She gives Zack a fleeting look and whispers, Does he know?
That youre a witch? Yes.
Ive called all our friends. Ive worked every locator spell I can think of. What comes up has me crazy. A void. Hes yet to be released to absolute death. Its something worse. It feels as if hes trappedon an alternative plane, or that hes in some kind of altered state. Its different than simple sleep or unconsciousness. Its dark, menacing.
She looks again at Zack, this time with trepidation, as if expecting him to make a comment about how fantastical this sounds. For the moment at least, shes forgotten that fantastical applies to each of us in this room.
Zack, however, has his eyes on the coffee table. He leans forward and picks up a flyer lying there. Whats this?
Liz glances at the brochure in his hand, shrugs. Its a program for tonights benefit. She looks at me. The same one you have tickets for.
Zack is studying the logo. Green Leaf. Where have I seen that name? He opens the program and in the space of a heartbeat, he looks at me with grim seriousness. Guess whos on Green Leafs board of directors.
He turns the page around so I can read the name he has his finger perched above. Dr. Alexander Barakov.
Whos that? Liz asks.
I have to keep the eagerness out of my voice when I answer her. Someone Zack and I recently interviewed. Evidently hes on the Green Leaf board of directors. Has Evan ever mentioned him?
I dont think so. I know Evans firm represents the Green Leaf Foundation. Thats why we were invited to the benefit.
Im perusing the program. Michael Dexters name is listed as a participating artist in the charity auction. Is that the piece he was working on the day before yesterday? No wonder he mentioned a deadline.
Would you mind calling Evans office to see if Dr. Barakov is a client, too? I ask Liz, wanting a few moments alone with Zack.
Sure. Liz stands up My cell is in the kitchen.
When shes gone, I lean toward Zack. Another vampire gone with a connection to Barakov?
When we get back to the office, Ill check the financial records for Amy and Isabella. Hes quiet for a moment. Maybe Barakov isnt the connection. Maybe this foundation is.
Liz is back in a minute. Shes carrying a garment bag. Her face reflects the anxiety and fear thats been racking her mind. No Barakov on the client list, she says. No word from Evan.
She tosses her cell phone on the couch, passes the garment bag from her left hand to the right.
I rise to give her a hug. Well find him. We have a few things we need to check at the office. Will you be all right here alone?
Liz steps reluctantly out of my arms. Yes. Why did you have me check on Barakov?
I dont want to alarm Liz, but I dont want to lie to her, either. Barakov has been a common denominator in a couple missing persons cases. But we dont have anything solid.
Hes connected to Green Leaf, and Evan has connections to Green Leaf. You think this Barakov might have done something to Evan?
The edge in her voice is razor sharp. The last thing we need is a pissed-off witch going after the wrong guy. Zack realizes that, too, and reacts quickly. I think we need to give Emma a few minutes alone with him so she can find out. Hell be at the party.
Liz peers at me, tossing her head in Zacks direction. He knows about you, too?
I nod.
She frowns. That he knows my true nature, and that he could only know it if I told him, makes our connection too intimate for her approval.
The atmosphere in the room becomes stiflingly oppressive.
Zack feels the tension between Liz and me and, once again, breaks the silence. Lets not forget its possible theres another explanation for why you cant locate Evan. You already mentioned an alternative reality. What else could interfere with your scrying?
You mean like a shield of some sort? Liz suggests.
Any way for you to determine if thats whats blocking you? he asks.
I can see her wheels turning. Zack has given her something to focus on besides me . . . or Barakov. Something that not only will keep her busy, but could be a huge help.
Maybe. A shield that strong would take a lot of energy. Ill keep trying my locator spells and start looking for pockets of unusual power. She glances down at the garment bag as if just remembering it. Take this, before I forget.
What is it?
Youll see when you get home. Trust me, youll like it.
When she passes the bag to me, theres a rustle of fabric. This must be the dress Liz mentioned I could borrow. This is so Liz. Her world could be falling apart and shes thinking about what Im going to wear to the party.
I wont go if you want me to stay here with you, I tell her, pushing the bag away.
No. Her reply is quick, adamant. My place is here. But you go. If anyone at Green Leaf is in any way involved in Evans disappearance, you can find out. The look she sends me telegraphs that she knows I can find out, that she expects me to do whatever it takes, that shes certain I will.
Should I call the police? she asks then.
Wait a little while longer, Zack says. Were doing everything possible right now. Lets see how things play out and keep one another posted.
She sighs and walks us to the door. Zack goes ahead and I pause to give Liz one last hug.
She pulls away. Oh, I almost forgot. She turns back to the coffee table and slips a piece of paper out of a folder lying there. A list of Blood Emporiums.
I glance at it. Looks pretty complete. Whos your source?
She shrugs. A longtime client. He circled the one in the Gaslamp, the one he thought you might be interested in. Her mouth twists in a weary frown. Ironic, isnt it, Emma? Yesterday I wasnt sure how I felt about Evan. Today Id give my life to see him back home safe. With me.
I smile and touch her cheek. He will be. And the good news is now you know. You have your answer.
I toss the garment bag into the backseat of the car. I can wait until I get home to see the dress. Its the piece of paper Liz handed me that has my attentiona computer-generated list of all of San Diegos Blood Emporiums with the names of each ones cover business and address.
Check this out. I hold up the paper so Zack can see.
Wicked Ink? Its circled in red. The address is around Fifth and J Street.
Michael Dexter found a receipt dated the day Isabella disappeared. He said she used to pick up her blood supply from a Blood Emporium in the Gaslamp. I think this might be it.
Zack gives the list a quick once-over. This looks like a list of all of the Emporiums in San Diego County. Information like this isnt easy for an outsider to come by. Where did Liz get it?
I shake my head. I dont know. A friend of Evans maybe? But I think its worth paying this Wicked Ink a visit. Someone there might have been the last person to see Isabella before she disappeared.
Zacks expression clouds over with worry.
What are you thinking? I ask him.
Some of the old guard have been targeting the Emporiums. They arent happy with the number of vampires who are mainstreaming. They fear its a sign the culture is collapsing.
But theyve been sanctioned by those in power, right?
Thats the case here in the West. My understanding is that theres quite a bit of dissension between the four American sovereigns. The new Southern king is vehemently opposed. Hes been spewing all sorts of new rhetoric. Or should I say old rhetoric? He wants the Emporiums shut down.
I havent kept up with vampire politics. I didnt even know there was a new Southern king. When did this happen?
Eight, maybe nine months ago. He started by levying outrageous taxes, driving up the price of blood in his territory until its practically unaffordable, both for those buying and selling. Theres a huge propaganda machine behind the movement. The Emporiums are like a lifeline to mainstreamed vampires. Theyre what allow them to function and integrate into society. Shutting down the Emporiums would have the same impact on vampires that shutting down every grocery store would have on humans.
Then why on earth is the Southern king doing it?
Because its more difficult to oppressively rule people who are independent. He talks about giving control back to the vampires. Of supporting their taking whats rightfully theirs instead of lining the pockets of the elite few and kowtowing to humans. I think what hes really after is a return to the old ways. Some of the zealots have started to move into other territories. Ive heard reports that Emporiums in New Mexico and Arizona have been torched. Ive even heard theyve gone so far as to kidnap and torture patrons. It seems they might be working their way west.
Like here? Southern California? Do you think thats why we have three missing vampires?
Zack shrugs. Its something else to check out.
And something else to complicate an already complicated case. I glance at Zack. How do you know so much about it?
Zack avoids my eyes. My former pack has close ties with the Southern king.
One of the reasons you parted ways? I ask.
I get a curt nod. Then he closes down. I see it in the set of his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw. He starts the car and pulls onto the street.
I clear my throat. Hate crimes against vampires by other vampires. Whats next?
If Zack has an answer to that question, he keeps it to himself. We decide to split up. Ill go to the Blood Emporium alone and Zack will go back to the office to take a second look at Amys and Isabellas financial records. When we looked the first time, we were searching for evidence that the two women were patients of Dr. Barakov. This time hes going to look for contributions to Green Leaf.
Soon Im on my way to Wicked Ink. The first order of business will be to see if I can persuade anyone to acknowledge that an Emporiums housed there. If I get that far, Ill ask to speak to someone in charge. For obvious reasons, getting a warrant is out of the question. This is going to be up to me and my powers of persuasion.
Parking in the Gaslamp District is always a hassle. Theres a road crew working on Fifth Avenue, which makes the predictably busy traffic even worse. Ive been moving at a snails pace but making progress. Until now.
Now I find myself stuck behind a black sedan thats decided to stop right in front of my destinationWicked Ink. Its just large enough so that it blocks the lane, has tinted windows all around like so many others these days, much like the one I saw at Evans place this morning. The light up ahead changes, but it still doesnt move. I honk. The driver gets out.
Ill be damned.
It isnt like the car I saw at Evans. It is the car I saw at Evans. The driver glances back at me, not with the slightest hint of apology or even curiosity. His eyes flick my way; then he turns his back on me and holds open the rear door. The passenger gets out and heads inside. Again, there is a distinct moment of hesitation on his part. But he doesnt look back. I cant see his face. Is he the one who gave Liz the list I have in my pocket? If I can convince him to talk to me, he might have information about Isabella. He might even have a sense about whether the conflicts Zack mentioned have anything to do with the disappearances of Amy, Isabella, or Evan. They were all mainstreamed. Could it be they were all getting their blood here? Are they targets of the faction who wish to see the Emporiums closed?
The sedan is once again on the move. Traffic opens up and I luck out. Theres a parking space just around the corner on J Street. I park, then hurry to catch up with the man in black.
The bell over the door rings as I walk into the shop.
Its not at all what I expected.
For a tattoo parlor, Wicked Ink has one fancy reception area. To my right is a large, round dining room table, surrounded by high-back red velvet chairs and piled high with black leather-bound books and two sterling silver candelabras. Each holds half a dozen black candles, all lit. There are more candles blazing in the standing candelabras that line the north and south walls. The walls and ceiling are padded, tufted, and covered with an elegant black on black brocade, the floors a dark polished wood. A series of ornate silver-framed floor-to-ceiling mirrors covers the east wall across from me. I see myself reflected in several of them.
Its eerily quiet, too. No heavy metal blaring from hidden speakers. Only the barely discernible hum of an air conditioner pumping refrigerated air into a room Id guess is about sixty degrees already. A shiver races down my spine. To my left theres a sitting area. I wander over. There are two red velvet sofas facing each other. Between them is a round black velvet ottoman with silver-beaded fringe. More leather-bound volumes are stacked on it. I take a seat and flip through the first one. Theyre filled with designs, each one labeled and indexed.
Can I help you?
I turn toward the voice just in time to see a door close. Its cut into the brocade-covered wall and, once closed, is all but invisible. A touch of a button and a large flat-screen monitor thats recessed into the wall comes alive. It displays the stores highly stylized black-and-red logo. Most of our clients prefer searching the online database. The voice belongs not to the man I was looking for, but a young woman.
More precisely, a young female vampire.
She couldnt have been more than sixteen when she was turned and looks to be completely at home in these surroundings. Her black, off-the-shoulder taffeta gown has a fitted bodice and a full skirt. I hear the rustle of silk and crinoline as she glides toward me. Her face is heart-shaped. The narrow chin and delicate cheekbones serve to further accentuate her enormous green eyes. The clothing is late Victorian, but the hair and makeup are contemporary goth. Smudged kohl eyeliner, dark red lipstick, and flawless, pale skin. Her jet-black hair is piled atop her head in an organized mess. Feather accents finish the look that must have taken hours to painstakingly create. The ink shes sporting is dramatic, an intricate pattern of black thorns and bloodred roses that start at the top of her neck and run down, disappearing into the gown. More peek out from the edges of the long sleeves of the dress and run over her hands and fingers. I wonder how much of her petite body is covered.
With the experience of one who knows exactly the reaction her image projects, she stretches out a hand. All my work is done here. What, exactly, are you looking for? Im sure I can point you in the right direction.
Her question is spoken in a purr. I rise from the couch, shake my head, and flash my badge. Beautiful ink, but thats not why Im here. Special Agent Emma Monroe.
FBI?
Thats right. You are?
Rose.
Appropriate. I slip the badge back into my pocket. A man came in here a minute or two ago.
The vampire makes a show of looking around. I dont think so. It appears were quite alone, Agent Monroe.
Perhaps hes back there? I point to the door that shes just emerged from.
There are three tattoo stations back there. All of them are currently empty. I was just setting up. The artists dont normally come in until late afternoon. Youre welcome to look. She steps back and waves toward the door. The man youre looking for, is he a criminal of some kind?
No. I dont take her up on her offer to search behind door number one. If shes so willing to have me do it, theres no point.
I decide to go for the direct approach, hoping my candor will loosen her tongue and that I wont have to resort to using my powers.
I want to speak to someone who works the other side of the business.
The other side?
Someone with the Emporium. Im working a missing persons case. Actually, its a missing vampire. We have reason to believe she was here the day she went missing.
At the mention of vampire, Rose allows a slow smile to form on her lips. Missing vampire? Can I see that badge again? This is a joke, right? Max put you up to this, didnt he?
Roses skirt starts to ring. She turns her back on me, reaches into a pocket, and pulls out a cell phone.
Yes? The vampire looks up into a corner of the room where a discreet surveillance camera is positioned.
Id bet my badge that my mystery man is watching.
Of course, sire. Right away. She turns back to face me, the cell once again concealed in the folds of her skirt. Follow me.
Sire? I have no time to ask the question. Rose is on the move. She crosses the room, pushing one of the tufted wall panels aside to reveal a keypad. She enters a series of numbers, and a door, like the first one she came through, swings inward. I follow her down a short hallway to a staircase. Apparently there are floors not only above, but below us. We head down. Despite the dress, Rose negotiates the steep steps rather well.
When we reach the door at the bottom, were immediately buzzed through. I feel as if Ive gone down the rabbit hole and ended up in my local grocery store. Real basements are extremely rare in Southern California. This one has a polished white floor, harsh fluorescent lights, and a long double row of industrial-grade refrigerators with glass doors.
The refrigerators are filled with blood packs. The lower shelf of one contains insulated bags that are tagged with names, dates, and times. The signs hanging on the outside that normally point shoppers to the vegetables or ice cream instead have written upon them things like A+ and B-. I pause in front of a door marked YBV.
YBV?
Rose walks back. Young Blond Virgin, one of my personal favorites. We carry both male and female, of course. This time when she smiles, I see the fangs. Come. Simon is waiting.
Rose leads the way. At the end of the first aisle, we turn right and cross several more before taking another left. I follow her up a short set of industrial stairs to what appears to be an office above. Im not exactly sure where we are, but Im certain were no longer under the tattoo shop.
Rose knocks on the door before entering. Simon?
Hes seated on a sofa, a game console in his hand and a pile of dead bodies looming on the television screen in front of him. Simon is most decidedly not the man Id seen walk in. He isnt even a vampire. With his unruly bed head, rumpled T-shirt, and khakis, the twentysomething looks like a typical college student.
Come in! Agent Monroe, is it? Have a seat.
There is an endearing and awkward nervous energy about him. I take the seat opposite the only other piece of furniture in the room, a glass and stainless steel desk. On top of the desk is a sleek, state-of-the-art desktop computer.
I understand youre looking for a missing vampire. Simon reaches to open a small refrigerator beside the sofa and pulls out a Red Bull. Can I offer you something?
Im good. His reference to the missing vampire is stated with casual indifference, as if an FBI agent walked in every day to ask for help. As if someone is running interference.
While he pops open the drink, I look around.
His office looks like a dorm room. Theres a large-screen television on one wall. In front of it is an old overstuffed sofa and a video game console. There are shelves on the opposite wall that contain an impressive collection of manga and a variety of comic book action figures that I dont recognize. On the back of the door I entered, which is now closed, is a basketball hoop.
Simon frowns at something behind me. I turn around. Rose is standing on the other side of the door. I can see her through the glass window that gives Simon a birds-eye view of the refrigeration system below. There are several rows like the one I just walked through. I can see now its likely the operation stretches the entire subterranean length of the block.
Simon motions with his hand, shooing her away.
I dont particularly care if Rose overhears our conversation, so I get down to business. Im looking into the disappearance of someone who I believe receives her blood supply from you, Isabella Mancini.
He leans against the back of the sofa. Does the FBI know that youre here?
I smile. They dont track my every move.
They do. You just dont know it, he says, jabbing the air for emphasis. They can track you using your cell phoneFBI, CIA, NSA.
Im here unofficially, I volunteer, hoping to get the conversation back on track.
Thats what they all say. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back on the sofa. What department are you with?
Missing Persons. San Diego Field Office.
And they know about vampires? About this place?
Whatever I say, Ill be feeding into Simons paranoia. May as well tell him the truth. No. This is off the books. Sort of.
Im tempted to use my powers to ensure truthful answers, but Im not sure its necessary. I suspect the same person that called Rose on her cell phone already ordered Simon to cooperate with me. I wouldnt be here with him otherwise. My eyes do a quick sweep of the ceiling. Theres a camera here, too. I pointedly look up at it when I add, Time really is of the essence.
Simon follows my glance, smiles, and slides into the chair behind his desk. Isabella Mancini. He types the name into the computer. What do you want to know?
Did anything unusual happen the last day she was here?
Shes a drive-through customer. She never actually came in.
Drive-through?
We offer home delivery, drive-through, and pickup. Home delivery is more expensive and by credit card or direct withdrawal only. Pickup is the most economical, but not very convenient. Parking in this neighborhood can be a bitch.
Tell me about it. Where is the drive-through window?
On the Fourth Avenue side of the building. She picked up on time, as usual, paid cash. Thats all I can tell you. She hasnt been back since.
Are there any security tapes I could review to see if perhaps she was being followed?
Im sorry, no. We dont have a camera on the pickup window. For obvious reasons. Our customers demand privacy.
Maybe I could speak to the person who worked the window that day? See if he or she remembers anything?
We have two people covering each shift. They rotate working the window and getting the orders prepared for pickup. Cash is picked up every hour when the supply for the next one is delivered. José was on that day. I remember him saying something about going to Baja for the weekend. I can try his cell, but you know how reception is down there.
Please. Try.
Simon dials the number using a program on his computer. I hear it ringing, then going to voice mail. He leaves a message. Dude, its Simon. Listen, an Agent Monroe is going to call you and ask you a few questions about a customer. Its cool. Tell her whatever you remember.
He scribbles Josés number on a Post-it and hands it to me. The signal in Mexico totally sucks. You might not be able to reach him until Monday. Anything else I can help you with?
I pocket the number. Ive heard theres been some trouble in other states, some political conflicts resulting in vandalism and violence against mainstreamers. Have you encountered anything like that?
Simon shakes his head. No, the California operation runs like clockwork. There have been a few problems in New Mexico and Arizona, but were adding extra security at those locations.
Hes sipping on his drink, answering my questions with the friendly candor of two college chums discussing one of those video games on his wall. Simon, I have to ask. Just what do you do here?
My official title is Operational Director, Western Region. I was recruited from Cal Tech three years ago. Hey, you showed it to Rose, can I see your badge?
So our mystery man isnt the only one whod been watching. I pull my badge out and hand it to him.
Cool. He hands it back to me. Anything else I can tell you?
Amy Patterson and Evan Porter.
What about them?
Theyre both missing. Do they get blood from you?
His fingers fly across the keyboard. Evan is on home delivery, and so is Amy. We deliver in Styrofoam chests containing dry ice twice a week, signature required. He frowns. Amy missed a delivery a couple weeks ago. She hasnt contacted us since. We left several discreet messages about rescheduling. No response. Evan is scheduled for delivery today.
I lean forward. It occurs to me this might be a way to identify additional missing vampires. Would it be possible to get a list of others who have missed deliveries or appointments?
Missed them in the past week?
How about the past six months?
It would take some time. We have accounts in pending status for a variety of reasons, lack of payment, people who are on vacation, et cetera.
We only need those that dont have an explanation and havent resumed. Id appreciate it, I tell him. There could be more missing. So far the common denominator in these three cases is that they are all vampires and
We sourced their blood, I understand. Well work on it. Shall I email you the file when its ready?
I dont bother mentioning the other common denominators, Barakov and possibly even Green Leaf, as I hand him my card. Thank you for cooperating.
He smiles. The order came down to give you whatever you needed.
Order? From whom?
Simons desk phone rings before he can answer. He picks up the receiver, listens for a moment, then hands me the phone.
A deep baritone voice on the other end says, Well have the list to you within twenty-four hours. Find our missing, Agent Monroe.
The man doesnt give me a chance to respond or ask questions. Im left listening to the dial tone. The voice wasnt one Id heard before. It wouldnt be easily forgotten. Who was that? I ask, handing the phone back to Simon.
The boss. Simon presses an intercom button and Rose appears like a genie out of a bottle. Nice to meet you, Agent Monroe. Simon grins as if hes got a delicious secret. Well be in touch.
Zack is at his desk when I get back, working on his computer.
Did you find anything? I ask, slipping out of my jacket and hanging it on the desk chair. I lean over his shoulder to view the monitor.
Zack gestures to the screen. Well, I couldnt find any checks from Isabella to Green Leaf. No automatic deductions from any of her accounts, either. But Amy supported them. I discovered five checks made out to Green Leaf in the last five months that were marked as charitable donations. She also contributed to the Red Cross, a San Diego food bank, and the Humane Society. And theres another connection. . . . Green Leaf has a special grant program that subsidizes training for contractors and laborers who promote and install the latest and greatest in green products. It looks like one of those Green Leaf crews installed the shades on Amy Pattersons windows.
Giving them access to her apartment.
Yup. You have any luck at Wicked Ink?
I look around. Other agents are milling about within hearing distance. It was . . . interesting. . . . Ill fill you in later. I take my own seat at the desk across from him. Although they did promise to get me a list of other customers who have missed deliveries or pickups lately.
Zack lowers his voice to a whisper. You think there might be other missing . . . He glances around, too, regroups. Others like Amy and Isabella that we dont know about?
I think its a strong possibility, I say.
He looks over the top of his computer screen at me. You still going to that benefit tonight?
To myself I think, You betcha. Nothings really changed. Im beginning to think getting Barakov alone might be the only way well get a break in this case. Besides, I promised Liz. To Zack, I say, Yes.
You have an extra ticket?
Its black tie. You have a tux?
He nods. Dont look so surprised. He pauses. Is that all youre going to ask me?
I smile. Last night was the third night of the full moon. Youll be safe.