Blood Wyne (3 page)
I stared at the list. Applegate’s Bar, Wyson’s Pub, the Okinofo Lounge . . . not upscale bars but not seedy dives, either. They were solid taverns with good clientele. I let out a long breath and glanced up at him. “Wait out front in one of the booths.”
After he nodded and swaggered out of the office, I put in a few calls. Nobody had anything bad to say about him, and several of the bars praised him, though I could feel a definite tension there. But that was easy: I chalked it up to FBHs dealing with Supes. Making my decision, I headed out front.
Derrick was nursing a Diet Coke.
I slid into the seat across from him. “You drink? Do drugs?”
He shook his head. “Drink beer and Scotch occasionally, but never on duty. Drugs and Badger People aren’t a good mix. We have a temper, I am the first to admit it. I know my limits.”
“Okay, here’s the deal.” I motioned at the bar. “I need somebody and I need him now. So if you can start this week, preferably tonight, so much the better. Your shift will be four P.M. until two A.M., but you may need to come in to help with inventory at times during the day. You’ll need to be on call—there are nights when I have to be gone, and I can’t always predict when that’s going to be. So far so good?”
He nodded. “I like to work. I don’t mind picking up extra shifts. I send what I don’t need home to help my mother raise my brothers and sisters.”
That made me feel even better about hiring him. “Good man. I can pay you fifteen dollars an hour to start. If you’re as experienced as you seem to be, and you last ninety days, I’ll raise that to seventeen. The main thing you need to remember: I’m the boss, you do what I say while you’re here, and you keep your nose clean. What do you think? Want the job or not?”
He raised his glass in salute. “Here’s looking at you, boss.”
At least one of my problems was solved. But it didn’t take long for another to rear its head. As I was showing Derrick around the bar, watching how he handled the bottles and—suitably impressed—how he handled customers, the door opened and Chase Johnson swaggered in.
My sister Delilah’s ex-lover, a cop who was as good as family by now, Chase dressed in Armani and smelled like a perpetual taco stand. He was also one damned fine detective.
After all the arguments we’d been through, I had to give him props. He’d managed to keep it together in situations that would drive the average FBH wacko. Oh yeah. One other little tidbit: Chase also was as good as immortal, at least in human terms. He’d been given the Nectar of Life in order to save his life, and that put him a long leg up on the rest of FBHs.
He glanced at Derrick and nodded, giving me a quizzical look.
“This is Chase Johnson, detective and friend of the business. Close to being family. Treat him right.”
Derrick nodded. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”
“Chase, this is Derrick—my new bartender. Derrick, give us a few minutes alone. Chase has something to talk to me about. Don’t you?”
“Yeah, though I wish this were just a social call.” He shook hands with Derrick, then followed me to a booth. “Werewolf?”
“Badger People. Werebadger.”
“Sheesh—is there a Were class for every animal on the planet?” Chase snorted and rubbed one perfectly groomed eyebrow.
“Just about. What is it, Johnson?”
“Trouble. You have the time to take a little ride with me to headquarters? Vampire business. I think.” He let out a long sigh.
Hell. Vampire business was so
not
what I wanted to hear because when Chase came calling about vampires, it usually meant somebody was dead. Usually murdered. There’d been an upswing in nocturnal activity lately, but since I was no longer privy to the scuttlebutt going around Vampires Anonymous—a support group for vamps new to the life, run by vampire and former friend Wade Stevens—it was harder for me to ferret out secrets. I had to rely on what Sassy Branson told me, but she was growing more erratic every day. I’d been seriously considering taking my “daughter” Erin out of the older vampire’s care.
not
what I wanted to hear because when Chase came calling about vampires, it usually meant somebody was dead. Usually murdered. There’d been an upswing in nocturnal activity lately, but since I was no longer privy to the scuttlebutt going around Vampires Anonymous—a support group for vamps new to the life, run by vampire and former friend Wade Stevens—it was harder for me to ferret out secrets. I had to rely on what Sassy Branson told me, but she was growing more erratic every day. I’d been seriously considering taking my “daughter” Erin out of the older vampire’s care.
“Let me tell Chrysandra.” I hustled over to my waitress and tapped her on the arm. “Keep an eye on Derrick. Help him learn the ropes. Chase needs me.”
“No problem, Menolly. But are you sure? It’s his first night.” She looked a little worried. Normally I’d chalk it up to nerves, but tonight I stopped and looked into her eyes, trying to get a feel for where her jitters were coming from.
“You have a bad feeling about him?” I cocked my head, waiting.
She glanced over at him, then slowly shook her head. “Not at all . . . but . . . there’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it. He’s more than he appears to be, but I don’t sense . . . he’s not hostile, but I think he walks with danger.”
“Most Supes do, nowadays.” I frowned. “Fetch Tavah from the basement. Tell Riki to take over for her down there. If anything goes wrong, Tavah should be able to take care of matters.”
Tavah, another vampire, spent her nights in the basement of the Wayfarer, guarding the portal to Otherworld and keeping track of the guests who came through. She kept the creeps out and let the paying visitors in.
“Okay. Will do.” She ran down the steps as I hightailed it over to Derrick. “Listen, Derrick, I’ve got to go out. Chrysandra will help you out, and while I’m gone she and Tavah are in charge. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Okay?”
He nodded, eyes on the drink he was mixing. “Not a problem. Got it.”
And with that, as soon as I saw Tavah appear at the top of the stairs, I followed Chase into the icy night.
Winter in Seattle vacillates between mild and nasty, but the past couple of years had been pretty rough. Instead of the incessant rain, we’d actually seen snow—enough to stop the city in its tracks for a few days. Last year it had been the god-giant Loki, with his Fenris wolf, making a run on the city because of my now-dead sire. This year, I had the feeling more natural factors were at play. La Niña had come to town. We were in a colder, wetter spell.
And now, two and a half weeks before Yule, it was cold enough to snow and I’d already considered putting snow tires on my Jag.
The chill didn’t bother me, but Chase buttoned his trench as we headed out. He held the door open for me—he was, at heart, a gentleman—and we hustled to his car. I could tell he was cold; the breath puffed out of his mouth like clouds from a steam engine.
The streets were packed with shoppers looking for Christmas bargains. As we edged through traffic, Chase flipped on the radio and Danny Elfman’s voice came out of the speakers, blaring “Dead Man’s Party.”
“Man, I remember dancing to this at one of the local clubs almost fifteen years ago,” he said offhandedly. “I was in high school and dating a girl named Glenda. She had hair a mile high and was in full retro mode. All she wanted to wear was glittery spandex and she looked like one of the B-52 girls.”
I glanced at him. “Do you miss those days? The days when you didn’t know about us or the demons?”
He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel as we waited for traffic to inch forward. “Trick question. No way to answer that truthfully.” Giving me a sideways smirk, he added, “Yes, I do, but only because life was much simpler then. Choices were black and white. But I have to say, since you three entered my life, I’ve never been bored. Scared shitless, yes. Bored? Never.”
Snorting, I leaned forward and turned up the music. “You ever want to, you’re welcome to come clubbing with Nerissa and me, as long as we aren’t hitting a vamp club. We’re damned good on the dance floor.”
Chase’s turn to snicker. “Right. While I’d be the envy of a thousand men, I don’t know if that would fit my style anymore. Then again . . . it might be fun. Hell, I have no clue as to what my style is now.” He sounded lost, and a little frightened. “Look—Santa.”
A sidewalk Santa was ringing his bell for the South Street Mission in front of a small boutique. The winter was chill and cold, and a lot of people were out of work. Gauging from his expression, Santa wasn’t gathering many coins for charity.
“Santa’s a freak-ass scary dude in reality. Camille met him when she was young.” I stared at the pseudo-Santa through the window as we passed by and fell silent.
Santa passing out presents. The Tooth Fairy handing out coins for teeth. The Easter Bunny hiding eggs.
Humans clung to their myths in the hopes that they’d ward off bad luck and evil, that they’d bring prosperity and security. How little they knew about the truth that hid behind their fairy tales, or what monsters were
really
sliding down their chimneys.
Santa passing out presents. The Tooth Fairy handing out coins for teeth. The Easter Bunny hiding eggs.
Humans clung to their myths in the hopes that they’d ward off bad luck and evil, that they’d bring prosperity and security. How little they knew about the truth that hid behind their fairy tales, or what monsters were
really
sliding down their chimneys.
I turned up the music as Ladytron replaced Oingo Boingo. A part of me felt sorry for Chase. We’d thrown a monkey wrench into his life and he could never go back to what he’d been, to the life he’d expected to lead. Collateral damage. We were leaving a nasty trail, and there’d be far more by the time this demonic war was over.
It took us another twenty minutes to reach the FH-CSI (Faerie Human Crime Scene Investigation) headquarters. I knew this building all too well. It seemed like my sisters and I were here all the time, especially since the war against Shadow Wing was escalating.
Most of the building was underground—the bottom level was the morgue, in-house laboratory, and archives. Third floor down held the jail cells for the Otherworld magical and strength-enhanced Supes. Second floor down was the arsenal—containing a vast array of interesting weapons viable for use against anything from werewolves to giants. The main floor contained both police headquarters and the medic unit. Delilah had hinted that she thought there was another level below the morgue, but we didn’t know what it was or whether it really existed.
Chase led me straight to his office, rather than the morgue. A good sign, I thought. Straight to the morgue was
bad
. Straight to the morgue meant immediate danger, and right now I wasn’t in the mood for trouble.
bad
. Straight to the morgue meant immediate danger, and right now I wasn’t in the mood for trouble.
But as I took a seat opposite his desk, I happened to catch a glimpse of the photographs spilling out of a file on his desk. Crap.
Blood and more blood.
Everything was always covered in blood these days.
Blood and more blood.
Everything was always covered in blood these days.
“That’s your trouble, I take it?” I nodded to the pictures.
“Yes, and I wish you could take it as far away from me as possible.” He let out a sigh. “I don’t know what to make of it. If it looked like simple vampire killings, at least I’d know what I was dealing with, but there’s something else going on.” He motioned for me to scoot my chair closer and laid out the photos in a line for me to look at.
There were four women, each with obvious puncture wounds in her neck. Vampire activity, all right.
“Looks pretty straightforward to me,” I said.
“Yeah, you would think so, wouldn’t you? But look again at the women. Look closely. Notice anything odd?” He frowned and leaned back in his chair, crossing his left leg over his right and interlacing his fingers. “I really want your honest opinion because I want to make sure I’m not just barking up a tree that doesn’t exist.”
I studied the photographs. Women, all pretty, all somewhere in their thirties, looked to be. All . . . wait a minute.
Pattern.
There was a pattern.
Pattern.
There was a pattern.
“They all have long brown hair, layered. They all have brown eyes, and they all seem to be around 130 pounds. How tall were they?”
“All between five six and five eight. So you see it, too?”
“Yeah. Was there any connection between them? Any other similarity to their deaths?” A nasty thought was forming in my head, and I had the feeling Chase had already come to the same conclusion.
“Obviously they were all exsanguinated, and they were all killed at night. Puncture wounds on the throat, though there’s no way to prove for sure that they were killed by a vampire. All the women were murdered within a five-mile radius, in the Greenbelt Park District. All four were hookers.” He frowned. “I’m thinking we have a vampire serial killer. If it weren’t for the fact that all the girls look alike, I’d just chalk it up to a rogue vampire attack, but they look so much alike, they could be related.”
I stared at the pictures. Chase was right. They did look like sisters. And even though he couldn’t make the official call, I knew in my gut that it was a vampire—most likely singular—attacking the women.
“Do you have their bodies, still? I can probably verify vamp attack, seeing that I am one, but I need to look at their wounds.”
Damn, damn, damn. If it was a vampire serial killer, we had big trouble on our hands. Ever since Delilah decked him, Andy Gambit—star reporter for the
Seattle Tattler
, a yellow tabloid that fed on the fears and titillation of Seattle residents—had been on a tear, doing his best to smear Fae and Supes of all kinds. He’d been backing Taggart Jones for the City Council position.
Seattle Tattler
, a yellow tabloid that fed on the fears and titillation of Seattle residents—had been on a tear, doing his best to smear Fae and Supes of all kinds. He’d been backing Taggart Jones for the City Council position.
Gambit had done such an effective smear job on Nerissa that she’d lost the race, even though she’d started out with a decent margin and all signs pointed to potential victory. Gambit had dragged her through the mud because of her association with me, and it had worked. The surprise, however, had been that Taggart Jones hadn’t won, either. A moderate had swept the election.
Now, Gambit would be all over this story. If word of a vampire serial killer got out, we’d be pouring gasoline on the fire.
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