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No niceties, no chitchat—just down to business. Maybe he was okay, after all. I considered the best way to phrase my words but finally settled for, “I need your help to get me into the Clockwork Club for an evening. I’m not looking for membership; I’m not looking for trouble. I just need to ask some questions.”
He pulled out a pack of miniature cigars and took one out of the box, tapping it on the table before lighting it. He leaned his head back and pursed his lips, letting a perfect O of smoke drift out of his mouth. I stared at him, wondering if he was inhaling the smoke with which he blew such exquisite rings.
After a moment, he lightly pinched the end of the cigar and set it in an ashtray, then regarded me silently, as if thinking. I was about ready to get up and leave when he said, “Perhaps. Sassy . . . has my trust, and I hers. If she had a reason for asking on your behalf, then it must be a good one. What do you need at the club?”
Truth will out, I thought, so might as well just tell him. “Claudette Kerston disappeared not long ago. She’s a vampire, seemingly happy and well-adjusted, and she belongs to the Clockwork Club. And nobody has seen her for several days. Her friends and husband are worried.”
He stood and walked toward the door. “Margaret will show you out.” Without looking over his shoulder, he added, “Menolly—you won’t find her there. Yes, she disappeared, but I give you my word—it’s no use checking with the club, because you won’t find any answers. She vanished as if the night swallowed her whole or the sun burnt her to ashes.”
“How do you know?”
“Because her sire . . . her link to him broke. He felt her scream, and then . . . no more. Consider Claudette dead. For good, this time.”
“Who’s her sire?” For some reason, I needed to persist. Something about Roman fascinated me. He terrified me, too, but . . . he fascinated me.
“You ask too many questions. You are young; you will learn as you age. Your blood is strong, and your sire was a powerful creature.” He paused at the door, his hand on the knob, then added, “Claudette was my daughter. I turned her. She is dead, believe me. Now, go in peace . . . this time.” With that, he left the room.>Slipping up on the lawn, I ducked behind one of the large fir trees that filled the double-wide lot. The house was three stories, and I noticed a light on in one of the upper floors. Hmm, somebody was awake, and I wanted to know who.
There wasn’t a tree close enough to the window to climb. I could do the hover thing and probably remain unnoticed, but I decided to try my ability to turn into a bat. I wasn’t proud of my skill. Some vampires mastered it, some never managed to get the hang of it, and some—like me—were fairly weak but could get ourselves aloft for a time. If there’d been a wind, I wouldn’t have even bothered. Wind and me as a bat do not mix.
Closing my eyes, I tried to focus on the shift. Unlike Delilah’s Were abilities, this wasn’t a natural state for me, and it didn’t come as easily. But after a moment, holding tightly to the image of a bat in my mind, I felt my body begin to transform. The change always freaked me out. I didn’t like the way it felt. There wasn’t any pain, but it just felt wrong and vulnerable.
A moment later I hovered in the air. Menolly the vampire, all right. Vampire bat. Stifling my impatience, I concentrated on winging my way up to the third-story window. I managed to ascend to the roof just outside the window. It was a steep incline, with a small overhang of eaves that dropped off to the ground below. As I held myself steady in front of the window, I peered in.
The room was lit, all right, but I was having trouble seeing. Bats certainly weren’t blind, contrary to popular opinion, but I had better vision in my normal form. Frustrated, I landed gently on the roof, making certain I was at a place where I wouldn’t go tumbling off, and gratefully let go of my winged form. Somehow, I didn’t see flight as a regular activity in my future.
Once I’d shifted back, I reassured myself I was all in one piece, then flattened myself against the shingles as I peeked inside the room again. Much better. The light gave me a full view, and thankfully, the room was empty at the moment.
From where I was hiding, I could see a single bed—unmade. The sheets looked grungy. Dirty clothes littered the floor, along with a few take-out containers and a half-dozen textbooks. There were posters thumbtacked to the walls—mostly fantasy scenes—wizards and castles and Boris Vallejo chicks. I gazed at one of them, my attention caught by her voluptuous breasts and golden skin. She looked a lot like Nerissa, and boy did that make me hornier than hell.
Pulling my attention back to the matter at hand, on the dresser was a mishmash of personal effects: brush, comb, what looked like a razor, wallet, change, and other assorted pocket gear. The desk was covered with books and papers. Frat boy. Had to be. And this was probably a frat house, because no mother in her right mind would let her son keep a room this dirty.
And then I noticed a chart on the wall. It was squished in between a particularly busty Amazon and some engineering diagram. I squinted, trying to focus. The symbols on the paper looked vaguely familiar and stirred up some sort of warning bell in my gut, but they were drawn in pencil and hard to read from where I was perched.
I tested the window. Unlocked. People were stupid, I thought. Or maybe they were just too trusting. Nobody ever thought an intruder would manage to sneak in an upstairs window, but I—along with others like me—Fae, Supe, and human alike—proved them wrong time and again.
As silently as I could, I slid the window up and eased myself over the sill. So far, so good. Nobody seemed to notice. The door to the hallway was closed, so I snuck over to the poster to take a closer look.
As I approached it, a wave of energy lashed out and smacked me full-on. What the fuck? The attack continued the closer I got. And then it came into focus. I recognized a few of the symbols. They were summoning runes. Specifically: demon-summoning runes.
A stir outside the room caught my attention, and right before the door opened, I dove under the bed and froze. At least I didn’t have to breathe—they wouldn’t hear me panting. My luck extended to the fact that his sheet and bedspread were hanging over the edge, giving me protection in the shadows.
I scooted as far back as I could, and it was then that I noticed just how grungy the floor beneath the bed was: dirt, a dead French fry or two, and—oh good gods. Scattered among the dust bunnies and crumbs were several used condoms. At least they’d been tied like a balloon so they weren’t leaking, but this was a new level of gross, even for me, and I knew my habits could be considered fairly nauseating by some. College boys, all right.
“Dude, I’m telling you, you gotta calm down.” Dude number one was talking and, by judicious squirming around, I could peek out to see it was the guy in the Skechers.
“But shit, man, what we did—what you did . . .” Reebok Boy countered.
“She ain’t gonna say a word, man. I spiked her drink. She was so high on Z-fen that she won’t even remember it. And don’t tell me you didn’t have fun, ’cuz man, you were right in the middle of that fuckfest. Don’t even try to tell me you didn’t enjoy it.” Skechers Dude moved enough for me to see he was wearing cargo pants and little else. “Besides,” he said, his voice shifting. He sounded threatening rather than comforting now. “You came up with the idea. You wanted to make the H-Man happy.”
There was a loud sigh, then Reebok Boy said, “Damn it. Yeah, I know. I know. I’m just having second thoughts now.”
“Well, don’t. Besides, it’s over. And if she gives us any shit, well, we can always use fresh meat for the Big Man. Now, shut that damned window, Larry. It’s your turn to keep watch over the soul stone, and you’re late for guard duty.” Skechers Dude headed out of the room, shutting the door behind him.
Soul stone? What the hell was a soul stone? Did he mean a soul statue? And if so, how did these two creeps get their hands on one? And why would he have to keep guard over it?
These guys were obviously living in their own demented little world, and I was itching to put them out of my misery. Rapists and I had bad chemistry. Or maybe they weren’t wacko. Maybe they were just into some role-playing game, like World of Warcraft, although after the portals had opened, the RPGs had taken a bit of a hit. Real life suddenly became a lot more interesting to a lot of people.
Larry—Reebok Boy—cleared his throat, uttered a very succinct, “Fuck you, too, Duane,” and shut the window. I was hoping that he would leave, so I could get out from under the bed, but he decided to change his clothes.
