Who the hell has Liz been meeting with?
Before I can swivel around to look, a man walks past the drivers side of my car. Undoubtedly, its the man. I never saw him coming. Hes a study in black: black boots, black slacks, and black leather coat. His stride falters when he reaches the hood of my car. Theres an almost imperceptible hesitation. His head turns, but only slightly. His shoulder-length dark hair, decidedly not military, masks his profile. He continues to the car and the waiting driver. The pause was so fleeting I now find myself wondering if Id imagined it.
I still have the cell in my hand. Whos the mystery man?
Hes a long-standing client, Liz answers.
The man climbs into the back of the sedan. The driver slams the door. A moment later hes back behind the wheel. I put my SUV in reverse and roll back a couple of feet, giving them plenty of room to pull out.
I assumed he was a client, I say after the sedan has pulled away. Who is he?
Why do you ask?
He hesitated as he walked by the car. Like he might have sensed something.
Liz dismisses the idea. Through one of my spells? Impossible. Come on up.
She clicks off and I steer into the now-vacated space.
By the time I get to Evans door, Liz is waiting for me. Id normally describe her as one of the most grounded, self-confident women Ive ever known. And one of the most beautiful. Tall and willowy with gleaming light brown skin and a long mane of hair thats never had a bad day, she turns heads wherever she goes. Today, though, shes all wringing hands and breathless anxiety. Shes wearing a pair of old flannel pajama bottoms and a T-shirt at least three sizes too big. Evans, I imagine. And not her usual business attire.
You saw a client looking like this?
It was an emergency. She pulls me inside. Theres some political unrest in the vampire community, trouble brewing. Vampire-on-vampire hate crimes are on the rise and . . . Never mind about that. She thumps her chest. What am I going to do?
Well, if Evan saw you looking like this before he left for work this morning, you might not have anything to worry about now.
She runs her fingers through her hair. I didnt sleep a wink.
I find myself looking around the loft. So, this is Evans place. How about a tour?
She waves a hand. Living room, dining room, kitchen, two bedrooms upstairs. Should we talk in the living room or maybe in the kitchen? I have lunch.
Ive never seen her so upset. I reach out and attempt to smooth down her hair. How about we start with lunch? If I know you, you probably skipped breakfast.
She leads me through a designers showcase of a place. Comfortable but sterile. Living room painted all white with overstuffed sofa and large media unit, dining room with whitewashed fireplace and a modern glass table, kitchen the Top Chef would feel at home in. Only here and there do I see touches that can only be Lizsa funky black-and-white rug under the coffee table in the living room, a crystal vase on the fireplace mantel that catches the sunlight streaming in from terrace doors and reflects a rainbow of color on the wall behind it, a pot of herbs on the granite kitchen counters.
I barely have time to take it all in before Liz is pushing a plate into my hand. Help yourself. Well sit on the terrace. I could use some fresh air.
Shes set up a salad bar on the counter separating the kitchen from the living room. I pile my plate with greens, spinach, artichoke hearts, olives, red pepper, sliced tomato. She has a tiny plate of shredded chicken breast. I know its for me. Liz is vegan. I dump it on top of the other stuff. The only dressing I see is some kind of raspberry vinaigrette.
Vinaigrette? Liz knows me better.
Wheres the good stuff? I ask, holding up the offending bottle.
She lets out an exaggerated sigh that telegraphs the level of her impatience, tromps to the fridge, and pulls out a bottle of ranch dressing. Sorry. I meant to put it out.
Much better. Its my favorite. I get it at a local farmers market. I try to be subtle as I check the expiration date.
Im not subtle enough.
Its still good, Liz huffs. I bought it for you the last time you ate at my place.
I shake the bottle. Howd it end up here?
I brought the perishables from my fridge so they wouldnt spoil. They had to unplug and move it to paint. Jeez. Has it only been a couple of days?
My salad is ready. I pick up a napkin and fork. Arent you eating?
I cant. Im too upset.
Shes across the floor and out the terrace doors before I draw another breath.
I settle into a wrought-iron chair at the glass table facing Liz. I resist the urge to scold her for not eating. What she needs me to do now is listen. Ill have to remember to scold her before I leave. I dont understand why this has you so spooked, I say between bites. Its not as though you and Evan just met. And you like him, dont you?
Of course I like him, Liz snaps. Thats the trouble. We have fun. We understand each other. He lets me have my space and I let him have his. But there are complications, if you know what I mean.
Of course I do. Evan is a vampire. There are naturally some things youll never be able to share. For thousands of years vampires have lived among, but separate from, humans. Now thats changing. The boundaries are blurring, with more and more vampires like Evan blending in, holding down jobs, buying homes, and participating in all aspects of society. I make a point of looking around the spacious condo. But hes mainstreamed pretty well, Id say.
He has. Evans not the problem.
So who is? I ask.
I am. She leans toward me, hands clasped on the table. He really wants to take our relationship to the next level. These last few days have been great. And he sees that as a sign we should make this living arrangement permanent.
And you dont?
Her hands unclasp and fly upward. I dont know. What if I move in and it doesnt work out? I dont want to lose Evan.
So keep your place.
Now her hands flutter like hummingbirds wings. I reach over and grab them. Have you talked with Evan about how you feel?
She shakes her head, her eyes suddenly brimming with tears. Im afraid.
Of Evan?
She gasps. Goddess, no, not afraid like that.
Then what?
Im afraid if I dont agree to move in, hell end our relationship.
I sit back and look at my friend. I wish I could tell you what to do, I say at last. But you need to talk to Evan. From what youve told me about him, hes a pretty levelheaded guy. If he respects you, hell respect your feelings.
Lizs smile is rueful. I just wish I knew what those feelings were.
Well, the way I see it, youve got until your apartment is painted, a week, to decide. In the meantime, enjoy roughing it in this überluxurious condo with a man who obviously adores you. Im sure it will be tough, but youll muddle through.
Liz laughs. A real laugh. Hurry up and eat. I want you to help me pick out a cocktail dress for a benefit Evan and I are attending tomorrow night at the Hotel Del.
I raise an eyebrow. Yeah. Real tough.
While I eat, Liz asks me questions about work in general, my new partner in particular. I answer in nonspecific, noncommittal terms.
When Ive finished eating, I ask in what I hope is an offhand way, Does my dampening spell need a boost, you think?
Liz jumps on what Id hoped was an innocent enough query with the intensity of a witch who smells a trick question. Why? Whats going on?
Nothing. I just wanted to be sure Im not giving anything away.
Because of what happened with my client in the parking lot?
Why not? I nod.
She tilts her head and peers at me through narrowed eyes. Nope, she says at last. Spells holding just fine.
So nothings leaking through. The glamour and dampening spells are both solid, safe?
Safe as houses.
Shit. Thats what I was afraid she was going to say. Zack got a zap of my powers in the kitchen, all right, but whats going on now is something else entirely.
CHAPTER 10
At one forty-five I leave Liz in a much better mood than I found her in. We didnt resolve her dilemma with Evan, but she seems calmer and ready to look at the situation through less hysterical eyes. And we picked the red Badgley Mischka for her date with Evan tomorrow night.
Its a short drive from Evans to Balboa Park. I take an outside table in the Tea Pavilion after ordering the Spicy Green Dragon Chai from the menu. I sip it while I wait for Dexter, and consider whether I should go back inside and order a curry rice bowl with beef. I love Liz, but salad just isnt my idea of lunch.
Before I make a decision, I spy Dexter coming toward me with the determined look of a man intent on unburdening himself. He doesnt stop at the Pavilion to pick up anything to eat or drink. Instead he comes directly over and slumps into the chair across from me. He is out of breath, even paler than yesterday, and Im alarmed at the haunted look in his eyes.
Can I get you something to drink? To eat? I ask.
He shakes his head, passing a hand over his face. No. Thanks. The walk over here took more out of me than I expected. Ill be fine. Just let me catch my breath.
It takes a few minutes for Michaels breathing to return to normal, for some color to come back into his face. Still, his eyes are troubled when they meet mine. Its more now than physical illness thats clouding them. He reminds me of the way Liz looked when I first saw her, anxious, uncomfortable, uneasy in his own skin.
I take a few sips of tea while I wait. Then I gently prod him to begin. Whatever you need to tell me, its not going to shock me. Ive heard it all before, Michael.
He closes his eyes for a moment, exhales. I doubt youve heard this before, he mumbles.
Want to try me?
He breathes in, slowly, deeply, like a man about to plunge underwater. Then he lets go. His words come out in a pent-up rush.
Isabella is a vampire. I know it sounds crazy, but hear me out. She was bitten her first week of grad schooltaken by force when she wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time. She was gone two weeks. She called me once right after it happened to tell me some bullshit story about having met some old friends from her undergrad days. She didnt want me to worry, but she was going to go on a trip with them and would be gone for a little while. Thats the only time I heard from her until she came back home. I knew something was wrong the minute I saw her. I kept after her until she told me the truth.
He gets all the words out without drawing a breath. Then he stops abruptly. Hes waiting for me to react. He expects me to be shocked; I read it on his face. After a moment, he points out the obvious. I just told you Isabella is a vampire. You arent calling me crazy. Why?
I stall by pouring another cup of tea, swirling my spoon around in the cup, taking a sip. Gathering my thoughts. How should I answer Dexter?
I, too, know vampires exist. Their existence, like that of other supernatural creatures, is a well-guarded secret. One I wouldnt normally betray. But this cat is out of the proverbial bag. More important, I now have another angle to explore, one that might lead us to finding Isabella.
I push at my cup, edging it away, deciding the only way to find out is to be blunt with Dexter. So she was turned just a few months before her disappearance. Do you know if Isabella had sworn fealty to any of the vampire factions?
Dexters shoulders wilt with relief. You believe me? You know vampires exist? Youre not trying to humor me?
Im not trying to humor you. Vampires are as real as you and me.
His hand flies up to cover his mouth, and his eyes fill with tears. I cant tell you what a relief this is.
I nod and give his hand a squeeze. He doesnt have to tell me. I know what its like to have to hold a secret inside because you fear no one will understand or believe you.
After a few seconds he pulls himself together and continues. Isabella never let go of her humanity. As soon as she was strong enough, she abandoned her sire. He was a junkie who could barely take care of himself, never mind show Isabella the ropes. It took time, but she came to terms with what happened. She made up her mind that she was going to finish school and shes been working toward that goal ever since.
But she must feed to survive.
She never feeds directly from people. She gets her supply from one of the Blood Emporiums. Or she did. He peers at me. You know about those, too?
I nod. Emporiums opened up a couple of decades ago, around the same time that Protectus was discovereda drug that allows vampires to tolerate sunlight. Its these two things that really sparked the mainstream movement. It started here in California and spread east, then into Europe and other parts of the world.
Most Emporiums are located in the back of businesses catering to those who pursue alternative lifestyles, tattoo shops, and heavy metal clubs. For vampires they offer fresh blood from paid donors who, for the most part, have no idea where the blood ends up or who is paying for it. Would-be vampires and goths simply believe they are indulging in a fantasy. They never see the real vampires who come to buy their blood bags and the drugs that allow them to function during the day.
Dexter continues. She used a drug called Protectus to be able to walk in daylight. She went back to school, held down a part-time job, lived like everyone else. Even our friends didnt know.
So she mainstreamed.
Totally. And as far as I know, she never had contact again with the vamp who sired her. Or any other vamp, for that matter.
Can you tell me the address of the Blood Emporium she frequented?
Its somewhere downtown in the Gaslamp District. He leans toward me. Do you think the vampire connection is important?
Truthfully, Im not sure. But Im glad you told me. Its one more lead to pursue. I read his next question in the shadow of anxiety in his expression. Nothing we spoke of today will ever be part of the official record. It cant be.
Dexter closes his eyes for an instant, settling back in his chair. When he opens them again, the darkness is gone. You have no idea how tied up in knots Ive been about this. I love Isabella. But I just knew if I told the police what I told you, theyd ship me to Sharp Mesa Vista Hospital for a psychiatric evaluation. As quickly as the optimism has appeared, its swallowed up by a grim frown. Then again, if I had told them, maybe Isabella would be home instead of God knows where.
Dont do that to yourself. You were right when you said how the police would have reacted. That, of course, is true. But what I say next sounds like cold comfort, even to my own ears. Dont give up hope. Were not.
Dexter reaches into his pocket, pulls out a piece of paper, opens it, and slides it across the table toward me.
Whats this? I ask.
A receipt from the Blood Emporium. Isabella always paid cash. I found this in her room. She went there on the day she disappeared, then came home afterward. Someone there might have been the last person to see Isabella before she disappeared. Maybe she said something. Maybe someone at the Emporium saw something.
I glance at the date on the slip, refold it, and slip it into my handbag. Thanks for this.
Youll look into it? he asks.
Ill look into it, I assure him.
Yet Dexter still looks uncertain. I feel horrible. Before now, I didnt know who to go to. Do you think this is too little too late?
No. Every detail is important. I push my chair away from the table and stand up. Thank you for trusting me. I promise to be in touch.
He takes my outstretched hand but doesnt get up with me. I glance back once on the way to the exit. Hes staring down at the table, as still and inanimate as one of his statues.
CHAPTER 11
Its not easy to put that last image of Dexter out of my mind as I drive to the office. It would be a miracle if we found Isabella after two months. Was it possible she didnt want to be found? Dexter seemed convinced she was taken. But maybe shed merely decided living a double life was too hard and left to find sanctuary with her own kind. If thats the case, well never find her.
What I do find when I approach my cubicle is a note on my desk from Zack. Im in the conference room. I stop just long enough to text Liz before trekking off to find him. I ask her to see if Evan knows anything about the Blood Emporium in the Gaslamp District.
Zack has taken over the conference room we usually use for staff meetings and potlucks. The long table is now scattered with the folders stacked in neat little piles. The whiteboard is covered with notes, some handwritten directly on it in blue or red pen, others on Post-its of various colors. Zack is sitting at the far end, hand suspended in midair as if hes forgotten the cup held halfway to his mouth. Hes staring at the notes. I take a moment to observe him.
Waiting for an invitation? Come and join the party.
Note to self: its hard to spy on a werewolf.
He puts his cup down. The coffees fresh.
I shake my head. I think I met my caffeine quota before lunch today. I look over at the board. Anything?
No. The one word is spit out in disappointment and irritation. And my research into Barakovs first wife went nowhere, either.
Well, the board looks lovely. Very . . . colorful.
He gives me the fish-eye. Where have you been all afternoon? Fending off attacks from the Nordstrom perfume girl?
I ignore the gibe and close the door to the conference room.
Zack immediately perks up. Youve got something worth closing the door for? What?
I sit down beside him. I had a meeting with Michael Dexter.
How did that happen?
He called me right after you and I hung up this morning. He asked if I could meet him. Now comes the tricky part, how to address the matter of Isabellas nature. I need to convey to Zack my knowledge of the supernatural world, without intimating that Im part of it. Id like to be able to do it without him feeling threatened, exposed. But after thinking it through, I dont think I can. This could be an important new lead, and whatever his reaction, Ill come up with a way to deal with it.
I draw a sharp breath. Theres something about Isabella that he wanted to tell me. Something that wasnt in the official police report.
I have his complete attention. Oh?
Shes a vampire, Zack. Before he can sputter that vampires dont exist and I must have had too much wine with lunch, I cut him off. Dont waste time pretending to be shocked or telling me that Im crazy. This isnt going to end up in any report. It wont leave the room. But we both know vampires are as real as . . . well, werewolves.
Both eyebrows shoot up, but he recovers quickly. He reaches out and places a hand on my forehead. Are you running a fever?
I push it away, then lower my voice and lean in close. I wont expose you, promise. But I know what you are. Ive known it from the beginning. From the instant we met.
Zacks shoulders stiffen.
This isnt about you. Its about Amy and Isabella. I stand up and walk over to where photos of them are taped to the board. Theyre depending on me, on us. I feel time may be running out. We have a new angle to explore. I want to, I need to follow it. And I need your head in the game. I need you with me. We have to find out if any of the other kidnap victims were vampires. Can I count on you?
Im not only asking him to do his job; Im asking for an admission as well.
Zack stares at me, mouth set in a hard line, fingers drumming the table. I can tell he wants to give me a firm yes, but something is holding him back, nagging at him. Ill bet it has nothing to do with the case and everything to do with me. Quid pro quo.
Were alone. I could insert a simple thought, a suggestion. Hed accept it, move on. But I cant risk using my magic with him. I know that. So I stare back at him, waiting. Hoping.
What are you? he asks finally. Youre not purely human, either. What happened last night in the kitchen was not just emotions running wild. It was something else. Something I think you made happen. Or encouraged to happen. Its time for you to come clean.
What I am is not important. What happened in the kitchen was a mistake. One we should make sure doesnt happen again.
A mistake? Is that what you call it? His voice has an angry edge, but theres something else in the tone, too. Wow, and here I was, thinking it had something to do with magic. Only it wasnt like any magic Ive ever felt before. So much for trust.
I swallow, resisting the urge to smooth things over.
Zacks not letting up. He takes a step closer, lowers his voice. You get to know my secrets, but I cant know yours. Is that it, partner?
His anger radiates outward like the heat from a torch. It makes me want to move away, out of range, before I get burned.
I hold my ground. Were not here to trade secrets, Zack. Were here to solve a case. Youre losing focus. You
Need to keep my head in the game.
Exactly. This isnt personal.
Bullshit! You made this personal. Do you have any idea how many people Ive shared my past with? I thought . . . The anger vanishes. Its replaced by something else, something far more difficult to bear. Sadness. You arent human. Something happened between us. You made it happen. And its something I cant stop thinking about. He moves in closer, restraint crumbling. The air between us thick with desire and tension. My breath hitches as I look up into his eyes.
Nothing happened between us, I say. You need to leave it alone.
At first, I think hes going to argue. He leans toward me, eyes flashing. His hands are balled into fists at his sides. Then his shoulders relax and he takes a step back. Thats the way you want to play this? Fine. I imagined everything. Its your call. Like everything else, partner.
I feel the sting of the last remark. It hangs in the air, like a wedge between us. I dont expect him to apologize. Hes right.
Zacks eyes drift to the window, a spark of alarm registering as he catches the lengthening rays of the sun. Theres less than an hour until sunset. Ive got to get home. I should be there already.
Before I can draw in a breath, hes already left the conference room. From the doorway I watch as he continues past his desk. He grabs his jacket off the back of his chair without breaking stride and heads for the elevator. He doesnt bother to look back.
I gather my things and go back to my desk. Its been a long day. Its going to be an even longer night.
I glance out the windows. Darkness will soon be descending, lights from the building across the way bite into the gloom. Its the third night of the full moon.
The elevator door opens and a delivery boy with a huge flower arrangement steps off. Do you know Emma Monroe?
Zack turns to face me. I thought I did. Now Im not so sure. He steps onto the elevator, and the door closes.
I motion the delivery boy over.
Emma Monroe? These are for you.
I take the flowers and open the card. Its a thank-you from a grateful Michael Dexter. Theres also an invitation to a fund-raiser/auction at the Hotel Del Coronado tomorrow night. The event starts at seven and there will be two tickets waiting for me at the door.
Its the same benefit Liz mentioned.
The office is nearly empty. I tuck the note and invitation in my handbag. Its time to go home. The conference room lights are still on. I wander over and scan the whiteboard. I think of Amy, of Isabella, of Zack and all the work hes been putting in trying to find them. I sink into the chair hed occupied. My skin itches with frustration and impatience. Ill go stir-crazy if I go home to an empty house. I need to be doing something.
Amy Pattersons file is open. I peruse our notes. A bit of conversation floats to the surface.
Amys empty cupboards.
Amy orders in a lot.
I sit up straight.
Maybe. But maybe theres another reason her cupboards and refrigerator are bare. I snatch up Amys keys from my desk drawer and head out.
The first thing I do after letting myself into Amys apartment is slip on latex gloves and recheck the bathroom cabinets. Nothing. Next, I look behind towels and sheets in the linen closet. Then I move things around in her closets. I methodically peer into every nook and cranny. No Protectus. No hidden cooler with blood bags. Perhaps she drinks straight from the source. Perhaps she stays cloistered behind those special tinted windows until sundown.
Perhaps Im totally off the mark.
Back to the kitchen. Another search of the cupboards reveals no new results. I lean against the center island, eyes scanning the countertops. My gaze drops to the dishwasher. I open it. There are only four glasses in the upper rack, two wineglasses, and two juice glasses. There are lipstick smudges on the rims of the wineglasses, so the dishwasher has not been recently run. But there is no residue in the bottom of any of them, either. Amy probably rinsed them.
I pull them out. One by one I hold them up to the light, looking for a trace of what they might have held. I close my eyes, sniff the inside. Nothing. I frown at the four glasses, lined up like good little soldiers on the counter. Zack could probably tell me what each of them containedif he were here. And speaking to me.
I withdraw a spray bottle of luminol from my handbag. Dousing the lights, I spray the glasses and stand back. A blue glow appears in the bottom and sides of each glass. The glow lasts only half a minute, but its enough to prove my theory.
Each glass held blood.
Amy Patterson is a vampire.
CHAPTER 12
Some days its pure pleasure to walk in my front door and close the world out behind me. Some days the stupid world follows me inside. I toss my keys, bag, and work files onto the coffee table and head for the bedroom. Now that the thrill of my earlier discovery is gone, Im feeling restless again. In a minute, Ive stripped out of the confines of my work clothes and into my favorite robe. Its silk. The living, breathing fabric is one of the oldest in the world. Being wrapped in it usually affords me a modicum of comfort. Not tonight.
I pour a glass of wine. An old-world red this time, the last remaining from a case I bought two years ago. Its complex, full-bodied, and very hard to find. Before I can take a sip, my cell phone rings.
I check the caller ID.
Liz.
Im not ready to fill her in on the Zack situation. Im tempted to let the call roll into voice mail. But then I remember I asked her to check with Evan about the Gaslamps Blood Emporium.
Have you talked to Evan? I ask as a greeting.
A sigh. No. He sent me a text an hour ago. He has an important hearing tomorrow that he has to prepare for. He said not to wait up.
So you werent able to ask him about the Blood Emporiums?
Sorry. I do have someone else I could check with, though. Ill call him in the morning if I dont get a chance to ask Evan tonight.
Im specifically interested in the place in the Gaslamp, I remind her. Then I take a sip of my wine, taste the earthiness in the back of my throat, swallow. Oh. I got an invitation to that benefit on Friday, too. Compliments of one of the participating artists.