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I snorted softly. “You’re determined not to give me any information about that, are you?”
“You know I cannot. Your dealings with your father are dangerous enough as they are.”
“Just because I understand your reasons doesn’t mean I’m not frustrated by them.” I gathered my phone and ID, then walked to the wardrobe to get my leather bike gear. “I’ll meet you at the front of Classique Entertainers.”
He nodded and disappeared. I headed down to the garage, gearing up in my leathers before I hopped on the Ducati and drove out.
Of course, going anywhere near the city approaching peak hour always added far too much time to the journey, so it was close to 4:45 by the time I got to Port Melbourne.
The agency was located in an area that was all concrete warehouses and office buildings. I found parking under one of the trees lining the center strip, then pulled off my gloves and helmet, shoved them into the under-seat storage, and headed across the road to Classique. It was situated in a building that was basically a glass-fronted concrete box, though the colorfully painted wooden strips lining the upper half of the building on either side of the windows at least gave it a bit of personality that was sadly lacking in its neighbors.
Azriel joined me as I walked toward the steps. “Would not a disguise be useful at this point, given that your uncle would not be pleased to discover you’re investigating these crimes?”
I stopped cold. “Shit, yes. Thanks for reminding me.” I did a quick look around, scanning the nearby building to see if there was anyone staring out the window. There didn’t appear to be, so I imaged myself with a long, thin face, with freckles over a somewhat large hooked nose, and spiky red hair. Once the shifting magic had done its work, I glanced at Azriel. “Well?”
“Definitely not an improvement,” he said, barely managing to restrain his smile.
I laughed. “What about you? There may be cameras inside, and we can’t risk Uncle Rhoan recognizing you any more than we can me.”
“Both human and electronic eyes will see a leather-clad, hairy-faced individual of impressive proportions.”
“Hopefully not too impressive—we don’t want to scare them.”
“Impressive proportions toned down, then.”
I grinned, loving his growing sense of humor more and more, and all but bounced up the steps. I pushed open the bright red metal doors, then stepped inside. The reception area was as modern as the outside of the building, with glass and bright colors being a central theme. The seated woman did something of a double take as we walked in. Her eyebrows rose slightly, but all she said was, “Can I help you?”
I dug my ID out of my pocket and showed it to her. “I need to talk to either James Parred or Catherine Moore about an entertainer they booked for Hallowed Ground this afternoon.”
She studied the badge for a moment, then frowned. “An investigator for the high council? What the hell is that?”
She had good eyes, because I’d deliberately kept the badge some distance from her.
“It means I work for the vampire high council.” I kept my voice in the lower tonal ranges. There was a security camera in the corner, and while it was focused on the door, I had no idea if it was sound capable or not. The last thing I needed was Uncle Rhoan raiding their system and hearing me.
“So, not Directorate?”
“No.” I hesitated. “I take it they have been here, though?”
“Yes. Yesterday.” She frowned. “So are you a cop or what?”
I gave her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. “I lean more toward being a private investigator than something as official as a cop.”
“Meaning you don’t have the same sort of powers?”
“No.” And I could see where this was leading—me being shown the door. I glanced at Azriel. Don’t suppose you can apply a little reaper charm, could you? I know you’re not supposed to, but we need to get this case moving so we can concentrate on our own.
He raised an eyebrow, but he gave the woman a full-wattage smile and said, “We tend to be the intermediaries between the council and the Directorate. We’re used when the council does not wish a more official investigation.”
“But they are involved with whatever you are here to ask about, aren’t they?”
A woman immune to your wily ways, I said, amused. How amazing is that?
I suspect the reason is all the hair. She does not find it attractive, apparently.
Amusement bubbled through me, although I could certainly sympathize. Lots of hair wasn’t on my must-have list when it came to men, either. Can you give her a little push into accepting us?
Only if it was key related, which this is not.
