Grave Secret (10 page)

“You need to find Kellen. Lucas threatened you with banishing me, but he never said I couldn’t help you, did he?”

“No.” I was willing to bet Lucas didn’t think I’d tell Desmond about his threat.

“I can help you find Kellen.”

“What makes you think you can find her when no one else can?”

Desmond gave me a sardonic smirk. I knew perfectly well why he was being so cocky about his odds. Kellen herself had confessed to me once about her teenaged crush on Desmond. He was banking on her former lusty feelings to give him the upper hand in the search.

Sad thing was, he was probably spot-on in his logic.

Kellen was, after all, a simple creature.

And Desmond had only gotten better with age.

My phone rang shortly after midnight, and caller ID informed me I should expect some sort of tongue-lashing from Keaty when I picked up. I hit the answer button on the touchscreen and braced myself for yelling. I wasn’t sure why. Keaty wasn’t a yeller, nor had I done anything to deserve being yelled at. All the same, I was getting pretty accustomed to people shouting at me lately.

“Keaty?”

“Am I interrupting anything?”

I gave Desmond a surreptitious glace, worried Keaty could somehow tell what I’d been up to recently. At the moment, however, Desmond was driving us towards Kellen’s apartment complex on Central Park West, and I wasn’t
actually
up to no good.

“No.”

“A shame. I thought perhaps you might be
working
.”

“Oh, my bad. I thought you meant anything important.” My pause gave me plenty of time to imagine Keaty’s humorless scowl. “I’m working. Don’t freak out.”

“Good, then you have time to hear about a call I got from a young woman named Becca Trout?”

Becca? It took me a second to remember the bubble-gum-snapping girl from Papa John’s. The card I’d given her last night had been a number for our office line, so it made sense Keaty would be the one around to get the call rather than me.

“What did she say?”

“Do you have a pen…? Oh, wait, you won’t need one. She listed a few dozen regular customers. A cursory background check on them turned up little of interest, just some obese families and a fraternity house. But I think the one that will prove to be unsurprising to both of us was the regularity with which a certain coffeehouse called for pizzas.”

“Calliope’s Starbucks?” I asked, not like I needed confirmation.

“Indeed.”

A heavy sigh slipped from my mouth, making Desmond look over, his brows arched in concern. He knew the story, so my words had to be helping him put the pieces together on his own.

“We have to be careful with this one,” I told Keaty.

“Because our suspect now knows we suspect her?”

“I’m still not a hundred percent convinced she did it. Once I’m sure, I’ll figure out how to confront her. But the thing is, we can’t kill her.”

“Can’t, or won’t?”

“No, I mean
can’t
. She’s half-god, Keaty. True immortal. She doesn’t even live in our reality. If she’s killing humans, I don’t honestly know if we can stop her.”

My partner made a sound that was awfully close to a laugh, except there was far too much cruelty in it to consider it the same thing. “Secret. There’s no such thing as immortality.”

“I—”

“No. Everything that lives can die. Even your half-fae friend. Remember, Jesus was the son of God. Look how far it got him.” The line went dead.

“That sounded…ominous,” Desmond said.

Slipping the phone inside my pocket, I tried to fake a smile. “Isn’t it always?”

We were at Kellen’s apartment building, and Desmond found a spot a few blocks down. On our walk from the car, an awkward silence hung between us. Funny how someone can fuck you five ways from Sunday, but then you don’t know how to make small talk anymore. Thankfully we didn’t have far to go.

Since Desmond and I were both on the guest list at Kellen’s apartment, we should have had no problem getting in. Too bad we had the Gestapo version of a doorman to deal with tonight.

“Miss Rain is not in,”
Herr
Doorman told us.

“Oh, we know. We’ll just wait for her upstairs.” I flashed him my sweetest, most innocent smile. Based on his response it was about as convincing as a pit viper saying
I’ll make a great nanny
.

“I’m afraid that will not be possible.”

“I have a key,” Desmond volunteered.

This was news to me. Interrupting my staring contest with the chubby real estate gatekeeper, I looked at Desmond out of the corner of my eye. He didn’t miss it, judging by the sweet, apologetic smile he gave me. The look was telling.
Just go with it.

Herr
Doorman huffed and rubbed his belly thoughtfully.

“Why don’t I call
Mister
Rain,” Desmond suggested, whipping out his cellphone.

Genius
. I hadn’t considered bluffing with the big-brother card, because if I was called on it, I’d actually have to talk to the son of a bitch. The doorman’s eyes bugged, and he scrambled to get the interior entrance open for us. “My apologies. It won’t be necessary to bother Mr. Rain at this late hour. Please go in.”

I didn’t speak until we were in the elevator. “A key?”

Putting his arm around my shoulder, he gave me a friendly squeeze. “You think you’d be able to tell by now when I’m lying.”

“Either I never could, or you’re getting better at it.” I wasn’t sure if either sounded like a winning option.

“Or I just never lied to you.”

The ding of the elevator opening kept me from having to come up with a response. Kellen had one of three apartments on the twenty-first floor. She might not have had the fanciest digs in the Rain clan, but she had the poshest address by far. Lucas must have paid a premium to set Kellen up with the Central Park West address.

I doubt he’d batted an eyelash since it meant there were dozens of city blocks between his SoHo penthouse and his sister’s behavior. Funny how he was only interested in what Kellen was doing when he didn’t have it constantly bombarding him in the press.

Come to think of it, if Kellen
was
in Ibiza or Cozumel or wherever she chose to sun herself these days, wouldn’t we have seen something on Page Six? The New York gossip column worshipped at the altar of Kellen’s antics, featuring at least a story a week on one of her breakups, makeups or hookups. So why hadn’t I seen a photo of her tongue-tied with a Greek oil baron or a Middle Eastern prince?

Desmond was using a credit card to pick Kellen’s lock when I came up behind him. Gently I pushed him to the side and pulled a bobby pin out of my hair. I’d started to wear them more frequently in recent months, having discovered how handy they could be. The folks at Goody could make a killing if they did a new campaign:
Keeps bangs out of your eyes. Creates fancy updos. Picks locks in seconds.
Maybe that last one was only a selling feature for a niche market, but I was putting it to good use.

One of the many questionable skills I’d learned from my human mentor.

It took a half-minute longer than it normally would have because Desmond kept questioning where I’d learned to do the various and sundry illegal activities I demonstrated a gift for.

“Some teenage girls learn to put on slutty makeup and read sex tips in
Cosmo
. I learned to pick locks and kill vampires.” The lock clicked open as if to illustrate my point, and I turned the knob while repinning my bangs. I’d have to get a haircut soon, but there were a lot of other things on my to-do list above
trim bangs
. Simple stuff.
1. Find missing ex-sister-in-law-to-be. 2. Win back ex-boyfriend. 3. Find out if immortal beneficiary is homicidal maniac. 4. Tribunal session
.

“Oh
fuck
.” I thumped my fist against the doorframe.

“What?”

“We need to hurry. I may or may not be two hours late to a Tribunal meeting.”

Chapter Fourteen

Kellen’s apartment told us practically nothing except that she was more of a slob than I was.

She’d recently gotten a phone call from a club called Eleven-B. There was no message, but it was the only unfamiliar message on her home phone and it came on Sunday. Something to look at once I got the noose of a Tribunal session off my neck.

I had no time to change, and I knew I’d catch hell for it, but it was either show up casual or not show up at all.

When I burst through the double doors leading into the Tribunal chambers, the look Juan Carlos gave me implied I might have been better off choosing the
not at all
option.

“
Honestly
, Secret.” Sig, the leader of the Tribunal, looked ten times more casual than I did, considering he wasn’t wearing a shirt. Or shoes. I didn’t think he was chiding my wardrobe, however.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry.”

“You will be,” Juan Carlos muttered. I ignored him. Muted threats were all he had, since it was completely forbidden for him to lay a hand on me. Unfortunately the same was true in reverse, because I had a silver katana at home I’d love to introduce him to the business end of.

“Might it be possible,” Sig continued, “for you to take this position seriously? Maybe even for a week straight?”

“It’s been a busy week.”

“A busy week in a busy month,” he said. “We’re well aware.”

“Oh.” So the
busy
excuse wasn’t going to fly. Not that I’d thought it would.

“That’s why you’re here.” When Juan Carlos spoke to me, he tended to look right through me, but this time he was meeting my gaze directly, and it gave me the willies. His cleft upper lip sneered more than usual, and he looked…pleased.

Shit.

The Spanish third of our Tribunal was never happy, and I didn’t like that his satisfaction was being aimed in my direction. It freaked me out. I moved to take my seat next to Sig, but the Finnish master vampire raised a hand to stop me.

“We’re going for a walk.”

The last time Sig had taken me for a walk in the council headquarters I hadn’t enjoyed it much. Unfortunately then, as I suspected would be true now, the walk wasn’t optional. Nothing was really optional with Sig.

Sig rose, all six and a half feet of pale blondness and lean muscle. He was imposing as hell, but I’d learned not to fear him. Or, more accurately, I’d learned fearing him was a pointless endeavor. If he was going to kill me, it was inevitable, so why fear it?

My throat constricted. I’d almost convinced myself of my bravery until he put a hand on my shoulder and guided me back towards the entrance.

“Am I fired?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood.

“You know that’s impossible.”

“So…what’s up?”

“We’re taking you to Monica.”

I stopped walking so abruptly Sig bumped against my back. “No.” Just that. A flat
no
.

“It’s not a discussion.”

“In fact, it’s long overdue,” added Juan Carlos. Now the source of his pleasure was evident.

“Sig, no.” I gave him an imploring look, begging him with my eyes when my words had obviously failed me. I couldn’t say more, not in front of Juan Carlos. But Sig knew what I really was. He had to understand why this was a terrible idea.

“We were willing to look the other way with your wedding to the wolf king,” Juan Carlos said, his tone thick with disgust. “Though God knows why you dirty yourself with their kind. You smell of one even now.” His lip curled. “But getting your name all over the papers? You’re bringing dangerous attention to us. Monica will know if you can be trusted.”

“I
can
be trusted.” I refused to move forward again, turning my gaze from Juan Carlos to Sig. “Please.
Please
don’t do this.”

“If you have nothing to hide, you have nothing to fear from Monica.”

Monica wasn’t her real name. Her real name was old Sumerian and so hard to pronounce they’d had to come up with something new vampires could say without offending her. She’d chosen Monica. Said it would be easy to remember. Sig told me she’d thought this was the height of comedy a thousand years earlier. Sig was the only vampire to have known Monica when she went by her original name.

He was the one who’d told me I should never be alone with her.

That was six years ago when I’d been only seventeen.

The vampire was the oldest in memory. So old no one knew her true age, and she wasn’t volunteering it, but I bet she and Calliope could have a good laugh about their memories of the construction of the pyramids.

She and the Oracle had something else in common. They both had very peculiar gifts.

Calliope could look at someone and see their future.

Monica was the vampire version of a lie detector. She could taste someone’s blood and know the whole history of their life. I didn’t want her tasting my blood. Ever.

It was a miracle that to this point the only council vampires who’d figured out what I was were Holden and Sig. Everyone else believed I was a half-vampire who worked with—and sometimes dated—werewolves. That I’d killed a wolf or two in my time worked in my favor to uphold this lie, because a pack wolf almost never kills another of their kind. The inner workings of the werewolf pack would be a total mystery to the vampire council. In the twenty-two years of my life pre-Lucas I had know diddly squat about royal family lines and pack politics.