Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel (11 page)

Rain is looking at me with big eyes. She senses my
excitement. “Did I help?” Absently, the fingers of her right hand trace the leaf tattoo winding up her left arm. I realize the last time I saw her, she was wearing a jacket. I’d only noticed the lone shoot that trailed from her neckline to her right earlobe. Now I see that the design is much more intricate than that.

It’s like a dash of cold water.

A sense of dread washes over me.

I reach out and touch the tattoo gently. “I love this. Is it like the tattoo Julie got?”

Rain shakes her head. “No. She was afraid her parents would freak if she got anything so obvious. She got a tramp stamp. Kind of a butterfly design. No color, at least not yet.”

“You took Julie to the same artist that did yours?”

“Yeah. They do great work. Julie was impressed with mine so—”

“Where do you go?”

“Wicked Ink. It’s this supercool place in the Gaslamp.”

I know exactly where it is. Wicked Ink may be a supercool tattoo parlor, but it’s also a front for one of the largest Blood Emporium distribution centers in all of California. Something Kallistos has a huge stake in, both financially and politically.

My stomach clenches. “Did anything unusual happen while the two of you were at Wicked Ink?”

Rain frowns with the effort of trying to fill the gap in her memory. After a long moment she gives in with a shrug. “Whatever it was, I guess it isn’t important,” she replies.

She echoes the same words I used earlier when she
couldn’t answer my questions about the money. At some point Rain was privy to the details about the money. She knew where it came from. Until someone, some vampire, took that memory away.

At least now I know who to ask.

I waste no time pulling in my power, bringing the walls back up. Rain will remember the details of our conversation, including my suggestion that she no longer worry about what she can’t remember. The suggestion will continue to bring her solace, a fact for which I’m grateful. I don’t want her to think about the void in her memory. Especially since I have a suspicion who might be behind it.

Rain’s eyes clear. “Now what?” she asks eagerly.

I stand up. “Now we take you to school.”

She frowns. “I was afraid you were going to say that.” She glances at her watch. “I missed the bus.”

I tell her we will give her a ride and wait for her to gather up her backpack. Then we head out. Zack is alone, sitting on the front porch steps. “We need to take Rain to school,” I tell him as I approach. “We made her miss her bus.”

He stands, his back to Rain, who’s paused to lock up. I can tell he wants to ask how things went. He scans my face, looking for any clue as to the success of my “interrogation.”

Rain bounds down the stairs and rushes ahead to the
car. As soon as her back is to us, I give him a stealthy thumbs-up.

“Yes!” Zack starts to pump a fist in the air but catches Rain looking back over her shoulder and stops.

“Very mature,” I whisper, keeping my expression studiously neutral. To Rain, “Hop in the back.”

“You must have been some spy,” I comment quietly to Zack as I pass him on my way to the passenger seat.

Zack keeps Rain engaged in conversation on the short drive to Point Loma Academy, asking her about her classes and her teachers. I’m glad. The gut wrench I experienced when Rain first mentioned Wicked Ink has now turned into a full-blown stomachache. We need to find out whether Hannah or Sylvia was a patron, and I need to arrange for a conversation with Rose, the vampire who runs the establishment. A vampire. Capable of wiping a memory, certainly, but capable of kidnapping? And to what end?

I’m jolted out of my thoughts by Zack’s hand on my arm. “Emma? Rain is talking to you.”

I blink back to the present. We’re in front of the school and Rain is standing by the open passenger side window.

“Will you let me know when you have any news about Julie?” she’s asking.

I nod. “Yes. Rain, we’ll do everything we can to bring her back. Thank you for meeting with us this morning.”

I recognize how perfunctory the reply sounds as soon as the words leave my mouth. Rain recognizes it, too.

She shrugs, frowning. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Then she turns on her heel and heads through the school gate.

“Good job, Emma. Way to secure the cooperation of the only person who’s provided us with a solid lead.” He raises an eyebrow. “What did she tell you?”

I counter with a question of my own. “Remember when I told you about Rose at Wicked Ink?”

“How could I forget. She’s a vampire. But what—no, don’t tell me. Rain took Julie to Wicked Ink to get her tattoo.”

“Yes. And when I asked Rain if anything unusual happened when Julie got her tatt, she couldn’t remember. People always remember, Zack, unless there are holes.”

“Holes? You mean, her memory’s been wiped?”

“I think so. She exhibited all the symptoms. It’s like when you get that itchy feeling you’re forgetting something but can’t bring it into focus. The harder you try, the more the memory eludes you. But Rain did remember that Julie roomed with Hannah and Sylvia during that college trip last June.”

“Right before the deposits started for the two of them?”

“She didn’t have the exact date, but I think so.”

Zack reaches into the backseat for his laptop. Within a few seconds he’s logged in and clicking away.

“What are you looking for?”

“Checking to see if Hannah and Sylvia were reported as having any tattoos.”

I turn and stare out the window. Should I call Kallistos? Suddenly I’m aware Zack’s eyes are on me. I’m wearing a white mock turtleneck under today’s black suit jacket. It was a deliberate choice, meant to hide the evidence of Kallistos’ mark. Apparently, I didn’t choose carefully enough.

Zack reaches out, hooks his finger in the edge of my collar, and gently peels it back, exposing my neck.

I hold my breath. I know what’s coming.

“You’re letting him feed from you now?” he says. The disdain in his voice is undeniable. It pisses me off. “How old is this bite?”

I pull away. “How is that any of your business?”

“Are you kidding me? You weren’t born yesterday, Emma. You know how this works. If he marks you, he’ll be able to control you. I’m counting on you. We’re partners. I don’t trust Kallistos and you shouldn’t, either. I don’t care how good he is in the sack. Kallistos has one priority. Kallistos.”

His words come out in a rush. He’s trying to be reasonable and I know what he’s saying is true, in part.

“I’m not some naive ingenue. I’ve been around a long time and I’ve been with a lot of men. None of them have ever gotten the upper hand, and neither will he. The bite brought me pleasure. It doesn’t
mean
anything. You need to trust me.”

I can tell he wants to say more. But, to his credit, he lets it go.

“Any luck with the tattoo question?”

He shakes his head and logs out. “Nothing.”

“Could be their parents don’t realize they have any,” Zack points out.

His attitude is once again professional. It’s back to business as usual. For now.

“I think we should pay Rose a visit,” I say.

Zack glances at the clock on the dash.

“You have somewhere you have to be?”

“Not right away.”

“Oh?”

He frowns. “I have a lunch meeting with Sarah. And Seamus.”

I wait for more. The set of his jaw tells me I’m not going to get details. “I can cancel if I need to, of course,” he finally adds.

“No need. We both have to eat.”

“Since we’re here at the school, what do you say we nail down the dates of that college trip first?” he asks before dropping his laptop onto the backseat.

I unbuckle and open the door. “We should also ask for a list of the chaperones. Rain indicated some of them could be parents. Anyone associated with the trip deserves a second look, don’t you think?”

“Definitely.”

He walks around the Suburban and together we proceed up the walkway that leads to the front doors of Point Loma Academy. The grounds are eerily quiet. The students, no doubt, are all safely ensconced in their classrooms.

“The college trip might have somehow connected these girls,” he says. “But I’d bet you the recipe for my momma’s secret barbecue sauce that the answer to what they were involved in is going to be found at Wicked Ink.”

And with Kallistos? Zack doesn’t say it, but I know he must be thinking it.

I am.

Zack opens the door for me, then lets out a low whistle. I’d forgotten how opulent the place is. The interior of the building is every bit as impressive as the outside and the grounds. A cathedral ceiling arcs over the foyer and
enormous windows spill natural sunlight onto gleaming hardwood floors. In the center, a large, round mahogany table holds an arrangement of fresh flowers. To the right is a door marked
OFFICE
and, at the far end of the room, a pair of carved wooden doors. I know from a tour during that long-ago fund-raiser that beyond them are the classrooms, the theater, and the gymnasium.

I head toward the office, Zack follows. The door is open. A receptionist greets us, a matronly woman, dressed to the nines in a gray suit that sets off her silver hair.

“May I help you?”

We quickly dispense with the ritual of introductions. Displaying our badges and explaining the reason for our visit gets us through the door and into Principal Robinson’s office.

The woman who greets us is not the same principal I remember. The five-foot-seven African-American is slender, incredibly poised, and, if her handshake is any indication, a no-nonsense lady. She motions for us to sit and we settle into the chairs across from her desk.

“This has been a terrible ordeal for us,” she says, hands clasped on the top of a neat, orderly desk. “Please, tell me what I can do to help.”

Her openness throws me for a moment. I’d been expecting a stonewalling bureaucrat more concerned with maintaining image than doing the right thing.

“We have a few questions concerning the college trip that took place last summer,” Zack says.

Her expression clouds. “You think that has something to do with the girls’ disappearance? That never occurred to me. Why would you think that?”

Zack reaches into his breast pocket for his notebook. “The three girls roomed together during that trip. What were the dates, exactly?”

Robinson refers to her computer. After a few clicks she answers, “June thirteenth through the sixteenth. Would you like a copy of the itinerary?”

“Yes, and a list of the chaperones,” I reply.

She hesitates a moment, and then, “Are you saying one of our teachers might be under suspicion? None of our staff could possibly be involved in anything like this.”

I counter with a question. “Were all of the chaperones teachers? I understand parents sometimes go along on these trips.”

Another heartbeat of hesitation. “Sometimes we do use parents to chaperone. But on this particular trip, they were all teachers.”

“Then we’ll need to speak with them. We need to know if any of the girls might have been approached by a stranger or if something out of the ordinary occurred that a chaperone might have made note of.”

She sighs. “Then you want to speak with Constance Bertram. She was assigned to four girls—Hannah, Sylvia, Julie, and Roberta Lundquist.”

My heart does a little leap. “Roberta Lundquist? Is she—”

“Missing? No. In fact, her parents have taken her out of school temporarily. They’re on an extended trip to Europe.”

“And you’re sure she’s with them?”

“Yes. She emails her homework assignments in regularly. We received one yesterday.”

Relief that we don’t have a fourth girl to worry about washes over me even as Zack says, “Please give us the Lundquists’ contact number in case we need to contact Roberta.”

Robinson works her keyboard, scrolls a screen, jots a number on a notepad, and hands it to him.

“Thank you. Okay. The interviews shouldn’t take more than a few minutes. Do you have a free room we could use to talk to Ms. Bertram?”

“She no longer teaches here.”

“Retired?” Zack asks.

Robinson shakes her head. “We had to let her go. I’m afraid we’re in the midst of a wrongful termination suit over the matter. Constance and I have had our fair share of disagreements, and I won’t deny she has issues, but I just don’t believe she would be capable of taking these girls.”

Zack opens his notebook to a fresh page. “Tell us, why she was let go?”

For a moment Robinson says nothing. Her lips, which are pressed into a thin line, appear permanently shut.

“We have no interest in pursuing anything that isn’t relevant,” I assure her. “We could review the court filings. They’re a matter of public record. We’d rather save time and hear it from you.”

Robinson pulls a file out of her top drawer and flips through it. For a moment I think perhaps she’s just refreshing her memory. Then she scribbles something on a plain yellow slip of paper and passes it to me. “The address and phone number of Ms. Bertram. You didn’t get it from me. I’m sure with your resources, you could have found it yourself.”

“Understood.” I tuck the information into my jacket pocket. “Now, what happened?”

“She witnessed something during the college trip that . . . disturbed her,” Robinson begins.

Zack and I exchange glances before he says, “What did she witness?”

Robinson pushes her chair away from her desk and leans back in it. I can tell she’s choosing her words carefully, as any administrator involved in a lawsuit would. “During her room check she discovered the girls playing with a Ouija board. The hotel had a recreational room with board games. They’d borrowed it, taken it back to their room.”

“And that was against the rules?” Zack asks.

“No, it wasn’t. When Ms. Bertram saw them she . . . Well, her reaction was disproportionate, totally inappropriate. She began to rant about the devil and witchcraft and . . . she forced the girls to line up on their knees and pray, pray to be saved, pray for forgiveness—to be born again. Apparently it went on for quite some time. All of the girls were upset, but Roberta was especially so. She contacted her parents. They contacted me. I had to fly to Oakland that very night. After interviewing the girls and Ms. Bertram, I had no choice but to place her on immediate suspension and send her home. I personally chaperoned the four girls for the remainder of the trip. As far as I know, nothing else unusual happened.”

*   *   *

We waste no time. Once back at the car, Zack starts up the Suburban and I punch in Bertram’s number and hit
SEND
. The call syncs through the car’s audio system.

It’s answered on the second ring. “Yes?”

I’m a little taken aback at the abruptness. “Constance Bertram?”

Her sharp, abrasive voice projects clearly. “Who is this? I don’t accept calls from blocked numbers.”

I refrain from mentioning that she just had. She might hang up. “I’m Special Agent Emma Monroe. I’m with the FBI. I would like to make an appointment with you to discuss the college trip you chaperoned—”

“I thought it might be something like that. FBI. CIA. ACLU. I answered to warn you people to leave me alone. Have you even heard of the United States Constitution? A little thing called the First Amendment? I have rights. I’ve filed suit. Religious persecution.”

Her words are fired off in short, staccato bursts.

“I’m not calling about your dismissal. As I said, I need to ask you some questions about the college trip. Three of your charges—Julie Simmons, Hannah Clemons, and Sylvia Roberts—have been missing for four days. I’d like to meet with you to see if you can give us any information that might help in our—”

“It was because of those girls that I was fired.” Her voice becomes strained, shaky, as if she’s holding her temper in check. “The Academy’s administration didn’t appreciate how much danger they’d put everyone in. Now maybe they understand.”