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It all made sense now. The attitude and the smug certainty. The cocksure way he had gone right after that girl. He truly was his father’s son.
“Fuck me. Shit. ” I was hissing now, forcing words through gritted teeth. If I could have been more intelligible, I’m sure something a bit more eloquent might be said, but right then all I could think of were curses, and I strung them together with blasphemous intensity. From inside my jacket I pulled out my cell phone and a small flashlight. I hit number two on the speed dial and flicked on the flashlight with my teeth.
“This is a late check in, McQueen. ”
“I need a pick up outside Columbus Circle. As soon as you can be there. Don’t bring the nice upholstery. I’m messy. ”
A pause. “Who?”
“It wasn’t sanctioned. I’m going to call Holden, have him alert the fucking Tribunal. But it doesn’t matter, Keaty. You have no idea whose seed this guy was. ”
A longer pause. Francis Keats would not guess, but I suspected from the tone in my voice that he knew all too well who I was talking about.
I was looking through the grass with my flashlight, waiting for it to… There it was, a glint of metal. I picked up the bullet and put it in my pocket with the casing I’d already collected. There was no time for me to hide the body, so I had to hope the girl was too shaken to be specific about our location. Even if they did find him, the body would be nothing more than dust by sunrise. Bullets, however, did not simply disintegrate.
“It’s Peyton. He’s back. ”
“I’ll be there in four minutes. ”
Keaty was waiting when I reached the street corner. The sidewalks were almost empty, with pedestrian traffic dwindling in the hours after all the bars had closed but before reasonable citizens would be awake again. It used to be known as the witching hour, and in some circles it still was.
I slipped unnoticed into the black car, its tinted windows blocking out all questions and suspicion. After all, what would people think if they saw a blood-splattered blonde being driven around by a serious-looking man in glasses?
Keaty must have left in one hell of a rush if he was still wearing his silver-rimmed bifocals. I wasn’t sure if he thought they made him look weak, or if he knew they would sully his badass reputation, but Keaty never let anyone see him with them on.
Anyone but me.
The seat squeaked beneath me, and I realized he’d put a plastic slipcover over the leather. How pragmatic, he decided to save the car rather than put in contacts. At least I knew where his priorities were.
We drove in silence for awhile, m
y breath returning to normal after I had blitzed across Central Park to meet his car, and my sense of panic reducing. I felt safer now being this close to him.
Francis Keats, best known to me as Keaty and to everyone else as Mr. Keats, was the closest thing I had to a certainty in my life. He was my partner, as in business partner only, thank you. I’d met Keaty six years earlier, when I was sixteen and had come to the big city to chase my demons, both figurative and literal.
Keaty had been the one to save my ass when I got in way over my head with a vampire I hadn’t known was a rogue. Back then, I didn’t work for anyone and was foolishly hunting any vampire I could find. Sixteen years old and I’d almost gotten myself killed on one of my first outings. The vampire had seemed young, and I thought he would be an easy kill. I had been so very wrong, and now it was coming back to haunt me.
No one had feared the name of Secret McQueen then, I can tell you that much for certain.
But Keaty, who was a solitary man by trade, must have seen something in me, because after I refused to go back home, he took me under his wing. Keaty was one of five people who knew what I really was, and I was one of only two who ever called him Francis and lived to tell the tale.
“Is any of that yours?” he asked, indicating the blood on me. His voice was calm, showing no concern if he had any.
“No. ” The scratches on my face and clavicle were already healing. One of the benefits of my dubious bloodline.
“Going to tell me what happened?” Keaty passed me a towel and a few wet-naps.
I recapped the story of the girl in the woods and an almost-feral Henry Davies. Then I told him, without sparing any details, of what Henry had said to me and of the healing bite marks I’d found on his neck.
“You’re absolutely certain?” Even he sounded certain, but I knew he had to ask.
“Yes, I’m sure. ”
“Well. ” He parked the car in front of an old brownstone with one light burning on the main floor and a painted name in the frosted glass that read Keats and McQueen Private Pest Control. “We always knew he’d be back. It was never a question. ”
“But why wait this long? Why now?” We got out of the car and hiked up the steps. An old woman passing by with a small pug gave us a second glance and frowned with disapproval. A twenty-two-year-old girl with a forty-year-old man at this time of night? I knew what she was thinking, even before she shook her head and hurried along. At moments like this I had to fight the urge to put my hand in Keaty’s pocket and lick his cheek, or something equally silly. That had never and would never be the relationship I had with him, so it bothered me when that was what people assumed of us. Of him.
“Six years to a vampire is hardly a long time, Secret. Especially one as old as Peyton. ” He unlocked the door and let me in. I made a beeline for the upstairs bathroom, and Keaty followed me. “As for why now,” he continued, as I started up the taps in the old clawfoot tub, preparing to wash vampire brains out of my hair, “I believe he must have bigger plans in town than just your death. I think you’re a small perk in a much larger scheme. ”
