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Iris sat in the rocking chair, rubbing her hand over one of the polished arms. “Would the OIA have that information if you asked them?”
Camille shook her head. “Chances are, even though the organization’s back up and running, that most of the files were lost during the civil war.”
I had to agree with her. “Yeah. Most of the personnel have either been fired or arrested, depending on their loyalty to Lethesanar. Except, interestingly enough, the director of the Otherworld Intelligence Agency. Father told us he was a double agent, but I didn’t know whether or not to believe it. Damned if the information wasn’t correct, though.”
“Jocko’s dead. He can’t very well help us,” Camille said. “Any of your waitresses might know?”
“Doubtful, but that gives me an idea.” I jumped up and headed for the door. “I’ll be right back. Meanwhile, you guys search the room and see what’s in the closets and in that desk. Look for whatever you can find. Check under the mattress, too.”
I hurried down the stairs. While Chrysandra and Luke had come to work for me after Jocko’s death, there was still one person who remembered the gentle giant. Peder, the daytime bouncer, had been around during Jocko’s time. I flipped through the address book that we kept behind the counter and then picked up the phone, punching in his number.
Like Jocko, Peder was a giant. But where Jocko had been the runt of his family, Peder was smack in the middle of being height-weight proportionate for his race. After three rings, he picked up.
“Yef?” His English was still limited, and his accent was atrocious, but I knew Calouk, the common dialect used by the more uncouth members of Otherworld, and I switched to it immediately.
“Peder, this is Menolly,” I said, my lips tripping over the rough words as I translated my thoughts into Calouk. “I know you worked for Jocko, but do you by any chance remember who was the bartender before him? Did an elfin woman run the bar? Her name would have been—”
“Sabele,” he said. “Yeah, Sabele was the bartender before Jocko. She went home to OW, though. She vanished one day. Never said nuthin’.”
Vanished? That seemed odd, considering the locket and diary left behind. “What do you mean, vanished?”
“She quit. That’s what Jocko told me when he came here.”
That didn’t ring true. I was fairly certain Peder wouldn’t lie to me, but that didn’t mean that what he said was accurate. Giants weren’t the brightest bulbs in the socket, and Peder wasn’t on the gifted end of the spectrum.
“Are you certain? I found a few of her personal things upstairs while cleaning out one of the rooms. Items I doubt she would have left behind.”
“That’s what Jocko told me. He said . . . he said the OIA told him that Sabele deserted her post. She was really nice, though. I liked her. She never made fun of me.”
His tone told me that, like Jocko, Peder was sensitive to ridicule. Giants were surprisingly emotional, not like trolls or ogres. Oh sure, they were oafs, but they could be caring oafs.
“Do you know if she had any friends around here? A boyfriend, maybe? Or a brother?” The image of the male elf’s face from the picture in the locket drifted to mind.
“Boyfriend? Yeah, she had a boyfriend. He used to come into the bar a lot. I thought they went back to OW together and got married. Lemme think . . .” After a moment, Peder sighed. “All I can remember is that his first name was Harish. And her family name was Olahava. That help you any?”
“Yeah,” I said, jotting down the two names. “More than you know. Thanks, Peder. And by the way, you’re doing a good job. I appreciate it.” Everybody needed strokes sometimes. Even giants.
“Thanks, boss,” he said. I could hear the glee in his voice.
As I replaced the receiver, the door opened, and I looked up as Wade wandered into the room. His shocking bleached-blond hair was even whiter, thanks to a dose of peroxide, and he’d given up the glasses he used to hide behind. He was wearing a pair of PVC jeans—gods know where he got hold of those—and a white T-shirt. A thick, shiny black patent leather belt studded with metal grommets rode low on his hips. I blinked. When had he gone punk?
A psychiatrist until he’d been bitten and turned, Wade Stevens was the leader of Vampires Anonymous, a support group for the newly undead. He’d become my first vampire friend when my sister Camille insisted I join the group.
Lately, though, he’d been on edge and snippy, and I had no intention of wasting the energy to find out why. I had enough problems to deal with, without adding a moody vampire to the list. Anyway, I wasn’t the coddling type. His mother did enough of that. In fact, his mother was one of the primary reasons I’d stopped dating him. A vampire herself, she was the perfect antidote to any attraction I’d felt for Wade.
He leaned across the bar. “We need to talk.”
“I’m busy,” I muttered. Avoidance wasn’t my usual MO, but I had no intention of ruining my mood. “Can we do this later?”
“No. We need to talk now,” he said, his eyes shifting toward red.
Whoa. Touchy, touchy.
“Fine. In the back, where the customers won’t overhear us.” I led him into the office and closed the door behind us. “All right, what’s so damned important that it can’t wait for a few hours? Or days?”
I waited, but he remained silent. Irritated, I started to push past him, intending on returning to the bar, but he stopped me, barring my way with his arm.
“Fine. I’ll just tell you straight out, because I don’t know how else to do this. I’ve thought this over and over for the past few weeks, but there’s no way to get around it. I have to put some distance between us, or you’re going to ruin any chance I have of becoming regent of the Northwest Vampire Dominion.”
