Chapter Thirteen
The moment I woke, love for Seb surged through me…followed by where such feelings led me. Damnation.
I shoved both feelings and Seb abruptly away with a snapped question about Dawn Truck Lines.
“Good morning to you, too,” he said dryly, raising to one elbow.
He rubbed his naked hip against mine. I glanced down at his glorious body, stretched out like a feast for my eyes.
I tried not to look. Really.
Normally, I liked my guys to have something extra, something different or intriguing or fun, like a couple of tats or piercings or a quirky taste in clothes. Maybe that was why I’d been interested in Derek as long as I was, the whole fang thing blinding me. In the end, he was as generically male as could be.
Seb had nothing but his bronzed skin, the muscled terrain of his body, a quirked smile, and a sparkle in his black eyes. I found that stimulating enough.
Damn it. I squeezed my eyelids shut. Yeah, love-provoking orgasm with a vampire, and it couldn’t happen again, but it wasn’t his fault. He’d cared enough to do it without fangs. He couldn’t know I’d react like a fork playing doctor with a socket. I opened my eyes. “Good morning. Now, Dawn.”
“How about brunch, Dawn?” He sat up and stretched, ripples cascading along those gorgeous muscles.
Oh, hell, it was there. I enjoyed, until my stomach rumbled. “My empty insides agree with your plan.” I got off the bed to throw on jeans and a top. He dressed in a perfectly normal fashion. “Can’t you, you know, poof?” I made a fan of my fingers, like a burst of mist.
He paused with one arm in the sleeve of his T-shirt. “I don’t know. I never tried.” He took off the shirt and amused himself for a few minutes throwing it into the air and trying to mist into it. Like a guy the first time they tried to toss and catch peanuts in their mouth. As I finished dressing, he shrugged. “It would take practice.” He tugged on the shirt and we went downstairs.
The dining room was empty except for one couple, tourists by the brand-new lacy Swiss cheese scarf the woman wore—the Wurst Und Käse (sausage and cheese) store sold them right next to their award-winning homemade baby food in popular flavors like creamed Thüringer. The couple was lost in each other’s eyes.
I led Seb to the buffet table, grabbed two plates, started to hand one to him, and hesitated.
Folklore said vampires ate nothing but blood, and certainly Derek had never consumed food while with me. Last night’s conversation with Sera had been the most in depth I’d ever gotten on vampire habits. Eating hadn’t come up.
“Um, you’re hungry, right? Do you get hungry?” I showed my upper teeth a moment, to let him know my real question.
Shaking his head no, he took the plate. “Yes, of course,” he said, all the time indicating no. I watched him from the corner of my eye as I served myself scrambled eggs, golden fried potato pancakes, and fresh crispy sausage. He took a little of everything I selected, spreading it out on the plate to look like more than it was.
Then, when I would have picked a big table on the other side of the room, he stopped at a tiny table for two tucked in the corner by the coffee. He sat with his back to the wall, half shrouded by a potted leafy tree of some sort.
I sat opposite him and spread my napkin in my lap. Deciding we were private enough if I kept my voice down, I asked, “Then you don’t eat food?”
“No,” he murmured, brandishing his fork with a flourish. “Anything I consume, blood, coffee, water, goes directly into my bloodstream. Well, there’s a small filter. But solids? No. I pretend.” He made a show of forking up a bite of sausage and raised his voice. “Delicious.”
I bit off an inch of my own sausage. Salty flavor burst with savory juices on my tongue. I chewed and swallowed. “If you don’t eat, how do you get your energy?”
“You know the legends about our kind resting in the soil?”
I stopped chewing. Like the Dracula legend? I whispered, “Graves?”
“No, no.” Waving his fork at me, he deftly dropped his sausage onto my plate. “Think man cave but with a dirt floor. We get energy from skin to soil.”
I tried mentally sketching a room with lots of leather, dark wood, thick carpet, theater television, and surround sound. Then I changed the carpet to soil with a couple mental scribbles. It was surprisingly easy to do.
“Didn’t your ex tell you this?” Seb forked up eggs.
“We didn’t talk much.” We hadn’t really talked at all, though I’d tried.
“I’m sorry.”
My eyes flew up to his. He meant it.
“It’s in the past. Tell me what you learned at Dawn.”
He seemed to understand what I really needed to know most. “Your ex wasn’t there. He’s just now returning from New York. I spoke with a male named Elwood.” He went on to tell me about his visit as eggs, then a dab of potato pancake, appeared on my plate. I understood what he was doing. He was pretending to eat, and sure enough, food was disappearing off his plate—by transferring to mine. I ate the bits, wondering who he normally got to help him with this playacting.
Then he added with studied casualness, “How long has Derek been my kind?”
If I’d sketched the special agent in that moment, he’d have had blasé eyes and mouth—with his ears perked forward like a hunting dog.
Because of Derek? Just because he was a vampire from Meiers Corners…and young, and drove a truck, showing unusually good control…
Hell. Seb suspected Derek.
My ex was a murder suspect. Vindication rushed through me. If Seb arrested Derek, my ex would finally get punished for his crimes.
Including hurting me.
For one shameful instant, I wanted that with every fiber. I wanted Derek arrested, I wanted him to be the murderer.
Guilt twinged in my gut. My righteousness ebbed.
I didn’t want Derek to be the killer, not really. I did want him to understand how much he’d hurt me. Maybe I even wanted him to hurt a little, too, so he’d really get it.
But for that one instant, I had hoped he’d be arrested, guilty or not. That was pretty low of me.
I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “Seb?”
My voice must’ve tightened, or maybe my eyes showed my distress, because his gaze swung to me, his attention totally focused on me. “What is it?”
I hesitated. This wouldn’t show me in a good light. Would he turn from me in disgust? My heart gave a hard thump of dismay.
He put a comforting hand over mine. “You can tell me.”
My gaze rose to his. Black, unreadable…except for a slight, sympathetic tilt.
No, more than sympathy. Pain touched that gaze. He’d been hit with bad in his life, enough to hear me out. Enough to maybe even understand.
With a deep breath for courage, I spilled it. “Have you ever been tempted to think…to want…it to be the wrong bad guy?” I braced for his contempt.
He gave me a reassuring smile. “When it’s personal? It’s hard not to. Lots of us are tempted.”
“Thanks for saying that. Have you, really?”
He sighed. “Not often, no. Normally I go where the evidence leads me. This case, though…” He grimaced and started stabbing bits of food indiscriminately with his fork. “I was pretty sure it was the Ancient One. I’m still not convinced it isn’t. The facts, though, they’re starting to lead away from him.”
Part of me ached for Seb. He’d been sure this awful Ancient One was behind the murders, that his case would soon be solved—only to have the facts and his lawful nature lead him from a quick, satisfying solution.
Part of me was fascinated at what he’d revealed. Follow the evidence. An insight into how a law enforcement officer viewed cases? How could I apply that to forensic art? “The facts are leading you toward Derek? I’m not imagining he might be guilty?”
“No.” The couple on the other side of the room got up and left. His gaze rose to follow them. “But it’s important to keep an open mind.” He stabbed a chunk of egg with a particularly angry thrust, as if he was admonishing me, himself, or both of us.
“What’s next?” I made my way through the extra potatoes and eggs. If I had to eat for two this whole visit, I made a mental note to get more exercise.
Although, maybe mattress Olympics with Seb counted.
“Next? We gather more information.” He pushed his empty plate away. “I’ll interview Derek when he returns. In the meantime, I need to talk again with Camille, to find out who of my kind has been missing from town. And I’m still not convinced the Ancient One isn’t trying to goad Lorenzo into a fight. The crazy bastard was always about glory in war. I’d like to visit all the local hangouts, bars to shops. If I keep my ear to the ground, I’ll hear any rumbles of war preparation. We’ll camouflage it as sightseeing.”
I set down my fork. Spending the whole day with strong, handsome Seb Rikare? Walking hand in hand, enjoying the sights? Part of me shuddered. How would I stop my attraction from growing into more?
Part of me took it as a challenge, to see if I could charm him into being equally enthralled with me.
…
I took a shower before we left, and I managed to forget to take clean underwear into the bathroom with me. I was comfortable enough with Seb that I stepped out wearing only a towel strategically knotted above my cleavage. He probably wouldn’t even care. He had a mission.
Or maybe it was a subconscious first move in my battle to charm him.
He was sitting in the room’s chair reading on his phone when I emerged. He might have been on a mission, but his eyes snapped up and widened as I sashayed out, his impressive chest pummeling in and out.
My insides twisted, half yearning, half wanting to bolt. But I couldn’t escape until the case was solved, so I’d just have to resist his pull.
I got a sinking feeling it’d be like the tide resisting the moon, not completely effective.
Grabbing fresh panties, I tried not to let Seb’s admiration affect me. “I told you I’m interested in forensic art, right? While we sightsee today, you’ll be investigating, following the facts. I’d like to learn more. How does that work?”
His gaze rose from the towel knot between my breasts to my eyes, interest and a different, more intellectual pleasure lighting there. “My father taught me the basics—curiosity. To find the reason things work the way they do. Then, to look behind the reason, for the truth.”
“Behind the reason?” I slid the panties under the towel and up. “What does that mean?”
“People hide the truth, especially in an investigation. Just because you can’t see it directly doesn’t mean you can’t see it at all.”
“Huh.” Pulling on my jeans, I turned away before dropping my towel to put on my bra. I was enjoying just talking with Seb and didn’t want to short-circuit that. “How do you see it, then?”
“Think of a body under a blanket. You can see where the cloth is tented. Even an invisible thing is evident—by the things it knocks out of place. To find the truth, you look for the things that are off. The anomalies.”
“That’s cool. And different.” Sliding on the T-shirt, I turned.
“Different?” His gaze met mine. “How do you see hidden truth?”
“Through art,” I said promptly.
“Isn’t art just drawing or painting what you see?”
“Yes, but…” I searched for words. “A non-artist will draw what they expect, not what they actually see. When I create art, I draw what’s really there; I draw what I see inside.” I thumped at my chest. “What I feel.”
He gazed at me a moment, then rose. I slid on socks and shoes as he fetched my backpack purse. Extracting my pad, he held it out. “Show me. Draw something for me. That.” He pointed at the bowl of complimentary fruit sitting on the table.
Good thing he’d picked the subject. I took the pad and the pack and scrounged for a couple pencils. I usually draw something I’m drawn to emotionally. With Seb standing there, big, earnest, and so damned attractive, if I sketched what I was drawn to, I’d sketch him.
And reveal the fact that he’d become special to me.
My chest hollowed. Well, hell. Even one orgasm had ignited a little love. Not sliding back into that quicksand. It made me double down on my determination not to let it get farther. I could not sleep with Seb again. Instead, I sketched the bold outlines of the still life in a few deft arcs, wetting my thumb to feather in the apple’s shadows.
Finishing, I found myself shy to show him. Even with a still life, I bled a little of myself onto the page. Criticism of my art was a criticism of me, no matter how hard I tried to distance myself.
When I finally turned the sheet toward Seb, my hands trembled slightly. “And?”
He stared. “The orange is lopsided.”
I flipped the pad shut, half angry, half ashamed. “This is why I didn’t want to show you.”
“No, I think it’s amazing. I mean, the orange is lopsided.” He pointed at the bowl of fruit. “You didn’t draw it perfect. You drew it as it is. Most people see, but they don’t actually see. You’ve drawn what you see, not what you know.”
My heart beat harder. He understands. I raised a hand to the notch of my neck, touching my grandparents’ locket. “Yes. Artists are taught to see what is, rather than what we think is.”
“The truth beyond the thing?”
“The truth in the object, yes.”
He tapped his chin, musing on it. Finally, he nodded. “That’s kind of like how I do my thing. If I were investigating that orange, first I’d see that it was lopsided. Then I’d look for why it’s lopsided. Hypodermic punctures indicating it was drugged, or the green blotches indicating it was picked too early. For the reality behind reality.” He shrugged. “That sounds labored.”
“No, I like that.” I put away my tools, donned my hoodie, and hefted my pack over one shoulder. “I’d like to try that. Let’s go check out the reality behind reality.”
Investigating under the guise of touring, we made a grand circuit. Otto’s north to Lincoln, West on Lincoln to the Performing Arts Center and Roller-Blayd Hall. Every street corner had a table where a microbrewery offered free samples. South on Fifth with a turn through the gazebo where piped music from the local Volka Polka station set a pair of dancers a-whirling. We spent the longest at tourist central where lunch was followed by fudge tastings and a stop in a jewelry store. The sun was getting low in the sky when we made our way to Seventh, and from there east on Main, to enjoy the antique district.
As we turned the corner, grunts of effort accompanied strange metallic dings and dongs. I scanned Antique Row, the brick storefronts lining Main from Seventh to Sixth. Motion caught my eye.
A metal lid like a giant’s Frisbee was lowering via ropes onto an eight-foot ceramic mug.
Or, if that was a lid, the mug was an eight-foot beer stein.
The stein sat mid-sidewalk in front of a store called Die Antiquitäten (meaning, with the true Meiers Corners flourish, “The Antiques.” I could never tell if they thought they were being clever, or their sarcasm was just really subtle).
“Incoming tourists!”
The voice came from the roof. Even from here, I recognized Mr. Gelb, who worked maintenance at Good Shepherd and was the unofficial mascot of the church’s ladies’ association by virtue of his wife, Mrs. Gelb. His normally florid face was a notch up into panicked red as he shouted, “Positions, everyone!”
“Positions, positions!” Mrs. Gelb, on the ground, clapped her hands. “Commence live Steinzeug-Krug scene!” Stoneware jug, my brain translated. Or, more commonly, stein.
Immediately a gaggle of women, dresses fluttering like flag garlands, dashed to circle the tankard. As Seb and I stared, they struck poses as unnatural as contortion artists.
Mrs. Gelb waved us closer. “Come on, we have to see this.” I grabbed Seb’s wrist—thick with muscle, distracting me for an instant—and dragged him toward the scene. From his stunned expression, he would’ve rather dealt with a horde of horrific attacking vampires.
“Hi, Mrs. Gelb. Um, what are you all doing?”
“It is part of the Oktoberfest, Gabriella. We are doing oh so much to celebrate, and”—she leaned closer and said in a stage whisper—“entice tourists.” She straightened and continued in a normal tone, “There is a competition for the best dramatic reenactment of Steinzeug-Krug scenes.”
It took me a moment. “You mean like a fox-hunting frieze on the side of a beer stein?”
“Exactly, ja. Ours is a classic pastoral. We call it Greek Muses.”
Which explained the handkerchief dresses and the strange poses.
“You will vote for us, ja? The competition, especially from the accordion-player’s guild, is particularly stiff this year.”
“We will definitely vote for you, ja.”
Seb took my hand and led me away. “This is what you grew up with?”
“Twenty-four seven.”
“You’re a strong soul.” His tone was admiring.
I basked in the glow a moment. Then I admitted, “It’s not all bad. The weddings are fantastic. And the beer and strudel are out of this world.”
It was the first time I’d acknowledged it to myself. Being with Seb had done that. Because I felt safe with him. Because I trusted him.
Because during the course of the day, I’d grown closer to him.
I really hoped that, like Derek, it wasn’t all a lie.
…
The sun was setting as Seb slung a casual arm around Brie’s shoulders. They were exiting Randy’s Candies, and she rustled in a paper bag of old-fashioned candy sticks he’d bought her. They had the comic book store yet to visit before returning to Otto’s.
He’d been working. A stop at Camille’s bar revealed that some of the local vampires had been missing from town during the time of the murders—because the master of the city had taken his household out of state on vacation. Adam Zappman was making discreet inquiries that New York wasn’t the state.
Another local master had accompanied his physician wife to a medical convention. “She’s researching us,” Camille had confided. Apparently, the Alliance had made some seriously scary advances in vampire medicine. “Not just tranqs and poison antidotes that are strong enough to affect us. Pretty soon we’ll understand the very basics of what makes us special.”
Seb grimaced. “I’m not sure that’s good news.”
As he and Brie toured the city, Seb was looking for subtle indications that the Ancient One was preparing for a war. At City Hall, he’d overheard Julian Emerson snarling about a battle and held his breath—until it turned out the battle was legal, between two neighbors over the possession of a lawn flamingo.
In the Wurst Und Käse store, the human trucker from Dawn was buying fresh bratwurst, complaining about his back. Seb’s ears pricked when he mentioned the two young kids who should’ve helped with unloading, until he found they were driving routes to Missouri and Texas.
The trip to City Hall also confirmed boxes of tourist pamphlets stood open and available for the taking. Frustration burned him. No clues there.
Following the theory that there might be a murder zero, a death here not reported as exsanguination or covered up by the locals, he stopped at the police station. He pretended it was to ask about last night’s attack and 9-1-1 call. A little judicious use of his hypnotic voice and eyes netted him the officer’s full family history. No murders, though.
Then the officer said, “We checked the gang descriptions against our files. Turns out, the leader’s got a rap sheet in Chicago. Lots of violent crimes.”
Seb’s heart beat faster. A potential game changer. “Chicago? Any particular gang affiliations?”
“None reported.”
His heart returned to its normal steady rhythm. Still, he tucked it into the back of his mind. If they came across the porn mustache vamp, he’d grill him hard for a connection to the murders.
Despite working, despite the threat of vampire war, despite the heaviness of the murdered needing justice, he’d had an enjoyable day, because he’d spent it with Brie. His soul lightened watching her eyes light up trying on new bangles, buying treats for her, just being with her.
Now, as darkness fell, she took out a root beer candy stick, her new blue and silver bracelets tinkling like bells. She unwrapped the stick and started sucking. Picturing her doing that to him, he swallowed hard.
She smiled up at him. Her sparkling eyes made him want things. Soft, emotional things he’d put away long ago.
He tried to shove them away, to armor up his insides. Instead, he dropped a kiss on her hair. “Is this so bad, you and me?”
She shrugged. “You mean playing your girlfriend?”
Playing? For some reason, that annoyed him. “You mean fiancée.”
“Yeah, the free upgrade, thanks to the town’s gossip mill. Don’t blame me if you’re kidnapped mid-case to go on your stag night.” She sucked harder at the candy, her bracelets tinkling angrily. The tang of root beer and sweet sting of sugar combined with the sound of her sucking made him press his eyes closed.
The earthy musk of vampire popped his eyes open. He rocketed to full alert.
A male lurked in the dark doorway of a business up ahead. The sign over it read: “Bob’s Formalwear.” Nearby, Ritsa’s Pizzas was still lit, but the streets were strangely bare.
See what happens when you get wrapped up in these urges? He was furious with himself. Feelings are the enemy of survival.
Brie, not yet seeing the lurker, took a few steps beyond him. “Wait.” He grabbed her shoulder to stop her.
“Hey.” She tried to jerk out of his hold. “What are you doing?”
The male stepped from the doorway, palms raised. “Pax. Peace.”
The formal greeting kept Seb from instantly attacking. Instead, he edged in front of Brie while he assessed the situation. The vampire was alone. The lawman in Seb took over, cataloging the male quickly: brown, brown, six-foot even, just under two hundred pounds. No visible markings, since vampire skin healed too fast to hold a tat. The small but noticeable fangs meant he wasn’t as relaxed as he was trying to seem. And young. The vampire nature healed every imperfection, making each predator symmetrical and uniformly powerful. This male, though well-built, with strong bones and massive shoulders, had tiny fangs and a pair of underdeveloped legs. The flaws meant he was still mostly human. Under five years, maybe even under a year.
Good control for a youngling, though. Like my murder suspect? Seb’s pulse quickened. No weapons visible, though from the stiff way the male stood, he’d probably shoved a gun down the back of his pants without a holster. Idiot. Did he want to shoot his tailbone off?
“Who are you?” Mindful of his human disguise, Seb managed to keep the challenging growl out of his voice, barely. “What do you want?”
“My name isn’t important. My message is.”
“Wait. I know you.” Brie edged out from Seb’s shadow, smiling. “You’re Owun. Owun…something. You live in Nixie and Julian’s townhouse complex…or you used to.”
A spurt of dismay darkened her scent, and her smile dropped. Seb slid one leg forward, ready to shield her.
“Something bad happened. I don’t remember what, though.” She perked up. “Owun Smith, that was it.”
“Owun Smith?” he spat. “My mundane name. I was reborn. I’m Owun Umbras to the true people.”
“Right. Okay.” She edged deeper into Seb shadow, as if the male gave her alarm.
He had to agree with her. This was no rogue, attacking immediately. No friend, either. “What do you want, Owun Umbras?”
The male smirked. “To help you.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“Ah, but you’re wrong.” His smirk broadened. “I have information about the string of murders you’re investigating. The exsanguination killings.”
…
I was already half sheltered by Rikare’s giant body. At Owun’s declaration about the murders, the special agent shoved me completely behind him.
High-handed, but I didn’t mind too much. The man had already pinged on my creep radar. Despite his heroic build, something about him struck me as off. Unbalanced. Crazy, even.
Then he moved completely into the streetlight and smiled. The light glinted off two tiny fangs. Not man.
Vampire.
My heart pumped harder. Owun had definitely been human when he’d lived with Julian and Nixie. Somewhere between then and now, he’d gotten fangs. I had no clue how. Damn it, I wished Derek had talked to me more about vampire stuff. I could use the information now.
“How do you know about the murders? You have two seconds to tell me before I take your head off.” Seb’s savage growl catapulted “take your head off” from hyperbole to real threat.
Limbs shaking, I touched a hand to Seb’s back. His unyielding strength steadied me.
Mildly, Owun said, “Oh, I don’t think you’ll harm me.” There was a smile in his voice. Given the tension in Rikare’s strong body, it was another indication the guy, vampire or not, was insane. “Your investigation is at a dead end. You desperately need help, and I’m offering you a lifeline. This information is legit.”
Under my hand, Seb’s muscles stood out like bricks.
“It’s not your legitimacy I’m questioning, Umbras. It’s your intentions.”
“I can’t help that. Do you want my information or not?”
A pause. “Say I do. What then?”
“Come with me. There’s a male who can tell you more.”
I peeked around Seb to see Owun tickle the air behind him, a two-finger come-here wave.
A black limousine purred around the corner.
“I’m asking nicely, since my associate’s first invitation was…declined.”
First invitation…those rogue goons?
Flesh rumpling with hell no, my fingers dug into Rikare’s back, my feedback on that idea.
He was a step ahead of me. “Absolutely not.”
“You don’t want the information?”
“I want it, but I’m not going anywhere with you. Tell your man to meet me tomorrow night at Nieman’s Bar.”
“Don’t trust me? Or are you afraid of me?” Owun sneered.
“Neither. Just not too stupid to live. Tell your man.”
“I’ll check with my associate. If he agrees, I’ll call you—and both of you must come. Be ready.” He walked to the limo, letting himself inside the back before it had even come to a stop. The instant the door shut, the sleek limo sped away.
“What do we do now?” My voice emerged breathy.
“We get you out of here.” Seb grabbed my hand and took off at a brisk pace.
Well, brisk for him. I had to run. “Hey, what’s the rush?” I might have panted it.
Seeing me struggle to keep up, he grimaced and slowed. “Last night, a gang attacked us, trying to take me. Tonight, this Owun shows up and wants me to go with him. Keydew said there was a man behind the murderer. I’m thinking Owun’s ‘male who can tell me more’ is the puppet master. And since the vinegar of the gang didn’t work, he’s dangling information as honey.”
“Puppet master?”
“Yeah. Any way I look at this, it’s too dangerous for you to stay here in Meiers Corners. I want you back home, tonight.”
Home. The idea that Seb considered my home New York gave me a strange burst of warmth…wait. “You want me back in New York? What about you?”
“I still need to find out what’s going on. There are…factors…I told you about but didn’t really go into detail.”
His pause before the word “factors” meant vampire politics. The moment we got to the B&BS, Seb shut and locked our door. “Pack. I have to arrange transportation.”
“No. I’m not leaving without you.”
“Brie, please. The murderer is a young vampire with good control. We have two more suspects, possibly Derek, possibly this Owun.”
“See? We’re making progress. You need me to continue your investigation.”
“Except when I first brought you here, everything pointed to the murderer being in New York and the puppet master being safely in Iowa. Now, I’m not so sure. If we believe Owun, the puppet master is nearby. And if the killer is Owun or Derek, he’s either here or returning soon.” He unzipped my case and flung it open. “You, in the same town as the murderer, gives me hives. Bottom line, I need you safe in New York.”
I shook my head. “You need help. I can help. And Julian’s a vampire, a pretty old one, too. He’d help you.”
“My caring Brie.” Two strides brought him to me, and he took my face in his hands. “I won’t be alone. One of my human friends is here. Adam has provided support before. He knows what to do, and how to get clear quickly.”
“What about your camouflage?”
“I passed Julian’s inspection. And it turns out the city’s master is away. I’ll be fine.” He released me, pulled open a drawer with my clothes, and pointed.
I didn’t want to leave without him, but I couldn’t think of a reason for me to stay. As I set my backpack on a chair and pulled out a stack of tops, Seb got on his phone to speak with someone he called Zappman. I guessed it was the human friend he’d mentioned, Adam.
I settled the stack of tops into my suitcase, pricking my ears.
“You’ll pick us up and take us to O’Hare.” Seb listened. “No, I’ll wait with Brie, then leave the airport separately. Make sure there’s alternate transport for me. Thanks.”
“So,” I said as he ended the call and put away his phone. “If Owun’s working for the puppet master, and the puppet master is running the murderer, doesn’t that mean Owun is the murderer?”
“Maybe, but not necessarily.” Seb watched me pack my jeans and underwear before answering. “I try to gather the facts first.”
“Innocent until proven guilty?” I remembered his tête-à-tête with Camille. “Except for the Ancient One.”
Seb grimaced. “Believe me, Elias is the exception to a number of rules. Owun has several of the hallmarks, but he wasn’t on Camille’s list of vampires who’d gone out of town.”
“He wasn’t a vampire until recently.”
“I did sense that. Are you saying she doesn’t know he’s a vampire?” Frowning, Seb got out his phone again, dialed Camille, and put the call on speaker.
She responded to his query with a surprised, “Owun? He’s dead. Died in June, in a particularly gruesome way, for a human.”
Seb’s eyes flashed to me, troubled. “He wasn’t dead as of an hour ago.”
“Well…maybe someone like him skulked around here a month ago. But not in the last two weeks.”
“Thanks, Camille.” Ending the call, he slid the phone away, threw open his weapons case, and started selecting various deadly looking items.
“What’s wrong?” My own anxiety spiked, seeing how upset he was.
“Four months is like a toddler for a vampire.” He whisked off his jacket, took something out of the weapons case, and fiddled around with it and his jacket. With his back to me, I couldn’t see the item or what he was doing with it. As he shrugged back into his jacket, he said, “Owun must have been boosted.”
“Boosted? What does that mean?”
“Not many know this, but there are a couple ways to jumpstart the vampire-making process. One is to absorb really old or ancient blood in the womb.” He lifted one pants leg to reveal a sheath, and patted the knife handle as if checking it. “The baby is born human, but the vampire traits are there, waiting to emerge the instant the human dies.” He lifted the other pants leg, attached a second sheath, and slid a knife home. “The other way is for a dying human to get a huge dose of ancient blood. Neither of them is good news.” He slipped his gun from under his shirt, ejected the magazine, and gave it a quick visual before sliding it back into place. Then he grabbed a second magazine and a clip of what looked like silver bullets.
“How do you know all this stuff, if it’s secret?”
He paused packing bullets into the magazine. “Brie…I’m an ancient vampire.”
“And that’s different from a normal vampire, how?”
He shook his head, attaching the cartridge under his belt. “I’ve walked this planet for four thousand years.”
“Four…thousand?”
“Yes. I have greater healing, stamina, knowledge…more capabilities than almost any other vampire alive today. Look, I understand you have questions. Time’s ticking, though. Can you wait for answers until I get back to New York?”
Something inside me lightened at that, at the idea of seeing him again. As if I wanted him to see him again. As if I wanted to spend more time with him. Get to know him better, despite my insane attraction.
As if I thought he was worth the risk to my heart.
“Yeah. Okay.”
“Thanks.” Seb straightened, every inch the predator—and every inch the lawman. The protector.
It was with a strange feeling of optimism that I shouldered my backpack and wheeled my suitcase out of Otto’s.
A dark, nondescript sedan waited at the curb. The moment we came out, a tall, muscular young man with tight, short-cropped dark curls hopped out of the car. He handed Seb a small key. “I’m Adam. I’ll take the suitcase.”
“Thanks.”
As Adam took the extended handle of my case, Seb said casually, “Thanks, Zappman.”
The man startled at Seb’s thanks, but covered it well. “You’re welcome, boss.”
With a nod, Seb strode to the sedan.
Adam bent toward me and whispered, “What’d you do to him?”
About to follow Seb, I paused. “I’m sorry?”
“He looks alive. Engaged. I’ve only seen glimpses of that in all the time I’ve known him.”
That left me speechless.
Seb opened the back door then stepped to one side, clearly waiting for me.
Adam shook his head. “Look, I don’t have details, but something happened to him long ago that made him withdraw. You’ve done some magic to help open him up. Whatever it is?”
“Yes?”
“Do more of it.” He wheeled the case down the sidewalk to pop it in the trunk.
I didn’t know what magic I’d done, beyond being annoying. And giving Seb an orgasm.
Well, that was a little magic.
I slid into the back seat as Zappman shut the trunk then took the driver’s seat. Seb got in beside me and closed the door.
Traffic was heavy for a weeknight. As Adam navigated the congested streets, I got out my pad and pencils to capture our latest suspect. When my first sketch turned into a likeness of Rikare’s face, I scribbled it out in disgust and, channeling my future forensic-artist self, applied myself to capturing what I remembered of our confrontation with Owun. Creepy, not in the usual starving-vampire way.
I blocked in his massive shoulders and his spindly legs first. Jabbed a couple short strokes, his tiny fangs. Hopefully, if anyone in the FBI saw these drawings, they’d think I was taking artistic license rather than going insane.
We reached O’Hare, where Adam parked in the hourly parking, on the Cubs level. “Your transportation is on five, boss. It was the only spot we could reserve. I’ll wait here. In case there are problems with the flight.”
Seb paused opening his door. “Thanks, but I’ll just see Brie off then be out of here myself.”
“Um…your sword, boss?” Zappman pointed between his own shoulder blades.
I peered closer at Seb’s jacket. It was a little stiff there, and I remembered him fiddling with the jacket and something from his weapons case. Knives, silver bullets, and a sword? What did Seb expect?
Seb shook his head. “We don’t have time for charades. I’ll use the tunnel.”
“Gotcha.”
Seb got out, helped me, then went to pull my case from the trunk. Not bothering to pop the handle for rolling, he started toward the elevator.
There were wide underground passageways that ran from parking to the terminals, but Seb led me to a single, unmarked door, and leaned down to put his eye up to a device. Curious, I watched the thing scan his retina, red light flaring.
Strangely, the red light flared before the scanner started.
The lock clicked open and he led me into a narrow concrete passage, about the size of a small service corridor.
We headed through the intersecting passageways, meeting no one. Maybe another vampire-only secret.
Then we met one person—Owun.
“Hello, Seb Rikare.”
Stomach churning, I slid both arms through my backpack straps to have my hands free.
Seb stepped between me and the young vampire. “We have a flight to catch. Move.”
“Of course. I want you to meet someone, anyway.” Owun moved to one side…to reveal a bent figure in a dark coat and broad-brimmed hat, shuffling our way.
Well, crap. Creepy vamp Owun had cornered Seb in a desolate area with a potential hostage, a.k.a. me. And if that was his “male who knows more” approaching, he took Owun’s creepy and raised it to disturbing.
Only being with Seb, seeing his big, competent body flare even bigger and utterly prepared for a fight, knowing he was packing every manner of weapon from knives to guns to fangs, made me feel safe.
As the hunched man neared, I catalogued details. Bent, yes, but those twisted shoulders were broad, almost hulking. Wide-brimmed hat, pulled low, too-big black wool coat, thick scarf wrapped around his neck. Deliberately deceptive. He’d be tall if he stood straight, maybe even as tall as Seb.
The passage turned cold. I edged nearer to Seb’s heat.
The bent man raised his gaze to us.
The movement of his head was strange, almost reptilian. And in the narrow slit between his scarf and his pulled-down hat, his eyes were burning red.
Vampire.
Adrenaline spiked me, along with an insane urge to flee. Seb must’ve sensed it because he gripped my arm, steadying me.
“I’ve been waiting for you, Seb Rikare.” His voice was thin, shaky—not an old man’s quaver. Rather, it was thin, like a snake’s hiss, and the shaking was like the eager vibration of a hunting dog.
From those eyes, a rabid dog.
“And who are you?” Seb used his grip to pull me against his back. His body wasn’t tense, but I wasn’t fooled—a real fighter relaxes to be absolutely ready to move in any direction.
I peeked around Seb. Owun had moved to stand beside the bent figure. Their heads were level. The newcomer would definitely be tall if he stood straight.
“You know who I am,” the vampire scoffed. “Everyone knows who I am.”
“Humor us.” Seb’s fingers pressed me a small step back. As I moved a few inches, he slid with me in a barely perceptible motion.
“I am leader of the Chicago vampires.”
I blurted, “You’re Nosfera—?”
“No.” The vampire ripped it out, eyes flashing between scarf and hat, voice shaking like a leaf in a ferocious gale. “I have regained my birthright, and in doing so, I have earned the privilege of retaking my birth name. I am Cleomenes.”
“Whoa. Like the King of Sparta?” I asked.
“More like the accountant of Naucratis,” Seb scoffed, moving me back another small step.
The vampire gave a visible twitch on Naucratis. Seb had scored some sort of hit.
He moved me back another step. “I’ll deal with you later. Get out of our way.”
“Don’t you want to know about all those lovely murders?” Cleomenes’s scarf plumped in a way that made me think he was smiling, something Mrs. Gelb would’ve called “not an appropriate reaction.” I found it disturbing.
“Not from you. Now, move aside.” In contrast to his words, he slid me back another few inches.
“Of course.” The bent vampire shuffled a step to the side then stopped. “Although, I am the only one who can tell you why the murders led from Chicago to New York…and back.”
“Why do you say that?” Seb said sharply. “Led back?”
“They led you here, did they not?” The vampire laughed as if he’d made a joke.
“Fuck.” From Seb’s tight, dark tone, like his vocal cords were knotted, his patience was almost gone. “Admit it.” As he distracted Cleomenes with words, he pulled out his phone, swept up a speed-dial, and held the phone behind his back, handing it to me.
I’d been peeking out from behind him, but now, I hid fully behind him as I took the phone with a shaking hand.
He continued to talk, distracting the vampire while the call connected. “Admit you’re behind the murders. Admit Owun killed those people then planted Meiers Corners tourist pamphlets to point directly at the Iowa Alliance.”
“Perhaps I am behind everything. What of it?”
I put the phone to my ear, turning my head against Seb’s back in extra insurance against the vampires seeing. Adam Zappman answered, “Hello, boss.”
“You want war?” Seb’s tone was incredulous. “You’ll be caught in the middle.”
“Caught?” the vampire spat. “You mean as a vulture is ‘caught’ on the battlefield of a human war?”
Vultures ate carrion. I swallowed back nausea.
“It will be a bloodbath.”
“Yes,” Cleomenes chortled. “And I will be bathing in the blood.”
Stomach churning, I whispered into the phone, “It’s Brie. A couple vampires stopped us in the corridor.” I peeked out.
Seb said, “If you had those people murdered to lure me here, that’s not only far-fetched, it’s insane.”
“It is not insane,” the vampire screeched. His spittle flew in the artificial light.
Seaming myself against Seb’s back, I whispered to Adam, “A crazy vampire.”
“Whatever your warped little game is, I’m not playing.” Seb’s fingers tightened a pulse on my arm as he edged us back another step. From that small signal, he was going to make his move soon, probably turn and run.
“Coming,” Adam said.
Just as Seb challenged Cleomenes. “Did you kill them?”
I peeked again.
“Me?” the vampire sneered. “No. But I’ll kill you.”
At that, Cleomenes pulled off his scarf, revealing a mouth like a long red gash, curved in a cruel smile, two needle-thin fangs extending almost to his chin. He threw the scarf aside.
I gulped little panicked breaths. But my stomach fell through my legs at the vampire’s next words.
“I’ll end you, Seb Rikare—after I drink your blood from your still-beating heart.”