Iron Night (8 page)

“What?” I asked. “Come on in.”

More wagging, and she made a little crooning sound.

“Oh, no way.” I said. “You jumped out, now jump back in.”

Now she bent down until her belly was on the metal of the fire escape landing and gave me full-on sad eyes.

“Damn it,” I muttered, and leaned out the window to pick her up and haul her back in. “Lazy jerk,” I said as she wriggled happily, her tail beating against my leg. “Just wait until you're human and can talk again.”

As I set her on the floor she gave a rather dismissive tail flip and padded back to the bathroom. I followed her, waiting at the bathroom door. When I heard the sink turn on and knew that she had hands again (and presumably a human mouth), I asked loudly, “You found something, didn't you? You found the smells of the guys who did this?”

“Not exactly,” she said through the door.

“What?”

The door opened so abruptly that I nearly stumbled into her. Suzume lifted an eyebrow, and I stepped back enough for her to come out.

“Seriously, Suze. Talk.”

“Whoever broke the window and was carrying Gage's body wasn't human.”

“Oh . . .” I paused for a long minute, trying to move past my initial gut reaction of
Oh, shit
. “Well, what was it? A vampire?” I'd known,
known
, that stupid vampire etiquette rules wouldn't stop Dominic from trying to get payback, but did my damn superior family listen—

“I don't know.”

I stared at her. “You. Don't. Know.”

She nodded grimly. “Yeah. Definitely not a vampire, but whatever it was, I've never smelled anything like it before.”

I was so used to Suzume being an expert on all the supernatural stuff that I'd ignored for so long that this pretty much officially blew my mind. Also . . . “A creature you've never encountered before killed my roommate? Tell me that can't be a coincidence.” Maybe Dominic was outsourcing vengeance.

Suzume shrugged and wobbled her hand in a so-so gesture. “Hard to say. There are plenty of nasties that Madeline banned from the territory, and a lot of them leave body trails. If one slipped in, then it was probably just an accident.”

“An accident?” I asked disbelievingly.

“An accident in the way that a shark attack is an accident. A surfer is in the wrong place at the wrong time.” Now she made a little chomp-chomp gesture with her hand. I thought back to what I'd seen of Gage's body and shuddered.

If Suzume wasn't able to identify this, then I knew who could. “Let me call Chivalry,” I said.

She nodded. “Good plan. I'll go take a whiff around the base of the fire escape and see if I can get a trail.”

“Do you need to go fox again for that?” Foxes were definitely not something regularly seen in College Hill. The last thing I needed was to have my neighbors start calling animal control at the sight of Suzume in her furrier form checking out the scene of the crime.

From the twinkle in her eyes, Suzume could clearly follow my train of thought. “Nah.” She tapped her nose and grinned. “I've got the scent now.” Then she wrinkled up her nose and made a face. “And I'm not worried about mistaking it for anything else. Whatever this thing is, it has a hell of a funk.”

Suzume strolled out the door as I dialed Chivalry's number. He picked up on the second ring, and it didn't take long to fill him in on everything.

“The kitsune is in all likelihood correct, Fortitude,” he said once I'd filled him in. “While most things that our mother has closed our borders to will stay out from a sense of self-preservation, there are some that still wander in and leave a few bodies. I have never personally encountered anything that kills in this way, so it's probably something very rare. In my experience, creatures like that are always on the move. Even if you go looking for it, it will probably have already left the area.”

“So, we're not going to do anything at all?” I asked.

I could hear Chivalry heave a rather deep sigh on the other end of the line. “Mother's contacts with the police department have already located a pair of locals with rather unsavory pasts who have been convinced to confess to your roommate's murder, so this is tied up. If you wish to spend the next few days chasing shadows, then I certainly cannot stop you. Bhumika's doctor has advised that we stay in the hospital for at least four days, so I will be quite occupied for a time and sadly unable to either continue our training regimen or chaperone you on this endeavor. At least take along your annoying friend—I would hate for you to be all alone as you circle aimlessly.” He paused. “My earlier assumption of human origins might have been wrong, but a supernatural component does not change my underlying point: accidents happen. Your roommate ran afoul of something on his own and was killed. If you could accept that forming these kinds of guilt-ridden attachments to humans you come into tertiary contact with is futile and self-destructive, you could step back and realize that this death has
nothing
to do with you. Send a wreath to the funeral, hire a cleaning service, and move on.”

I gritted my teeth. Chivalry certainly wasn't pulling punches today. Knowing that he was sitting in a hospital bed beside his dying wife kept me from snapping back, but barely. My good-bye was on the sharp side, but it was as courteous as I could manage. After hanging up, I headed out to see what Suzume was finding, but met her halfway down the stairs as she was coming back up. She was shaking her head before I could even ask her what she'd found.

“Trail's dead,” she said. “Whatever killed Gage, it has a car. The smells begin and end in one of the parking spots behind your building. It's alone, too, so it must be pretty damn strong to be slinging your friend around up a fire escape. Was your brother able to tell you what we're looking for?”

I told her about the Chivalry situation as we walked back upstairs. Inside the apartment, we both dropped down onto the sofa, which let out the tortured wheeze of cheap furniture being asked to go above and beyond its basic design parameters.

“Well, now what?” I asked.

Suzume shrugged. “The scent trail is dead, and usually when I'm trying to hunt someone down I at least have a description or a name. Think that private-eye buddy of yours might have something?”

I immediately shook my head. “Getting Matt any more involved is too dangerous. And now that we know that we're trying to chase something supernatural, nothing he finds from the police would even help us. I don't think profilers consider monsters when they make their suspect lists. I'll call him in a week, and if he's still looking I'll try to derail him. But odds are that he'll be either as dead-ended as we are or he'll believe that the real killers were already caught.” I knew that the last part was wishful thinking. Maybe in a normal case that might've fooled him, but not in this one. He'd seen my family at work before, and he would've been counting the hours until a false confession was obtained and the case was officially closed.

“Well, where does that leave us?” Suzume asked. “Chasing shadows, like your brother said?”

I looked over at her. “Gage was a good guy,” I said seriously. “He deserves more than he's getting. I'll look until I hit a brick wall, but I won't ask you to help me if you think it's a waste of your time.”

Suzume made a little
tsk
ing sound, then reached over and flicked my nose with her finger, hard enough to sting and make my eyes water. I immediately clapped a hand over my abused nose and said, “What the hell was that for?”

“For being an idiot,” she said, in that tone of voice that made the word
idiot
sound like the most loving of pet names. “You're my friend, so I'll help you. It's that easy.”

I stared at her. “It's not that easy,” I said. “You know it isn't.”

She just smiled at me, her dark eyes gleaming. “Idiot.”

Unwillingly, I could feel myself starting to smile back. It made no real sense, as the situation was almost as grim as it had been a minute before.

“So, what's our first move going to be?” Suzume asked.

I had already thought of this one. “We follow Gage's movements on his last night and try to figure out where whatever killed him found him.” Assuming, of course, that my brother was actually right and it was just a coincidence that my roommate was monster killed. But I couldn't think of any other starting place.

Suzume quirked an eyebrow. “Oh, good. Some old-fashioned police legwork. Just what my weekend was lacking. Where do we start?”

“He told me that he was going speed-dating, so we'll start with that and see if he ever got there.”

Suzume gave me a long and very unamused look. “I just filled my nose with crappy cop aftershave and now you want me to go smell the dregs of cheap perfume and desperation? Besides, I've seen your roommate. What was that tall drink of water doing going speed-dating?”

“He saw a flier and thought it would be fun. Tried to get me to go along, but I had to work.”

Suzume shook her head. “Oh, he was clever.”

“What? Why?”

She gave me that superior look that she always reserved for when she was going to lay a particular kind of knowledge down on me. In a classic Pavlovian response, I was gritting my teeth even before she started talking. “Basic rule of the dating scene, Fort. Always bring along a wingman, and that wingman should always be less attractive than you are. Personally, I use my cousin Hoshi.” She leaned closer and dropped her voice to a stage whisper. “She has a great personality.”

I glared. “Check my computer for speed-dating listings. I'll look in Gage's room and see if he still has the flier.”

“Hate the game, not the player.” Suzume tilted her head and looked at me. “You're willingly letting me use your computer. Change your passwords?”

“Twice,” I said.

She smiled. “I wonder how long it'll take me to guess all of them.”

A large part of
my bravado in inviting Suzume to check my computer was a solid understanding of how anal Gage had been about updating his weekly planner. Sure enough, a quick check of Gage's desk revealed the planner, and neatly penciled into the spot for Friday evening was the name, time, and street address of where the speed-dating was held. I hauled Suzume off of my computer, where she'd already been hard at work trying to guess my new e-mail password, and we loaded into my car and drove out.

We were well before the lunch rush, so I found a parking spot right in front of the restaurant.

“Indigo, you said,” Suzume said.

“Yeah, exactly.” I nodded and started unbuckling my seat belt.

“And you think your plan is going to work?”

“Why wouldn't it? I talk to the staff to see if Gage ever got here or if he left with someone; you sniff around and see if you can pick up a trail.” I stared at her, and she glared back at me. I threw my hands up in frustration. “Ten minutes ago you were fine with this plan!”

“Ten minutes ago I hadn't seen the restaurant.”

“What could possibly be wrong with it?” I looked over. It was small, brick, with big green awnings and a few outside tables available for anyone who didn't mind a late-autumn chill with their lunch.

“Fort, the name is IndiGo.”

“So?”

“We're twenty feet from the front door and I can't smell anything other than curry.”

I looked from her to the restaurant. Sure enough, the front window proudly announced its authentic Indian cuisine.

“
Oh
,” I said. I paused, then asked, “Now, are you really
sure
—”

“Fort!” There was a very distinct expression of outrage on her face.

“Okay, okay.” I sighed heavily. “I guess I'll talk to the staff and you'll . . . supervise.”

“Hrmph.” Now she was looking thoroughly pouty.

I opened the Fiesta's door to get out, and had to admit, there was a distinct whiff of curry in the air. My stomach growled loudly, reminding me that we were beating the lunch crowd, but not by too much. I glanced over again cautiously. “Unless . . . I'll talk to the staff . . . and you can buy lunch to go?”

“Don't push your luck.”

•   •   •

Suzume did eventually relent and grab lunch while I was busy getting information out of the IndiGo manager. By posing as a fresh-faced cub reporter for the business section of the
Providence Journal
,
I'd been treated to a long rendition on the ways that speed-dating sucked at drawing in business.

“I would've thought that it would've been a bonanza in liquor sales,” Suzume commented around a bite of her roti wrap. We were sitting in the parked Fiesta, eating lunch, while I filled Suzume in on what I'd learned.

“Apparently just a few sales on appetizers. I guess people on five-minute dates don't want to spend a lot of time chewing.”

“Exactly. That's why they should've been spending a lot of time drinking.”

I rolled my eyes and took another big bite out of my aloo gobi curry. One of the best things about Indian food, in my opinion, was how well it catered to vegetarianism. “Yeah, the manager was disappointed too. Really took a chunk out of his bottom line. Twenty tables taken up from six to seven-thirty, plus all the disruption from the egg timers going off and people moving seats, and apparently they even had to make room for a table to sell tchotchkes and gifts. The manager said that he'd rather take a swim down the Blackstone River than do this again.”

Suzume snorted. “He really said that?” The Blackstone River was one of Rhode Island's claims to fame, declared by the EPA in the nineties to be the most polluted river in the country. Providence had spent years dumping industrial sewage into one of its tidal extensions, but it was still a rather resonating event for most members of the Ocean State. After all, who would've thought that something was dirtier than the Hudson?

“Made sure I even wrote it down so that I could quote it correctly in the paper.”

“Hm.” Suzume shrugged, then nudged me with her elbow. “What was the thing about the tchotchke table?”

I pulled my notebook out of my pocket and checked it again. “Turns out that they didn't do this on their own. There's this New Age store called Dreamcatching,” Suzume's massive and completely predictable eye roll made me laugh; then I got back to the notes. “They're the ones coordinating the speed-dating. They get the people, collect fees—the whole thing. Apparently they've been doing a whole bunch of them around the city over the past year. The restaurant is ensured business for the night, and the Dreamcatching people set up their table with candles and pretty rocks and the usual crap to try to get extra business.”

“Does the guy remember seeing Gage?”

“Doesn't remember anyone other than one cougar who was the only one who ordered any drinks and ended up vomiting on the floor of the women's bathroom. None of the servers from last night are on shift now. But the IndiGo guy says that there were two people hosting the speed-dating, both from the other store.”

“Ah, and I assume that you got names?”

I smiled. “Yup. Tomas Doubrant and Lilah Dwyer. If they were running it, one of them probably would remember Gage.”

Suzume balled up her roti wrapper and tossed it into the backseat of my car, which I would've been more irate about had it not joined half a dozen similar comrades of fast food. “Great. So the next station of the cross for my poor nose will be crappy incense. Onward.”

“Don't grumble, Suze,” I said. “If you're really good, I'll buy you a sparkly geode.”

Suzume's retort was mercifully lost in the grinding sound of the Fiesta's engine struggling to turn over.

•   •   •

Dreamcatching was everything I expected it to be. Books on harnessing inner power or earth goddesses lined the walls, while the rest of the store was devoted to awkwardly placed displays filled with colorful (and, from the advertisements “powerful focuses for psychic energy”) rocks, selections of incense, sparkly scarves, cheap pewter jewelry, and racks of CDs that boasted themselves to be entirely whale song or wolf howls. The walls were hung with more than enough dream catchers to justify the business name, and there was a pervasive aura of smug self-congratulation posing as spirituality that set my teeth on edge.

“I want to shove a handful of lit incense sticks up the owners' noses and see how they like it,” Suzume muttered behind me. “Get information fast so that we can get out of here.” Clearly she was also not a fan.

With Suze staying by the door and exhibiting no intention whatsoever of taking one step farther, I headed up alone to the main counter. The woman behind it looked around my own age, and gave me a friendly smile with only a hint of mercantile intention. Her hair was the color of a shiny new penny, a bright coppery gold, and was braided around her head like a crown, but strands seemed determined to escape, making it look like a somewhat fuzzy halo. Her complexion was a true redhead's, with freckles trailing over both cheeks and her forehead, light brown pinpoints that formed their own constellations on the map of her skin. Her eyes were large, and as I walked closer I saw that they were a bright, almost golden brown. She was dressed in a long, gauzy green skirt, the kind with layers and embroidery that my ex-girlfriend had been a fan of. She'd paired it with a rather plain cream blouse whose scooped neck revealed just the top of her collarbone (along with another universe of freckles) but that fit well enough to reveal a nice hourglass figure.

Apparently my perusal had been too much on the obvious side, and her smile widened in amusement, crinkling her nose. Caught, I could feel my face reddening, and I cleared my throat and pretended to closely examine the contents of the counter display case.

“Interested in tarot cards?” she asked. Her voice matched her hair—almost fluorescently chipper. I obediently examined them.

“No, not really. But I'm sure that they're really nice and, you know. Tarot-y.” I kicked myself internally.

“How about jewelry? We have necklaces, rings, and bracelets in every shade of pewter.”

I glanced up and saw a twist of irony in her smile and a refreshing twinkle of cynicism in her eyes. It was like bumping into an agnostic at a Bible revival, and I relaxed and grinned back at her. “I'm sure that pewter has all sorts of inherent earthy powers.”

She laughed. “We're happy to say it does, at least.” Then she tilted her head slightly and asked, “Did your girlfriend drag you in here? That happens a lot. I've suggested putting a pile of sports magazines by the door, like in a doctor's office, but my boss shot it down.”

I glanced automatically back at Suzume, who had somehow acquired a pen and was writing something on one of the many fliers attached to the bulletin board. I shuddered at the thought of what she was composing, and forced myself to put it out of mind and look back at the counter girl. “Oh, Suze isn't my girlfriend,” I assured her. She gave me a somewhat skeptical look, and I hurried to elaborate. “We've never even dated.” The thought of dating Suzume, I reminded myself, should be enough to frighten years off of the life of any red-blooded American man. It should definitely not be remotely enticing.

Apparently I hadn't quite convinced the counter girl either, since she raised one feathery copper eyebrow and said, “Really?”

Clearly I wasn't going to win here, so I hurried to change the subject. “Actually, I'm looking for someone. Are either Tomas Doubrant or Lilah Dwyer here? I have a few questions about the speed-dating they ran last night.”

She dropped her Scully-like expression of skepticism and went back to smiling. “Then you're in luck, because I'm Lilah, the store manager.”

There was the smallest hint of self-deprecation in the way she'd said her title, and I found myself fighting a smile. “Impressive.”

Lilah made a face and shrugged off the compliment. “Four people work here. I wasn't exactly fighting my way to the top. Tomas owns the store, but he's not in today.” She tilted her head again and gave me a more thorough once-over. I did my best to subtly flex. “I don't remember you from the speed-dating last night, but”—she grinned again—“of course, I was running the merchandise table, so you might've been running in the other direction.”

“Candles and shiny rocks?” I guessed.

“We also had a sign-up sheet for classes about harnessing your personal bubble of living energy,” she said seriously, then laughed at whatever expression crossed my face.

“What a thought,” I said, striving for blandness in my tone. “No, actually my friend Gage was planning on going, and I'm just trying to find out if he ever arrived.”

Lilah immediately dropped her smile and looked concerned. “Oh, I'm sorry. Did something happen?”

I cleared my throat, considered, and lied. “Yeah, he's . . . missing. I'm just trying to track him down.” In this ridiculous store, talking to a girl who practically radiated wholesomeness, it felt wrong even saying the word
murdered
, as if that would make Gage's death real on a level that touching his body and having cops swarm my apartment hadn't.

“Can you describe him?” she asked, helpfulness radiating off of her.

“Tall, blond, kind of built, mid-twenties.”

Recognition immediately bloomed across Lilah's face. “Oh, THAT guy. Yeah, he was definitely there.”

“You remember him?”

“Sure. He made a big impression on the female participants. It was kind of like chumming shark-infested waters. I was sending out the e-mails this morning to the participants, and pretty much every woman asked to have her info sent to him.” Lilah considered for a moment, then asked tentatively, “I'm sure you're really worried about him, but have you thought about whether he went home with someone? People aren't supposed to do it at the dating events, but I know that sometimes they slip phone numbers to each other.” She shrugged, dropped her voice, then said almost apologetically, “It seemed like a really nice group, but sometimes when one person is so obviously popular a few of the daters try to . . . you know . . . make an impression. There have been a few incidents.”

Lilah's expression suggested that those incidents were weird, probably sexual, and definitely good storytelling, and I was about to ask for details when Suzume walked up beside me, apparently done with whatever form of vandalism she'd come up with to occupy her attention. She opened her mouth to say something, then suddenly stopped, frowned slightly, and peered hard at Lilah. She leaned across the counter, well into Lilah's personal space, and gave a very obvious sniff. A wide, slightly malevolent smile spread across her face, reminding me of the cartoon Grinch, and she said, “Well, if it isn't one of Santa's little helpers.”

Lilah went completely white at the statement, her freckles suddenly stark against the pallor of her skin, and her hands flew instinctively to her hair, patting frantically at the braid that circled her head. “I have no idea what you're talking about,” she said thinly, even as the patting continued.

Suzume snorted. “Oh, give it a rest, halfsie.” She rolled her eyes at me, as I continued to attempt to puzzle out what exactly was happening. “If it wasn't for the level of patchouli funk in this place, I would've smelled it earlier.” At Lilah's persistent hair groping, Suze gave a rather mean smile and said, “Don't look so horrified. You didn't flash an ear. Let's get this thing rolling. I'm”—she pointed at her chest—“a kitsune, and he's”—now the finger went in my direction—“a vampire.”

I choked. Apparently all secret identities were off.

It didn't seem possible, but Lilah got even paler and shuffled backward. “Chivalry Scott?” she squeaked, like she'd just been introduced to the boogeyman.