The fae wrinkled his nose. “Despite what you may believe, I have no desire whatsoever to battle a demonic vampire for a pair of disgusting fangs.”
“And yet, you’re the guardian of the graves.”
“Necromancy,” Belzus said with a chilling smile, “is a very different beast. Vampirism has nothing on it. When you’ve seen your first army of the dead, I’m sure you’ll agree.”
I sucked in a sharp breath. “First army of the—”
The door cracked open as Dorian returned to the room. His face full of determination, he motioned for me to join him in the hallway. Just as I’d made it halfway to the door, Belzus cleared his throat. “Remember, Zoe Bennett. You owe me one favor. I won’t be cashing in on it yet, but be warned. It will come soon.”
Shivering, I followed Dorian into the hall. He frowned as he shut the door behind us. “What did the fae mean? You owe him a favor?”
“It was the price for…” I tapped my mark.
“You made a deal with a fae?” Dorian asked, disappointing tinging his every word. “Oh, Zoe. How could you?”
“What else was I supposed to do?” I narrowed my eyes. Was he really judging me about this, too? “Go into hiding? Move to Europe?”
“Well, I won’t allow it. Have him undo the illusion and take back the favor owed,” Dorian said. “I’ll figure out a way to make the council understand. You won’t have to hide the truth from them anymore.”
“Really?” I lifted my eyebrows. “Have you met our Magister?”
“Maybe he isn’t the most open-minded mage, but—”
“Not the most open-minded? Dorian, he said to my face that Shadows were evil incarnate. I think I’ll pass on your plan and stick to mine.”
Dorian matched my gaze, unyielding, firm, and strong. Our bond rippled with our combined tension, thoughts and feelings rocketing from his body, into mine, and then back into his again. The magic of our combined blood had begun to wear off, but a sliver of it was still there simmering in the background. After a moment, Dorian shook his head and sighed.
“Fine. I’ll agree to put a pin in it for now, but I refuse to give up hope that there’s another way,” Dorian said. “But only because we need to make some headway on this case. It’s time for a trip to Descent.”
“Probably a good idea,” I said with a nod. “See if anyone saw Sylvia Anderson that night. If she was killed at or near the club, someone might have seen the murderer.”
“It’s not just that, Zoe,” Dorian said. “Remember where the other crime scene was? Only about a block away from Descent. And the third body found last night was in that area, too.”
“You found a pattern.” My eyes widened. “Three murders. All in the same location. What are the odds?”
“Exactly.” Dorian nodded. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 20
Luckily, vampire bouncers didn’t man the doors of Descent, though the club-goers inside would have been thrilled if they did. Instead of high heels, tight little black dresses, and bright pink lips, the patrons of Descent were more on the goth side of the spectrum than the students who tended to hit up typical Boston nightclubs. Ripped black shirts, faded Chucks, and hooded eyes that popped from more than a dash of black eyeliner. A live metal band played on an erected stage at the end of the long and skinny space, and the floors were sticky with beer and sweat. It reeked of mildew and body odor, the total opposite of the cloying incense-laden air of Slayerville.
Even though I wasn’t much of a club person, I felt a hell of a lot more comfortable in a place like this than the alternative. Judging from the appreciative nod Dorian gave the band, so did he.
Dorian and I inched our way around the darkly-lit space, spotting cameras perched in every corner. Even if no one had seen anything, there might be some video evidence that could help us narrow down the identity of the killer.
When we squeezed to the front of the crowd clustered around the bar, Dorian flipped his FBI badge onto the counter and motioned for a bartender wearing an Iron Maiden t-shirt to lean in close. “Is there someone we can talk to? A manager, maybe?”
The man frowned at the badge before turning to his fellow bartender. There were only two of them manning the busy club, both long-haired, leather-faced, and decked in full black on black. Both of them must have been pushing fifty-five. Old-school metal fans from the eighties who had stuck around the scene as best they could.
After speaking quietly to each other, one of the bartenders ducked beneath the counter and motioned for us to follow. We moved through the thick crowd of bodies, elbows jostling elbows. When we reached a thick black door, the bartender pushed it open and led us down a dimly-lit hallway that reeked of pot. At the end of the hallway, another door opened up into a tiny room with a metal desk shoved against a concrete wall.
The guy pointed at two folding chairs before settling himself into a faded recliner and kicking his feet up onto the desk. “What can I do for you? Agent Kostas, was it?”
“That’s right.” Dorian flipped the badge open once more before sliding it into his back pocket. “You’re the manager of this establishment?”
“Owner, manager, bartender.” The man grabbed a business card from the desk and flicked it our way. “Frank, one of my boys, is off sick tonight, so I had to step in myself.”
“That’s a little unusual, isn’t it?” Neither the owner or manager of Blue Moon Tavern worked shifts behind the bar. If they were ever short-staffed, they called me. And if I was already working? I had to work twice as hard. They’d rather be a man down than sling drinks themselves.
“This place is my baby. I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her running,” he said with a crooked smile, the crackle in his voice evidence of years spent shouting over the blast of loud music. “But surely you didn’t come here to question me on my bartending abilities?”
“Of course not, Mr….?” Dorian glanced at the business card. “Mr. Walsh.”
“Just call me Sean. No need for formalities.”
“Sean,” Dorian said with a nod. “Well, I don’t want to beat around the bush here, Sean, but we wanted to speak to you about a couple of murders that happened recently in the area.”
Sean nodded solemnly, leaning forward to put his feet on the ground. “Yes, I’ve heard about those. I wondered if that might be why you came by. To be honest, it’s been a shock. This might not be the safest neighborhood when compared to other parts of Boston, but murder? And, two of them? Makes me think twice about sending my boys home after their shifts.”
“It’s actually three,” I said. “Three murders. Another is believed to have originated here, but the body was moved.”
“Originated…here?” He gestured at the open door, his eyes going wide. “You don’t actually mean Descent, do you?”
“It’s a possibility we have to consider,” Dorian said quietly. “It’s a popular club, and the victims were all fairly young. Early to mid twenties. They could have come here, had a drink, met someone…”
Dorian trailed off and raised his eyebrows, and his suggestion was enough to make realization dawn in the man’s eyes. His face went pale as he leaned back in his chair, whistling softly under his breath. “I don’t like the thought of it. I really don’t. I know my bar might seem like it has some rough customers, but they’re mostly good kids. Don’t let their outward appearances fool you. It’s somewhere different for them to go, you know? Somewhere they feel like they fit in.”
“I get that.” I leaned forward and smiled. “And you’ve done a great thing. Everyone needs a place they can go where they feel like they can be themselves. That said, some people are just assholes, and it isn’t your fault if the guilty party found his victims here.”
Sean nodded, closing his eyes as he let out a harsh breath. “Well, I won’t let it happen again. Not in my fucking bar. What can I do to help?”
With a smile, I turned to Dorian who shuffled through his file and pulled three sheets of paper from a manilla folder. “We have the
photos of the victims. I need you to tell us if you recognize any of them.”
Dorian lined up the photos on the desk, but Sean shook his head after a moment’s glance. “A lot of people come in here, and I only work the bar on days that Frank doesn’t come in. This girl…” He tapped the photo. “She’s a pretty one, isn’t she? I’d remember if I served her. And this guy, he’s got that tattoo on his neck. I always notice tattoos.” The man shook his head and pushed the photos back to our side of the desk. “No, I’m sorry. I don’t remember seeing any of them.”
Dorian nodded, doing his best to keep his disappointment hidden, but I knew he felt the same intense need to find the murderer as I did. And stat. The killer had targeted a different blood mage three nights this week already, and time was ticking by. We needed a break in the case, and we needed it fast. Otherwise, we’d have another body on our hands.
“Can you share the dates of each crime, Zoe?” Dorian asked as he shuffled the photos back into the folder.
Even though the manager already knew when two of the bodies had been found, I listed the three dates. “Were you here then?”
“Actually, you know what, I wasn’t here any of those nights.” Sean sighed and ran his fingers through his long hair. “I’m sorry. I feel like this isn’t helping at all.”
“It’s helping plenty.” I gave him an encouraging nod, even though he was right. If he wasn’t working those nights, there wasn’t much he could tell us. Fortunately, I had one last question in my arsenal, one I hoped could help shed some light on what had happened. “Dorian and I noticed you had some surveillance cameras situated around the bar. Are those up and running?”
Sean nodded, his eyes lighting up in relief. “You know what? I do. We record over the tapes each week because we’ve never had to use them before, but we’ll have footage of the nights you need. Want to take a look?”
Boy, did I.
Sean left us with the tapes while he returned to the bar. He told us to take all the time we needed, and for once, I felt like we’d met someone who meant it. Someone who truly wanted to help us catch the killer—a genuine person rocked by the realization that the murderer could have found his victims in this club. Sean was just trying to make a living, pouring his heart and soul, and his time and energy into a place he’d built from the ground up all by himself. People like Sean were the reason why I wanted to help this world. And they were why I would do whatever it took to banish the demons that wanted to destroy it.
Despite it all, there were good people in this world, and they deserved our help.
Dorian slid the tape into the old, beat-up VCR and pushed play. These rattly gray boxes were ancient. I’d never operated one myself. Luckily, Dorian seemed right at home with the controls. We sat back in our chairs and spun through the footage, the moments stretching into hours as we tried to spot our victims.
“There.” I stabbed the screen and leaned forward. Sure enough, Sylvia Anderson walked across the screen, her long dark hair trailing behind her. She was alone in the same sleek black dress she’d been wearing when we’d found her behind Blue Moon Tavern. She wandered around the club with her eyes darting in every direction as if she were looking for someone. After several moments, she edged up to the bar and ordered a drink. Once she’d downed the booze, she exited the bar, and that was that.
“Well, that wasn’t very helpful.” I frowned and sat back in the chair. “Go back. Let’s watch it again.”
Dorian replayed the footage, but nothing changed in the second viewing. He rubbed his jaw and sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t understand. I was certain we’d see something here. She just came in, had a drink, and left.”
“There has to be more to it than that,” I said, refusing to give up hope just yet. “Let’s watch the following night’s footage.”
Dorian and I went through the motions once again, watching the footage from the following night. And just as before, we saw the second victim, Mark Spencer, walk circles in the club, order a drink, and then leave without a word to anyone else.
We locked eyes and frowned, our expressions reflected back on each other. Even though it had been a day since we’d bonded with our blood, the link was still there all the same. I could read his emotion, and he could read mine, our thoughts and feelings winding inexplicably together. We were confused as hell. None of this made any sense. Why would the mages walk into the bar and then leave?
“Are you seeing something that I’m not?” I finally asked. “Someone following them? Some creepy figure hovering in the corner?”
“No.” Dorian tapped his finger against the VCR, staring hard at the grainy figures that did nothing to explain who had killed the mages. “Let’s watch the last tape, though I have a sneaking suspicion we’ll see a girl walk in and walk right back out again.”
And he was right. Our third and final victim, Alice French, strode into the bar. This time, our victim looked a little angry. Probably because she’d been aware her fellow blood mages were getting knocked off one by one. Had she been here looking for the killer? She walked straight up to the bar, ordered a drink, and then left, leaving the glass on the bar top. Frowning, I stared at the empty drink, trying to understand what was going on. The bartender swiped up the glass and tossed it into the sink.
As he shifted sideways, something about the curve of his jaw caught my attention. Wait a minute. I gasped, leaning forward. I recognized him. I hadn’t noticed, partly because I’d been too focused on the rest of the club to pay attention to the bartender, and partly because he wasn’t sporting a massive pair of horns.
It was the bartender from Slayerville. Fane Dogaru, a descendent of the Clan leader himself.
Sean’s bartender wasn’t Frank. He was Fane.
Pieces of the puzzle began to click together. The dates of the blood mage deaths? Only when he had been working here. He’d been at Slayerville last night, on the same evening of the third murder, but he must have worked shifts at each back-to-back.
And he’d taken tonight off. Sean had said it was because he’d called in sick, but I knew better than that. Slayerville had just burned down, and he’d been there when it happened. Vampires, despite being immortal, could very much burn. Fire couldn’t destroy them completely, but it could cause a lot of pain. And it took a hell of a lot longer for burns to heal. Hence, why he’d called in sick tonight.
There was still a lot that didn’t make sense. The why, for one. And the how. Fane had slashed the victims’ necks, but that wasn’t how Daywalkers killed. And they certainly didn’t leave behind so much blood. Not when they could drink it fresh.
“Look.” I pointed at the bartender, his blurry little face flashing a grin at the retreating back of Alice French. “It’s the Slayerville bartender with the horns. He’s the only person in the entire club that all three victims spoke to on the nights of their deaths.”
Dorian let out a low whistle. “Would you look at that? Good work, Zoe. I never would have recognized him without the horns.”
At his praise, I lifted my chin and felt my lips curl up at the corners. “Thank you. Unfortunately, as great as it is to solve this case, I don’t think my find is great news.”
He shoved his finger against the pause button and sighed. “It’s terrible news. If a vampire was involved in the attacks, then we could be looking at a serious problem. The Blood Coven won’t take something like that sitting down. Not the small splinter coven here, and certainly not the main branch in Scotland. They despise vampires. And if the blood mages lift even the slightest finger in the direction of the Daywalkers, this could mean war.”
War, war, war. It was a word I was getting far too accustomed to hearing these days.
“We’ve met him,” I said, staring at the grainy face on the screen. “As weird as he is, he didn’t seem like the kind of vampire who would want to murder mages for sport.”
“There’s one thing I’ve learned in all my years on this planet, Zoe. The ones who seem innocent are often the ones you have
to watch out for the most.”
Chapter 21
Daywalkers didn’t live in crypts or in underground tunnels. Or, most of them didn’t, anyway. They lived on residential streets, in city apartment buildings, or in loft spaces they’d held onto for countless years. Being as old as they were, most of them had plenty of years to collect the cash they needed, so money wasn’t an object where they were concerned.
Fane Dogaru lived in one such space. An expansive loft on the top floor of a brick apartment building, situated in an artsy neighborhood near the college campus. Even though Dorian had been effectively shunned by the Slayerville crowd, it turned out he still had a few contacts who were happy to give him the inside scoop. And they were more than happy to pass along the address of Christian Dogaru’s grandson.
I knocked on the door and put my finger over the peephole. He’d be able to hear the beating of my heart, the sound of my breath shooting from my lungs, and the way my boots scuffed against the carpet. He’d be able to hear Laura’s breath catch in her throat and the way she wrung her hands together. But he probably wouldn’t be able to hear Dorian, not with the way my vampire partner was able to hold his body so still he looked like a frozen Greek God statue.
“Shadow witch. Blood witch,” came a weary voice from the other side of the door. “I don’t remember inviting either of you to my home.”
“You didn’t,” I said. “We need to talk to you about your bartending job at Descent. Does your Clan leader know you’re working another gig?”
Silence fell heavily around us, and for a moment, I thought he’d walked away. But then a heavy lock clicked, followed by another, and another, until the vampire swung open his door. His eyes flashed to Dorian’s tense form, and immediately, he went to shut us out.
“No Unbounds,” Fane said. “Christian has made it clear we aren’t to speak to you, Dorian. You shouldn’t have come here.”
The Bone Coven Chronicles: The Complete Series Page 36