Branded (13 page)

“I can think of…” He trailed off and counted silently. “Three. Since the beginning of recorded history. And two of those were willing conversions.”

I pointed at him like a teacher singling out a clever student. “It ain’t easy.”

“No,” Sly said. “But they almost succeeded. Might still the way things are going for you.”

I didn’t really need that reminder. But Sly wasn’t the person you went to for pep talks. He laid it out how he saw it, good, bad, and deadly.

I felt myself getting antsy. I apparently had perked up enough from whatever Sly had dosed me with to start drawing energy again. I didn’t want to do too much of that though. I worried I might draw the last bit out of the watch. If I did that, I would have to get the thing enchanted all over again to use it in any magical way. And enchantment wasn’t something I could do or even afford. I made good money as a bounty hunter, but I am no George Soros.

“Why now?” I asked and popped up out of the chair. I started pacing, which seemed to annoy Sly. He traced me with his gaze and a glower.

“How many vamps did you say were at the warehouse?”

“About a dozen.”

“Which doesn’t include the ones you tangled with at your house?”

I shook my head.

“So we don’t really know how many vamps are behind this scheme. Turning isn’t usually a group activity. It’s something intimate. A threesome or foursome maybe. At most. Not a big group of them, all coordinated like that. And then, to have the evidence cleared out so normal law enforcement has nothing?”

“Yeah, making a whole car disappear is no small trick. And I really wish they hadn’t taken it. I liked that car. Got great gas mileage.”

Sly stroked his gray-stubbled chin. Then he tugged on the earlobe with his diamond stud. Then he stuck his finger
in
his ear to scratch it. I held out hope he wouldn’t start in on his nose next.

He went away for a minute, his stare blank. Then he blinked his way back and looked at me. “This is something big,” he said. “Could be the entire Detroit vampire population has it in for you.”

“Then why not try to kill me instead of turn me. Wouldn’t that be easier?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, but revenge would be way sweeter if they could bring you into the fold.”

“Well, I don’t know what they have against me.”

Sly laughed. “How many vampires in the Detroit area have you dusted?”

I didn’t even attempt to count. No way I could remember. “Over a hundred,” I guessed.

“Over one hundred.” Sly whistled. “I have a feeling you are in for some serious shit.”

“You mean I’m not already?”

“I just hope Kitchens is willing to talk to you. He’s been a Detroit staple for a long ass time.”

“Great,” I said. “So I’m going to go see this guy with the funny name and if he can’t help me, he might want to kill me.” I ran a hand through my hair. “And the hits just keep on coming.”

Chapter Nineteen

The address Sly had given me for Toft Kitchens led me to a Jazz club downtown off Park Avenue. There was a line out the door along the front of the art deco facade. A big bouncer dressed in a tux of all things stood at the door with one of those velvet ropes draped in the way. It was not the ropes keeping people out, though. The dude had to have been as wide as a Jeep.

I stood across the street, in the shadowed doorway of a closed office building. I was checking out that line, filled with folks in their middle age and up. Not too many young folks hit the jazz clubs, or could afford one like this. While I’d never been in the Black Rose, I had heard about it. I don’t do clubs. I’m more of a diner and dive bar kind of guy. I like to think I’m eclectic, but I’m also cheap. I could never see the merit in blowing over a hundred dollars on a meal.

I had since changed, swapping the T-shirt Fiona had given me for a short-sleeved cotton button down, and putting on a fresh pair of khakis. I was underdressed for the likes of the Black Rose, but I hadn’t come here to sip over-priced Manhattans.

I studied the bouncer. If I had to guess, I would bet he wasn’t a normal. A shifter, maybe. Or some other kind of ugly covered with a glamour. The supernatural beasts with some standing or spending cash could afford some of the best magical camouflage. Not every troll could work a place like this. But from the look in the bouncer’s eyes, troll felt about right. Which meant either Kitchens paid for the glamour, or paid the troll enough to afford it on his own.

Either way, talking my way past a troll bouncer would probably lead to nothing more than a caved in skull. You simply could not reason with a creature raised under a bridge.

On the other hand, I didn’t have much choice. I sure as hell didn’t have time to wait in line.

I waited for a car to pass, then crossed the street. I headed straight for the bouncer. Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t a troll, but a gremlin in a puffy coat or something. What did I have to lose besides my physical health? I hardly had that anymore anyway.

The bouncer must have sensed me coming. He had his black-eyed gaze on the line as if scanning for faces he recognized, yet he held out a hand before I got within three yards of him and said, “No.”

I came up short.

“No?”

He turned his eyes on me. I looked in. Yeah, definitely troll.

“I need to see Toft Kitchens,” I said.

The expression on his big round face remained deadpan. “Go away.”

“Tell him Sebastian Light needs to see him,” I said. I hoped he recognized the name. Maybe I could ride my family name’s status on in there.

The big troll in human guise went suddenly still. His eyes took on a blank stare. He had completely checked out, as if he had fallen asleep on his feet. It only lasted a few seconds before the light—however dim—returned to his eyes. Without a word, he unclipped the velvet rope and drew it aside.

I stared at him, half expecting him to wrap the rope around my neck.

When I didn’t move, he said, “Back booth to the right of the stage.”

I had no idea what just happened there, but I wasn’t going to argue. I went on through the door, hearing groans of protest from folks at the head of the line.

I pushed my way through the door into a haze of very illegal cigarette smoke. Apparently, The Black Rose didn’t worry about such trivial things as fines for allowing smoking in a public establishment. The lighting over all was dim, except for on stage where a full band played. The saxophonist stood in what looked like a particularly hot spot light, his dark skin beaded with perspiration as he made that sax his bitch in an improvised solo.

I didn’t listen to a lot of jazz on my own, but I appreciated the hell out of it when I happened to hear it.

I stood there for a moment memorized by his performance. Then I headed for the back booth to the right of the stage where the troll had directed me. It was a corner booth where the seat curved around like a horseshoe. It was hard to tell in the shadows any details of the booth’s occupants, but I counted three heads. One of those heads sat real low as if whoever it belonged to was slumped down halfway under the table.

I threaded my way through the crowd and the tables. As I got closer to my destination, I could better make out who I was approaching. And when I was within about six yards, I stopped short.

Couldn’t be right.

The two taller occupants were a man and woman in their early thirties. They were well dressed, if a little old-fashioned in their tastes. The man wore a brown suit and a bowtie. The woman wore a blue dress with a high collar and a set of pearls.

The one in the middle?

He looked not a day older than thirteen. A young boy with dirty blonde hair oiled and neatly parted on one side. He wore a black suit with pinstripes, and a bright red bowtie. His lips nearly matched the color of his tie. His eyes seemed to glimmer in the small amount of light that drifted over from the stage lights.

He looked right at me and gave me a close-mouthed smile.

The man and the woman also looked at me, though they didn’t smile. They didn’t have much of an expression at all. They looked a little stoned, actually.

Stellar parents by the looks of it. Not only did they take their kid to a jazz bar that clearly should not have allowed any minors, but they either toked something or maybe snorted some lines in the bathroom, then washed it down with the martinis they had on the table in front of him.

Stranger still. There were
three
martini glasses, one of them in front of the kid.

The boy leaned over, still staring at me, and whispered something in his mother’s ear.

She nodded and scooted out of the booth, then came my way. Her expression remained blank until she reached me, then burst to life with a sudden smile and light in her eyes. “You must be Mr. Light.”

She took my elbow and gestured toward the booth. “Toft would love to see you.”

I stared at her for a second. I couldn’t smell any booze on her breath. In fact, the glass at her place at the table was still full, the olive floating on the surface of the drink with a red plastic sword speared through it. Same with the father’s glass. Only the kid’s glass looked touched, with no sign of the olive.

I almost said something about Mr. Kitchens allowing his kid to drink martinis. Then I realized Toft may have been feeding on the kid. But another, even more horrific possibility crossed my mind. One that, once I thought of it, knew was true.

Toft Kitchens was the
kid
.

My stomach dropped. A bad taste filled my mouth.

The woman holding my elbow didn’t seem to notice my distaste. She gave me a gentle tug. “Please. Best not to keep him waiting.”

I met eyes with the kid and could practically feel the old soul within him like a chilly winter breeze. Would have been nice if Sly had warned me that his four-hundred year-old tame vampire acquaintance had been turned when he was just a child. At the same time, I could see why he kept it to himself. I would have had second, third, and fourth thoughts about coming to see him. This was too disturbing for words.

I let the woman guide me over to the booth. She held out her hand to indicate I should slide in on her side. Again, I hesitated, until the man came out of the booth and walked away without a word.

“Please,” the kid said, and the one word was thick with a British accent. “We’ll speak alone.”

I glanced at the woman.

She smiled at me.

I had an idea of why she wore the high collar now. Not because she was old-fashioned, but to hide the bite marks. She was a mortal feeder. From the stiff way she was acting, I felt confident she was merely a blood pet to Kitchens. Whether willing or not was impossible to tell. In the end, they all ended up the same way—slaves for their blood.

But I didn’t have the time or luxury to judge. If anything Kitchens did wasn’t legal, the Ministry could take care of it. Who knew? Maybe one day I’d end up back here with a contract. Stranger things always happened.

I took a seat. The “mother” left us.

For a moment, we sized each other up without speaking. His little red mouth curled up at one corner. He inhaled deeply through his nose. “I can smell it on you.”

I didn’t have to ask what. “My friend Sly says you might be able to help me get rid of it.”

The little fucker pretended to pout. “Why would I want to help the man responsible for killing so many of my brothers?”

So my reputation
had
proceeded me. Just not the one I had hoped for.

“That’s a neat trick with the troll out front, seeing through his eyes. What is that? Astral projection or something like that?”

“Something like that,” he said, his thick British accent making everything he said sound condescending.

“A troll, though? That kind of magic seems out of his league.”

“But not out of mine.” He raised his martini glass and took a sip. His suit was clearly custom fitted, but with that martini in hand he still looked like a kid dressed in his father’s clothing, pretending to be an adult.

“How does a vamp live to four-hundred when he’s turned at twelve?”

“Thirteen,” he corrected casually. He sipped his martini again and set it gingerly back on the table. He stared at the glass for a moment like a fortuneteller into a crystal ball. He licked his ruby lips and returned his attention to me. “It is both complicated and easy. A child isn’t suspected of much. Generally, they are given the benefit of the doubt. And there are many mortals who, for whatever reason, feel it their duty to protect children.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I took advantage of that instinct. As you can see, I have a very fine set of parents at the moment, though they are getting a little old. I shall have to replace them soon.”

I felt sick, right down to the pit of my stomach. Vampires, tame or not, were sick fucks. Plain and simple. I did my best not to forget that. I leaned an elbow on the table and lowered my head. “Can you help me or not?”

He pursed his lips. Outside he was all child. Those eyes, though. Four-hundred years of whatever things he’d seen seemed to fill them to the brim. It was a weird disconnect to sit talking to a kid while at the same time knowing his knowledge of this world trumped your own tenfold.

“As I said, I can’t see any reason why I should.”

“Out of the goodness of your un-beating heart?”

He made a face. “Really, is that any way to speak to someone whose help you are begging for?”

“I’m not begging.”

“Not yet.”

My tempter got the best of me. I stood up. “Forget it then.”

He shrugged and took up his martini again. “I will. Easily. You, on the other hand, cannot. Will not. Ever.”

“For all I know, you had something to do with this. There were an awful lot of vamps involved.”

“Please.” He wrinkled his brow as if he smelled something rank. He finished off his martini, set the glass aside, then picked the olive out of the glass that had sat in front of his “mother.” He pulled the olive off with his fingers and dropped it onto the table where it rolled a few inches, leaving a wet trail across the white table cloth. “I have better things to do.”

“Like what? Drink martinis that can’t get you drunk?”