“The books. They’re, uh, behind protective glass for a reason. There are a lot of first editions, rare copies, signed ones, some are worth thousands. If one of them gets damaged, even during police business, it’s my ass.”
I smiled warmly and gave the thumbs up. “Don’t worry, buddy, we won’t touch what we can’t afford.”
Teddy Bear and I stepped through, closing the glass door behind us. The air was indeed musty as fuck.
Looking across the lounge’s plush decor, Teddy Bear snorted. “Don’t touch the books, eh? Does he think we were fuckin’ born yesterday? Maybe I’ll wipe my arse on them. And him. Lying wee bastard.”
I grunted my agreement. “You getting anything?” Bears had the best sense of smell of all shifters. Odors that only grazed my nostrils would flood Teddy Bear’s with ease.
He raised his nose, drinking in the air. “I am. I wish I wasn’t, but I am.”
“Well?” I prodded.
“Blood. Young girls’ blood. Fresh. But they’re alive. Kids. Can’t be more than fifteen, sixteen years old, tops.”
“I’m catching hints of sweat and adrenaline too.”
“Aye, they’re scared. Whatever’s being done to them… it’s grim.”
I took in the tall bookcases coating the walls. “So you’re telling me there are young girls alive somewhere in this place, hidden away? You’re sure?”
“Aye, I’m sure.” He clutched his Smith & Wesson 500 by its rubber grip. “And I’m gonna find them by introducing that bartender to my gun-barrel.”
Teddy Bear was the proud father of seven cubs, four of which were teenage girls. Where most people felt visceral contempt for child abusers, his hatred was actively deadly.
I grasped his baseball-mitt hand and lifted it off his revolver. “Hold off, big guy. Trust me, okay?”
He huffed so hard the air smacked my face. “Fuckin’ hell, what’s the problem?”
“We can’t call in the troops or shove guns in people’s faces based on a sketchy bartender and your nostril power. Think of all the political heavyweights that like to party here. If we find nothing, we’ll be back in beat uniforms before you know it.”
“I know I’m not wrong, but I take your point. Go on.”
“So, you go back through, you tell Terrence that we’ve sensed rat urine, or seen droppings, or a shed snakeskin, or whatever. The guy’s not stupid, he’ll know he’s fucked either way. The main thing is, you don’t let him leave.”
“This has got to be a coven property. I feel it in my gut. He’s gonna call them for backup, if he hasn’t already. Could be at least a hundred vamps.”
I placed a palm on Teddy Bear’s shoulder. “Then use your natural Scottish charm to confiscate his phone. Check for any recent calls. Get the entrance key off him and lock the place up while I scout around. I find something, bingo. I call it in.”
“Fine. Just scout fast. Those girls need help.”
My jaguar vision was already highlighting suspect book spines from among the myriad. “Have a little faith, Jackie. When have I ever half-assed a case?”
He let out a begrudging grunt of agreement.
I clasped his shoulder, our gazes locked in lethal seriousness. “Don’t let that scumbag leave. Handcuff him to a railing, knock him out if you have to, but for fuck’s sake, Jackie, don’t kill him. We both know he could well be part of the Marchand coven. We need to know what he knows.”
He nodded. “I won’t kill him. I’ll just give him a slap if need be.” Gesturing to the bookshelves with his eyes, he said, “Call out if you need me.”
Teddy Bear left, and my jaguar vision returned to the books. After just a minute of close inspection, I saw one that jutted out from the others in its row. The author was that Temple nutjob Clyde Blunton—a red flag in itself—and the title wasThe Purebreed Revolution.
Sliding the shelf’s glass door back, I took hold of the book’s top and began easing it from among its neighbors. A mechanical clunk and whirr went off somewhere behind the shelving, and the entire unit creaked open a fraction at the side. I opened it wide enough to step through and drew my Colt, chambering a round.
Steep, narrow steps carpeted in burgundy led down to a basement level. They were bathed in dusky lighting from a handful of bulbs above. Keeping my weapon pointing downward, I slunk along cautiously, conscious of floor creaks alerting any lurking coven members to my presence.
Once on the basement level, the smells of sweat and blood grew thick. A dozen cubicles lined the left-hand side, their grimy lime-green hospital curtains drawn. On the opposite side, bare brickwork, and a large black desk covered in what looked like logbooks and scattered stationery.
There was around a foot of space between each cubicle curtain and the floor. I crouched and peered beneath into the first one, to see bare female legs splayed on a stained mattress.
