by Daley, Lysa
“I can give you his last known address, as well as the contact information for someone may know more than we do,” she said, picking up her $1000 Mont Blanc pen from its gold holder and scribbling a name on a piece of personal stationary. “This person has been reluctant to talk to us. They may, however, find your boss to be… more persuasive.”
When she was done writing, she held the piece of paper up between her perfectly manicured red fingers.
She wanted to trade.
I had no idea if her information would be helpful or not. But, at this point, it was all I had. I held my paper out, and we quickly made the swap.
I read the name Xavier with a 310 cell phone number. I silently hoped that she wasn’t just shining me on. She could have written down any old name or number.
As if reading my thoughts, she said, “Don’t worry. Xavier will be useful.”
Then she stood and walked me to the door. I took one final sip of the strong coffee and followed her. Glancing out the double walls of windows, I saw that the sun had finally sunk beneath the watery horizon, leaving the city in a blanket of gloom.
Another little shiver of fear rippled through me, knowing I was now in vampire territory after dark.
The more senior vampire was gone. The younger escort remained, waiting for me outside her office.
“Thank Stryker for the information,” Santina said graciously, standing at her door and holding up the index card I’d given her.
“I will.”
“And tell him… if I ever see him again, I’ll rip his throat out.” The door slammed shut.
“This way,” the young vampire beckoned, and I followed him back toward the elevator. The previously bustling office was now a ghost town.
The sound of our footsteps echoed on old wooden floors that looked like they’d been pillaged from a French chateau. It crossed my mind that they probably had been.
We exited through the reception area. The impossibly pretty receptionist was now sprawled out on one of the waiting area couches sound asleep.
Apparently, repeated loss of blood can wipe a girl out.
As we passed her, I saw that her face was so still and peaceful that I silently hoped she was only sleeping.
I stepped into the waiting elevator and was surprised when my escort followed me in.
“I’m okay,” I said before the doors could close. “I can find my way down to the lobby.”
“Company rules. I have to escort you.”
Looked like I didn’t have a choice.
As the thick metal doors slid shut, an uncomfortable silence filled the small elevator car, and I could feel his eyes on me. Suddenly, the lights went out, throwing the cramped space into total darkness.
Instinctively, I felt for my gun, but it wasn’t there.
It only then occurred to me that I’d forgotten to get my gun back.
Chapter Twenty
The elevator began to descend.
I’d left the gun with the wooden bullets in the safe back in the reception area. Not smart. Possibly a deadly mistake.
For a moment, I lost my bearings in the darkness and felt disoriented. I turned my head to see two glowing eyes, like a cat in the night, staring at me. The only other light came from the red emergency call button that was too far away for me to push.
Fear surged through me.
“But, your friends insured my safety?” I said in the near darkness.
A voice answered. “Only while you were on our premises.”
That seemed like a technicality.
Still, if I didn’t do something fast, I was about to become this vampire’s dinner. My eyes slowly adjusted in time to see the vampire lunge at me. I dodged to the left, but his strong hand grabbed my shoulder. He squeezed, trying to turn me toward him, pain radiating down my arm.
I did the only thing I could think to do.
I closed my eyes. Think small. Small, small, small. The image of a bug formed in my mind. First, I saw a butterfly. Too big. Then a bee. Too much buzzing.
Suddenly, my body jolted forward. An unearthly hissing rang in my ears. It came from the vampire preparing to sink his fangs into me.
I struggled to concentrate. Think of something, Lacey!
An instant before he his fangs made contact, I shrank into a small red and black beetle.
I’d transformed into a ladybug.
As my tiny wings carried me to the corner of the elevator, I watched the vampire spin in a circle, searching.
Unlike the more senior vampire, I wasn’t sure if he knew I was an animagi or not.
I landed on the metal handrail and tried to remain as still as possible. I hoped I was small enough to elude him until the elevator made it to the lobby.
He turned a circle then looked up and down like I was on the ceiling.
Then he stopped and stood very still, eerily silent and unmoving. I hoped he thought I’d transported myself out of the elevator to a different location. Some witches can do that.
As slowly as I could, I crawled around to the back of the railing. When I couldn’t see him anymore, I tucked my six legs under my hard red and black shell and tried to be silent.
I heard the familiar little ding, indicating we’d arrived at the ground floor.
Please let the door open so the vampire could get out and go away.
But no. Instead, he pulled the stop lever on the interior panel, powering down the elevator so the door wouldn’t open.
Vampires could see in the dark. Ladybugs, not so much.
He shuffled around the elevator, looking high and low. He must have suspected that I was somehow still in the elevator car.
If he found me, in my current form, I didn’t have any blood for him to drink anyway. Insects don’t need hemoglobin, that red stuff in our blood that carries oxygen. Instead, they have hemolymph, which is yellow in a ladybug. It’s also loaded with noxious chemicals that protect them against predators.
Suddenly, I wished I could become a six-foot tall ladybug and attack this vampire with my noxious yellow chemicals.
That would’ve been fun.
Instead, it was much more likely that he would have just squashed me.
I silently vowed to never step on another ant for as long as I lived.
Eventually the vampire gave up and restarted the elevator. He stepped out into the lobby as soon as the door opened.
As fast as my little wings would take me, I flew up and out of the elevator before the door closed and trapped me inside. I barely escaped as they whooshed closed again.
In the open lobby, I continued upward, above his head.
A few steps away from the elevator, the vampire stopped and turned. Something had somehow alerted him. Vampires had extremely good hearing. Had he heard the sound of my wings?
He looked around, back and forth, then eventually zoomed in on me. His expression change into one of fury as I continued to fly higher and farther out of his grasp.
He must have decided the joke was on him. A beat later, his anger gave way to a half smile as he turned and walked away muttering and shaking his head.
For now, I was safe.
I came in for a landing perpendicular to the floor on the decorative black marbled lobby walls. Totally exhausted, I rested.
I didn’t know how long I sat, gathering my strength, but eventually I found enough energy to fly over to a dimly lit alcove near the doors. I landed behind what was probably a valet counter during the busy workday. At this late hour, it was closed. And empty.
Resting on a black rubber floor mat behind the counter, I turned back into my human form. I remained in a crouched position, hidden from view.
I knew I was too shaken to walk the three blocks alone back to my car. And it was getting dark fast. Instead, I pulled out my cell phone and ordered an Uber. It would cost me at least ten buck, but I sure wasn’t going to take the chance that I would run into any more vampires on the streets of Beverly Hills tonight.
I stayed hidden behind the vale
t stand while I watched the electronic blip that was the car approaching on the little live map on my phone’s screen. When I got the message that my driver had arrived, I quickly made my way out the building’s front doors, down the wide steps of the tower, and onto the sidewalk.
I spotted the silver four-door VW idling at the curb and practically broke into the 50 yard dash to get to it.
“You Lacey?” the Asian driver asked, leery of my freaked-out state.
“That’s me,” I said, trying to act normal. “Thanks for picking me up.”
“You’re lucky,” he said as we pulled into traffic. “Most of the other Ubers have left Beverly Hills by now. I was on my way home when I got your call.”
I knew he was right. No one wanted to be in this area after dark. The regular humans bugged out before sunset. If I’d waited any longer, I would have been forced to take my chances walking to my car.
“Thanks,” I said again. “I really appreciate it. You have no idea.”
As we drove off, I sat back and relaxed. Then my cell vibrated in my pocket and Stryker’s number appeared on the screen.
“Did you get the info?” he asked.
“They say they don’t know where he is,” I replied.
“Bullshit,” he said flatly.
“I don’t know. I believed her. But she gave me the name and address of the last place he’d been living. Said his friend might know something. I guess he’s —”
“Don’t say anymore on the phone. Meet me first thing tomorrow at Jinky’s in Santa Monica at 8am. If you’re nice, I’ll buy you pancakes.”
He hung up before I could tell him I didn’t eat pancakes. Too many carbs.
Hopefully the information on this Xavier character that I’d gotten from Santina would be useful. Also, I hoped Mr. Stroud wasn’t going to make me pay for losing my gun.
Jinky’s Cafe sat in the heart of Santa Monica. I stopped a few steps from the front door on the corner of Santa Monica Blvd and 2nd Street, gazing the two short blocks to where the clear blue Pacific Ocean opened up before me.
Jinky’s Cafe was a local chain known for breakfast and their chili. Seemed like an odd combination, but apparently it worked for them.
Still, I was surprised to find Stryker spread out in a booth working on a steaming hot bowl of extra hot beef chili when I walked in at 7:58.
“Sit.” He gestured to the seat across from him. Even at eight in the morning, he was wearing his black leather jacket and black combat boots.
As I slid into the booth across from him, he snapped his fingers and two waitresses practically killed themselves to get to our table first. The dark-haired waitress won out and pushed her way in front of the other.
“Need something, Stryker?” she cooed.
“Get the lady a coffee.” Then, as a complete afterthought, he asked, “You want a coffee, right?”
“Sure,” I nodded to the waitress, who stood glaring at me. If looks could kill.
When she walked away, I said, “I guess you’re a regular?”
“Naw, chicks dig me.” He winked. After a beat, he shrugged one shoulder. “Just kidding. I’m here three times a week.”
I was still more than a little surprised to learn that Stryker lived in tony Santa Monica, where life was sweet, and the rents were high.
Los Angeles’ fashionable Westside was populated by the rich, beautiful, and famous, who lived in sprawling mansions with park-like lawns and gleaming ocean views.
“Nice to see you survived your little trip yesterday.” He smiled knowingly.
“Barely,” I said, anger rising. “One of her vampires tried to get frisky with me in the elevator. I nearly became one of the legion of the undead.”
“Seeing as you’re up and out on this sunny morning, I can only assume he was unsuccessful.”
I’d gone back right after sunrise to retrieve my car. As I approached, I saw that a parking ticket had been tucked under the windshield. $65 for parking overnight.
Of course. Just my luck.
But upon closer inspection, I realized there was a handwritten note on it. It read:
Where are you? Why is your car here? I’m starting to seriously think whatever you’re into is way over your head. Call me ASAP. So I know you’re safe. Sam. 310-555-4476.
It was that cop again. He was totally following me. What a jerk. He could have at least left the note without the ticket. No strawberry jam for him.
I put my elbows on the table and leaned toward Stryker. “Was that some sort of test? Sending me into a vampire’s hive to see if I could get myself out?”
Before he could answer, the waitress arrived with my coffee. The thick mug clanged on the table as she pushed it toward me hard enough for hot black liquid to slosh over the edge.
“Could I get some—” In the middle of asking for cream, she walked away.
“We needed that info from Santina.” Stryker groaned. “But I’m not going to deny I have a little more confidence in my decision to hire you knowing that you gave one of her fang boys the slip.”
A different waitress swished past our table, and I raised my hand, “Could I get some cream?” But she ignored me too.
“Let me see what she gave you?” he asked.
I pulled the slip of paper from the inside pocket of my purse and handed it to him.
He read the name and sighed. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“You know that guy?”
“Oh yeah. Xavier Blackwood is a big time scumbag. Owns a bar in the Venice Beach neighborhood that isn’t exactly on the up and up.”
“She said he might know where Bernardo is,” I replied as the first waitress whizzed by from the other direction. “Excuse me.”
Nope. I guess I was destined to drink my coffee black this morning.
Stryker smirked. Then he snapped his fingers.
A second later, the other waitress appeared. “What can I get you, Stryker?”
“A little cream for my friend.”
“Cream or milk? Soy or almond? We also have flavored creamers: hazelnut, Irish cream, vanilla, dulce de leche.”
He gestured toward me. I was going to say regular old cream would be fine, but instead I said, “Dulce de leche sounds yummy.”
Stryker continued to smirk.
“So how do we find this guy?” I asked, ignoring him.
“We give him a little wake up call.”
When my delicious sweet creamer finally arrived, I skipped the pancakes and ordered an omelet. I’d been thinking about getting the fruit plate but decided a little protein boost might be helpful for whatever new adventures awaited me this fine Santa Monica day.
While I ate, Stryker pulled out a laptop and plugged the 310 phone number into a piece of sketchy, and probably highly illegal, software. This brought up a location in Venice not far from where we were.
After we ate, Stryker paid the bill, and we headed out to his big black Range Rover. We took Ocean Avenue south toward Venice Beach.
“You know where this guy lives?” I asked.
“No, but I know where he works,” he said. “Blackwood moves around, but I know the general vicinity. Especially if Bernardo is dabbling in the dark arts.”
I gazed at the posh boutiques and restaurants of the Westside as we headed toward the picturesque Venice Beach neighborhood.
Finally, I asked, “What were all those numbers on the index card for Santina?”
He laughed. “I may have borrowed something of hers.”
That’s all he said, obviously being intentionally vague.
“Borrowed what? Her car? Her bicycle? Her lawn mower?”
He smirked again, and I was starting to think a smirk was his go-to facial expression. “Her airplane.”
“Her airplane!?”
“It’s just a small private jet.”
“And you didn’t give it back? Don’t airplanes have a tracking system or a lojack or something?”
“Apparently not.” He shrugged. “But now she can go
get it back. It’s out at a hanger in the desert. Those numbers were its global positioning location. That’s stuff pilots use.”
“Are you a licensed pilot?”
“Isn’t everyone?” he replied. “Let’s focus on Bernardo now and his unpleasant hobbies.”
“What kind of hobbies?”
“Word is he’s trying to summon himself a lesser demon.”
The word demon made my blood run cold.
“Demons are a Class 5 offense. That’s crazy dangerous,” I said.
“No kidding,” he replied like it was no big deal.
Only the most skilled and powerful supernaturals could summon a demon from the pits of hell, and keep any control over them. The results were almost always deadly if you didn’t handle them just right.
But lesser demons were a good way to get your dirty work done. They were highly effective assassins. In a pinch, they were also fearless security guards for your lair or haunted castle.
Of course, the price to keep them happy was a human soul every now and then. So there was that…
Maybe Sam had been right. Maybe, I’d gotten in over my head.
The question was -- how did I get out of it now?
Chapter Twenty-One
“Doesn’t summoning a demon, or any interaction with a demon, basically guarantee you a life sentence at Black Thorn?” I asked, worried about getting mixed up in anything that had to do with demons.
Black Thorn Penitentiary was a high-tech, high-security prison for the worst of the worst supernatural offenders. In its 300 years of existence, only one prisoner had ever managed to escape its impenetrable walls and live to tell the tale.
“Yes, but only if Bernardo gets caught.” He nodded. “He’s already alluded the magistrate once.”
The wheels were spinning as I tried to think of a way to get out of this whole thing.
As he drove, Stryker turned his head quickly to look at me. Sensing my concern, he said, “Don’t get nervous. I’m more worried about the vampire than a little minor demon.”
We drove the next several miles in silence, leapfrogging from stoplight to stoplight. The farther south we went, the more the neighborhood changed.