Crimson Death (66 page)

“No,” Pearson said, “but a savage bite like that where the vampire worries at the wound like a terrier with a rat can mask precise dentation.”

I had a moment of doing the long blink while I fought not to remember a vampire doing just that to me. “Anita is very aware of that, Superintendent Pearson.” I looked at Edward. I was trying to ask with my eyes how much show-and-tell he wanted me to do. I had scars that showed exactly the kind of vampire attack that Pearson was talking about.

“Are you trying to tell us we have three different crime sprees in Dublin, including a human serial killer that's using their teeth to tear out throats?” Logan demanded, stopping in his pacing long enough to look at me.

“No, I'm saying that might be what's happening. Just because you have vampires and violent crimes in the same city doesn't mean that all the violence is vampire related.”

“We aren't trying to blame all our violent crimes on the vampires, Marshal Blake,” Sheridan said. She was standing beside the corkboard. I think she'd gotten up in hopes that Logan would use her chair; no such luck.

“I know that, Inspector Sheridan, but this is a lot of victims to come from just one vampire.”

“We aren't stupid, Blake. We know that no single vampire could do all this,” Logan said, motioning at the map with a gesture so wide that he almost hit Pearson in the top of the head. Logan either didn't
notice or ignored it, because he didn't apologize. In fact, he paced around the table again, going behind Nolan—again.

Nolan stood up and went to the far corner of the wall with the window. He put his back in the corner so that there was no possible way for Logan to walk behind him again. He'd told Logan at one point that if he walked behind his chair again he'd put him on the floor, but Pearson had taken offense. He didn't like Logan either, but Nolan had been forced into his investigation from on high, so Nolan wasn't his favorite person either. He'd told Nolan, “If you try to put one of my men on the floor, you and I will have words and you will not like them.”

Nolan stood in the corner, glaring at Logan, who walked around the whole table again, crossing behind Edward and me—again. Like I said, the room wasn't big enough to pace, especially with this many adults already in it.

“Anita doesn't mean that one vampire did all the victims,” Edward said.

“That's what she said.”

“No, it's not. I—”

“It's what you said.”

“But it doesn't mean—”

“How can it mean anything else?” he demanded, in a voice that seemed stuck between angry and whining. The tone was not user friendly to his listeners. In fact, I was beginning to have to fight not to grit my teeth.

“If you'd stop interrupting me, I could explain.”

“You think you're an expert on vampires, so that makes you a better cop than us. Is that it?”

He paced toward Nolan, who said, “Don't pace in front of me, Logan.”

Logan turned and came back toward the table and me. He tried to pace between Echo's bag and the corkboard, but he was moving faster than he could negotiate the space, and he tripped on the bag. I'd have let that go, except after he tripped, he kicked the bag.

I stood up and stepped over Echo's bag, driving my shoulder into Logan as I moved. He stumbled back even though he was at least five inches taller and nearly a hundred pounds heavier.

“What the hell, Blake?” he nearly shouted.

“You kicked one of my people.”

“They can't feel anything. It's daylight.”

“Who made you the vampire expert, Logan?” I asked, and stepped in close to him again. He had to step back or I'd have stepped into him again.

“I'm not fucking enough of them to be an expert,” he said.

“Logan!” Sheridan said.

“I bet vampires aren't the only thing you're not fucking,” I said.

“Marshal Blake!” Pearson said; I heard his chair go back and moved so I could see him standing up. I knew he wasn't a real danger; it was just automatic.

“What the fuck does that mean?” Logan asked, his face darkening; either he was getting angry or he was blushing.

“It means anytime someone starts accusing me of using sex to get good at my job, it usually means either they want to fuck me and I said no, and you and I haven't known each other that long, or it means that they aren't getting any, so they're just pissy because I'm having more sex than they are.”

His face was starting to go purple; it wasn't a blush; it was blood pressure. Inspector Logan had a temper, great; maybe I could goad him into doing something stupid enough that Pearson would send him home.

Edward got out of his chair, but not to come to my aid. He knew I didn't need it, but I also knew he wasn't getting up for nothing. He moved around the table, talking as he moved. “Rachel, I don't think you need to hear all this,” he said in his best down-home Ted accent. “Why don't you take me out for that tea you were bragging about at that hotel?”

Oh, goody, Edward had the same idea I did. We were going to make Logan lose his shit.

“Oh, Ted . . .” Sheridan began; I was pretty sure she'd say something like she wasn't hearing anything she couldn't handle, but Logan never gave her a chance to answer.

“You are not taking him to tea at a hotel,” Logan yelled, or maybe almost yelled. I was just close enough to him that it was that loud.

“I will take who I want, where I want,” Sheridan said, her voice rising.

“No!” he yelled.

I kept looking at him and resisted the urge to turn and look at Sheridan behind me. I was the closest to him and if he lost his shit badly enough I wanted a chance to pour gasoline on the flames, and not get hit or trampled in the process. His face was almost purplish with temper. He was too young, early forties tops, and not nearly overweight enough to turn this kind of color from anger. He made an inarticulate noise low in his throat. I wanted him to leave the room, not have a stroke, and I suddenly didn't know which was more likely. He was literally inarticulate with rage. Wow.

“Inspector Logan, you will refrain from personal remarks to Inspector Sheridan. You have been warned more than once about this kind of thing,” Pearson said in a voice that was deep and projected well, so that it carried over whatever anyone else was going to say. It made me wonder if Pearson had theater training.

A tic started to pulse just under Logan's right eye. His hands were in fists at his sides. It was like he was afraid to move, or even speak, because he didn't trust himself to do anything. I had a temper, but this was a new level of problem. I wondered if they'd forced him to take anger management classes yet. Or maybe I didn't, because if this was the after, then I was glad I had missed the before.

He was staring past me at Sheridan, I was pretty sure, but I was looking at Logan. He was so angry. I wondered if his skin would be hot to the touch with it. My stomach cramped as if I were hungry. I'd eaten at breakfast. Then I realized that it had to have been at least five hours since then, probably more. I was overdue for food. Fuck. I stared at the skin jumping just under his eye. He was so angry, so rage-filled. I swallowed hard, fighting the urge to sniff near his skin and see if he smelled like food. I didn't just feed off lust, or love; I could feed on someone's anger. I could touch Logan's arm, his face, and drain all that rage away. If I was careful he'd just be calm. If I wasn't careful he could be disoriented, or even forget the last few minutes and what had happened. It wasn't that dissimilar from vampire mind tricks. If I was careful, I could just take a little and no one would ever know. It would calm things
down. It would help. The moment I thought that, I stepped back from him. I could not feed on one of the Irish cops with witnesses. Being a necromancer made them think I was evil; if I sucked energy out of one of them, they'd be sure of it.

“Are you all right, Anita?” Edward asked, because he'd seen me take that step back. I would never have backed up from Logan, not normally.

“No, I don't think I ate enough today. I appreciate everyone bringing me coffee when you have all the great tea, but I think I need real food.” I emphasized that last word a little, hoping he'd understand what I meant.

“When you don't think coffee is enough, something really is wrong with you, pardner.” He made a drawling joke of it, but he'd understood me. He'd seen me feed before.

“We can have food brought in,” Pearson said.

“I think I may need some air, too,” I said. I had to get away from Logan, who was still almost shaking with his anger. I resisted the urge to tell him he needed to learn to meditate or take a yoga class, just to see how angry I could make him. He'd make such a good snack.

“I apologize for Inspector Logan,” Sheridan said.

That was it for Logan. He backed up and marched out of the room without a word. I was pretty sure he didn't trust himself, so leaving was his only option. When the door shut carefully behind him, Pearson said, “Don't judge us by Logan.”

“What's his problem?” I asked, taking deep, even breaths.

Pearson looked at Sheridan, and she looked embarrassed. “I made the mistake of dating a fellow officer, and when I broke it off—” She shook her head. “It was a grave misjudgment on my part.”

“I'm going to go check on Logan. I think it was my misjudgment thinking the two of you could work a case together again.” Pearson left, closing the door behind him.

“If you don't meet people at work, where do you meet them?” I said. Now that Logan was gone, I could breathe a little easier.

“Exactly,” she said, and then her pretty face looked very unhappy, “but it was still a mistake.”

“Dating Logan? Oh yeah.”

“He wasn't always like this. I swear he wasn't. I mean, he had a temper, but not like this.”

“You don't have to apologize for Logan,” Nolan said from the wall where he was still standing.

“But I feel like I should, like it's somehow my fault,” she said.

“You don't have to date a man just because he's upset that you stopped dating him,” I said.

“There are a lot of fish in the sea, Inspector; you need to fish a little farther out into the ocean, that's all,” Edward said.

“But all the good fish are taken,” she said, looking at him.

“Not all of them,” I said.

She looked at me then, and gave me wide eyes. “Well, you certainly have caught your limit.”

“Or a little over,” I said.

She smiled. “Well, let me know if you're going to throw one of them back. I might want to be there with a net.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” I said, smiling.

“I think Anita and her men in the hallway still need food,” Edward said.

“We can have food brought in for everyone,” Sheridan said, “unless you think that eating and looking at the photos will be a problem?”

I looked down at the torn throats, the mangled bodies, and then had another thought. “I let myself get distracted; are any of the skull, brain, head parts in the debris I'm seeing in the pictures?”

“What do you mean, Blake?”

“I mean, did they crush the head and mix it up with the other small bits, or did the killer take the heads?”

“We haven't found any brain matter at the crime scenes,” she said.

“So whoever is killing them is taking souvenirs after all.”

“Why wouldn't they eat the head?” Sheridan asked.

“It's like all animal heads, not great eating raw, though I'm told that brains mixed with eggs make really fluffy scrambled eggs.”

Sheridan made a face at me. “Have you eaten brains?”

“No, but I went to college with a girl whose family owned a cow farm, and her mom mixed the brains into her scrambled eggs without
telling the kids. They thought it was delicious and didn't know, until they got out on their own and tried to make eggs like Mom did, and couldn't get the fluffy, creamy texture.”

Edward gave a low chuckle as Sheridan's face paled. Nolan joined him in the chuckle and tried to turn it into a cough. Edward apologized. “I'm not laughing at you, Rachel. I'm laughing at Anita telling that story when we're thinking about getting food.”

“We're going to be looking at crime scene photos while we eat. I didn't think the egg story would be a problem.”

He laughed again and patted my shoulder. “You just keep thinking there, Butch. That's what you're good at.”

I rolled my eyes at him and wished I could remember a movie-line comeback, but nothing sprang to mind.

Pearson stuck his head back in the room. “What does everyone want for lunch?”

“Not eggs,” Sheridan said.

T
HE SANDWICHES WEREN'T
Irish; they were just food. When you're ordering sandwiches that can be eaten while you look at paperwork and photos on a crowded table, a sandwich is a sandwich is a sandwich. It wasn't a bad sandwich, but it wasn't great, either. It really was just another work trip for me except that I was the only one who got a Coke to drink; even Edward got bottled water. He told me if I behaved myself today maybe the detectives would let us all eat in the big room with desks so we weren't all having to share the little kids' table.

“I don't know what you mean by that, Ted,” Sheridan had said. Pearson apparently had decided to eat elsewhere, or was skipping lunch and holding Logan's hand, or maybe beating the shit out of him.
I really didn't care which, as long as Logan was somewhere else. I knew I'd have to deal with him again, but later was better than now.

“It'd be much more comfortable sharing this meal at your desk like we normally do,” he said with that Ted smile that seemed to melt women into their socks but had never worked on me, because I'd met him when he was being just Edward. His cold-blooded-killer mode was far less charming than good ol' boy Ted.

She actually got a little flustered, spilling bits of her sandwich on one of the photos. Thanks to modern technology, we could print more almost instantly, but still you tried not to get the evidence messy. While Sheridan grabbed for napkins I gave Edward a raised-eyebrow look. He smiled innocently back at me as if butter wouldn't have melted in his mouth, then went to help her clean up, which made her start to drop things again. I didn't know what game he was playing, only that he was playing one. I was so bad at being devious that I didn't try, but he was really good at it. I just didn't know why he was being devious in Inspector Rachel Sheridan's direction. Maybe it amused him? I wouldn't know unless he told me, and if I asked outright, he wouldn't, so I just watched the show.

Nolan, who was sitting at the end of the table again, caught my eye, and just the look let me know that he was wondering what game Edward was playing, too. I gave a small shrug and took another bite of my sandwich.

“I wonder if Jacob Pennyfeather would have any insight into these crimes,” he said as he helped Sheridan pick up the papers she'd managed to knock off the table.

She looked up at him, brown eyes wide and a little startled. “I don't know.”

“He knew more about saving vampires than we did at the last crime scene. Anita and I know more about killing them than healing them.”

She stood up with the papers clasped to her chest. “I don't think this case is about saving vampires.”

Was Edward flirting with her because he saw an opening to manipulate her? Nothing specific, but just a possible way to gain an edge if he needed it. Was that it? If so, it was very calculating. He was my best friend; sometimes I forgot how cold-blooded he could be dealing
with other people. Would he talk Sheridan into doing things we wanted and risk damaging her career? Would he care? He told me once that he'd tried manipulating me like a girl—i.e., flirting—and I'd been so oblivious to it that he'd stopped trying. I watched him with the detective and wondered how different things would have been if I'd been more susceptible to his manly wiles.

Nolan shook his head, so I looked at him, giving him encouragement to explain his expression if he wanted to. “Good to know that one of us has gotten better at it.” His smile was a little ironic, but not unhappy. He just seemed amused.

Edward turned and gave that version of a younger smile again. “That's not the only thing I've gotten better at.”

Nolan laughed out loud, which startled me and Sheridan. We exchanged one of those looks that women have probably been exchanging around men since cave painting was the new thing. I shrugged, because in this instance I really had no clue. I watched the two men, their eyes sparkling with laughter and some secret adventure that their long-ago selves had had together.

“If I ask what's so funny, would you tell me?” I asked.

They did another of those looks that meant more to them than it did to us. Nolan shook his head. Edward said, “You wouldn't think it was funny.”

I said, “You know, a few years back, I'd have said,
Try me
,” which made Nolan laugh again and he hid his face with his hand. I frowned at him, but continued. “Now, I'll just trust you that it won't amuse me.”

“Thank you,” Edward said, his face still shiny with suppressed humor. “I know that's high praise from you, because you like to know everything that's going on around you.”

“What if I want to know what it is?” Sheridan asked.

The two men looked at her, looked at each other, and then cracked up like a pair of twelve-year-olds. I'd never seen Edward like this; I liked it and found it unsettling at the same time.

“Trust me on this, Sheridan. If Ted doesn't think I'd find it funny, you won't either.”

“Is this a male-bonding type of thing?” she asked.

I nodded. “Oh, yeah.”

She shook her head, and we got to have one of those shared moments when women shake their heads at the men in their lives. I was usually all alone when these moments happened, so it was nice to have someone to roll my eyes with and feel vaguely superior because we weren't men. Men get to do it in reverse.

I finished my sandwich while they continued to do the straight-guy version of giggling. The flirting with Sheridan for whatever purpose was put on hold while the men bonded, or maybe rebonded. Between the flirting and this, my bestie was just surprising the heck out of me this trip.

We'd all finished our lunch, and Pearson rejoined us without Logan. I was okay with that. Sheridan actually did talk to Pearson about getting Jake's input on the case. He didn't say yes, but Edward's little bit of flirting had paid off. It made me wonder, if he actually took her to dinner, how much more cooperative she'd be with us, but that seemed a slippery slope since I was going to be best “man” at his wedding.

“Mr. Pennyfeather and his partner aren't in the hallway to invite inside even if I were so inclined, Sheridan. It's only Murdock and Santana on post currently.”

“They were going to take turns grabbing sandwiches,” I said. “It's hard to eat standing up in a hallway. An international flight takes a lot out of you, so we're still a little beat.”

“We could have offered your men a desk or something to eat their lunch at,” Pearson said.

“That would have been nice,” I said.

Pearson got up and started for the door. “I can see what I can find for them to use.”

“Thank you, Inspector, but I'm pretty sure that at least two of them will stay on the door.”

“I know you're implying they're standing guard, but we are inside a police station.”

“True, but until they have more of a role in the case, they're going to do the only job they have.”

“The men with you don't even have badges in your own country. I can't justify letting them see evidence in an ongoing investigation.”

“Totally reasonable,” I said.

Pearson gave me a narrow look. “Why does that sound like a criticism?”

“It's not meant as one,” I said.

He looked from me to Edward and back. He looked downright suspicious. People usually had to know me longer before I got that look. I did my best to give inoffensive and pleasant back. I used to try looking innocent, but I really wasn't good at it, even when I
was
innocent.

Pearson looked even harder at me. It wasn't his hardest look—I gave him the benefit of the doubt that he hadn't made detective without being able to stare the socks off a suspect—but he was still trying to give me a “hard” look. I smiled at him. I'd found it an effective way to either irritate people or win them over. It could go either way when they were already trying to intimidate me by being a hard-ass.

“Now, Anita, I'm sure Superintendent Pearson is just doing his job,” Edward said in his drawling Ted voice, which managed to be pleasant and theatrical. I wondered if the Irish police were disappointed that my accent wasn't the same as his.

I started to say,
I never said he wasn't
, but one minute we were doing some mild double-team manipulation and the next minute the hair at the back of my neck rose and goose bumps ran down my arms. I think I stopped breathing, my throat tight with the power that was reaching out.

“Anita,” Edward said, “what's wrong?”

“You're pale,” Sheridan said.

Nolan had grabbed the back of a chair. He was fighting to stand upright and not show that he was sensing it, too.

I held up a hand, and Edward understood that I wanted them to be quiet for a second. He made everyone else stop talking. I needed to listen. Listen to what? There was a voice on the air, or in it, and the voice was saying something, wanting something.

There was a sharp double knock on the door. Pearson said, “Who is it?”

“Nicky Murdock,” he announced, but didn't wait for an invitation before opening the door. “Anita, what the hell is that?”

I held up my hand and waved it at him, and he went quiet. I listened,
reached out toward that skin-prickling rush of energy, and found . . . “Come out,” I said.

“What does she mean, come out?” Sheridan asked.

I repeated it. “
Come out
. That's what it's saying, over and over. It's wanting . . . us to come out. Them to come out.”

“Who is
them
?” Edward asked.

I felt Damian take his first breath for the day inside the bag at my feet, felt him startle before the bag moved. Edward actually jumped as the bag bumped his chair.

I knelt beside Damian's bag. He was afraid of the small space and of the power that had jarred him awake. “Close the shades,” I said.

Nolan was closest, but I think it was taking all he had to simply try to stand there, gripping the back of the chair, and not show the reaction that all the other preternaturals were having. Nicky walked across the room to do what I asked. The weak sunshine was suddenly plunged into gray twilight. Pearson didn't complain or tell Nicky to get out of the room because of evidence. No, Pearson was staring at the bag on the floor as it struggled. It was his turn to look pale. I saw Domino in the doorway; he was still watching the hall like a good bodyguard.

I unzipped the duffel bag. One long pale arm shot out, grabbing for air. Damian forced the zipper down before I could get to it, pulling his upper body free of it like a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis. His hair spilled out around him like liquid fire, so perfectly red in a stray line of sunlight that managed to get through the draped window.

He grabbed my hand in his, green eyes wide with the fear I could already feel. “It can't be,” he whispered.

“It can't be who?” I asked.

“Her.”

“Who is
her
?” Sheridan asked.

“It's a compulsion spell,” Jake said from the open door, where he and Kaazim had just run up.

“A what spell?” Pearson asked.

“A compulsion spell, a magical way of ordering or commanding people,” Jake said.

“I have not felt one so strong in many, many years,” Kaazim said.

Damian wrapped both his hands around mine. “It's her. It's her, Anita. It's her.”

“Who?” Sheridan asked.

“She-Who-Made-Me.”

“Who made you? What are you talking about?” Pearson said.

“She was always able to call her vampires from their coffins in daylight. She could wake us early.”

“The vampire that made him,” I said.

“She's calling all her vampires to her,” Damian whispered, “and I still answered her.” He clung to my hands. “I'm yours, yours now; why did I answer to her?”

“I don't know. I don't know why I'm hearing it, too.” I looked up at Jake and Kaazim. “Can you hear it, too?”

“Yes,” Jake said.

“We can,” Kaazim said.

I looked down at the bag that still held Echo. “She's not waking up.”

“She was not created here,” Kaazim said.

“Neither was I, or the two of you.”

“I can't hear it,” Nicky said. “I just feel you.”

“I can hear something,” Domino said. “It's like a whisper in the next room, just noise, but it's still there.”

I wanted to ask if Nolan could hear it more clearly, since he had been born here in Ireland, but he was trying to play human. He was grim-faced, fingers turning white as he gripped the chair, but he wasn't going to admit he could hear anything.

“So why are the three of us hearing it?”

“And why is Domino hearing it more than I am?” Nicky asked.

“I don't know,” I said. Damian was getting a little frantic to get out of the bag, but he'd gotten a piece of his shirt caught in the zipper. Nicky knelt to help me with it.

“I smell fresh blood,” Domino said from the door.

I didn't smell it, but I trusted that he did.

All the wereanimals except for Nolan sniffed the air. “What are they, scent hounds?” Pearson asked.

“Better than that. They can smell a scent and then tell us about it,” I said.

“A lot of blood,” Nicky said, and he started tugging at the stuck zipper a little harder.

“It's close to us,” Kaazim said.

“How close?” I asked.

“It's in the building, on this floor. I'm sure of that,” Domino said.

“No, no,” Pearson said softly, but there was a lot of feeling in those two words. He smelled scared.

“What did you do, Pearson?” Edward asked.

He didn't answer, just took off and pushed his way past Domino and running down the hallway. Sheridan followed him, and so did Edward and Nolan.

I yelled, “Edward!”

He ignored it, because it wasn't his name. Damn it. “Go with them,” I said.