The bouncer, having already been embarrassed by her, took one look at her face and politely opened the door. “Good evening, Fürstin,” he said. “Welcome to Club Purgatory.”
Raven nodded in response and ducked through the entrance. As always, even at this hour, the club was filled with partiers, many of them either lycan or Embraced, as much of the human population had to get up and go to work in a few hours. She weaved her way through the bouncing crowd, eventually spotting Pashta sitting with another young woman at one of the corner tables. Raven waved to get Pashta’s attention and met her in the shadow of one of the club’s massive speakers.
“Pashta, you said before that one of the people who hung out with Vicki and Nate was an older man, is that correct?” she asked over the music.
“Yeah, he was a handsome guy, just a bit older than the people he was hanging out with,” she replied.
Raven pulled out the photograph she had previously taken from the murder board and showed it to Pashta. “Is this the guy you saw with them?” she asked.
Pashta took the photo and nodded. “Yes…yes, this is the guy,” she said, tapping it with one red-painted nail. “What is this, like a driver’s license photo or something?”
“Yes, we have access to the database. Thanks, Pashta,” Raven said, taking the photo back and slipping it into her purse. “Listen, was Taylor Hellsey ever around when this gentleman was here?”
“They were together frequently,” Pashta answered. “They seemed pretty close, really. Is that important for your investigation?”
“Probably,” Raven replied. “Thank you for your help; I owe you one.”
Pashta smiled and bowed with her head and watched Raven for several moments before she disappeared through the crowd.
Outside, Raven hurried toward the waiting Shelby and slipped behind the wheel. Once the engine was running and the heater blowing full speed to fight the chill of the rain, she checked in with Levac.
“Your hunch was right,” he said, ignoring any pleasantries. “Your new suspect has been taking money out of his account like clockwork every few weeks. He also makes purchases in Old Town every week to the tune of one thousand dollars for meat pies from Maggie Cooke. And lastly, he is the majority owner in Whitehall Pharmaceuticals. He used some of his personal wealth to build a Whitehall lab beneath the Anderson building. What does all this mean?”
“It means I’m an idiot and he’s more than likely our killer,” Raven replied. “Do we have an address on file for him?”
“One sec… Yeah, he has a place in Kenilworth just like our friend Symone.”
“Why am I not surprised?” Raven asked with a mirthless laugh. “Send a car to pick up Maggie Cooke; she is at least guilty of falsifying a police report and likely an accessory. When you’re done, meet me at Anderson’s place in Kenilworth.”
“It’s almost two in the morning,” Levac replied.
“Crime never sleeps,” said Raven. “Neither should we.”
II
The storm got much worse as Raven drove through the night toward the address Levac had given her. Lightning stroked angry fingers across the sky and a hard wind blew through the streets, taking power lines down throughout the city. Several times, she found herself diverted around broken lines and shattered poles, turning her ride into a ninety-minute ordeal. By the time she arrived at the massive estate, both Levac’s battered Lark and a Kenilworth patrol car were on scene. Raven parked behind the patrol car and exited the Shelby, her heels clicking on the wet pavement. Moving toward the locked wrought-iron gate, she was surprised to find the window to the patrol car down and the officer slumped against the wheel. Raven reached through the window and checked the officer’s pulse. He was already gone, his skin cold and wet from the rain pouring through the window.
Worry clutching at her heart, Raven hurried to Levac’s car. She opened the door and found him alive, but unconscious, a ragged slit in his throat trailing a waterfall of red that stained his filthy jacket with drops of crimson. Seeing no other choice if she was going to save his life, Raven steeled herself and lapped at the wound, her tongue sliding slowly over the gaping slit. The taste of his blood made her gag, but the enzymes in her saliva did their job, sealing the wound just as it would have if she had fed from him.
“Guess it’s a good thing Strohm fed on Mother after all,” she muttered. “Yay for me. Hang tight, Rupert; I am going to go bag a ghoul and then get you to a hospital. I’m not losing another partner, not you and especially not to this scumbag.”
She leaned him back in the seat and closed the door, protecting him from the worst of the rain. She then turned toward the house.
Unlike the Symone residence, only a few minutes away, this estate was laid out in a Victorian Gothic style, the kind of place that attracted fans of the macabre. The exterior fence was made from black-painted wrought iron, complete with equally spaced pikes. The main gate was held fast by a magnetic lock in the shape of a Gargoyle and the intercom had been placed inside the mouth of a second gargoyle to the left of the gate.
Beyond the gate, a wide, sloped driveway led to a massive house that looked like a replica of the house from Psycho, complete with a dimly lit circular window on the third floor. Raven looked up at the house with mild annoyance.
“Nothing like advertising you’re a kook to the world and the police overlooking it completely,” she groused. “If I get fired over this, it’s my own bloody fault.”
She tested the gate once, but, finding it locked fast, was forced to drop her umbrella and use both hands to hurdle over the gate. She landed lightly on the other side and jogged toward the house, her eyes searching the light forest on either side for any sign of her quarry or any of his pack.
She needn’t have worried. She reached the house without incident and found the door unlatched. With the knowledge of a warrant safe in Levac’s possession, Raven opened the door and entered the house, being careful not to make any noise.
The wide door opened into foyer that continued the gothic motif. Oval-framed, black-and-white photos of various people decorated the burgundy velvet wallpaper and gas lamps cast a dim light across the floor. Two doors emptied from the hall into adjacent rooms, and a staircase ascended to the second floor. Violin music filtered out from the door to her left; however, Raven checked the door opposite first. Beyond lay a large formal dining room and kitchen, both unoccupied.
Satisfied no one could sneak up on her, Raven turned to the closed door and pushed it open to find a large and well-decorated library. Massive oak shelves covered the walls from floor to ceiling, each laden with books of every description, from science fiction and fantasy novels to Wicca and ancient witchcraft. A fire burned in a fireplace on the north wall and several large leather chairs had been placed in various positions throughout the room for the comfort of library guests. Seated in one of the chairs with a book in his lap was Drake Anderson. He was dressed in a comfortable-looking robe that could have come from Hugh Hefner’s closet and a churchwarden pipe dangled from his lips, a trail of smoke rising from the chimney. He looked up and offered Raven a warm smile.
“Good evening, Detective Storm,” he said in a pleasant voice. “Or should I call you Fürstin Ravenel Tempeste of the House Valentina?”
“Detective Storm will do, Mr. Anderson,” Raven replied. “You are under arrest for the murder of Nathan King, Victoria Laveau, Taylor Hellsey, Verick James, and Officer Tavares.”
“Is that all?” Anderson asked with a gentle smile.
“That’s more than enough, Mr. Anderson,” Raven said.
“And what if I said, as I’m sure all of those you arrest do, that I am innocent?” Anderson asked, setting his pipe aside. “That I had nothing to do with it and I’m a victim of circumstance?”
“I have more than enough evidence against you, Mr. Anderson,” Raven said. “Your first mistake was using your own security officer to do your dirty work for you. Your second was trying to frame Brand Symone for your crimes.”
Drake n
odded once and closed his book. Setting it aside, he stood and gathered his robe around himself like a regal gown. “In retrospect, I would have been much better off covering my activities through the unfortunate Mr. Boone. I shouldn’t have sent him after you. That was a misstep and I take full responsibility for attacking a member of the House.”
“Murder is a crime far worse than attacking me, Anderson,” Raven growled. “You killed King…why? Because he was blackmailing you?”
“Indeed,” Anderson said. “He learned of my penchant for Ms. Cooke’s meat pies and soon learned what was in them. I would have kept him in spending money for years had he just kept his mouth shut.”
Raven smiled and leaned up against the door, her hand moving to her holstered pistol. “Stop moving, Mr. Anderson. At this point, I’d rather arrest you than shoot you. You killed Victoria Laveau and Verick James to try to cover up Nathan’s murder. Had James taken the medication you provided a little sooner, I might not have pieced it all together. But what about Taylor Hellsey?”
Anderson rolled his eyes and rammed his hands into the pockets of his robe. “She came to me with this preposterous story about being my child. I, of course, told her that was impossible; I had never met her mother and certainly could not have fathered a child, but the girl wouldn’t take no for an answer. She took to following me around, almost stalking me. Eventually, she and Mr. King compared notes and she tried to blackmail me as well, insisting she was my legitimate heir and if I didn’t claim her as my child she would expose me to the public as a cannibal.”
Understanding dawning, Raven shook her head. “That is what set this whole thing in motion, wasn’t it? You had your friend the bocor make the gris-gris bags for Brand, who you knew was still in love with Victoria. You killed him to cover it up, assuming no one would ever find him, but then the investigation into Nathan King’s death started and you had to backpedal.”
“You are very smart, detective,” Anderson said with a smile. “Just as clever as your father was. So you must know I’ll never see the inside of a prison. I can’t.”
“I’d hoped I was wrong,” Raven replied. “But this has been going on a long time. You’ve eaten enough human flesh to become a ghoul, haven’t you?”
Anderson nodded and straightened with an odd cracking noise; his skin tightened against his bones and his eyes sank deeper into his head, making him appear like an emaciated skeleton covered by a thin dressing gown. In other circumstances, Raven would have found it comical.
“At first, I was horrified by what I had become,” he said. “I tried to kill myself as my hair fell out and my eyes hardened. But then I learned the power that comes with being one of the undead. It’s addictive. So much better than just being human.”
Even before he had finished speaking, Anderson was moving. Raven’s pistol had just cleared leather when the ghoul’s clawed hand backhanded her across the face, the force of the blow staggering her and causing her to drop the Automag to the floor with a clatter.
“I’ll regret killing you, Fürstin,” Anderson said, his voice a harsh whisper. “I’ll have to make amends to the Mistress, assuming she survives to mourn you. You do know her ex-husband is back, don’t you? He is not a happy camper and means to reclaim his throne. The carnage will be wondrous!”
“She’ll be fine, Anderson,” Raven said, picking herself off the floor. “It will take more than a few threats from a flesh eater to stop me and mine.”
Anderson’s death-head grin widened and he swiped at Raven again, his razor sharp claws tearing at her clothes. Raven leapt back and lashed out with the palm of one hand in a classic strike intended to break Anderson’s nose. The impact traveled up her arm, accompanied by the satisfying crack of the Ghoul’s nasal cavity collapsing in on itself. Anderson howled in pain and backhanded Raven again, his barbed claws tearing at her hair and face and opening long cuts in her skin.
The ghoul touched his shattered nose with one claw and growled at Raven. “That will take days to regenerate,” he hissed. “For that, I’ll suck the marrow from your bones and use it to bake bread!”
Raven ignored the ghoul’s drama and instead chose that moment to lash out with one stiletto heel, the steel core tearing through the foul creature’s gown and the flesh beneath. She followed the attack with a roundhouse punch that dislocated Anderson’s jaw and left it hanging from a few strands of skin and sinew.
Angry and unperturbed, the ghoul grabbed Raven in his long arms and tossed her through the wall to land in a heap of plaster dust and blood. She looked up in time to see the ghoul setting his jaw back in place and following her through the hole.
Coughing blood and knowing her ribs were broken, probably along with other things, Raven rolled and dragged herself through the adjacent door and into the dining room. She wedged the door shut behind her using a chair and staggered into the kitchen, blood dripping from her face and lips.
The kitchen was as spacious and as well equipped as the rest of the house. A massive Viking range dominated one wall, flanked by wide counters and a wooden chopping block. A walk-in freezer-refrigerator combination sat opposite while a deep double sink rested in the middle of the room. Copper pots and utensils hung from the ceiling and clanked at the distant impacts from Anderson trying to break through the door.
With only seconds until the far door gave way, Raven turned on all of the range’s gas burners and cracked the oven door. She then grabbed a steel knife from the collection of utensils and limped towards the kitchen’s back entrance, which was positioned next to a large picture window overlooking the not-too-distant city.
A heartbeat later, the dining room door crunched open and Raven could hear Anderson approaching. He was searching the dining room, checking under the table and behind the hutch. The detective held her breath and waited, her eyes focused on an object at the far end of the room next to the stove. She flinched only slightly when the kitchen door banged open and Anderson lurched into view like something out of a Lon Cheney movie. He looked around, his ruined nose twitching, but too damaged to smell the gas pouring from the jets next to him.
“There you are, detective,” he said with a wide grin. “Not so invincible after all, are you? Not feeding on the human sheep these days? Tut tut, little girl, how will you ever survive this night?”
“I don’t need to feed on humans to take on a monster like you, Anderson,” Raven replied. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to become crispy, and someone should have told you ghouls burn better than Everflame logs…”
Anderson stood by the stove, his claws opening and closing in confusion. “What are you doing, Storm?"
“Getting it out of the way,” Raven replied, raising the knife. She threw the blade in a smooth overhand motion and it sailed straight and true, striking the sharpening stone that hung to the side of the hissing oven. The resulting explosion shook the house and blew Raven through the plate-glass window to land in a burned and bloody heap twenty yards from the house. There was nothing left of Anderson.
III
Rain continued to fall in sheets, the rustle of the drops falling in perfect harmony with the crackle and hiss of flame as the Anderson estate burned to the ground. Firemen and paramedics had been called, Levac had been transported to the hospital, and the fire was under control; only the estate would be lost.
Raven leaned against the nose of a fire truck, a blanket draped over her shoulders, and watched the house burn. A firefighter, his face obscured by a thin layer of soot, approached and handed Raven a cloth-wrapped parcel.
“Is this what you were looking for, detective?” he asked.
Raven took the parcel and opened it, happy to find her Automag, blackened, but otherwise unharmed. She pulled the weapon from the cloth and slipped it into her holster before replying, “Yes, thank you. Dad would never have forgiven me if it had been lost.”
“We found it in what’s left of the library. You’re
lucky. A few more minutes and the roof would have buried it for good,” the firefighter said.
“Thank you,” Raven repeated. “I owe you and the boys a case of beer when this is all over. Find out what the guys like for me and I’ll bring it round personally.”
The firefighter smiled, a brief flash of white in his blackened face, and said, “It’s a deal, detective.”
He turned to rejoin the men working to keep the trees and surrounding foliage from catching fire. Raven continued to watch them until she felt a gentle hand on her arm. She looked up to find Francois standing beside her, concern etched in his face.
“Ravenel, are you okay?” he asked in a soft voice.
Raven turned and hugged him tight, her lips seeking his in a tender kiss before she said, “I’m fine. I caught the bad guy. Yay for the half-breed.”
“So I see,” Francois replied. “Won’t your lieutenant have some questions about how you killed the ghoul and why he doesn’t have a suspect to try in court?”
“Yeah…but those are problems for tomorrow. I need a nap and a cuddle; take me home?” Raven said.
Francois took Raven under his arm and guided her through the throng of onlookers to his waiting limousine. He helped her inside and took a seat opposite her, his warm eyes still watching her.
“Take us home, Pierre,” he ordered, opening a chilled bottle of champagne. “Take the scenic route, if you please.”
“The scenic route?” Raven asked with a smile.
“Of course; we should take a moment to celebrate your victory,” Francois replied.
With great care, lest he spill any of the golden liquid in the moving vehicle, Francois poured two glasses of champagne, handing the first to Raven and taking the second for himself. Raven sipped the sweet vintage and found it delicious, save for a faint vinegary aftertaste.
“So, my dear, what happens next?” Francois asked.
Raven took another sip and replied, “Tomorrow I fill out the report, log yet another partner on medical leave and start on my next case. I get all the weird ones and I doubt the next one will be any more normal. What I wouldn’t give for a basic crime of passion instead of one of these preternatural psychopaths.”
Stormrise Page 23