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“In flesh form, no,” Azriel agreed. “But you have other options.”
Options I wasn’t going to discuss with Marshall earwigging. I glanced at my watch and grimaced. It was nearly four. I had to be at the café in two hours—so much for my relaxing afternoon. “We need to check out the home of the last vamp who died before I have to go to work.”
“Meaning I can open the feeding rooms now?” Marshall asked.
I studied him distastefully, wondering why nature had paired an uncaring heart with such a merry countenance. But I guess that could be said about a lot of successful businessmen, and that’s all Marshall was. And the people who had died were nothing more than stock. “Yeah,” I said, my voice barely civil. “Just not this one.”
He didn’t look pleased, but I guessed if he feared Hunter enough, he’d obey. And if not, he’d open the room again once I left, and bugger the consequences.
“Excellent,” was all he said.
He motioned us toward the elevator. It bounced us up to the lower ground floor and we stepped once more into the stinking morass of needy vampires.
I crossed my arms and followed Marshall through the darkness. The flickering light of the two swords cast eerie shadows across the gaunt faces of the nearest vampires, and it was all I could do to keep walking at a steady pace.
It was a huge relief to reenter the little foyer and watch the double doors close securely behind us.
“We’ll be in contact if we need anything else,” I said, clasping Marshall’s offered hand. This time his grip was much stronger. “What was the name of the last victim, by the way?”
Hunter may have sent me his name and address, but it never hurt to double-check. She liked her games.
Marshall seemed amused, and I suspected its cause was Hunter’s aversion to information giving. Obviously, he was well acquainted with it. “Jake Green. What about the ghosts?”
I shrugged. “I’ll tell Hunter. She’ll probably know someone who can disperse them for you.”
Which wouldn’t solve anything if he just kept on creating more of them, but that really wasn’t my problem right now.
Although it might be in the future.
Azriel touched a hand lightly to my back, guiding me out the front door and into the black and red hall. Valdis gave me enough light to see by, although her flames still held a tinge of red. Thankfully, Amaya had calmed somewhat, though I think it was going to take hospital-strength painkillers to get rid of the headache she’d given me. To be fair, though, that could just as much have been caused by the situation we’d been in as by her song.
“Where to next?” Azriel asked, as he began climbing the steps.
The street-level door opened as we approached and the sudden rush of sunlight had me blinking back tears. “According to Hunter, Jake Green lived about five minutes away, on Little Miller Street. Flat one-twelve. I’ll meet you there.” I looked around, wondering where the Cazador was.
“He awaits near your motorbike,” Azriel said and winked out of existence.
I grimaced and made my way back to my bike. It was tempting to look around to see if I could pinpoint our shadow’s position, but that might only give the game away. He might be invisible, but I doubted he was dumb. I climbed onto my bike and rode across to Little Miller Street.
It turned out Green’s flat wasn’t actually a flat, but an old redbrick warehouse that had been turned into accommodations for the homeless. I studied the building for a moment, then turned the bike around and parked farther down the street, near another—cleaner—factory. Maybe I was doing the homeless a great injustice, but I’d rather be safe than sorry when it came to my bike. Azriel was waiting out in the front. I opened the somewhat grubby-looking door and stepped into the carpeted foyer. Inside were two people; the woman behind the desk was tall, thin, and blond, and she looked somewhat harassed. The man standing in front of the desk was older, grimier, and smelled of dirt, urine, and booze. And he didn’t sound happy—although it was hard to say since he wasn’t actually speaking English.
The woman’s gaze landed on us. “I don’t suppose either of you speak German, do you? I only know a couple of phrases.”
I shook my head, but Azriel stepped forward and touched the man on the shoulder. He said something in the same guttural tones that the man was using, got a reply, then turned to the woman. “His name is Hans Klein and he is seeking accommodation for the night. He has fourteen dollars.”
As Azriel said this, Hans dumped his money on the counter. It was grubbier than he was. The blonde didn’t bat an eyelid—she was obviously used to it. “Could you explain that he has to fill out these forms? Can he write?”
Azriel asked, then nodded and said, “We are here to view room one-twelve.”
“Jake Green’s room?” Her gaze came to me. “Are you Risa Jones? If you are, we were told to expect you.”
Obviously, Hunter had been in contact with her. Either that, or she was psychic. I showed her my driver’s license and, once she’d checked it, she put a key on the desk. “Up the stairs, second to last door on the right.”
“Thanks.” I swept up the key and headed for the stairs. The hall above was basic but clean, and I suspected the same would apply to the rooms themselves. But to the homeless, basic was probably like five-star to us. I glanced at Azriel. “How come you know German?”
“Reapers do not only collect English-speaking souls.”
“I know, but isn’t it against the rules for reapers to communicate with the souls they collect?”
