Shifty Magic (7 page)

"Thought you should know." Talli scooped up
the now empty pretzel bowl. "So you could avoid him."

"Too late."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he
turned toward the kitchen. "Wouldn't get involved in that piece of
business either if I were you."

"The Were or the case?" I asked, but the
kitchen door had already swung shut behind him. Figuring retreat
was the better part of valor, I headed for the street.

The sun was sliding steadily toward the
horizon in a blaze of orange and pink glory, the colors reminding
me of Marla's apartment. Danny's lover had been holding out on me,
I felt sure of it. I just wasn't certain how.

If only I had more to go on. A vampire that
the Regent was personally interested in had been drained, and the
murderer was now running around with the blood. He might have also
tapped Danny's venom, easy to do with a needle and syringe when you
knew where to look. Both substances were dangerous and valuable, so
motivation for the murder might be nothing more than money. If that
was all there was to it, I had about a hundred thousand suspects to
track down.

Except there was more—the possible Bellmonte
connection. I contemplated the setting sun and my only next move
with distaste. Only fools and heroes faced down a Regent in his
lair after dark. Guess which one I was?

I'll give you a hint.

I was no hero.

* * *

The sky had turned a dark indigo by the time the
hoverbus I'd hopped glided up to the platform at South King and
Baxton. As I followed my fellow commoners out onto the receiving
platform, I contemplated the Charlotte stronghold of the vampire
regime across the street.

When I was a kid, a Trader Joe's had claimed
the spot, but when the criminal paranormals did their best to
destroy human civilization, the grocery store building had been
leveled. Once the terrorists were subdued and rebuilding started,
the Church constructed the modern skyscraper.

The building was all tinted, mirrored glass
and chrome and towered into the sky for probably fifty floors. I
always thought it was the vamps' way of thumbing their noses at the
curse of the sun.

From what human scientists could determine,
it was the UV rays that interacted with their blood, over exciting
the molecules to a deadly level. When I was fifteen, I saw a video
on the internet where a caged vamp was dragged out into the sun by
a gang of masked vigilantes.

She screamed and convulsed for nearly three
minutes while blood seeped out of her eyes, nose and ears, and then
she combusted into a cloud of red mist. The mist smoked for a
second or two more while the only sound was the group of vigilantes
whooping and hollering. The cameraman zoomed in to show what was
left of her—nothing but rust-brown dust scattered in and around the
cage.

The video was gone the next day and the guy
who put it up never posted again. I wondered for a few days what
had happened to him and the others. Now that I was grown, I had a
pretty good idea how it had probably played out. What Marla had
said about the Church was true. It protected its own.

I crossed the street and stopped in front of
the double glass doors only long enough to unbuckle my holster. As
I pushed through into the marble and chrome elegance of the lobby,
I held my hands in the air, dangling the holster from one
finger.

Saturday night didn't mean anything to vamp
commerce. The long days and short nights of summer necessitated
adjustments, and that included their working hours. The lobby
bustled with suited-up human and vamp professional business types
enthralled with their electronic gadgets or talking seriously in
small groups. They all froze in surprise at the sight of me.

A pretty woman with short dark-blonde hair
and a trim white business suit sat behind the reception station. An
armed guard flanked either end of her curved, white marble
fortress. When they spotted me, the guards pulled their Sigs and
ordered me to drop my weapon.

I laid it carefully on the floor and then
stood patiently while they cautiously retrieved it. They shoved me
into a spread eagle against the reception desk so they could frisk
me and quickly relieved me of the knives I carried, one in each
custom made sheath in my boots. They also took my PRCs. Warm
welcomes are always so special.

"State your business," the older guard
growled while the younger one scanned me with his iC.

"I have a report to make to Lord Bellmonte.
I'm investigating a case for him," I said.

The younger guard aimed his iC at a port on
the wide-eyed receptionist's computer and transferred my ID file.
"Clearance level nine," the receptionist said after a moment, but
the high level didn't seem to reassure her. "As of this
morning."

The older guard backed off, and I
straightened away from the desk. I rubbed my cold palms against my
jeans to warm them while we sized each other up.

"You can claim your possessions when you
leave," he finally said, his suspicious gaze nearly as hard and
cool as the marble had been.

In case he was a telepath, I focused on
picturing my sandwich from lunch instead of the bits and pieces of
hardware scattered around my person that could easily become a
weapon. "Not a problem." I gave him my best reassuring smile.

The receptionist finished typing something
into her computer and then peered at the screen. She looked up, her
expression an interesting mixture of curiosity and concern. "Lord
Bellmonte's secretary will receive you in the penthouse."

"Swell. Thanks for the hospitality, boys." I
headed across the lobby to the elevators, amused by the wide
clearance the vampire corporation kiss-ups gave me. Whether because
of the guard's treatment or the fact that I was told to come right
up by the big kahuna himself, I had no idea.

The ride to the top floor was smooth and
silent except for the Beethoven string quartet playing over the
intercom. When the doors slid open, a middle-aged woman with even
features and sharp brown eyes was waiting for me.

"Ms. Kittner?" she said in a soothing voice.
"I'm Ms. Fairview. Lord Bellmonte requests that you enjoy his
hospitality while he finishes with another meeting. What may I get
for you? Anything you want can be prepared by our chef and sent
up."

Never be too proud or moral to turn down the
chance at a free dinner was my philosophy. "Spaghetti with
meatballs and a side salad to go," I said. "Just in case."

I expected her to look offended since some
of the herbs found in a good Italian recipe were poisonous to
vamps, but she gave me a pleased smile and glided off to her desk
to place the order. Her secretarial stronghold was made of solid,
highly-polished dark wood and sat protectively to the side next to
a matching door with a fancy, gigantic brass handle on it. The
door, the desk and everything else in the private reception area
looked like something you'd find in a Regency period English manor
house or museum.

The older vampires tended to favor
environments from their time period or ones they'd particularly
enjoyed. That meant this Bellmonte character was at least three
hundred years old. I guess you didn't make it all the way to Regent
without having some experience under your belt.

Dealing with the old ones meant being
patient. They never hurried unless absolutely necessary. I
entertained myself by eating a leisurely dinner and brazenly
ordering another to take home. After an hour and a half, a little
chime went off on the secretary's computer. A moment later, the
door opened and three men came out. One was tall and slender with
sharp features and a fringe of gray hair around his shiny head—the
esteemed practitioner Jacob Laswell, inventor and owner of the
hoverbus technology. The other two were his burly, no-neck
goons.

Not only a powerful businessman, Laswell
reined as the head of the practitioner community for the entire
state. I should have been impressed since he could probably blow
half the building up given enough time to focus. I wasn't.

Normally I had a lot of respect for
practitioners. Most of them were good people who used their skills
to heal and help others. The rest were more interested in gaining
power and keeping it. Laswell landed in that camp, despite the
training schools he sponsored and the high-profile charities he
supported.

He looked pissed as the door swung shut
behind him and didn't even glance my way. His goons were another
matter. I enjoyed their undivided attention, particularly from the
biggest one who kept his burning puke-yellow Were gaze locked onto
me as they passed.

The presence of a Were in a practitioner's
employ was a surprise, but I managed to keep it to myself and give
the goons a benign smile. Everyone knew that Weres made the best
bodyguards, just like everyone knew they only worked for humans and
other Weres in accordance with their religious beliefs.

The bodyguards kept me, the secretary, and
the inner sanctum under surveillance until the doors of the
elevator glided shut. Even without my sidearm I guess I looked too
much like a killer for their comfort. Heh. And here I thought I was
so feminine and dainty.

Ms. Fairview stared at the elevator, her
mouth pinched down into a disapproving frown. After a moment, she
turned a pleasant smile on me. "Lord Bellmonte is ready to see you,
Ms. Kittner."

My stomach knotted. I wasn't looking forward
to playing verbal cat and mouse with Lord High-and-Mighty or the
fight I'd have keeping my temper under control. Unfortunately,
there were questions that needed answering, and he was my best bet
for that at the moment.

The monstrous door swung silently open
again, and the secretary gave me an expectant look. Releasing a
long sigh, I pushed myself out of the wing-backed chair with its
red watered silk upholstery and headed into the dragon's lair.

* * *

Lord Bellmonte looked pleased to see me. Not a
good sign.

The perfectly fitted black Italian suit of
the night before had been replaced with a navy blue one along with
a pearl gray dress shirt, tasteful blue silk tie and matching hanky
thingy in the pocket. An image of Cooper with his crazy cartoon
ties and ruffled hair sprang into my mind.

Unlike the Were, the vamp looked cool,
confident, powerful and elegant sitting behind his outrageously
huge desk made from some kind of bloodred wood that reeked of
expensive. He was on the small side by modern standards, maybe
five-eight, but he oozed enough deadly to make up for it. Give me
Bugs Bunny any day.

His gray-blue eyes studied me as his
classic, artist-worthy face mobilized into a polite no teeth smile.
"You have a name for me?"

I had a lot of names for him, but even I
didn't dare say them out loud. Instead, I settled into the leather
chair that Laswell had probably just vacated. It was still warm,
which was kind of creepy. "I know it wasn't me. That's all I can
give you until I find out more."

"Ah. Since you are here
interrupting my night, I must assume that you believe I have
this...
more
." A
gleam of curiosity flashed through his eyes.

"Considering you're the victim's nearest
kin, yeah. You could say that."

His gaze turned glacial—a horrifying and
instant shift from pleasant to cruel that reinforced the fact that
only a thin, civilized veneer covered a monster capable of
anything. "This is your question for me?"

"A standard PI kind of thing. You
understand."

Between one blink and the next he was
towering over me with his hand wrapped around my throat. "How do
you know this?"

"While I was nodding off in your reception
area, I added it up," I choked out. "The name, your concern for his
whereabouts, a definite family resemblance. But the real clincher
was the old embroidered coat of arms framed and hanging in the
corner. It matched his tattoo."

His hand tightened and stars popped at the
edge of my vision. "Dangerous information. Even if
speculative."

I stayed quiet for once, busy trying to
breathe and all. His grip continued to constrict my throat, slowly
and steadily, and I knew I was going to have to do my best to stop
him. That meant killing him, which was bound to lead to my
immediate execution. But since it looked like I was about to die
anyway, what the heck.

From the hidden slot in the hem of my shirt,
I slipped out one of the hard plastic versions of the needles I
used in my gun. Each one held a dose of my special vamp and Were
poison. As the stars blurred and faded into an unpleasantly dense
darkness, a tingle of energy skimmed over my body. I braced myself
to plunge the needle into his stomach.

A quick succession of knocks echoed from the
door and suddenly Bellmonte was gone. I sucked in a reflexive gulp
of air. My bruised throat gave a sharp, stinging spasm, and I
started coughing. Gripping the arms of the chair, I tried to keep
the coughing fit from making me sick.

Bellmonte watched me from behind his desk,
looking as if the only thing happening between us was a friendly
little interview. "Enter," he called out in his mildly accented
baritone.

"Basta—" I started to say, but the painful
gagging stopped me.

At his summons, Ms. Fairview eased open the
door and crept in. Her gaze shot back and forth between us and her
expression turned wary. "I'm sorry to disturb you, sir, but the,
um," she glanced at me again, "procedure has started."

He raised a brow, quite the calm and elegant
homicidal maniac. "And?"

Worry pinched up the skin above the bridge
of her nose. "No change yet. I'm sorry."

"Thank you, Ms. Fairview."

If I hadn't known better, I would have said
a flicker of grief scurried across his face. I decided that my
brush with oxygen deprivation was making me see things. Monsters
like Bellmonte didn't feel grief. They didn't feel anything except
a lust for power.