I twisted my finger out of the bit of hair I’d unconsciously wrapped around it, and then slammed my hand down on his counter—making a most unsatisfying low thump. Stupid granite countertops. “Tell me now or I’m out of here.”
“I’m sorry,” Claude murmured, mouth only inches from my hair.
I jumped. He stood next to me now. Fast would be an understatement.
“I had no right—”
“Whatever.” I waved off the hand he was trying to touch my shoulder with. I didn’t need comfort. “Just tell me who the fuck the vampire from my vision is.”
Claude sighed, almost imperceptibly, then walked at a more human speed back to the other side of the breakfast bar where he’d left his half-drunk glass of wine.
“The man in the drawing is Luc Chevalier.”
I grabbed the beer he’d gotten me, which I’d left untouched, and tipped it to my lips. The cold liquid slid down my throat, coating it as I downed half the bottle.
“Are you all right?”
“The Magister.” The vampire leader for Illinois, Wisconsin, and Iowa. One of the most powerful vampires in the country. And father to the vampire Claude hunted.
The Magister had been involved in my brother’s disappearance, and I’d seen it in my vision. I’d convinced myself that the flash—and accompanying nightmares—I’d gotten off my brother’s jacket eighteen years before had been my imagination.
But now I knew it was a vision, because the man—the vampire—I’d seen, fucking existed.
How had I not known? How had I not seen him on the news? He was the vampire equivalent of a local politician—only more powerful. Maybe because most vampires were notoriously camera shy, and I didn’t much care about noncriminal-related news anyway.
“I know him, Beatrice. And I know he wouldn’t be involved in this mess
. Wouldn’t take innocent lives.”
“You can’t be certain of that.”
“I can—”
“How? How can you say that for sure? Because old vampires are terrible at hiding things, right? That’s how they survive for so long—excessive honesty?”
“I’ve been friends with the man for centuries. Centuries. Vampires that old don’t just change. And he couldn’t have hidden ritualistically killing people or torturing them with branding irons for centuries from me.”
I found myself, once again, unable to look away from the pale irises. He cared—really cared—about this friend of his. And the way he spoke, it was as if he needed me to believe in the Magister as well.
I turned to look at my beer bottle, still clutched in my hand. “Sometimes, it’s the people closest to us who are able to fool us most easily—or we fool ourselves.”
“I’m not saying he’s an angel—he’s not—but he’s also not a sociopath. I’m not an idiot, mon chou.” Exhaustion suddenly soaked his tone, and he leaned against the counter for support.
A shiver ran up my back at the familiar endearment, but I took a deep breath and ignored it. “I’m not saying you are.”
“Do you really think that I could be close to him for so long and not notice that kind of flaw? We can only fool ourselves so much.”
I thought about that. After centuries at the vampire’s side, could he fail to notice a sociopathic nature? Sounded unlikely. And for that to happen to a man like Claude—an investigator at his very core? Hell, I’d heard he’d served in law enforcement for decades, before vampires were even acknowledged as anything more than old wives’ tales.
But I couldn’t let the idea go.
I forced myself to study the vampire before me. The longish hair, the AC/DC T-shirt, the light blue eyes, and the strong jawline. The wide shoulders and obvious strength in his arms.
Every instinct in my body told me that he was worthy of trust. Even our time together—with its abrupt ending—supported the fact that he was an honest man. He’d never made me any promises, no matter what my heart had hoped for. But if I trusted him, then I had to give his friend the benefit of the doubt.
Because if Luc Chevalier proved to be a villain, so too, would Claude.
“All right. I’ll give your friend the benefit of the doubt,” I said, finally, voice thick. So much for telling him about my brother’s and Luc’s connection. I definitely wasn’t going to share it now.
Tension left him so visibly it was like a waterfall rushing to disappear into the floor beneath him. “Thank you.”
“But I’m also not letting you investigate this alone.”
His head jerked up and his eyes met mine. I stifled a grin. How often was Claude Desmarais startled? Not often, I would wager.
“Why not?”
My urge to smile faded. Saying that I didn’t trust him to bring in a man with whom he’d shared several lifetimes of friendship wouldn’t encourage him to let me in. “Like you said, I’m not allowed back on active duty for a couple more weeks, and I’m bored.”
To my surprise, he didn’t argue that it wasn’t safe. He didn’t even try a halfhearted attempt. Instead, he nodded. “I’d appreciate your insights, especially if Natalie is able to remove whatever is on the brand that’s clouding your vision.”
Thank God I’d had years to perfect my poker face, otherwise I don’t think I could have kept a convincingly blank expression. “We’ll see.”
He set his wineglass in the sink and then turned to me; some of the concern I’d thought I’d seen earlier touched his expression. “No playing hero, and no talking about this to anyone but me. I can protect you, but no reason to add to the risk.”
“Don’t worry. I’m no hero.”
“That’s not how I remember you.”
“Your memory is faulty.”
“Is it?” His voice turned wistful. “It’s served me well. Gotten me through many nights alone. My memory, and wondering what might have been.”
Something shifted in my chest, pushing into my throat. I’d spent more nights thinking about what-ifs than I’d ever admit, too. I took a drink of my beer to buy myself a moment, but my voice still came out hoarse. “Pondering what-ifs is a waste of time, Claude. The past is what it is. We’re all on the paths we’ve chosen.”
“The future is hardly set in stone,” he said, but I could barely hear him, his voice was so low.
“It might as well be.” I drank the rest of my beer and then muttered a good night and headed back to my room, thoughts reeling. Thinking about the emotion I clearly heard in his voice, when he talked about what might have been, was too dangerous. I forced myself to focus on the here and now. On the case. That Claude didn’t even try to discourage me from helping on this case seemed…out of character. Either he was exceedingly confident of his ability to protect me, or he was more worried about catching Nicolas than keeping people safe. Me-shaped people anyway.
Or hell, maybe I just didn’t know the vampire as well as I thought I did.
Maybe it was time for me to get out while I still could.
Chapter Four
“This place is messed up, little sister.”
A toothpick flashed, in and out of his mouth, and I winced at the sight. I always worried he’d stab his cheek with it, or puncture his lip. I’d managed to do both when I’d tried to copy the habit.
Sunlight reflected off his carrot-colored hair, bright despite the cold. It had to be cold—he was wearing his brown, puffy coat. That coat…
“Not a place for a little girl.” He spit the toothpick out and stared out into the street beyond. We sat on the edge of a sidewalk, next to a gutter clogged with trash. The musty scent of it touched my nose.
I knew this corner.
I opened my mouth, but he turned to me and I lost my train of thought. His mouth twisted into a wry grin. “But I guess a little girl is all I got, huh? Figures you’d be my only hope.”
“I’m not a little girl,” I argued, but my voice came out wrong. Different. Young.
His green eyes, so similar to my own, were bleak, but his voice was flat when he spoke.
“Don’t let them take me.”
Darkness washed over us, as if the whole world had suddenly dropped away from the sun. Streetlamps filled the shadows with their eerie glow. Tires shrieked.
I closed my eyes against the noise. And when I opened them again, my brother was gone. A torn bit of his coat remained, the edge just touching a small pool of blood.
My breath came fast and panic curdled in my stomach, but I couldn’t move. A yelp cut through the silence. I couldn’t see who was screaming. Couldn’t see anything anymore. But I knew who cried out for help. My brother. He had my brother. And he’d get me, too.
He was coming for me now. I knew it. I wouldn’t be able to get away. I turned my head.
Familiar features, twisted in hunger. A predator’s eyes.
He was here.
Sweat soaked my sheets when I awoke, and my heart raced, trying to beat its way out of my chest. I hadn’t dreamed of my brother in years—I saw plenty of fresh, new bad things to keep my subconscious busy on cases without my mind needing to dredge up old nightmares. But now, with one touch of a brand and one vision of Claude’s Magister, my brother again took center stage in my nightmares.
Going home wasn’t an option any longer. Even if Claude hadn’t been involved, I had to stay on this case.
My brother was right. I was his only hope. Even though it was too late to save him, I could find the man responsible for his death.
And I would.
Claude was gone by the time I’d dragged myself out of the shower and into the kitchen. The vampire had brewed fresh coffee. A short note left on the counter beside it said he’d be back soon, and that I should make myself at home.
Right.
I ate fast, grabbing a muffin I found in a small stack next to the coffeemaker, then I sipped coffee while I searched the Internet. There was almost no
thing to go on to locate the brand’s markings within the seemingly endless streams of data on the web. I needed to confine my search. I needed to get into the OWEA’s database.
I grabbed my cell phone and hit Parker’s name on my contact list. Two rings, and a deep voice answered.
“Parker. I need your login info for the database.”
“I don’t know if—”
“It’s fine, Parker. Really. I just need to do some research. Nothing stressful. Promise.” I crossed my fingers behind my back.
The new recruit, still in his first year on the job, hesitated for a second longer, then rattled off the information. I thanked him and hung up before he could ask me any questions.
He was a good-enough kid, and a good-enough partner. A lycan in his early twenties. Enthusiastic about his job. A decent investigator. Easily led.
Guilt pressed against the back of my mind, but I ignored it. Yes, I was using my influence as his senior partner. It was an abuse of power. An abuse of the crush he so obviously had on me. But hell, I wasn’t asking for much. Nothing he could get more than a slap on the wrist for sharing.
The OWEA database access wasn’t fully enabled from a personal laptop hooked up outside of an OWEA office, but I could access the records I needed—the “Items, Mystical and Magical” database. I searched for branding irons first, but there were dozens of records, far more than I expected. I narrowed down the search further by adding in the term “ritual.”
Seventeen items remained. The first four proved to be standard irons, where the designs themselves weren’t important to the ritual in which they’d been used—it had been the pain that mattered. The next two twisted my stomach, and made me wish I’d never touched the muffin.
The designs weren’t important in those either, but the attackers had used their initials to brand their victims. I continued to click through the branding irons, stomach hardening at each picture, at each description. Finally, after looking at fourteen irons where the brand symbology didn’t seem relevant to the actual crime, I hit pay dirt.
Vampire Games (Entangled Ever After) Page 3