Niphe's BMW.
The maid picked at the tissue. "Lara's always been kind to me. If she's done anything wrong, she must have a good reason."
"That's what I'm trying to find out. Where did she go?"
"I won't tell you."
My questions meant the maid could implicate me in Lara's death when the police arrived, which they would. Despite the trouble I had interrogating the maid from last time, I had no recourse but to zap her, ask questions, and erase the memory of my visit.
The maid watched with glossy bovine eyes as I removed my sunglasses. Her aura lit up and she sat frozen in my hypnotic grasp.
Cupping her chin, I stroked her head and asked her name. Using her name might make her more receptive to my questions.
The maid stammered under hypnosis as she had before. Every passing moment put Lara farther away from me. The wall clock marked the fleeting seconds with the resolve of a hammer striking an anvil. I fought the impulse to slap the maid into answering.
At last she said, "Amy."
I caressed her face and kept my tone velvety soft. "Amy, let me help Lara." Help me kill the homicidal bitch. "Tell me where she went."
The maid smiled beatifically, naive to my lie. "With Reverend Journey. At his home in Silver Lake."
"Amy, you have an address?"
She motioned to the desk.
I found an empty postmarked envelope addressed to Dale Journey. The return address belonged to the late Council-woman Petale Venin.
"Good girl." I kissed Amy on the cheek, closed her eyes, and ordered her to sleep. She wouldn't remember anything.
I went out and left in the convertible.
South of Griffith Park, I took the Hyperion exit and climbed the twisting streets of Silver Lake. Journey's house occupied an extravagant double lot with a millionaire's view of the lake below.
The style of his home was traditional California Mediterranean: white stucco, red Spanish tile, and art deco flourishes. Turrets adorned the front of the house, one at each corner, and a larger one in the center with the entrance.
Niphe's BMW sat in the driveway to the right of the lawn. Long scratches and dents marred the smooth lines of the black coupe. The mangled front end drooped like a mutilated snout.
I slowed and looked for auras.
Nothing moved. Not even a cat or songbird.
I drove up the block and parked. I kept my sunglasses off, certain that if trouble started, I couldn't waste even an instant to bring every vampire power to bear.
I cut across the neighbors' lawns to the side of Journey's home, hid myself in the shadow of a dense fir tree, and walked up the wall. I levitated to step quietly over the tiled roof.
A rectangular swimming pool divided the backyard between a patio and a lush lawn. A tall brick fence surrounded the yard. I leaned over the edge of the roof Buster Keaton-style and checked the back wall of the house. A sunroom with beveled glass windows faced the patio. Though this place was big enough to be an orphanage, I had yet to see anybody.
I floated off the roof, opened a French door to the sunroom, and sneaked in. Voices murmured from deep inside the house.
I crossed from the sunroom into a den and then the kitchen. The voices grew louder. One, a woman's—Lara's. The other—tired, grim—was Journey's.
I stepped onto the plush carpet of a formal dining room, the lights off and deep in shadow. Through an arched doorway, I saw Lara standing in the front salon with her back to me. Her aura shined with conviction and energy. The strap of a handbag hung off the left shoulder of a long casual dress. She looked like any other suburban mom out for errands—while her victims crumbled to dust.
Journey seemed poured into a leather armchair, torso folded forward, face downcast over arms and legs limp as wet clay. Tiny bubbles of fear and despair rippled through his aura.
"I can't believe you did this," he kept saying, his voice weakening with each repetition.
Lara sank to her knees before him and clasped his hands. "You told me they were going to take your church away. You said they were out to ruin you. Cragnow. Niphe. Venin. Paxton. So I had to stop them."
"But not like this. Don't you realize what you've done? You've dragged me off the cliff with you."
Not just off a cliff but down a deep hole.
"There's no cliff, my darling. We can run. We have your money. We have time."
Better take his car, then. What's left of Niphe's Beemer wouldn't get you to the freeway. I stayed in the shadows of the dining room. Stalking them like a wolf, I halted and waited beside an end table.
"There is no time." He let go of her hands and curled his fingers into fists. A wave of fresh determination pulsed through his aura. "There's only one way to save myself."
Lara set her hands on his knees and sat back on her heels. "What's that, my darling?"
Journey pushed her hands away and stood. "I have to turn you in."
Tendrils of distress flailed through her aura. "You can't. Not if you love me." The words seeped from her throat in soft whispers. "Not after all I've done for you."
"Lara, this is about murder. I have to tell the police. I'd be an accomplice if I didn't. Then there would be two of us in jail."
Lara stared at the carpet. "Jail?" The tendrils of her aura shrank and turned flaccid. "But I did it for you."
"Please, Lara, face reality. You think we can run away from this? Where could we hide? For how long? Turn yourself in, and I promise you the best legal help and psychiatric care. At the very worst, you can plead insanity."
She levered upright. The tendrils stiffened from her aura like quills. "Insanity. Now I'm crazy? Just because I won't let you snitch on me?"
Rage boiled through her aura. "You're no different from anyone else. You only want to betray me, to humiliate me."
The gunshot startled me.
Journey fell into the chair, a shiny, dark stain spreading across the front of his shirt.
His gaze searched the room, as if groping for respite from his pain. His eyes found me and begged for help.
Lara faced me. Her right arm extended to point a small revolver at me.
At this distance, I couldn't hypnotize her. With my nerves primed like this, I wouldn't have a problem dodging her bullets. I could reveal myself as a vampire but better to keep her talking and get her to tell me things I had to know.
Her aura flared with alarm. She fired. I ducked right. She fired again. I ducked left.
Lara stopped shooting. The pistol shook in her trembling hand. Her aura crackled with fear.
Journey clutched for Lara, his bloody fingers curling into a red claw. "Lara."
"Shut up, lover." Lara steadied her aim upon me. "What do you want, Felix Gomez?"
"To tell you I know who murdered Roxy Bronze." I pointed my finger at her.
A new emotion tinted her aura… admiration. "How do you know?"
"Roxy's cell phone records. Your number was the last one. It arrived at one-oh-two in the morning, right about when she had been killed. Kind of a strange time to call and say hello. How did it feel to shoot your sister?"
Lara hesitated. Her fingers adjusted their grip on the revolver. She smiled. "It felt good."
"Why did you do it?"
"Please, Lara." Journey wheezed, blood frothing on his lips and over the hole in his shirt.
"You hush now," she said. "Die quietly."
Cold witch.
"I told you why," Lara said.
"When?"
"The first time we met at the church. Freya, my big famous sister, throwing her talents away while I stumbled behind her. For that she had to die. To erase the shame of being the sister of Roxy Bronze."
"What right did you have to kill her?"
"What right did she have to humiliate me again and again?" Lara's grip tensed on the pistol. "Ask yourself, mister private dick, how is it you pieced together what happened through the phone logs and the cops didn't?"
"Ask them. Did you think you'd get away with her murde
r?"
"Not at first. After I killed her I expected the worst, but nothing happened." Lara's mouth curled with disgust. "I was amazed how those imbecile cops tripped over one another to not solve the case. The police lied about everything. That's when I realized others wanted her out of the way."
"What about Katz Meow?" I asked. "Your number was also the last on her cell phone record."
"She was my sister's best friend in the porn business. But Katz didn't know who I was. She never saw it coming, the stupid whore. It felt good to shoot her, too."
Journey's hands trembled with the palsy of a man at the brink of death. "Please, Lara darling. Call for help."
"I told you to shut up," she replied, not looking at him. Tendrils circled her head as if she were Medusa.
I asked, "And Cragnow?"
"When I told him I was Roxy's sister and wanted to work for him, he drooled at the possibilities. Turned out he was as stupid as everyone else. I've done this city a favor by killing the whole lot of you scum."
"What happens now? This ends the tidy arrangement you had with your boyfriend the pastor. His stealing from the church. You committing murder." I stepped toward Lara.
Her eyes widened. "You're one of them."
"One of the good guys, you mean?"
"No. You're like Cragnow and his guard. I gave them enough cyanide to poison a team of horses, and even then I had to shoot them. It's those eyes. You, Paxton, and the others are… different."
I smiled and showed her my fangs.
Her aura exploded with shock. She whispered, "You're a monster."
"I prefer vampire."
She fired.
The bullet flew through the space where I had been.
By the time we locked eyes I was close enough to grab her wrists. Her blue eyes dilated into black circles.
Her expression softened. Her arms relaxed, and the revolver fell to the carpet.
Journey's corpse slumped in the armchair. His head lolled to the side, mouth open, foam clumped on his lips like pink toothpaste. His legs relaxed into parentheses. The bloody stain on his shirt gathered along his waist, his aura gone. Too late for the EMTs.
I could kill Lara by fanging, but her blood was too polluted with the wretched evil of her slaughter. She would die another way.
I placed my left hand behind her neck and the other gripped her jaw. Her eyes gazed at mine with innocent warmth.
Compared to the agony I could inflict, what I was about to do should be considered a gift of mercy.
One quick twist to the left. Her upper spine snapped with the sound of a broomstick breaking. The atlas and axis vertebrae tore from the base of her skull and severed the medulla oblongata.
Her aura vanished like a light switched off and just as quickly, her soul went to the great beyond. All motor functions instantly ceased. Lara didn't even twitch. Her lifeless body sagged against my palms.
How had this changed anything? Roxy Bronze was still dead.
I didn't worry about leaving clues. The Araneum would order the vampires remaining with the police to scrub this crime scene of any undead evidence.
After the ordeal I'd been through, I needed to end this case with a warning to my fellow vampires. Cross the Araneum, cross me, and you will be punished. Your death will be a cleansing. And what better medium for cleansing than water?
I hoisted Lara by the wrists and draped her over one shoulder.
I tossed her into the pool outside. Lara floated with her face to the sky, buoyed by the trapped air puffing inside her dress. Lara bobbed in the water, her expression serene, as if enjoying one final warm kiss from the sun. The air escaped her dress with a wet sigh and her shoulders tipped to one side. She rolled to float facedown. Her brown hair surrounded her head like a wispy, weedy crown.
I'd come to Los Angeles to investigate and undo vampire-human collusion. And that collusion, for all its planning and supernatural resources, was ravaged by the twisted vengeance of one female.
The most dangerous kind.
A human.
Chapter Fifty-Seven
I PARKED MY newest rental sedan in the lot just inside the gate of the Oakwood Memorial Park.
An older model Ford pickup truck turned off Valley Circle Boulevard, rattled through the gate, and rolled to a stop beside my car. Coyote sat behind the steering wheel, and he nodded at me.
Three days ago, he had appeared in the backseat of my locked rental—barefoot, asleep, and wearing blackened rags. He looked like he had been shot out of a cannon and landed in a cinder pile. Seeing him again had filled me with the joy of a man finding his lost brother.
I am a vampire. I'm supposed to have shed my human persona and left behind the aches—and smiles—of the mortal world. But that hadn't happened. Not yet. Not completely.
Coyote didn't say much, only that he was hungry. I bought him red chile beef burritos and a six-pack of Löwenbräu. I asked what oblivion was like. In between chomping on the burritos and guzzling one beer after another—raining crumbs and lager on the upholstery—he said it was as boring as a Baptist wedding reception.
Coyote sucked dry a bag of A-positive, and when I turned around to hand him a napkin, he was gone.
Since then, I have driven by Veronica's apartment once. Being close eased the longing, but soon the moment passed and I felt creepy spying on her. I drove off and tried to forget the pain of losing her.
The engine of Coyote's old Ford wheezed like it was dying of tuberculosis. The driver's door creaked open. A couple of screws dropped to the asphalt.
Coyote stepped out, looking freshly bathed and his sunblock neatly applied. His hair was combed back and threaded with silver strands. He wore an embroidered shirt with pearl snaps. His creased jeans fit snug over the tops of yellow cowboy boots.
"Órale, Felix," he said. "Good morning."
"Buenos días." I had so many questions, but all I could do was point to Coyote's well-pressed clothes. "This a new look?"
"Sometimes a change of clothes is more than a change of clothes, raza." He smoothed the front of his shirt. "I've had these a while."
"Where? I thought everything was burned up."
He gave one of his Coyote grins, meaning, vato, I'm the trickster, and I won't give away any of my secrets.
A white Infiniti turned off the street and parked close to us. Polly Smythe, the infamous JJ Jizmee, got out. A rose-colored scarf covering her neck marked her as a chalice.
Polly waved at me. "Felix, I didn't know you were Coyote's friend."
"We go back."
Coyote offered his hand to her. They clasped fingers and pecked each other on the cheek.
Polly carried a ribbed, knit sweater over one arm. The sweater was the same color and style as the one back in Coyote's destroyed home. "This is way too small," she said. "It won't even cover one boob."
"Well then, mi corazón, we'll have to try something else. Wouldn't want you and your girls to catch cold."
Polly told me back at Fred Daniels's funeral that she wished for a change. I couldn't think of a bigger change than becoming a chalice and dating Coyote.
Polly now belonged to the undead world—it was an irrevocable act. Coyote in turn acted as if he belonged to her—another irrevocable act.
The three of us walked on the narrow road curving through the grass and rows of grave markers. I brought a supermarket bouquet of flowers.
We found a marker decorated with a small brass urn. A sprig of carnations, baby's breath, and roses—the faded blossoms crisp as old paper—drooped from the mouth of the urn.
The marker read:
Freya Krieger
a.k.a.
Roxy Bronze
A Loving Spirit Who
Soars Above Us Still
Under that were the dates of her birth and death. Roxy lived to be thirty-four.
Visiting graves was always anticlimactic. Even when I was human, there was never a rush of emotion. It was just a plot of turf with a plaque to announce the physical p
assing. What really mattered about anyone was as ephemeral as the wind. The grave was a place to express our tributes, though more honest and sincere words were rendered over drinks in a bar.
I thought about the girl with the bright smile who had welcomed me while others shunned the poor brown kid from Pacoima. I thought about losing Veronica, and the ghosts of my childhood. Thank you. And vaya con Dios.
I pushed the bouquet alongside the other flowers in the urn.
"Roxy loved the Valley," Polly said.
From here, you couldn't see much of the Valley. The grass sloped toward the boulevard. A wall of trees—willows and elms—and a chain-link privacy fence overgrown with honeysuckle blocked the view. The rising terrain, the Santa Susana Mountains and Knolls to the north and west, and the Santa Monica Mountains to the south made it clear that we stood on the rim of a gigantic trough extending to the east—the San Fernando Valley.
We headed back to our cars. Coyote and Polly whispered and giggled. I trailed behind.
I stood by Coyote's truck, waiting for him to ask for a final push start.
Polly opened the driver's door to her Infiniti. "Coyote and I are going for coffee or whatever."
The polite tone in her voice implied I was invited, but the "whatever" meant she wanted me to say no. They had plans beside coffee.
"Thanks but no," I said.
Coyote climbed into the passenger's side.
I asked, "You're not taking your truck?"
"Chale. The damn thing probably won't start. I'll get it later." Coyote closed his door and rolled the window down. "Vato, can't say it was fun…"—he broke into laughter—"but it was loco." His face lit up with more joy than I'd ever seen on any of the undead. "Ay te watcho." See you later.
His window raised, and the Infiniti backed up. I waved good-bye.
This assignment was over, thank God. I had nothing left to do but get home, at my leisure. Emphasis on leisure to clear my head of Veronica.
A crow cawed and broke my thoughts.
The black bird paced across the roof of my rental car. A metal tube gleamed on one leg.
X-Rated Blood Suckers Page 28