Black Of Mood (Quentin Black: Shadow Wars #2): Quentin Black World

by JC Andrijeski

“Oh,” he said. “Wow. So this is a real bad guy. What’s his name?”

  “Brick... or ‘Mr. Brick,’” Black said at once. “And yes, it’s likely an alias. He might still be using it on legal documents, however.”

  His gold eyes flashed under the stage lights as he faced the cameras.

  “We’re working with several government agencies and law enforcement branches to find him. I can’t say which ones, but they’ve given me permission to bring this to the public. If you do run across him, do not approach him. He’s highly dangerous.”

  Steele’s eyes still held a flicker of excitement. “Any chance this is connected to what happened in Texas last night?”

  Black frowned. Resting a hand on his propped ankle, he inclined his head, noncommittal.

  “You know I can’t tell you that, Grant.”

  Steele’s eyes grew wider. Turning his shocked look back on the audience, he called out, “Wow! Did you hear that, folks? What do you say? Can we help out Mr. Black? The red light on my phone is blinking already. Should we take some calls?”

  The crowd yelled out their approval.

  Angel rolled her eyes, folding her arms across her chest.

  This was a damned circus.

  Black would never get anything real out of this.

  Even so, her gaze shifted to the old-fashioned black phone sitting on the corner of Steele’s desk. The red light bulb above the rotary dial was indeed flashing. As she watched it blink, Angel found she understood, really understood, what it was Black was doing.

  This wasn’t about getting useable intel on Brick.

  It wasn’t even about finding out who’d attacked that petroleum store in Texas, although Angel strongly suspected Black believed vampires were behind that, too.

  No, Black had just stuck his middle finger in the air at the vampire world.

  He was letting them know, in no uncertain terms, that he was coming for them.

  He was letting them know he wasn’t afraid to expose himself in the process.

  Angel couldn’t help thinking that was a really bad idea.

  “ARE THE CALLS getting routed through okay?” Angel spoke into her walkie-talkie, glancing at Dex when he joined her under the monitor. “No issues?”

  Dex, a heavily-muscled black man and ex-combat vet in his mid-to-late thirties, shook his head, answering the question before the man on the other end of the walkie could speak. Dex was technically in charge of their little threesome down in the lobby, where Angel had been assigned. Unlike a lot of the people Black had been working with of late, he was human. He was also one of Black’s senior employees.

  Ravi, who was on the other end of her walkie, was one of the non-humans.

  “No issues,” Ravi said.

  Colored with a strange accent, the seer’s voice always threw her a bit, probably because some part of her mind wanted to categorize it and couldn’t.

  “Most of the calls are bogus, of course,” Ravi added. “We’ve got a few potential sightings in California that we’re looking into. Both of them in the Los Angeles area. One was around that house... the one where the old vampire lived.”

  Angel glanced around to make sure none of the studio employees were close enough to hear.

  “We need a code name for those things,” she muttered into the walkie. Without waiting for Ravi’s answer, she added, “Why L.A.? You’d think they’d avoid the sunny places.”

  Dex grunted a laugh from behind her.

  “No idea,” Ravi said, sighing. “Any word on whether and when we’ll be getting more intel on their biology?”

  Angel glanced around her again in reflex. “None that I’ve heard. Black said it wasn’t going well, last I knew.” Focusing back on the wall monitor hanging over her and Dex, she scowled as she raised the walkie-talkie back to her lips. “Seems like they’re only picking the crackpot callers to go live on the show. Was that intentional?”

  A burst of static came before his answer.

  “Probably,” Ravi said. “It’s an entertainment show. They probably thought it would get more clicks and shares on social media.”

  Angel rolled her eyes a little.

  Still, some part of her couldn’t help finding it funny and kind of bizarre that a seer would be hazarding guesses about click-rates on social media, but maybe it wasn’t that strange, after all. They lived here now, not whatever other-dimension Earth they came from. That one seer, Jori, seemed to do nothing but play video games on his laptop when he wasn’t working, so she had to assume most of them were pretty well assimilated at this point.

  “Also,” Ravi added after the pause. “I was told Steele got the word from corporate not to go too heavy on the show, given the mood of the nation after the attack. This is supposed to be cathartic... not too serious. I suspect he’s going to get slapped a bit, for pressing Black about his oil investments.”

  Angel clicked the button. “Got it.” She glanced at Dex, asking him with her eyes if he had anything else. Dex shook his head. She turned back to the radio. “Okay thanks, Ravi,” she said. “Let us know if you need anything.”

  “Will do.”

  Angel hung the walkie back on her belt. As she did, another caller’s voice came through the monitor’s speakers above.

  “You ask me, this terrorist scum looks like...” A bleep-bleep-bleep cut out whatever swear words the caller used. His voice was deep, carrying a thick Texas accent. “If he really set those bombs last night, there’s no place on Earth he can hide where Texas won’t find him. We’ll turn him from a man into a woman, using nothing but a butter knife, and––”

  “Thank you!” Steele cut in, hitting the button to end the call. He flashed an amused smile at the camera. “That was ‘David in Texas,’ everyone, giving us some quick tips on sex-reassignment surgery...”

  The audience rippled with laughter.

  Angel shook her head, grunting like Dex had done.

  “And now it’s time for a commercial break!” Steele announced. “We’ll be right back with more crime-solving with Quentin Black!”

  Angel exchanged looks with Dex, who rolled his eyes the same time she did.

  She looked over her shoulder towards the glass doors leading into the lobby where Efraim, another seer, stood alone. He gazed out onto the street, dark eyes scanning whatever lived on the other side of that tinted glass. Standing still as a statue in a long leather coat and dark green pants, he appeared oblivious to both of them, and to everything going on around him.

  Talk about a guy who didn’t blend.

  Shaking off any lingering questions about Efraim, and the weirdness of seers in general, Angel returned her attention to the monitor.

  “You heard from Cowboy?” Dex said.

  Scowling, she shrugged. “Couldn’t get the asshole off the line earlier, although he never did tell me what he wanted. Nothing since the show started.”

  Dex chuckled. “Better you than Miri,” he said with a smile.

  Angel snorted. “Says you.”

  Even so, she scowled. Dex had obviously observed Cowboy’s interest in Miri as well. If he’d noticed, it was only a matter of time before Black did.

  Shoving the thought aside before she could wonder why she even cared, she decided it was a good time to use the restroom. Turning from Dex and the television screen, she started to aim her feet in that direction.

  Instead, she ran, full-tilt, into Efraim.

  He’d somehow managed to cross the room in that handful of seconds since she’d seen him by the glass door. Glaring up at him, she put out a hand.

  “Damn it, Efraim! Would you wear a bell or something?”

  Dex burst out in another laugh.

  Efraim himself didn’t acknowledge her words.

  He stared up at the monitor behind her instead, his angular face motionless. She knew the apparent brown of his irises came from tinted contacts. In reality, his eyes were a dark blue color, with a bright green ring around the rim.

  Truthfully, they were really pretty.
Even for one of them.

  Efraim’s eyes flickered towards hers, holding a dim surprise.

  Scowling, and flushing as she realized he must have heard her stray thought, Angel turned her back on him. Following his previous stare up to the monitor, she folded her arms, looking for what caught the seer’s attention.

  It didn’t take her long to find it.

  A woman had walked out on stage.

  She crossed the slick floor in cartoonishly high heels, wearing a short red leather miniskirt and black mesh top. Walking directly up to Black, she didn’t pause before getting right up in his space. Leaning over him with red lipstick, a broad smile and that see-through blouse, she began fiddling with the microphone Black wore on his lapel. As she did, her auburn hair fell in a curtain right by his face. Her body looked to be positioned strategically for the sole purpose of giving him an eyeful down that low-cut mesh top. A pendant fell out of her blouse, catching the light where it spun and turned just above her neckline.

  Angel snorted in disbelief. “Jesus.”

  She couldn’t hear what the woman said to Black, or what he said in return, but she guessed the twenty-something, model-looking girl wasn’t talking microphones. Watching her hips shift as she hung over him, Angel scowled.

  “She’s way too close to him,” she snapped. “Has someone ID’d her? Where’s Cowboy?”

  “She works here,” Dex said, touching his earpiece. “Cowboy is aware of her.”

  Angel grunted. “Yeah. I just bet he is.”

  She switched on her own earpiece, raising the microphone embedded in her sleeve.

  “Get that groupie off him, Elvis,” she snapped, without bothering with a greeting. “Now.”

  “Well, hello to you, Ms. Angel––”

  “I’m not kidding, Cowboy. Why is she so close to him?”

  A puzzled silence. “What do you expect me to do? Go up there and yank her offa ‘im?”

  “Or,” Angel snapped. “You could wait for Miri to shoot her. How about that?”

  Next to her, Dex let out a muffled laugh. When Angel glared at him, he waved her away, covering his smile with a hand.

  “She works here,” Cowboy pointed out with irritating reasonableness. “Black said for us to keep a low profile. I ain’t got no legitimate reason to drag her offa him, Ang, and you know it. Not when she’s pretending she’s doing something work-related. Even if we both know she’s just sticking her tits in his face for no reason apart from––”

  “Just deal with it, Cowboy,” she hissed. “Do your job.”

  “I am doing my job. If Mr. Black didn’t want her that close, I’m pretty sure he’d be the first one to––”

  Angel switched off before he could finish.

  She knew he was right, though.

  Truthfully, that was probably the main reason she was pissed. Why hadn’t Black told the redhead to buzz off himself? What the hell was he playing at?

  Whatever it was, she hoped Miri wasn’t watching this.

  Angel knew her friend tried her damnedest not to react to the attention Black got from other women. His newfound fame hadn’t exactly made that easy, though, or the fact that the two of them appeared to be having problems of their own.

  Angel knew it bothered her. Unfortunately, it would only get worse after this.

  Black was, in all senses of the term, an attractive man.

  Weird, yes. Unnerving and off-putting at times, sure.

  An asshole on occasion? Definitely.

  But attractive. That was in spite of those weird-ass eyes of his, which were an even brighter, sharper gold than the upholstery of the talk-show chairs. Those flecked gold eyes got him double, even triple-takes on the street. There was something vaguely predatory about them that could trigger hostile responses, as well, but generally, reactions to Black slanted more carnal. Angel had seen gay men try to pick him up on the street before, too.

  It didn’t help that he was rich.

  Or that he definitely knew how to pull women when he wanted.

  Still, Angel got the sense it was work for Black, to be as normal-seeming and as polite as he was acting right now. He wasn’t exactly flirting with the leggy redhead with the leather mini-skirt and the matching five-inch heels, but he was playing the game. Being friendly. Acting like he didn’t notice her batted eyes, or the fact that she’d shoved her breasts in his face.

  To his credit, he even managed to keep his eyes up and on hers, rather than down where she clearly wanted them.

  Still, something about their dance felt scripted, too.

  Fleetingly, Angel wondered if Black actually knew her. Maybe the redhead was some old flame of his, or, more likely, a one-night stand. From what Miri said, there’d been a lot of those. If so, he might be pretending he didn’t remember her for Miri’s sake.

  This woman might be screwing with him for the same reason.

  Angel’s scowl deepened. She’d never understood those games. She’d often wondered if there was a split in the women of the world, between those who got off on them, and those who instinctively despised them.

  Steele watched the redhead, too, his mouth open as he looked her over.

  He was less able to play it cool.

  “Excuse me, miss?” he said, trying to make it a joke. “My microphone could use some adjusting, too. The speakers in my apartment aren’t working so hot, either.”

  A few in the audience tittered.

  The woman ignored him.

  She smiled at Black, red lipstick exaggerating the size of her lips. “That better, baby?” she cooed, resting her palm on his shoulder. She smiled wider as she flipped back her hair, leaning in closer. “Or do you want me to check it again?”

  Angel snorted, folding her arms.

  When she glanced at Dex, he was staring at the woman on the monitor, too.

  “Holy Moses,” he said. “I hope Miri’s not seeing this.”

  Angel let out a grunt. “Oh, I’m sure she is.”

  “Then I hope she’s not armed.”

  Angel snorted, involuntarily that time. “I’m sure she’s that, too.”

  The countdown came up on the monitor, signaling they were about to go back on the air. The leggy redhead disappeared, and Black sat up in his chair. Steele did the same, readjusted his jacket, smiling towards the camera as he smoothed his tie.

  “And we’re back!” he said, grinning at the end of the countdown. His messy blond hair shone under the stage lights. “We’re here with Quentin Black, private detective and Rock Star of Wall Street! We’ve been taking calls, trying to help him find his latest bad guy, a suspected terrorist who goes by the name Mr. Brick!”

  Steele turned, grinning at Black, white teeth flashing.

  “What do you say?” he said. “One more call?”

  Black shrugged, another of those wry smiles toying at his lips. “Sure, Grant.”

  “Okay, just one more.” Steele hit the button on his old-fashioned phone with a flourish.

  There was a pause where everyone held still, waiting.

  Steele cocked his head, smiling. “Is anyone there?”

  A voice rose out of the silence.

  Clear. Precise.

  Unlike all the calls before this one, it ignored the presence of Grant Steele entirely.

  “Mr. Black? Mr. Quentin... Rayne... Black? Is it really you?”

  The voice drawled out each syllable in a refined New Orleans accent, the faintest lilt of humor audible in each word.

  Angel stiffened. She’d heard that voice before.

  The caller continued in a lazy drawl.

  “All of these theatricals, Quentin... these elaborate and embarrassing pleas for my attention. I must say, I am finding it quite uncomfortable to watch.”

  Black focused on the speakers set in the wall, unmoving.

  He looked like an animal staring at distant prey.

  The voice tsk-tsk’d, and Angel could almost see the vampire shaking his head.

  “...That you would risk your o
wn race. That you would risk your freedom... your family’s life... all in some childish pursuit of emotional gratification. I’m sorry to say, these antics of yours have made me respect you just a little bit less, my friend.”

  Black’s jaw hardened perceptibly.

  He didn’t speak.

  “Moreover,” the voice continued, its pleasant tones still holding the faintest edge of a rebuke. “Are you truly not aware just how much you are showing up there, my friend?” The thick New Orleans accent pulled at his words. “Gods of the true source... I don’t even have to bring your species into the light, Quentin. You are doing it for me, and on national television. Or international, really. We know it all ends up on YouTube in the end…”

  Angel looked at Dex, who was already speaking softly into his sleeve. He glanced at her with hard eyes, nodding to her unspoken question.

  “They’re working on a trace,” he murmured. “Psychics, too.”

  The voice over the loudspeaker lilted upwards.

  “And where is the lovely Miriam?” it asked pleasantly. “Still playing cat and mouse, will-they-won’t-they, with your dearest beloved? You know...” he added thoughtfully. “If you continue to neglect her as you do, she will surely find someone who will pay more attention to her, Quentin. Better men than us have lost their life’s loves from such foolish mistakes.”

  He paused, sharpening his voice.

  “I saw your handiwork from last night, Quentin.” The voice held the first hint of real animosity. “I must say... poor show, friend. Poor show. All those innocent humans. So many lives lost. So much potential wasted.” He paused. “You know how I admire your pluck. I do. But that was hardly a civilized way to deal with our mutual problems, was it? And here I was, thinking you’d left your sordid past behind you…”

  Angel glanced at Dex, who quirked an eyebrow.

  Black finally broke his silence, letting out a disbelieving sound.

  “Really?” he said flatly, gripping the armrests of his chair. “You’re going to try and pin that on me? Really? That’s weak, Brick. Even for you.”

  Murmurs broke out in the studio audience.

  Steele gaped at Black. Turning, he mouthed Brick’s name at the camera, pointing at the image of the vampire’s face, which was still up on the monitor.