Spellcasters (82 page)

“Only if we’re lucky.”

“I think we should break in.”

“Quite possibly the only suggestion that would make this excursion even more unbearable. If this involves crawling through a broken basement window, may I mention now that these pants are dry-clean-only, I didn’t bring another change of clothes, and I’m certainly not going to—”

I finished murmuring an unlock spell and opened the door. Inside, all was dark and silent.

“It’s daytime,” Cassandra murmured. “He’ll be asleep.”

Guess I should have known that. I needed to brush up on my vampire lore.

The house was cool, almost cold compared to the warm fall day outside. I could chalk up the drop in temperature to an otherworldly chill from stepping into the abode of the undead, but I suspected John just had his air conditioner cranked too high.

I cast a light spell and looked around. The walls were covered in crimson velvet-flocked wallpaper, and decorated with paintings that probably violated obscenity codes in a dozen states.

“I didn’t know goats could do that,” I said, casting my light over one picture. “And I’m not sure why they’d want to.”

“Could you dim that thing?” Cassandra said. “Please?”

“Sorry, it’s a single-wattage spell,” I said. “But I could blindfold you. Hey, look, there’s a leather hood right there on the coatrack. Oooh, check out the cat-o’-nine-tails. Think John would notice if I scooped it?”

“You’re enjoying this far too much.”

“It’s just so refreshing to see a vampire who fully embraces his cultural heritage.” I waved my light-ball toward the stairs. “Shall we see whether we can wake the undead?”

Cassandra shot me a look that said she was seriously reconsidering her thirty-and-up policy. I grinned back and headed for the stairs.

Upstairs we found more red velvet wallpaper, more paintings of questionable artistic merit, more S&M-themed knickknacks, and no John. There were four bedrooms. Two were furnished as sleeping quarters, but seemed
to be used only as dressing rooms. The third could best be described as a museum of vampire-fetish, and is best left undescribed in further detail. The fourth door was locked.

“This must be his,” I whispered to Cassandra. “Either that, or the stuff in here is even worse than the stuff in the last room.”

“I doubt that’s possible.” Cassandra’s gaze darted toward the fetish room. “Perhaps, though, I should wait in the hall. In case John returns.”

I grinned. “Good plan.”

I cast a simple unlock spell, assuming it was a normal interior door lock, the type that could be sprung with a hairpin. When that failed, I moved to my next stronger spell, then to the strongest. Finally, the door opened.

“Damn,” I murmured. “Whatever he’s got in here, he really doesn’t want anyone to see.”

I eased open the door, guided my light-ball around the corner, and found myself looking into … an office. An ordinary, modern home office, with gray carpet, painted blue walls, fluorescent lighting, a metal desk, two computers, and a fax machine. A whiteboard on the far wall held John’s to-do list: pick up dry cleaning, pay property taxes, renew cleaning contract, hire new dishwasher. Not a single mention of sucking blood, raping the local virgins, or turning his neighbors into undead fiends. No wonder John didn’t want anyone coming in here. One glance through that door and all his image-building would be for naught.

I stepped out and closed the door behind me.

“You don’t want to go in there,” I said.

“Bad?”

“The worst.” I looked along the hall. “So he’s not here, and it doesn’t look like he’s slept up here in a while. So where does a culturally faithful vamp sleep? You didn’t see a mausoleum out back, did you?”

“Thank God, no. He seems to have had the sense to draw the line at that.”

“Probably because he couldn’t get the building permit. Okay, well …” I looked at her. “Help me out here. I’m not vamp-stereotype savvy.”

She paused, as if it pained her to answer, then sighed. “The basement.”

We stood in the center of the basement. My light-ball hung over the only object in the room, a massive, gleaming, ebony black, silver-trimmed coffin.

“Just when you thought it couldn’t get any worse, huh?” I said. “At least it’s not a mausoleum.”

“He’s sleeping in a box, Paige. It doesn’t get any worse than that. A
mausoleum, at least you could fix up, add some skylights, perhaps a nice feather bed with Egyptian cotton sheets …”

“He might have Egyptian cotton sheets in there,” I said. “Oh, and you know, it might not be as bad as you think. Maybe he doesn’t sleep in there. Maybe it’s just for sex.”

Cassandra fixed me with a look. “Thank you, Paige. If those pictures upstairs weren’t enough to taint my sex life for weeks, that image will certainly do it.”

“Well, at least we know he’s not having sex in there right now. I think it’d need to be propped open for that. So what’s the proper etiquette for rousing a vamp from his coffin? Should we knock first?”

Cassandra grabbed the side of the coffin and was about to swing it open when her head jerked up.

“Paige—!” she called.

That was all I heard before a body struck mine. As I pitched forward, pain shot through my torn stomach muscles. I twisted and caught a glimpse of a naked thigh and a swirl of long blond hair. Then a hand grabbed me from behind and a head plunged toward my neck.

I reacted on instinct, not with a spell, but with a move from a barely remembered self-defense class. My elbow shot up into my attacker’s chest and my other hand slammed, palm first, into the nose.

A shriek of pain and my attacker stumbled back. I scuttled around, binding spell at the ready, and saw Brigid huddled on the floor, naked, cupping her nose.

“You bitch! I think you broke my nose.”

“Stop whining,” Cassandra said, reaching down to help me up. “It’ll heal in the time it takes you to get dressed.” She shook her head. “Two vampires laid low in two days by a twenty-two-year-old witch. I am embarrassed for my race.”

I could have pointed out that I was twenty-three, but it wouldn’t have had the same alliteration. At least Cassandra had some vague idea of my age. Most times she was doing well if she bothered to remember names.

Behind us, the coffin creaked open.

“What the hell is—” John grumbled, yanking a sleep mask from his eyes. “Cassandra?” He groaned. “What did I do now?”

“They broke in, Hans,” Brigid said. “They were prowling around, looking at everything—”

“We weren’t prowling,” Cassandra said. “And we were trying very hard
not
to look at anything. Now get out of that coffin, John. I can’t speak to you when you’re in that thing.”

He sighed, grabbed both sides, and pushed himself up. Unlike Brigid, he was, thankfully, not naked, or I’d have been unable to resist vocalizing comparisons with the statues out front. Though John was shirtless, he wore a pair of billowing black silk pants, cinched at the waist. I assumed they were supposed to look debonair, but I was having serious MC Hammer flashbacks.

“We need some information,” Cassandra began. “Last night, we weren’t entirely forthright with you for security reasons. But, after we spoke to you, it was obvious that I may have underestimated your … stature in the vampire world.”

“It happens,” John said.

“Yes, well, here’s the situation. A vampire has been killing Cabal children—the children of Cabal employees.”

“Since when?” John said, then coughed. “I mean, I heard about that, of course.”

“Of course. As of yet, the Cabals don’t realize that they’re hunting for a vampire. The interracial council would like to keep it that way, to catch the perpetrator quietly. We know the Cabals don’t like vampires. We don’t need to give them an excuse to come after us.”

“Let them,” Brigid said, stepping forward. “They want a war, we’ll give them a—”

John hushed her with a wave. As he watched us, I realized that, as I’d hoped, Cassandra had indeed underestimated him. Playing the fool didn’t mean he was one.

“If you catch him, what are you going to do with him?” John asked. “I’m not going to help you find a vampire so you can kill him. I could argue he’s doing us a favor.”

“Not if the Cabals find out.”

John paused, then nodded. “So I assume you want to know who has a beef with the Cabals.”

“Shouldn’t she already know?” Brigid said, slanting a look at Cassandra. “That’s her job as our representative, isn’t it? To know who’s been naughty and who’s been nice?”

Cassandra met Brigid’s sneer with a solemn nod. “Yes, it is, and if I have been remiss in performing my duties, I apologize. As of now, expect me to do so, and if I do not, you may petition the council to have me removed. As well, I may consider seeking a codelegate.”

“We’d appreciate that, Cassandra,” John said. “We’ve all talked about this. We’d like a second delegate on the council. I’d be willing, of course.”

“I … appreciate the offer,” Cassandra said. “Right now, though, we need to resolve the most pressing concern. If you know anyone who has had a problem with the Cabals—”

“First, I want your word that whoever is responsible won’t be executed.”

“I can’t do that. Council law—”

“Fuck council law.”

Cassandra glanced at me. I shook my head. This we couldn’t do. We both knew that the killer had to go to the Cabals. To do otherwise would be to risk having them turn on both the vampires and the council. All we could do now was negotiate with them to minimize the fallout.

“We can’t promise absolution,” Cassandra said. “But we’ll make sure he’s treated fairly—”

“No deal.”

“Perhaps you fail to understand the importance of this. The more children this vampire kills, the uglier this will get. We need to stop him—”

“Then stop him,” Brigid said. “You shouldn’t need us. And I don’t think you do. I think this is all a little act for your council buddies, so they don’t find out the truth.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed. “What truth?”

“That you knew exactly what was going on. You knew how bad things were. You want us to tell your little witch friend here so you can claim you didn’t know a thing about it. Well, you can’t possibly be that out of touch—”

“I’m afraid she is,” said a voice behind us.

We turned to see Aaron step into the basement, followed by Lucas.

“Cassandra doesn’t know what’s been going on,” Aaron said. “But I do.”

“H
ello, Aaron,” Brigid said, sliding up to him and running a finger down his chest. “You’re looking good … as always.”

Aaron lifted her finger off his shirt and let it drop. “Put some clothing on, Brigid.”

She smiled up at him. “Why? Tempted?”

“Yeah, to cover my eyes.”

Brigid sniffed and swung to Lucas. “So this is the Cabal crown prince, is it?” She looked him up and down. “Nothing contact lenses and a better wardrobe couldn’t fix.”

She took a step toward him.

“No, thank you,” Lucas murmured.

“Brigid?” John said. “Please, get dressed.”

“Don’t bother,” Cassandra said. “If Aaron has what we need, then we’ll leave you two to your immortal slumber.”

She headed for the door.

“Hold on,” John said. “I may have details Aaron doesn’t. My deal still stands.”

“Deal?” Aaron said.

I nodded. “He wants us to promise not to execute the killer or hand him over to the Cabals.”

“Ah, fuck, Hans, you know we can’t do that. They’ll come after us, hunt us down.”

Brigid laughed. “You think we’re afraid of the Cabals? We’re vampires. The gods of the supernatural world, impervious to harm—”

“Yeah, until someone chops off our heads, then we’re worm food like everyone else. Hans, maybe you’ve got Brigid believing that vamp-superiority crap, but I know you’re smarter than that.”

“We don’t need this,” Cassandra said. “If you have a name—”

“I do, but Hans may know more. I want to find this guy before he kills another Cabal kid.”

“Why?” Brigid said. “Who cares about another dead Cabal brat?”

“The Cabals do.”

John hesitated, then nodded. “Let’s talk.”

At Cassandra’s insistence, we moved out of the basement. John suggested the backyard, so we waited for him there. Like the front yard, the rear was surrounded by a high fence. Here, though, the fence had been erected by John, not his neighbors. The yard was almost as big a shock as the home office, which is probably why he kept it hidden.

It was small, no more than a few hundred square feet. Instead of grass, it had rock gardens and koi ponds surrounded by gravel paths. In the center of the yard was a pagoda with a teak table and chair set, where we waited for John.

Brigid had already made it clear that she wouldn’t be joining us. Apparently, she took her role as a “true” vampire very seriously, never venturing outside during the day. I suspected this was why John chose to have the meeting outdoors, so he could speak without her interruptions.

As we waited, Lucas explained how they’d found us. Aaron had called him early this morning, thinking we’d be sleeping in after our night chasing John. They decided to hook up and come to New Orleans together. Lucas knew we were heading to John’s house, but didn’t have the address. Aaron had the address.

I was anxious to hear Aaron’s findings, but before I could ask, John returned. He was dressed in black leather pants and a white linen shirt. Still pretty Goth, but not as theatrical as last night’s attire. I suspected there were a lot of theatrics to John’s image. Last night he’d gushed about Aaron, but when the man showed up in person, Brigid had been the only one vamping it up.

“It’s Edward, isn’t it?” Aaron said as John pulled out a chair.

“That would be my guess,” John said. “I don’t know him well enough to say for certain—”

“
No one
knows them well enough to say for certain,” Aaron said.

“Them?” I asked.

“Edward and Natasha. They’re a couple. Been together a very long time.”

“I’ve heard those names,” I said. “In the council minutes. They’re immortality questers.”

“Did the council investigate them?” Lucas asked.