by C. E. Murphy
“So no Superbowl this afternoon?” The casual question came at a price, sorrow draining into Margrit’s chest as if a faucet had been opened. Tony looked up sharply, eyebrows drawn down over dark eyes. He looked, Margrit thought, like a policeman ought to, his strong jaw set with concern and maybe a little righteous anger. She felt as if she were watching him through a window, a distance that allowed her to see the world he lived in without being able to step through and rejoin it herself.
Heat flashed over her at the thought that she might not want to belong to that world anymore. Margrit shivered despite the warmth she felt, pushing the idea away. It was too large and too uncertain to wrestle with just then, especially with Tony literally in the picture.
“I won’t be able to get the afternoon off,” he said after several long moments, his voice steady. “Even if I could—”
“I wouldn’t be there,” Margrit agreed. A smile played across her mouth, more pointed than she wanted it to be. “I mean, really, Tony. Is there any way for us to get through this?”
“I don’t know.” The detective’s voice dropped. “Grit, none of this was supposed to go this way. I really wanted to make it work. I wanted us to be together.”
“I know. But then I started harboring a murderer, and you started arresting me, and things just really get out of control when incidents like that are part of your everyday life.”
“I didn’t arrest you.”
“This probably isn’t the time to get hung up on the details, Tony. I didn’t harbor a murderer, either, but what fun is a fight without sweeping statements?”
“I’m sorry, Grit. I don’t have time for a fight right now.” Tony sounded weary, closing the book he held and hefting it a little. “Great Expectations. First edition, just like almost everything in here. Signed by Dickens himself. This is the first of three volumes.” He offered the book to Margrit. She opened it, looking at the author’s signature, black ink browned with age, then closed it again gently. “Who is this guy, Grit?”
“He’s an author,” Margrit said, smiling with an unkind pleasure at irritating the detective. “Very famous. Wrote a lot of long books—”
“Margrit.”
She looked up, still smiling. “Sorry. What do you want me to say, Tony? He’s not a killer. That’s all I can tell you.”
“Tell me how you got out of here last night. The bed was still warm from body heat when we came down the stairs. Tell me how you left my man behind at Huo’s, for that matter.”
Margrit’s smile thinned. “Tell me how you found this place if I lost your man.”
“I got another tip.”
“From Janx.” Margrit watched the skin around Tony’s eyes tighten, and nodded slightly at scoring a hit. “You working for him, Anthony?” The question was intended to get a rise, Margrit no more believing Tony was dirty than he believed she was involved in the murders.
Anger flashed across the detective’s face, her ploy successful. Margrit waited for a pang of regret and felt none, her own anger keeping more delicate emotions at bay. “I said I wasn’t looking for a fight, Grit. I’ve been after Janx for years. I’m looking for something to pin on him.”
“So you used me as bait? Tony, you might not be looking for a fight, but I’m spoiling for one, and don’t you think setting your girlfriend out as bait is a little shady? Or did you think I was guilty enough to see if setting me up gave me the rope to hang myself with?”
“You’re right.” Tony got to his feet, words driving him to action. Stacks of books made pacing difficult, but he moved around them with grace that belied exhaustion. Ponderous grace, Margrit thought; human grace.
“Setting you up sucked,” Tony said abruptly. “And I’d do it again, Grit, because you were the only goddamn lead I had. I’m sorry that it fucks with us, but if it helped me catch a murderer I’d just have to find a way to live with it.”
Margrit rolled her tongue around the inside of her mouth, looking away and studying Alban’s room as she worked to hide her displeasure. The tidiness did something to loosen the knot of anger within her, and she sighed. “I’m surprised you didn’t destroy the place.”
“You know me better than that.” Hurt, more tangible than offense, filled Tony’s voice. “A B.A. might not be as impressive as a law degree, but I know when I’m dealing with priceless material. We took the place apart, but I wasn’t sending books like that one up in flames.”
“Thank you.”
Tony nodded. “As a favor, answer my question. We found the stone beneath the bed, but one person can’t lift that thing. Not even one person and you. And there’s no other way out.”
“Then I guess we weren’t here. Look.” Margrit held up a hand. “There’s nothing here, Tony. You didn’t find anything, and I’m not going to volunteer any more information. For one thing, my attorney told me not to. For another—”
“You’re protecting him.”
Margrit pressed the novel against her chest. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you?” Tony rubbed a hand tiredly over his hair. “You’re going to a lot of trouble to be a pain in the ass for somebody who’s sorry.”
“It’s not really any trouble at all,” Margrit mumbled, then raised her voice a little. “I really am sorry. I didn’t mean to get mixed up in this, and I’m sorry I can’t be more help.”
“I could arrest you for obstruction of justice.”
“But you’re not going to, or we wouldn’t be talking about it. Believe it or not, the reason I’m stuck in this is because I’m trying to do my job, just like you’re trying to do yours. I don’t know how, but somehow these murders have got to be tangled up with Eliseo Daisani and that building he wants taken down.”
Color leeched from Tony’s eyes. “Is that an educated guess, or do you know something?”
Margrit frowned up at him, shaking her head. “Just a guess. I—Why? What’s happened, Tony?” When he didn’t answer, she took a step forward. “Tony?”
“Eliseo Daisani’s personal assistant, Vanessa Gray, was murdered this morning, a couple of hours before sunrise.” He met her eyes. “I don’t suppose you know anything about that.”
Horror pounded in cold spurts through Margrit’s body, tingling and prickling. She shook her head, a jerky, numb movement. Tony sucked on his teeth. “You were one of the last people to see her alive, you know.”
“I only met her Thursday,” Margrit whispered scratchily. “She didn’t like me.”
“From what I’ve heard so far, she didn’t like anybody except Daisani, and maybe not even him. She had no social life outside the office.” Tony gave a sharp nod. “Which is why you were one of the last to see her. Unfriendly or not, she was good at her job. And she fit the profile.”
“Nobody else was that high-profile, though.” Margrit shuffled to the chair Tony had abandoned, sitting down hard and clutching the book against her chest.
“No, and this time he made a mistake.”
“I was with Alban all night, until just before sunrise.” And not until after sunrise had it struck her that Alban’s daytime refuge had been compromised. Irritation welled in her breast again, this time at the simple lack of foresight that gave her no way to contact the gargoyle. “It wasn’t him.”
“I know.”
Margrit wrenched her gaze up. “You know?”
“Gray’s building has security cameras on the doors and in the elevators. We’ve got an unidentified male assaulting the doorman and getting off the elevator on her floor. Nine minutes later he gets back on. It’s not your man.”
Margrit sagged, putting the book in her lap and covering her face with her hands. “He’s not mine,” she said quietly, though voicing the statement made her heart tighten. “Does that mean this is over now?”
“For you, yeah. For me, no. I still gotta find this guy. He’s an expert.” Tony made his way through books to the stairwell, lifting his hand to put it against the wall, then dropping it before he touched soot. “And I still want to talk to Ko
rund. There’s something off about that guy.”
“This guy in the elevator’s killed three people and you think Alban’s off?” Margrit looked up through her fingers to see Tony’s faint smile.
“All a matter of taste, I guess. Look, Grit. I’m sorry. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“Me, too.”
“Yeah.” Tony stayed silent a few seconds, then turned back to look at her from the stairwell. “I’ll call you?”
“I guess.” Margrit lowered her eyes, keeping her gaze fixed on the floor until he left. She let go a rough laugh once she heard the door click shut, and collapsed onto her back on Alban’s cot, staring up at the depthless, soot-covered ceiling. It had been a coincidence that pulled her into this mess. A coincidence, and now she was eyeball-deep in debt to a gangster dragon, and had a job offer from a corporate bloodsucker.
“At least it isn’t boring.” Her voice sounded hoarse in her own ears, and she put a hand over her throat, giving a rough laugh. “Jesus, Grit. You’re so fucked.”
And there was nowhere to go but straight through it. It didn’t require thinking about; neither Janx nor Daisani would let her slide off their radar simply because there’d been a misunderstanding. Nor was there any point in breaking down. Margrit had gone into the situation with her eyes open. She’d taken on the risks knowing what Alban was.
“Just one little breakdown?” she asked no one in particular, and sat up again, scrubbing her hands over her face. “All right, girl. Time to go see Daisani.”
TWENTY-THREE
“I WANT HIM dead.”
Margrit stood with her palms stiff against her thighs, shoulders hunched. This was not how she’d anticipated the interview with Daisani beginning. After long moments she swallowed, trying to wiggle life into her fingers. “Are you talking to me, Mr. Daisani?”
Daisani whipped around to face her, afternoon sunlight glowing white through the tall windows directly behind him, a blinding aura. “Of course I am. To who else would I be speaking?”
Margrit squinted and turned her head, trying to focus.
“I don’t—I don’t understand.” The speech she’d prepared fled from her mind, leaving her feeling unexpectedly fragile and very alone. “I don’t kill people, Mr. Daisani.”
“Neither do I, Miss Knight. I’ll let the criminal justice system do it for me. But they must catch him.”
Margrit shook her head. “I don’t understand what that has to do with me.”
“Everything.” The vampire clipped the syllables. “You have walked into the House of Cards not once, but twice, and come out not just whole, but with information you wanted. You are involved with Alban Korund. Cara Delaney has turned to you for help. Unless you are a tremendous fool, which I doubt, you are clearly aware of factions that the police and legal forces in this city are not. I cannot and will not further compromise my position by allowing another party to be privy to information you already hold. Find him, Margrit.”
A knot of tension snapped in her shoulders and she exhaled, turning to lean heavily on one of the overstuffed leather chairs. She folded her arms beneath her breasts, knowing that the action signaled closing herself off, and shut her eyes for a few moments. Daisani went still, so still that even in the silence of his office she couldn’t hear him breathing. “I’ll want something from you in exchange.”
His silence became incredulous. Margrit looked up, her fear drained away. Not even excitement was left to chill her; this was the deal moment, too important to color with emotion.
Daisani’s mouth worked, as if he was searching for words. His teeth were perfectly normal and flat, unlike Janx’s.
“Vanessa was with me longer than you can imagine. She was indispensable to me. I will not allow her killer to go free and I require you to obtain the information I need. You have the audacity to demand something from me in return?”
“You need me, Mr. Daisani. You’ve just said so. You can’t go to Janx and his people for this because you think they’re responsible, and you’re not willing to bring another player into the game. So you need me.”
Daisani hissed, stepping toward her, sunlight trailing after him like a golden cloak. The walls of the office seemed to constrict, trapping her. “Of course Janx is behind it, but I cannot touch him.”
“Why not?”
Daisani snarled, turning away with another hiss. “He and I have an understanding. If I remove him, someone who doesn’t know the rules will take his place. I have no wish to begin the game anew.”
“You mean, when you need someone butchered, you go to Janx, and when he needs someone financially ruined, he comes to you. It’s a nice setup, Mr. Daisani. I imagine you’ve been doing it for a long, long time. And in the meantime you just take out each other’s pawns? A game of one-upmanship?”
“Vanessa was far more than a pawn,” Daisani snapped. “She was with me for decades. I will extract real revenge at a later date. For the moment, the killer himself must be exterminated. You will find this man!”
“Then you’ll give me the selkie skins.” Margrit nodded toward the displayed furs without taking her gaze from Daisani.
Fury lit his eyes, and for all that she was watching him, Margrit didn’t see him cross the space. He was simply beside her inside a breath, lividity raging in his expression. “You dare. You dare negotiate with me. That is a very bad idea, Miss Knight.”
“People keep telling me that.” The vampire’s proximity sent waves of alarm through her body, painful tingles and an impulse to run. Margrit held herself still, meeting Daisani’s eyes, and saw surprise reflected there.
“People.” He spoke the word despite himself, in a low and warning growl. “Is that what we are?”
Exasperation flooded Margrit. “For Christ’s sake. What is it with you and Alban? Yes! You’re people. You’re not human, but you’re certainly people. What do you expect me to call you? Bogeymen? Things that go bump in the night? Hell, you don’t go bump in the night at all, which is just wrong.”
Daisani stood close enough that she could feel anger and grief retreating in him, replaced momentarily by interest. “You’re taking this in very good stride, Miss Knight.”
“Yeah, well, I’m a runner.” Margrit fiddled with her ponytail, betraying nerves with the action, but unable to stop herself. “I’m a lawyer. I meet people every day who are on the surface considerably worse than you are. You, Janx, Alban, you’re really all so…normal. You can do stuff I can’t, but so can Michael Jordan.” Dismay hit her palpably enough to make her want to step back, though she held her ground even as she groaned. “Please don’t tell me he’s one of you.”
Daisani’s shoulders rose and fell, a single admission of silent laughter. “I believe Mr. Jordan is as human as you are, Miss Knight.”
Margrit’s stomach twisted and unknotted again with the astonished realization that she’d defused the vampire, at least briefly. “Thank God.” A wave of tiredness swept over her and she stepped out of Daisani’s space, planting her hands on his desk and letting her head hang. “I’ll find your pawn for you, Mr. Daisani, but under the terms I’ve stated.”
He was there again, in her space, brushing his hand over her hair so lightly she barely felt the pressure. “I’m surprised you’re not bargaining for the building.”
Margrit looked over her shoulder at him, wetting her lips. “I can deal with that in a courtroom. You have just as much reason as I do to keep selkie skins out of the press.”
“More,” he murmured. Anger stung his expression again and he stepped away, nostrils flaring. “The bargain’s made. Deliver the assassin to the police and you’ll have your skins.”
Margrit let go a sharp breath and let her head droop farther for an instant, before straightening up. “Work with me here, Mr. Daisani. The baby can’t survive long without her skin.”
Daisani’s lips actually parted in astonishment before he laughed, a surprisingly deep note tainted with grief. “You are audacious, Miss Knight.”
&
nbsp; “I’m also serious, Mr. Daisani.”
“Of course you are. Are you sure you won’t take a job with me?” His gaze swept her, a mix of criticism and admiration. “I’m always looking for new blood.”
Margrit’s breath caught in her throat, neither an inhalation nor exhalation, simply frozen as her mouth went dry and her eyes began to burn, unable to blink or water. Running in the park, even dealing with Janx, had nothing on the tightness of her chest now, as she stood face-to-face with a vampire. One part of her mind screamed to her to run; the rest held her in place, stiff with terror, hoping that the predator wouldn’t notice the prey if it didn’t move.
Daisani’s eyes half closed as he inhaled deeply. “I wondered. You do know,” he purred.
“I know.” Margrit forced out the words, her voice hoarse. “And I was doing so well.”
“You were. But now.” Daisani spread his hands, eyes still half-lidded. “Now I think we truly understand one another.” He turned away, walking to the far end of his office with the liquid grace Margrit was coming to recognize as a hallmark of the Old Races, and took the smaller of the two sealskins down from the wall. “A gesture of good faith,” he murmured as he returned to her, offering the skin. Margrit put her hands out for it and he folded it between them, then put his hands over hers. They were hot and dry, the pulse shockingly fast.
“A gesture of good faith,” he repeated. “But if you fail me, Miss Knight, you had best remember I have more than one use for new blood.”
Margrit made it all the way to the lobby before she threw up.
Evening sunlight shone a brilliant gold, making Margrit’s eyes ache as she squinted against it. The bitter aftertaste of bile hung at the back of her throat and her stomach churned, making her eyes water at the acidity. She clutched the soft sealskin against her chest, running before she was even aware she was moving. Escape seemed paramount, anything to put distance between herself and the man she’d left behind.