Bleeding Out (7 page)

“It’s sardonic.”

“Yeah. I got that.”

His mouth twitches. It’s almost a grin. “How’s Lucian?”

“Fine.”

“We all miss him.”

“I’ll bet.” I decide to try something. “Hey. Here’s a question. Have you noticed any seriously tweaked vampires in this neighborhood?”

“Tweaked on what?”

“I don’t know. It looks kind of like bloodlust, only glassier. Somewhere between hungry and stoned.”

He’s silent. I wonder if he’s considering whether or not he should say anything. I try to look slightly vapid, like a tourist asking where BC Place is.

“Vampires don’t get stoned,” he says finally. “THC barely affects us. We can get drunk, if the alcohol is strong enough.”

“He’d have smelled, if that were the case.”

“Where did you see this vampire?”

“Once in my neighborhood, and once closer to downtown.”

He lights a cigarette. “Ask the Magnate. Aren’t you two close?”

“Not lately.”

“Ask Modred, then. He knows more anyhow. With all due respect to the Magnate, of course.”

“That’s actually a good idea.”

“Well. I have my moments.”

I turn to leave. Then I stop.

“What’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

I laugh. “Fair enough.”

He stubs out the cigarette and walks back inside, shutting the door behind him. In my mind, I think I’m going to call him Ruben from now on. I could walk to the vampire community center to speak with Modred, but it seems pointless. I can’t ask the right hand of the Magnate if he’s
noticed any drunk vampires wandering around. It’s a dumbass question, and the last thing I need is to look incompetent in front of someone who sleeps with a sword under his pillow. I opt for lunch with Derrick instead.

The restaurant is busy. Every couple in the city must be craving expensive cocktails. I find him sitting by the window.

“Who did you blow to get this table?”

“Good afternoon to you, too.”

I sit down. “Thanks for the invite. I’m starving.”

“I took a chance and ordered you the three-cheese burger.”

“Good call.”

A model/waiter brings our food. We eat in semi-silence, which is one of the perks of having a best friend who can read your thoughts. Right now, I’m grappling with the realization that this cheese is going to give me gas. Once I’ve resigned myself to that, I start thinking about Lucian again.

“He asked me about you,” Derrick says.

“What do you mean?”

“Lucian. We were talking at breakfast—while you were snoring—and he asked me if something was up with you.”

I bristle slightly. “Why not just ask me himself?”

“Because you’re the Death Star deflector shield.”

“Oh,
I’m
the deflector? Have you talked to Selena yet?”

He looks around, as if CORE agents are everywhere. “For your information,” he says, lowering his voice, “I did.”

“And?”

“And what?”

“Is Miles going to be questioned?”

“Of course not. He has nothing to do with this.”

“He could have been at the scene, and you know it.”

“Actually, I know that he has no reason to hang around Burnaby Mountain in the middle of the night.”

“Actually, McBitchy, he has a life of his own. You have no idea if he was meeting with you-know-who or not.”

“He would have told me.”

“Just like you’ve told him about the time you used thought-control to get him to return that late movie? Or is that still a secret?”

“I—” He reddens slightly. “That hasn’t come up yet.”

I fold my arms. “You need to tell him. And Miles needs to be questioned. He’s a big boy. I’m sure he can handle whatever Selena’s going to ask him.”

“She said it sounded circumstantial.”

“Are you kidding? She loves circumstantial.”

He stares at his empty plate. “Why would he have been talking to you-know-who? The two literally live in separate worlds.”

“The last time I checked, spatial profilers were sort of known for prying into other worlds. Do you really know everywhere he’s been?”

“No,” he says sullenly. “Do you know everywhere that Lucian’s been?”

“Of course not.”

We’re both silent for a while.

Derrick sighs. “I need another Bellini.”

“I’m already on it.”

After nightfall, I head to the vampire community
center. Patrick’s at home, so I know that Modred will be there by himself. Even though he saved my life once, I’m still not sure how much I can trust him. Patrick thinks he hung the moon and the stars. I’m a bit of a harder sell. When I reach the nondescript entrance, I ring the buzzer, which is new. A girl opens the door. She looks about my age, but the red flecks in her eyes suggest that she’s been around for quite a bit longer.

“I’m Tess Corday.” I incline my head, which seems only polite. “I’m here to talk with Modred.”

“He’s in a mood.”

“Would you call it a bloodlust mood, or just general snark?”

“You can see for yourself. Don’t be surprised if he won’t talk to you, though. He’s been ignoring everyone the whole night.”

She ushers me into the common area. A few vampires are watching TV, while others play cards at a makeshift table. There’s a line for the computer, as always. I head upstairs to Patrick’s office. It’s odd to think that the kid who still watches
DuckTales
also commands every vampire in the city of Vancouver. He loves me, as much as an immortal can love anything, but I also know that he’d take me apart if he had to. Sometimes, when I walk by his bedroom and hear him gently snoring, I think:
He’s yours, and he’s a killer.

Modred sits at Patrick’s desk. He’s studying paperwork and doesn’t look up when I come in. “Tess. What brings you here?”

“I have a question for you.”

“I have answered a dozen of the Magnate’s questions today, and I doubt that he absorbed a single thing. If I answer you, will you listen?”

“As I suspected,” I say. “General snark.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind.”

Modred looks up at me. His lip ring is a half-moon against pale flesh. There are bags under his eyes. He looks like a photosensitive teenager, like one of those scary orphans from the horror movie with Nicole Kidman. I don’t know how old he is really, but he does have an
Anglo-Saxon vibe, which leads me to believe that he spent time chilling with Manticores and purebloods. Certainly he knew Caitlyn, the former Magnate who sired Patrick. I should be more nervous around him, but we bonded during a cab ride, or at least I think we did. Plus, disarticulating me will tick off Patrick, and Modred is nothing if not loyal.

“What is your question, Tess?”

“It’s about vampires getting drunk.”

“You came all the way here to ask me about that? Vampires get drunk the same way humans do, only it takes more alcohol. Mead often does the trick.”

“I saw a vampire who looked—I don’t know—blissed out. Kind of drunk, but kind of not. How would a drunk vampire behave?”

His expression changes. “Who else have you asked about this?”

“I don’t know his name. The bouncer at Blood Drive.”

“Is this how you conduct an investigation? You simply hail vampires on the street and ask them random questions?”

“I’m off duty, actually.”

“Ah.” He motions for me to sit down next to him. “So you want to combat idleness by investigating pointless things.”

I sit. “It sounds better in my head.”

“What was so strange about this drunken vampire that you saw?”

“I don’t know. There was just something off about him.”

“Wait here,” he says. “I have something to show you.”

He leaves and comes back with a DVD, which he puts in the player. He turns on the TV. I see Patrick sitting on the couch downstairs, along with a bunch of other vampires that I don’t recognize. They’re all singing in some language that I can’t understand. Patrick chugs his beer. Then he opens his mouth and belches so loud that it shakes the furniture on camera. Everyone laughs.

Modred turns off the TV. “That is a drunk vampire,” he says. “Did the one you saw behave like that?”

“Not at all. He seemed devious. And hungry.”

“Did he attack you?”

“No. I flashed a bit of power, and he backed off. But the next day, I saw him out with a group of his friends. It seemed bold. He didn’t go after me, but he made sure I knew that he was watching.”

“If he is that careless, I cannot see him living for too much longer. If I were you, I would turn your mind to more important matters.”

“I’m on leave, remember? I can’t involve myself in important matters. It’s either check this out or go for the all-time best score on Freecell.”

“I can see how that might drive you to distraction.” He looks at the paperwork again, then shudders. “I suppose we both could use something interesting to occupy us. How would you feel about attending a party tomorrow night?”

“A vampire party?”

“More or less. The crowd will mostly be young and stupid, but you may run into your bold friend.”

“I’d feel a bit like Lady Gaga when she wore the meat dress.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I’d be on display.”

“I’ll be with you. Nothing can happen.”

“Knock on wood.”

“What?”

“It’s customary to knock on wood after you say nothing bad will happen. You’ve probably been dead too long to remember, but it makes everyone feel better.” I knock lightly on the surface of the desk. “See? Now you do it.”

Modred stares at me as if I’ve deeply disappointed him. Then he knocks three times, with deliberation. He puts his ear to the desk.

“Who is supposed to answer?” he asks.

“No one. It’s like whistling in the dark.”

“Whistling in the dark is sonar.”

I sigh. “It’s a propitiatory custom, like lighting a candle or wearing a talisman. I guess it’s meant to remind us not to take anything for granted.”

He continues to listen to the desk. “I hear atoms,” he says. “Nothing more.”

“What time are you picking me up tomorrow?”

“Midnight.”

“Fine. I’ll wear a turtleneck.”

Against my better judgment, I take a bus to Fourth
Avenue and Vine. The posh stores have gone to sleep, but the bars and cafés remain aglow. Kitsilano is the land of joggers clad in formfitting Lululemon shorts, a place where, as Douglas Coupland observed, even the dogs have sweaters. The streets are filled with wandering prides of undergrads looking for drink specials. I avoid them and head to the Pleasure Box, an adult video store that shares space with CORE clinic 21B. The mannequins in the window seem to be having a good time. The blacked-out door chimes when I open it. A bored woman looks up from the counter, nods at me, then returns to her book. I walk past the rows of videos and sex toys with their lewd Japanese packaging. A nondescript door in the back leads to a flight of steps, which takes me to the clinic.

It’s a busy night. Several young people are being treated for materia burn. Someone or something howls behind a set of flowered curtains. I approach the front desk and ask the nurse on duty if Evelyn is working tonight.

“She just went for coffee. She’ll be back in fifteen.”

I take a seat in the waiting room. The chairs are the color of Habitant pea soup, and look as if they were donated from St. Paul’s. I wonder, not for the first time, how the CORE manages to keep all of this running. I suppose if the Templars were able to spread their influence across Europe and Asia, it stands to reason that people who can
channel materia would be able to sustain a global corporation. But who started it? Nobody knows. Probably not even Esther. Maybe it was Merlin. The thought makes me laugh in spite of myself. A sullen goblin with a head wound glares at me. I smother my laughter and stare at the linoleum.

Derrick and I took Mia to this very clinic after we were attacked by a Vailoid demon, basically a man-shark. Killing him was messy. Afterward, we all sat around here, sedately drinking our juice boxes and trying to joke about what had just happened. I’d like to think that we made her feel better, but I remember the look in her eyes too well. She’d seen magic, and wanted to bury it, to run from it. I’d felt that way once. But now magic was just like red wine and cigarettes, something warmly inescapable that gave pleasure even as it exacted a familiar price.

“Tess?”

I look up. Evelyn is standing there, holding a to-go cup from Blenz.

“Hey. I have a question for you.”

“I’m about to start my second shift. Is this the sort of question that you need to ask in private?”

“It is.”

“Okay. Follow me.”

She takes me down a hallway marked with red and blue intersecting lines. Gurneys lie forgotten in the corners. It reminds me of a dream I had once, which ended in my father’s face becoming bloody wax. I suppose that was Arcadia’s touch.
I wanted you to hate him like I did,
she told me. What she hadn’t realized was that her counterfeit nightmares would fan my curiosity instead. Why the bones, the sand castles, the dripping tap? Maybe it all meant something to her.

We step into an empty exam room. Evelyn shuts the door. She puts down her coffee and gives me a long look.