Forsaken by the Others (11 page)

He gave us a sparse nod, then hooked a thumb in the direction of the front door. “I’m
sure you two can see yourselves out.”

Man. And he’d reminded Jo-Jo of his manners.

Sara and I had a lot to think about on our way to Jimmy Thrane’s place.

“Ma’am, I really don’t think we should be here.”

“Your objection is duly noted,” I said, not bothering to look back over my shoulder
at Trinity. This time she had decided to leave the car to follow us into the alley
that was supposed to lead to the entrance to this Thrane guy’s hideout.

Trinity had an expression of pure shock on her face when she saw Sara and me walking
back from Gavin’s place. We could see her bulging eyes and open mouth through the
windshield. She honestly must have expected us to die or end up held hostage or something
once we set foot on Goliath territory. I didn’t know whether to find her reaction
funny or take it as an insult.

By the time we’d reached the car, she had gotten a handle on her surprise and wrangled
her expression into something more neutral. Then, once we told her we wanted her to
take us to Thrane’s place, she had barked out a laugh.

“You two are insane. First the Goliaths, now that ridiculous pretender? Do you have
any idea how crazy that guy is?”

Sara huffed, folding her arms. “Do you have any idea how crazy it is that we’re being
asked to find where this necromancer is hiding without the help of police or other
authorities to track him down? Stop judging our methods and let us do our job. You
have a better idea of where we should be looking? We’re all ears.”

Trinity shook her head and started driving, not saying a thing.

Even if she was of the opinion that Thrane was nuttier than a fruitcake, it didn’t
deter me. I had been dealing with more than enough weirdos since I had arrived in
Los Angeles. The addition of a few more didn’t seem like such a big deal.

Clyde might have thought he was the Master of All He Sees and Then Some, but the reality
was that he couldn’t be everywhere at once, and to have a slice of land in the middle
of what was supposed to be
his
Valley—territory—whatever—belonging to another vampire meant that he didn’t have
as tight a grip on his holdings as he would have liked us to believe. Plus, three
of the attacks had taken place on the borders between Thrane’s and Clyde’s territories,
which meant that Thrane might know which way the necromancer went, might have seen
something useful, or maybe would be willing to help us if he was also losing people.

Granted, now that we’d stopped in front of what— according to Trinity’s sarcastic
explanation—was supposed to be Thrane’s base of operation, I could see why Clyde had
appeared more annoyed than worried when he mentioned the “Master” of this borderline
slice of land between Burbank and Glendale. The neighborhood, though not as nice as
the one where Gavin lived, or as nasty as that armpit in Sun Valley we’d stopped in,
wasn’t real impressive, mainly small businesses sandwiched between apartments and
old houses.

At first I thought Trinity must have been kidding. The place was nothing more than
a run-down sports bar with dirty windows that obscured a dimly seen television mounted
in the corner. There was a sign above the nearly deserted bar proclaiming they had
a weeknight special on Budweiser and hot wings. Tucked away in a dark alcove on the
side of the building was the door Trinity said led to Thrane’s hideout. It was so
narrow that I would have mistaken it for the location of the building’s circuit breakers.

Sara and I approached the place together, wrinkling our noses at the padlocked Dumpster
only a few yards away from the entrance to the vampire’s hideout. This was
nothing
like the splendor I had seen vampires use to sequester themselves from humanity’s
prying eyes. If I hadn’t gotten a nod in the affirmative when I gave Trinity a dubious
look over my shoulder, I never would have guessed that Thrane lived here. It was either
a terrifically clever front, or terribly sad.

Sara stepped aside, and I knocked lightly on the door. A muffled voice came from the
other side. “Password? ”

Nonplussed, I looked at Trinity, who shrugged. Confused, I said, “I . . . don’t know?”

“Close enough.”

The door—was that piled-on insulation held on with duct tape?—opened, revealing a
guy wearing track pants and a T-shirt slung over his shoulder. His skin was frightfully
pale, and his hairy stomach protruded a bit over the top of his pants. He grinned
broadly at Sara and me, flashing fangs. “Ladies, ladies, ladies! Call me Mac-daddy.”
He paused, then added thoughtfully, “Actually, if you’re here to see me, you can call
me anything you want.”

Sara and I both hastily stepped back—probably a bit too quickly, considering the tragic
look of disappointment that crossed his features—before a pleasant, feminine voice
called out from the shadows behind him. “Mac, who is it? Get out of the damn door
and let them in.”

He got out of the way, disappearing into the dark. This was no more reassuring. Particularly
as a third voice called out to us, this time another woman. “Are you just going to
stand there all night?”

Terrifying as the thought of walking into that dark pit was, we weren’t going to accomplish
anything by standing in the alley. Sara fell into step behind me as I marched with
what I hoped was a brave and dangerous expression into the vampire den.

If I’d thought the outside was bad, the inside was . . . bad.

A set of narrow, rickety wooden stairs sans railing led down about four feet into
a cramped, narrow basement with a high ceiling. Fluorescent track lighting made everything
take on a sickly, dim color. Someone had salvaged a large strip of puke-orange shag
carpeting and laid it down on the bare concrete in the center of the room. The walls
were beige and covered with posters, and there was a bulletin board that, at a glance,
contained charming announcements like “Jason is a fag” scrawled in heavy permanent
marker on scraps of paper between the job postings and concert flyers.

Though my own furniture in my apartment—cripes, did I still have anything of my own
anymore? My landlord had probably dumped all of my crap out on the street by now.
Ahem, back on track—though my own furniture
was
or
had been
of Ikea-level quality, it looked like the mismatched couches and chairs in this sprawling
basement lair had gone a few rounds with their local Salvation Army store.

And lost.

Miserably.

The vampires didn’t look much better.

Some wore jeans and T-shirts. Some wore stuff straight out of a Goth fashion magazine.
One wore a pizza delivery shirt and cap, obviously either just coming from or leaving
for a job.

Now I understood why Clyde was so obviously disgusted when he mentioned this Jimmy
guy.

“Mr. Thrane?” I asked the room in general, not sure which one of the vampires to address.
There wasn’t much of a structure to this pack of misfits that I could pick up. The
stuffy, musty scent and strangely echoic quality of the space, added to the cold due
to the lack of body heat from the vampires, gave the impression of being at the bottom
of a grave.

A frat boy’s grave, maybe, but a grave, nonetheless.

The vampire lounging on the couch in the back nodded, touching the brim of his top
hat. It was the only article of clothing he had on that was in good repair. Once he
moved his hand, I could see a tattoo or something under one of his eyes.

“Ma’am. Might I ask why you’re calling on us this fine evening?”

Well, at least he was polite. Sara, who had the look of rigid, forced politeness she
often assumed when dealing with a client who made her uncomfortable, introduced us.

“Mr. Thrane, my name is Sara Halloway, and this is Shiarra Waynest, my business partner.
We’re private investigators. We wanted to ask for your help and see if you might have
any information that might lead us to a resolution of some difficulties for a client.”

“Wow, right on. Real private investigators?”

I glanced at the guy who had earlier been identified as Mac, giving him a look. He
shrugged and grinned.

Thrane was not as impressed. “Fascinating. Really. But I would very much like to know
how you two have heard of me and what you think I can do for you.”

My turn to field the questions. “We heard that you’re the ruler of some territory
outside of Clyde Seabreeze’s control. If that’s the case, you may have information
about who has been behind the murders and disappearances of Clyde’s people.”

Thrane’s reaction was not what I had expected. At all. His fangs extended, and his
eyes blazed red as he shot to his feet, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “You’re
working for that . . . that . . .
usurper?”

Sara grabbed my arm so tightly, it went numb. The other vampires didn’t seem very
impressed, watching us with bored expressions. Once my heart crawled out of my throat
and closer to the region it belonged, I squeaked out a few words.

“We—uh . . . yes?”

As suddenly as the anger had risen, it was gone. He blinked, and his eyes were normal
again, the fangs retracting as he airily waved a hand at us. “Poofty von Metrofaggen
can go find someone else to play his games. I’m not interested.”

“Jimmy,” one of the girls stage-whispered, her eyes comically huge in her heart-shaped
face framed by inky black curls. “Jimmy, those are
humans.
”

I have never seen so many vampires so intensely interested in me at the same time.
Talk about unnerving. Every one of them went deathly still—and I
mean
deathly—as their unblinking eyes locked on to us. It was like being stared at by
a room full of china dolls. Hungry china dolls that are thinking about eating your
face.

As the tension in the room skyrocketed and I contemplated throwing Sara over my shoulder
and making a run for it, Thrane gave a long-suffering sigh, and the tension eased
out of his body. He ran his hand over his face before giving the rest of his flock
pointed looks.

“Yes, they are. And they are not for you.”

The disappointment radiating from the other vampires was palpable.

“Aw, c’mon, Jimmy! We’re hungry,” one of them whined.

“You know,” I said, edging back toward the door, “I think we’re good. We’ll find someone
else to interview. Thanks for your time!”

Sara and I might have bolted if there hadn’t been a vampire standing in the stairwell,
barring our way out when we turned around.

At that moment, I could have kicked myself for being so stupid as to think I could
waltz into some strange vampire’s den without weapons or a way out. The only person
who knew we were here was Trinity, and Clyde had made it perfectly clear how he felt
about Jimmy, and about Sara and me exploring parts of Los Angeles beyond the bounds
of his territory. Considering Royce was across the country, our chances of being saved
were next to nil.

This was not good.

The other vampire glanced at me and Sara, then to Thrane, though he sounded far too
excited considering the news he had to impart. “Cheese is dead.”

Thrane looked from us up to the vampire on the stairs. “What?”

“Cheese is dead,” the other guy repeated. Was it my imagination, or did he smell a
bit like barf?

“Why is Cheese dead?” Thrane demanded, stepping around me and Sara. It seemed we’d
been momentarily forgotten. Considering this new vampire was distracting the others
from wanting to eat us, this wasn’t altogether a bad thing.

“He got caught in the sun. Everyone was talking about it at the Sundown.”

One of the others behind us snorted. “How the hell do you get caught in the sun?”

“I don’t know; he just did. The police were sweeping him up around noon, apparently.”

“I knew it was a bad idea to let him in,” Thrane grumbled. “I swear, seventeen is
like the magic number. No one that age lasts past a week.” He looked over at the most
sensibly dressed of the female vampires in the room in her slacks and button-down
shirt, her reddish-brown hair swept up in a ponytail and her arms akimbo. “Why did
I even let a vampire named Cheese join up?”

“You thought it was funny,” the girl replied.

“Why is that funny?” Thrane wondered.

“Because you’re an asshole,” Mac muttered.

“Oh, yes. You two were going to be the best of friends. You remember why, don’t you?
You get it?”

Mac rolled his eyes. “I get it.”

“’Cause it’s Mac . . .”

“Thrane. I get it.”

“A-a-a-a-and . . .”

“
I get it
.”

“Cheese!”

The other vampires cracked up. Mac put his head in his hands.

“Well, only one thing to do. Everyone, stand up. Sta-a-a-a-and up.” Thrane gestured
at the others, pointing to each in turn. “Elly, Leewan, Megan . . . come on. Up we
go.”

Everyone stood up. Even Mac, once he finished cursing Thrane out under his breath.
Sara and I stood where we were, awkwardly shuffling from foot to foot.

Thrane removed his hat and held it to his chest. “We are gathered here tonight to
mourn the passing of one of our own.”

“We’re gathered here to hang out,” the one he’d called Leewan mumbled.

Thrane pointed at him. “I can kill you.”

Leewan fell silent.

“Cheese was our friend,” Thrane continued. “He was our
brother.
Except to Janice, who wanted to boink him. Because otherwise that would be
wrong.”

The girl I assumed was Janice closed her eyes, probably not in grief.

“Cheese lived a full life. It is with a heavy heart that we bid him farewell and hope
that beyond this second death, he will find peace.” Thrane wiped an imaginary tear
from his eye. “Good-bye, Cheese.”

“Good-bye, Cheese,” everyone murmured.

“Hey, who wants to see if they’re a cold fish or a passionate lover?” Elly called,
having picked up a
Cosmo
in the middle of the service.