Page 67 of Death is Familiar

“I’m saying that people who have a love bite like yours tend to get mugged.”

“Mugged?” I couldn’t quite tell if it was a warning or a threat.

“It’s like flashing cash in Times Square. It makes you a target. And you look like the kind of lady who can handle her own, but I wouldn’t go out of my way to draw attention to myself if I could help it.”

“Has anyone been arrested in relation to these muggings, Officer…”

“…Ellis. And no, we get all sorts of descriptions from the victims, none are consistent.”

So, there were enough people who were anti-vamp that would take on violence in order to… what was it? Beat someone up with a hickey because they were, what? Uncomfortable? It wasn’t like the vampire exorcisms in Cincinnati or Lexington. A mugging wouldn’t stop anyone from changing into a vamp. If anything, it was a social deterrent.

You get a hickey from a vamp. You get beat up. But why?

Maybe it was about shutting down deviance. Difference. Encouraging sameness. Or encouraging people to stay away from vamp culture altogether. That would be effective. Since the price to enter was a mark—a bite, or as it appeared more commonplace, a hickey—anyone who’d ventured into the inner sanctum, would have a tell-tale sign of their involvement with the vamps on their skin.

“Is this well-known? The muggings?”

“Fairly. We haven’t started a campaign about it or anything, but there have been too many consistencies to not indicate a pattern. Most civilians around here don’t get those love bites. But if they do, they don’t go parading it around like you, little lady. Only the vamp-lovers do that. Like they’re proud.”

“Has this been shared with the agents in there?”

His eyes flickered over me again, before responding, “Should’ve, but I don’t know. I’m not the dedicated liaison. It’s outside my role.”

For fuck’s sake. People were really hung up about what was and what was not their role. Like the staff at Spring Grove who didn’t think it was their place to inform the police the hidey-key was missing.

But then it occurred to me, maybe this officer, Officer…Ellis, knew exactly what he was doing. Maybe this was his way of making sure information got to us, without breaking the chain of command. “Does your role often include waiting around to ‘coincidentally’ cross paths with people in parking lots, Officer Ellis?”

He flashed a dazzling white smile, which told me all I needed to know. Bumping into me had been planned. As was his change of subject. “So, the agent in there. Is he all they say he is? The Jack Hess monster?”

Hadn’t heard that name in a while. But bringing up Jack’s FBI-given nickname signaled a turn in the conversation. Which meant it was official, Officer Ellis had nothing else useful to say. And I wasn’t here to feed into his curiosity, nor say anything that would stoke Jack’s ego if my comments got back to him through the grapevine. It was time for me to leave.

“I wouldn’t know.” I flicked my hair over my shoulder, hickey on full display as I crossed onto the asphalt. “I’m clearly just a vamp-lover who happened to be hanging around a police station parking lot.”

†

After my abrupt departure, I treated myself to ice cream and took a long, long, walk along the water. There may have been some truth to Officer Ellis’ words, since I didn’t miss the judging looks from passersby in response to my hickey. Looks that were not unlike those I received from the dry cleaners when I dropped off Jezebel’s dress a couple days ago. Something I planned to bring up with Jack and Todd, when I joined them at the motel later.

Despite the questioning looks, my walk was successful in clearing my mind. I had been unfair to the agents, I knew that. My reaction to having to follow due process had been… childish. I was a big enough person that I could admit it. Even if my acknowledgement had been somewhat delayed.

Before reaching that point, however, I may have worked myself into a vicious cycle. And my circling thoughts may have leaned toward the self-destructive side. The murders. The false confession. Due process. Inaction. The ‘prophecy’. My passenger. My leash. Lawrence. The murders. The false confession. Due process. Inaction. The ‘prophecy’. My passenger. My leash. Lawrence. Round and round and round they went, my frustration, my anger, escalating along with them.

Which may have led to me doing something I regretted.

Like calling Mads.

I’d be lying if I said it had been well thought out. So, I kept it brief. Without mentioning his name, I told Mads where and when to meet me. He agreed immediately. And while I admit my emotions were running high, the call to Mads, while not well planned, wasn’t entirely spontaneous.

As soon as Mads had given me Lawrence’s letter, reaching out to him had been a matter of when, not if. He knew as well as I did that I needed him, and the key he carried, to access whatever it was Lawrence left for me in the safety deposit box. It didn’t hurt I also had questions Mads was in a position to answer.

But he wouldn’t give me the time of day if he knew, or even suspected, Jack and Todd were close by.

So, I needed a story to spin so that my rendezvous with Mads would go believably unnoticed. As far as I was concerned, the story only had to be believable to Mads. Which got me thinking…

Given the elfish woman’s confession, she wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, meaning the agents and I were more than likely D.C.-bound while we built up the evidence against her involvement in the familiar’s deaths.

Our impending departure was the perfect opportunity for me to meet Mads at the rendezvous point, and leaving from Huntington, rather than Alexandria gave me an advantage. Not only was it closer, but leaving from Huntington decreased the likelihood that Mads would trail me—at least successfully.

The agents, on the other hand, had increased their surveillance and phone-monitoring from my latest… outburst. There was no doubt in my mind that they were going to find out about Mads. And when they did, they were going to be furious. For all the right reasons.