Midnight Reign (21 page)

Furiously, he gnawed, whipping the man back and forth, tossing him away when he grew bored. The anonymous body rolled farther into the rocky depths, but Benedikte’s sight cut through the darkness. A tunnel traveling through rock.

The vampire wavered, then placed his hand against a wall, reading the history of where he was. An abandoned quarry. Its materials had been used to build the surrounding streets. Closed in the ’20s…

With an implosion, everything came together.

He sank against the wall, laughing again until tears poured out of his eyes.

Home,
he thought, clinging to the granite.
The joke’s on me, but I think I might finally be home….

T
HAT
night, it was the same drill after the team got the news about the most recent Vampire Killer murder: a visit to the crime scene featuring a few ineffective object readings by Stoned Kiko, plus a team meeting that came to nothing.

The murderer hadn’t made any more mistakes this time out than the last, and since Kiko had been too medicated to give them any psychic edge, the team would just have to wheedle information out of their LAPD and coroner’s office sources—not that the officials had been experiencing much luck in their own investigations. Still, relying on others meant Limpet and Associates would have to wait, and Dawn was weary of it.

Sure, Breisi had arranged another clandestine appointment at the morgue during tonight’s witching hour. But that seemed as far away as Christmas to a kid.

It was only nine
AM
, and Dawn was driving to Kiko’s from the newest yellow-taped crime scene, which was near Jessica Reese’s apartment. Because of Dawn’s weaker-than-usual disposition—one look in a mirror had shown a slightly pale complexion that had quietly freaked her out even more—she was headed back to catch a nap and drink more orange juice. She’d been slamming it for the last few hours, and it seemed to help a little, bringing her to the point where she felt decent enough to deal with everything that was going on: a new murder, the old murder, last night’s party craziness, the fight with The Voice…

Dawn gripped the wheel a little harder. Things were still tense between her and the boss. In fact, when Breisi had said that he wanted Dawn to report to the office right away, Dawn had flat out refused. Like she would go over there and set herself up to fall under The Voice’s spell again.

No way. Even if he wanted to “check her over” because of last night’s possible roofie scandal, she’d only go back with the others in a few hours since she didn’t trust herself alone with him. Then they’d
all
be putting their heads together about what the police had turned up about the new victim.

Annie Foxworth was her name—a mousy teacher who’d died in the same vampire way as Jessica Reese, even though the two women didn’t share any connections that would reveal something about the killer’s appetite for choosing a certain kind of victim. In fact, the reportedly modest Annie and the more boisterous Jessica didn’t seem to have much in common at all, so far.

So what was the link? And, most important, why hadn’t a Friend been able to stop the newest murder during their assigned surveillance last night?

Maybe that issue was the scariest: the ever-increasing unreliability of the spirits. They were supposed to be keeping tabs on most of the suspects, but the Friends had already been spread so thin that a lot of the regulars had gone unwatched last night: Sasha Slutskaya, Matt Lonigan, the patrons of the Cat’s Paw, and most of the Tomlinson family. Or, to be more accurate, only one Friend had been assigned to the Tomlinsons, and when Marg had left the motel to sneak out and loiter in front of the Beverly Center’s Hard Rock Cafe to smoke cigarettes, that had left the rest of the brood unsupervised.

But another scenario bothered Dawn even more. What if the killer was someone they were totally unaware of, someone the Friends
couldn’t
watch?

And
that
led to an ever pricklier consideration: was one protective Friend even enough to guard the team members themselves anymore? Would they all have to move into the Limpet house for security on their off hours?

Shoving aside the dire possibility, Dawn pulled into a grocery store parking lot, thinking she’d pick up more juice before she got to Kiko’s.

As her engine rattled to a stop, she undid her seat belt, absently checking her deep, buttoned pockets for her ATM card. She didn’t do purses, and even a wallet was a stretch.

While riffling, she found her driver’s license and garlic spray, which she’d spritzed on before getting to the crime scene. Then she got to the crucifix and the holy water vial. But…her card?

She searched every pocket, every inch of her car before finally admitting that it must’ve spilled onto the driveway back at Jac’s. Great, this was her reward for trying to get out of the girl’s house in record time. So much for a clean getaway.

Well then. There was, like, a buck in the dashboard and she’d tossed a wad of dollar bills onto Kiko’s kitchen counter before weaponing up last night and going to Annie Foxworth’s place. She’d been trying to make room for her throwing stars and whip chain and had thought an ATM card—which she’d assumed was in her jacket—would be sufficient. Dumb. Dumb, dumb, dumb.

She had to go back to Jac’s. No choice unless she wanted to tango with her bank, and who had time for that kind of crap?

Dawn got out her phone. A call to the actress would keep her from freaking out at the sight of Dawn scrounging around the driveway: just a quick stop, she’d say, no need to come out and talk to her.

But Jac wasn’t even home, or at least she wasn’t answering her house number.

Dawn tried calling Jac’s cell.

“Hi!” said the voice mail. “It’s August fifteenth, bright and early, and I’ve shut off my phone while I
take a meeting
with my producer and director.” She’d said “take a meeting” with a wink in her tone. “I’ll get to your message later…don’t want to be that rude cell-phone person who takes calls and ignores the people she’s with. Thanks!”

Dawn left a brief one. She needed that damned card for more than just juice, and she’d be in and out of there anyway.

As she realized that she was stressing out over such a boring, everyday problem, Dawn chuffed. She just
wished
her life were full of missing ATM cards and that was all.

Her phone rang. She checked the screen, not really wanting to get into a conversation with Jac if she was calling back. She didn’t want to deal with Matt, either; he’d left a ton of voice mails that she hadn’t answered because she still wasn’t in the mood for his apologies.

Luckily, it was Breisi. “Glad I caught you before you fell asleep.”

Dawn didn’t even have time to explain the ATM card annoyance before the woman launched into the latest. Knowing this might take a while, Dawn grabbed an earpiece from her passenger seat, put it on, and plugged it into the phone. Then she started the car and got moving to Bedford Drive.

“I just talked to Kiko’s doctor,” Breisi said. “Right now they’re together, and Dr. Walter’s seeing if there’s a physical reason for all the pain. He’ll also be assessing if Kiko’s hydrocodone intake is a case of physical dependence or if it’s psychological.”

“I wish Dr. Walter could just take Kik off the things.”

“The boss thinks we should be ready for an intervention if the situation doesn’t improve.”

At the mention of The Voice, Dawn zipped her lip.

“And then there’s more.” Breisi sighed. “We still haven’t heard from the Friend who was protecting you last night.”

In spite of all the other Friend problems, Dawn knew her defensive buddy for today was still around. She’d smelled the jasmine before getting into the car.

The team had theorized about how last night’s spirit could’ve disappeared from the party. At their lack of answers, The Voice had told them he’d be alerting all the Friends, and then planning on how to keep this from happening again.

“I hope we find her,” Dawn said, pulling up to a red light.

“Likewise.” Breisi didn’t even stop for a breath. “I’ve also got a murder update, something interesting the police have already uncovered about Jessica Reese and Annie Foxworth. This might not be much, but they both patronized the same drugstore—ValuShoppe. It could be that the killer hung around the aisles to choose their victims, then followed the women from there to ascertain their schedules.”

At the green light, Dawn took off with more speed than necessary. How about that—even something as insignificant as shopping could be dangerous. “So someone’s checking out the ValuShoppe employees and frequent customers, then interviewing to see if there’ve been any weirdos hanging around—?”

“And scanning security videos. You’ve got it.”

Breisi sounded sort of happy that Dawn was actually detecting. Dawn smiled, fine with the approval. It could end up being the highlight of her day.

“I deserve a prize,” Dawn said, unable to resist. “How about you give me your bladed crossbow?” It was the coolest Breisi weapon ever, and Dawn had admired it since night one.

“Over my dead body.”

“I had to ask.”

“Hold up,” Breisi said. “Dr. Walter just came out.”

“Grill him good.”

“You know it. And, Dawn?”

“Yeah?”

“After you sleep,
please
see the boss. He’s concerned about what happened last night. Very concerned.”

Only to appease Breisi, Dawn gave a noncommittal grunt, then shut down the line.

Keeping the earpiece in, just in case Breisi called back, Dawn hardened herself to what The Voice wanted and drove on.

She passed a convertible with a surfboard and a voluptuous blowup doll sticking out of the backseat and tried to find it humorous. But the only funny part was that the team’s foes—whoever they may be—weren’t having to do much to thwart them these days. Life was pretty much doing all the attacking.

So much for hostile red-or silver-eyed vampires.

When Dawn arrived at Jac’s, she kept an eye out for roving security vehicles as she punched in the code to open the gate. She knew it from last night, but that didn’t mean neighborhood watch would welcome Dawn’s Soda Can Special cruising the area. She’d definitely make this quicksilvery.

She shot up the drive, then, with a spray of gravel, pulled to a stop near the door, disconnected from her phone, and cut the engine. Speedy as a streaker running across an Academy Awards stage, she darted outside and to the entrance, inspecting the area where she’d dropped everything early this morning.

It didn’t take two seconds to find the ATM card wedged under some trimmed bushes.

“Idiot,” Dawn said to herself as she walked back to her ride. “That was brilliant.”

When a jasmine breeze floated by, she glanced up. It sounded like the Friend was trying to get her attention.

“What is it?” Dawn asked.

Heeee-eeeeere…
The breeze whistled upward, toward one of two chimneys piping out of the gingerbread house’s roof.

Chimneys. Two. Red.

Something Kiko said when he’d touched Frank’s shirt poked at Dawn.
In one of the two red fingers pointing up to the sky.

In
one of them?

Nah, Dawn thought, looking at the roof, at the red brick jutting up like…well, like two red fingers. Dawn had told Breisi, and Breisi in turn must’ve passed Kiko’s mumbo jumbo on to the rest of the Limpet team, but that didn’t mean anything he said was valid enough for them to go on. Still…

With a burst of hope, she forgot any fatigue and exploded into a run, heading for a tall oak that spread its branches far and wide.

In
one of the chimneys, huh?

She grasped a branch, using all her strength to lever upward, pulling until she flipped around and hovered above the branch like a gymnast on a bar. Years of competition and practice had brought her to this.

She rested, climbed higher, higher, flipping and rising. Resting. Then she got close enough to the roof to crawl over a stocky branch, to plaster her body to the shingles. There, she pushed up to a crouch, getting her balance.

A soft gust of jasmine air felt like a hand barring her progress. A warning.

“Why did you tell me if you didn’t want me to investigate?” Dawn said, irritated.

She had no idea what Frank would be doing in a chimney, but she forged ahead anyway.

I’m gonna find him,
she kept repeating, never looking down.

The Friend swished away, screaming toward the ground.

Dawn should’ve taken that as a hint.

Because the next thing she knew, something pinched into her neck, and she only had enough time to collapse to her stomach, nails digging into the shingles as she slid downward.

Her head got cloudy, fuzzed with heat and confusion.

Down, down, the world speeding by, flip-flopping, her fingers burning…

Before Dawn could register any more, a bed of jasmine softness scooped her up, hefted her to the ground, then winged away in a swish of speed.

Drugged, Dawn thought, the grass against one cheek, the trees and sky and house all blending together.

She started to lose consciousness, eyelids falling. But before her lights went out, she saw a tall woman with short, curly dark hair and a pistol coming around the brick corner.

Oh, fu—

Just as the woman raised the weapon again, she got slammed to the ground by an invisible force.

By a Friend.

And that’s when Dawn went dark.

D
AWN?
”

A female voice, flowing into Dawn’s dreams like hot cocoa warming down a child’s throat on a rainy day.

At first she felt achy—old injuries creaking and moaning, her body heavy and shaky. Then, pushing open her eyelids, Dawn felt a crush of velvet against her temple. This wasn’t grass. And when she saw walls and pictures through her lashes, she guessed that she wasn’t outside at all anymore.

Falling, grasping, nails scratching over shingles…

Woozy, she forced herself awake, feeling some medicinal goop on the tips of her fingers, then finding Jacqueline Ashley sitting in a chair across the living room. The painting of a jazz-age rake with his hair shined back loomed behind Jac like a…

Friend.
What had happened to Dawn’s Friend?

In spite of her protesting body, she forced herself to sit up. Then she shook her head, bristling off the dizzy weakness with pure determination.

Through the visual dust bunnies, she saw that the portrait wasn’t the only thing hovering over Jac’s shoulder. The tall woman, maybe a Samoan, with short, dark curls, dark eyes, and a major-league scowl, was standing guard, too. She looked a little worked over with half her brown face scrubbed raw, and Dawn hoped her Friend had gotten in a few good bruises at least.