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“I cannot say. I am not an expert on spirits, let alone spiders.”
“And when it comes to spiders, my knowledge stops at either avoiding them, or killing the fuckers on sight.”
I glanced at my watch. Ten minutes gone and, so far, we’d discovered nothing Hunter hadn’t already known. I looked around the room, hoping there was something that jumped up and screamed clue. As usual, fate wasn’t being overly helpful.
I spotted his jacket flung over one of the kitchen chairs and walked over to pick it up. His keys were in the left front pocket, and his wallet was in one of the inside ones. Opening the latter revealed his driver’s license, several platinum credit cards, and at least five hundred dollars in cash. Robbery obviously wasn’t a motive—which was an odd thought when related to spiders or spirits, but perhaps not if we were dealing with some sort of shifter.
Frowning, I put his wallet back and went through the rest of his pockets. The only other thing to be found was a business card for some place called Dark Soul. I flicked it over, but the back was empty. God, I thought, this had better not be another fucking blood whore club. I’d had more than enough of them lately to last a lifetime. I placed the card back where I’d found it, then did a search of the rest of the house. As I expected, I found absolutely nothing.
This was useless—and I told Hunter as much when I went outside to call her back.
“I do not care what you think in regards to the viability of this task,” she snapped. The vid-screen had been turned off at her end, and I couldn’t help but be a little thankful for that. I had the distinct impression her expression would not have been pleasant. “I merely want your impressions of the kill.”
I couldn’t see the point of that, either, given my impressions were unlikely to be any different from hers, but I took a deep breath and said, “He was killed by something that appears to have spiderlike tendencies. There’s a musky scent in the air that is not dissimilar to the musk of shifters, but if it is a shifter, then it’s one I’ve not come across before.” My voice was as sharp as hers, which probably wasn’t wise given all the shit I’d said earlier, but then, she was on the other end of the phone rather than in person, so she could hardly smack me down. Not immediately, anyway. “I didn’t find anything that hinted at who or what else might have been here, but Azriel said there are spider spirits known as Jorõgumos, so it’s possible we’re dealing with one of those. I did find a business card for someplace called Dark Soul.”
“That is—was—one of his favorite music venues. He’d been planning to go there last night.”
“Why was he carrying one of their business cards if he went there regularly?”
“I don’t know.”
Color me shocked, I wanted to snap, but wisely resisted the urge. “So he might have picked up his killer there?”
“Possibly. Dark Soul is not a vampire venue. It caters to all races who enjoy alternative music.”
“Well, it wasn’t a human who killed him.” Not unless Spider-Man was fact rather than fiction.
“Of course not,” she said coolly. “Wolfgang was a powerful vampire. He would not have been taken easily by anyone—or any race.”
And yet he’d sat there and allowed himself to be bound by a web and then sucked dry. I rubbed my arms against the chill that stole across my skin. How could anyone—powerful or not—allow something like that?
“Which means either he was drugged, or there was some form of magic involved.” And if it was the former, was there enough of him left to find a trace of it?
“Yes.” Hunter’s voice still held little emotion, yet it hinted at a fury so deep it scared the hell out of me. “Which is why I wanted you to investigate. Whatever did this was not of this world. I’m sure of it. I want you to hunt it down, but do not kill it. That pleasure I reserve for myself.”
Well, I wasn’t about to argue over that particular order. “If we can find this thing, it’s all yours.”
“Oh, you had better find it, trust me.” She paused, as if waiting for a comment, but what the hell was I supposed to say to a threat like that? After a moment, she continued. “I will arrange for you to talk to Dark Soul’s owner and view their security tapes. Perhaps we can identify who—if anyone—he was there with.”
“They’re hardly likely to talk to me, given I’m not anything official—”
“That will be fixed,” she cut in. “Keep me informed.”
She hung up again. My fingers clenched the phone so tightly, my knuckles went white, and it was all I could do not to throw the damn thing and then stomp all over it in frustration.
Azriel plucked it from my fingers. “Temper tantrums, as I believe you would call such an action, will do no good. And it may well destroy a perfectly usable device.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Have you ever had a good temper tantrum?”
Amusement lurked in the rich depths of his mismatched blue eyes. “No. But I do believe that the longer I reside in your presence, the more it becomes a possibility.”
I snorted softly. “You could be right. And for future reference, a well-timed temper tantrum is a very good form of stress release.”
“Meaning, I’m wrong in believing there might be more pleasing alternatives than throwing a tantrum?”
I arched an eyebrow and stepped a little closer, but any reply I might have made was cut short as my phone rang. A quick look showed that it was Stane—Tao’s cousin, and a black marketer who just happened to be able to hack into any computer system ever created. It was an ability I’d made full use of when it came to Hunter’s cases as well as the search for the keys. I half thought about ignoring the call just to continue the gently teasing conversation with Azriel, but I knew Stane wouldn’t be ringing unless he’d uncovered something important.
“Hey,” I said, by way of greeting. “What’s the latest?”
