Underground (17 page)

Authors: Kat Richardson

Tags: #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General

BOOK: Underground

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Edward picked up my hand and held it in both of his, studying it as if he’d find some secret in the shape and arrangement of the bones beneath the skin. “My dear, I suffer the lack of your skills and guidance.”

I pulled my hand back from his with some difficulty, feeling a sickening, artificially induced reluctance to remove myself from his ramped-up heat. “If you lay that on any thicker you’ll need a trowel,” I said. I wouldn’t have been so bold if we’d never met before—even playing the noble suitor, he still had an edge of malice and considerable power to exercise it—but I thought the score between us wasn’t so uneven as he did. Yes, I had convinced him to do things he didn’t care for and he’d suffered physical harm for it, but the end results had been much better for him than for me.

“I’ve been very patient,” he started, letting his projection grow colder. The rolling unpleasantness of his annoyance made me queasy, but the chill was a relief. Still, I could sense him readying another tactic. “How long do you intend to pretend that your tiny existence, your tiny home, your tiny job, and your mayfly friends satisfy your talents? You could do so much more. And I grow extremely tired of waiting for you to earn out your debt.”

I laughed. I hadn’t expected him to be so clumsy about it. “What debt? As I recall we’re pretty even on the who-owes-who score. I brought some problems to your attention which, if left alone, would have destroyed you, and in exchange I asked for no favors for myself, only for payment to those you already owed. You got to keep your fiefdom, you got to be a hero, you got to play magnanimous lord of the manor and clean house of your enemies in one swoop. And—let me see—you saved Seattle and got Carlos back into your camp, which were certainly unexpected assets for you. How is that a debt on my part?”

“You got your payment for it,” he replied, his voice chilling further, even while I saw a gleam in his eye at the anticipated snap of his trap. I thought I’d play along just a little further before I disarmed him.

“I got nothing but survival, a new set of scars, and an association with you and your kind I could happily do without. Yes, my cases closed, but the consequences of them aren’t anyone’s idea of a reward.”

He leaned in a little, trying to catch my eye. If I let him capture my gaze he’d set his hook, whether he had a real claim or not, so I turned my head, glaring at him from the corners of my narrowed eyes.

Frustrated, his voice dropped to a hiss. “There is the small matter of a check, which you accepted and which therefore binds you to me in debt, since, as you point out, I owed you nothing.”

“Oh, yeah. Even ‘gifts’ come with a price.” I brought the heavy cream envelope out of my purse, meeting his eyes now, and snapped it onto the table between us. The sound reverberated like a broken guitar string. “You mean this check?”

I’d kept the check in its envelope in the bottom drawer of my office desk since the night it dropped through my mail slot. There were a lot of zeros in the amount line, but the temptation they represented hadn’t outweighed the servitude I’d been quite sure would come with it. I’d twigged to the real cost of unearned rewards at an early age when I’d been offered an advance out of the chorus line—if I’d submit to the unpleasant kinks of the musical director. I hadn’t learned the lesson well enough, though, and had been caught few times before I’d had it hammered into my knowledge of the world like a spike—the final time with the back of someone’s hand.

I approach all offers of free lunches with suspicion, and the more lavish they are, the greater my skepticism. After my initiation into the Grey and with the effects of magical bindings lingering still, I had imagined the price would be even worse where magic and vampires were involved. Judging from Edward’s reaction and the feel of shattered magic lying between us, cynicism had been the right choice.

I watched Edward pick up the envelope and draw the check and its note—“for services to the community”—out. The temperature dropped until my breath left ice crystals dancing in the air between us. Fury isn’t always hot—if it had been, the paper would have been rendered into ash too fast to watch.

Edward placed the papers on the table with a delicate touch, as though something might break if he exerted even a gram more force. “Ah.”

“You should check your own bank statements,” I suggested. “Your accountants fell down on the job. I’ve had that since last May, but you didn’t notice it hadn’t been deposited.”

He raised his gaze to my face, neutral on the surface, but the aura around his head was shot with bolts of furious red lightning in a boiling black storm. Then he sat back, the squall of anger blowing out as fast as it had blown in. He shook his head.

“I should have known it wouldn’t work with you.”

“We’re not all that venal,” I said.

“Oh, it wasn’t venality I thought might catch you.” He didn’t say what he had thought would ensnare me, though. “But I’ve wasted enough time with this. What do you want from me—and this time you may very well incur a debt.”

“Don’t try and rope me, Edward. I just need information; I’m not asking for a favor.”

“Very well,” he snapped. “What do you want to know?”

“Who is killing the homeless in Pioneer Square?”

He seemed surprised. “However should I know? And why did you think I would?”

“The deaths have been very odd—not much blood in the bodies, hands and legs apparently chewed off in some cases.”

Edward scowled, sending a ripple of cold over me. “I suppose the seed of suspicion was planted by your unfortunately clever friend Quinton. I can’t say I care for the company you keep.”

“I’m not so fond of some of it, either,” I replied pointedly. “You worked together just fine before. Why the animosity?”

He almost smiled. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Edward joked—not that it was a joke. “Why would you, cynical one, believe such a tale, even from a friend?” He put an unpleasant spin on the last word.

“I’ve seen some of the bodies myself. But I don’t know if these are vampire victims—I haven’t seen many, but none of them looked like this. So I don’t know what’s wrong with these— except that something magical killed them and took their blood and limbs along when it left. That
sounds
like your kind, but there are other factors. Besides the sleeping dead, there have been zombies seen in the area—one I think might be an earlier victim of whatever did this—and there’s a pattern that goes back sixty years or more. It’s not a human killing these people. But since vampires also walk after death, you can understand how I thought there might be a connection.”

Edward’s lip curled in disgust. “I assure you none of my people are responsible. We don’t . . . rend, and we don’t raise zombies. The occasional mistakes are dealt with, not allowed to roam the night.”

“If I accept that no vampire did this—”

“None did!” His voice carried force that battered against my mind and body. I didn’t quite stop myself from flinching. Edward seemed a little mollified by my discomfort. The rest of the vampires in the room glanced at us and then away with a ripple of surprise across the red-fired surface of the Grey.

“I don’t know that. I don’t know what becomes of vampires’ victims or where zombies come from. That’s why I’m asking you. Whatever nasty thing is doing this, it has to stop. I assume you don’t want the police to start asking public questions about bloodless bodies in Pioneer Square or the
Weekly
to begin spouting sensationalism about the walking dead and slaughtered homeless people.”

“Zombies are necromancers’ business, not ours,” he spat. “We turn our kills only rarely and with care—”

“Like the care you exercised with Cameron?”

The growl he made raised black waves in the Grey. “That is not the matter at issue here. These dead are not made to walk—nor to lie bloodless in the street—by us. It would be madness and none of mine are mad. If you wish to know more, you should speak to Carlos.”

His anger left me dizzy and nauseated. I swallowed hard but held my outward cool—I think. “I probably will. I want to stop this—regardless of who may be responsible.”

“Be assured it is not one of mine.” He leaned away, indicating an end to the conversation. “I have no further information for you, but I shan’t hinder you in its pursuit.” Damn right you won’t, I thought. “I’ll even warn my people away from you and your lone wolf if that will help you to resolve this mystery.”

“That would help, as would any other information that flows to you about it.”

He gave a brusque nod. “You’ll have it. Is that all?”

I looked at the envelope still lying on the table. “Are we square?”

His lips and nostrils twitched but he nodded. “Yes. Though you might wish to examine the oddities of your . . . friend before you trust him further.”

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Then I slid out of the booth and stood beside the table. Leaving him angry wasn’t the best idea, so I nodded my head in what could be mistaken for a very small obeisance and said, “Thank you.”

I could feel a flatness in the heaving Grey behind me as I left, as if I’d managed to surprise Edward, though I doubted that was possible. My mind was whirling with disjointed bits of knowledge and questions trying to find each other, and I had to struggle to keep my attention on the dangerous path to the door. I assumed Edward’s word had some binding to it. I never trusted vampires, though I knew promises could have magical implications in such an atmosphere as that one. What I couldn’t know was if any of the other vampires might believe we’d broken whatever pact lay between Edward and me and started to think I’d make a lovely snack once I left the protection of the club. I had to watch them as I went, seeing calculation in some shifted gazes, eyes gleaming with hunger and curiosity as they watched me go.

None followed me out or appeared on the street once I exited the gate.

I didn’t know why Edward had been so disgusted and offended by the idea of zombies, but the weight of his words convinced me he’d been telling the truth about vampire involvement in the recent deaths of undergrounders. Not that he and his pack were innocent of preying on them under other circumstances, but I was reasonably convinced that they hadn’t done this. Or at least none that cleaved to Edward’s protection had. Which included Carlos.

Since Carlos was also a necromancer, it seemed the next logical step was going to him, which I dreaded even more than speaking to Edward. I did not wish to renew the despair and horror I’d felt at our last parting. Even more so I didn’t want to end up in his debt.

An itchy little idea flitted at the back of my mind and I thought perhaps I wouldn’t have to talk to Carlos after all. I’d helped his protégé, Cameron, a couple of months before with the problem of a dead man who might or might not wake up as a vampire. At the time, Cam had implied there were worse things the deceased might come back as—things that had made Cameron shiver with dread. Not much fazes a vampire, even an infant one. Whatever it was, perhaps it was connected to my current problem. I’d helped to straighten out the mess of Cameron’s death and unlife, and I didn’t find Cameron particularly threatening—yet.

I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and called Cam’s number. He answered quickly.

“Hey, Harper.”

“Hey, Cam. I have a problem and I think you might have a hint of the answer.”

“Really? Well, then fire away.”

“I’d rather meet in person. There may be a bit more to it than a quick Q and A.”

I heard the static and fuzz of him putting his hand over the phone. The furry silence lasted a few moments before his voice returned.