The Hoodoo Detective (13 page)

She stood in the center of the room, hands on hips. “She chooses now to pay attention?”

Donovan's head emerged from behind the bed. “Pay attention to what?”

“I had a big discussion with the Hoodoo Queen about the use of toenails and hair in jinxes. You find it in lots of magic. For once, Pen must have been paying attention. I can't find a scrap of her.”

“I haven't found anything either that might tell us where she's gone. Riga, there's nothing to indicate she's in trouble.”

Pen had left on her own steam, had probably figured out Riga would twist the name of her motel from Wolfe. For her niece, it was just a game.

But it was a game where Pen didn't know the stakes, and that terrified Riga.

“What's going on?” Ash asked after they'd dropped Wolfe at his hotel. “Really going on?”

Donovan glanced at Riga. She nodded.

“We’re worried Pen might become a target,” Donovan said. “She doesn’t understand the risk.”

“Missing persons.” Ash grunted. “It takes manpower and local knowledge, which the three of us don't have.”

“You’re right,” Donovan said. “We need help. Recommendations?”

“There's a local PI firm I've worked with,” the bodyguard said. “They're big, competent, and they have an office in New Orleans. You want me to call them?”

Donovan nodded. “Do it.”

Magic would be quicker. But Riga needed an object of Pen's to scry, and she didn't have a thing. “And twenty-four hour surveillance on the Old Man.”

Donovan's expression flickered, but he nodded.

“Any idea where she might have run to?” Ash asked.

“Somewhere cheap,” Riga said. “Somewhere close to the action. I'd like to think she'd go somewhere safe...” She grasped Donovan's forearm. “My aunts. She might have gone to them.”

Donovan pressed the intercom button and gave the driver the name of the hotel. “They may be out. Should we call?” he asked.

“No. If Pen's there, she might run.”

“Does Pen even know your aunts are in town?”

“My aunts acted as if they thought I knew. Maybe they sent Pen an invitation to the memorial service and forgot mine. It's a long shot. But if she's not there, they may have an object of hers I can use for scrying.”

Riga's aunts were staying at a Spanish colonial hotel, three-storied and covered in brickwork. Narrow, faded green doors opened onto balconies lined with black wrought iron and hanging perilously over the street.

“Riga! Riiiiga!” Dot leaned over a balcony railing and waved a cloth napkin like a flag, her loose skirt billowing about her legs. “Up here!”

Stepping into the street, Riga shaded her eyes with one hand. “What room are you in?”

“Twenty-two. Come on up!” Dot pulled back, disappearing from view.

“So much for the element of surprise,” Donovan said. “I'll go around back, just in case Pen’s there and thinking of sneaking out. Ash, stay with Riga.”

“Yeah.”

Riga and Ash walked through the front lobby. She jerked her head toward the stairs. “I'll take the stairs. You take the elevator.”

“I'm supposed to stay with you.”

“Right now, the priority is finding Pen.”

He growled beneath his breath, shrugged, and punched the up button on the elevator with his thumb.

She ran up the stairs, exiting into the hallway as the elevator door opened, and Ash stepped out. Down a connecting corridor, Donovan walked toward them. Converging at room twenty-two, Riga knocked on the door.

Peregrine flung it open and looked down her long nose at Riga. “Here to help with the memorial planning? Better late than never.” She turned on her heel and strode into the dimly lit room.

Ash scanned the interior, checked the bathroom, and nodded. “I'll wait out here.” He took up a post outside the door.

Dot slipped her bulk through the drawn curtains from the balcony. “I'm so glad you came. And you remember Marek?” She motioned toward a wing chair.

Donovan’s dark brows drew together.

Marek unfolded himself from a chair, standing. “We meet again.”

Riga's shoulders twitched. In the gloom, she hadn't noticed him.

Riga turned to her aunts. “Pen's missing.”

“Missing?” Dot echoed. “Whatever do you mean?”

“She was supposed to fly to L.A., but she talked her boyfriend into taking her to a motel here instead. When we went there this morning, she'd checked out.”

Peregrine frowned. “Why was she flying to Los Angeles? Livinia's memorial is here.”

“Does Pen know about the memorial?” Riga asked.

“Well, I don't know why she wouldn't. She's one of us, a necromancer, after all.”

Riga's nostrils flared. “She's a medium, not a necromancer.”

“Potato, po-tah-to,” Dot said.

“And in case you've forgotten,” Riga said, “someone's killing occultists, and as a medium, Pen qualifies.”

“Occultists?” Peregrine canted her head. “Plural?”

“Two so far.”

“And there've been two attacks on Riga,” Donovan said. “We're concerned Pen might become a target.”

Peregrine perched on the edge of one of the queen-sized beds. “He's right, Dot. In an attack, young Pen's the weak link.”

“This all sounds rather vague to me,” Dot said.

“But interesting.” Marek sat in his chair and waved Riga toward the wingback opposite. “There's more you're not telling us.”

“Of course there is,” Riga said, still standing. “I don't know you.”

“Riga?” Donovan asked.

“Riga!” Dot's eyes widened behind her thick glasses. “Really. Marek is an old and trusted friend.”

“Trusted by you,” Riga said.

“And he has local contacts,” Dot said. “He can help. He knows who and what we are. There's nothing you can say that will shock him.”

Donovan shook his head. “Have either of you seen Pen since you've been in New Orleans?”

“No,” Peregrine said.

Dot pressed a finger to her wrinkled lips. “Well, that isn't quite true. We thought we saw her in Jackson Square yesterday, remember?”

Peregrine shrugged her bony shoulders. “There are dozens of young women who look like Pen, with their messy hair and military pants. It could have been anyone.”

“I don't suppose either of you have anything that belongs to her?” Riga asked.

“You want to scry for her?” Dot asked. “Excellent idea. But don't you have anything? You two were so much closer.”

“No,” Riga ground out. “That's why I asked if you have anything.”

“I don't,” Peregrine said. “Dot?”

“Not a thing, I'm afraid.”

“Have you got a photo of her?” Marek asked. “I can circulate it, if you like. I owe your family a debt. If there's any way I can find her, I will.”

Riga shook her head. “Donovan?”

“What?”

“A photo?”

“What about a photo?” he asked.

Riga rubbed a spot above her eyebrow. It wasn’t like Donovan to be so unfocused. “Marek asked if we had a photo.”

“Who's Marek?”

“Oh!” Dot pressed a hand to her chest. “How rude of me. We never properly introduced you, did we? Donovan Mosse, this is Marek Loyola. Marek's a vampire.”

Riga groaned.

Marek walked toward him, hand outstretched.

Donovan didn't move. “Is this a joke?”

“You don't believe in vampires?” Marek asked.

Donovan turned to Riga. “What's going on?”

“I think he might actually be a vampire.” Riga crumpled onto the edge of a queen bed. “You know my aunt Livinia had... tendencies.”

“I know about your aunt Livinia,” Donovan said, “but who's this Marek person you keep talking about?”

“He's standing right in front of you,” Peregrine said. “There's no need to be rude about it.”

“The only person standing in front of me is you,” Donovan said. “Where's the vampire?”

Riga rose and laid her hand on his arm. “Wait, you mean... You can't see the man standing two feet in front of you?”

“Riga, I'm the only man in the room.”

“Good gracious,” Dot said. “This is awkward.”

Marek edged away, his pale face turning a shade whiter.

Donovan waved his hand in front of him.

Marek leapt backwards. “Stop!”

“Did you hear anything?” Dot asked, leaning forward. “Someone shouting 'stop,' for instance?”

“Riga,” Donovan said, “this is really annoying.”

Riga pinched the bridge of her nose. Donovan had his own magic, a magic she’d never understood. But why couldn’t he see the vampire? “Okay. This is strange. Do you mean to say that when we first met up with Peregrine and Dot on the street the other night, you didn't see Marek in the group? A tall man, brown hair? Mid-thirties?”

“No!”

Marek swiveled his head away from Donovan, blinking rapidly. “This is intolerable.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Donovan whirled toward the door. “What was that?”

“Curious.” Peregrine stepped closer to him, squinting. “I do believe he's telling the truth. He really couldn't see Marek. I've never heard of—”

“Neither have I.” Dot adjusted her spectacles. “You can still see ghosts, can't you?”

His fists clenched. “Yes, I still see ghosts.”

“It doesn't matter,” Riga said.

“Of course it does,” Dot said. “All the best vampires are attending Livinia's memorial. If he can't see them… Well, you saw how Marek reacted. You hurt his feelings.”

A pulse throbbed in Donovan's jaw.

“I'm sure he'll get over it,” Riga said. “If you see Pen, tell me. And keep her safe.”

She followed Donovan out, and Ash joined them in the hall.

“I'd like to think Marek's a delusion of your aunts,” Donovan snarled as they walked to the elevator. “But he isn't, is he?” He whirled on Ash. “Did you see a man leave that hotel room before us?”

“Yeah, that guy from last night came out just a minute or two before you did. Tall, lean, dark hair.”

Donovan swore.

“We'll figure it out,” Riga said.

“Marek. What kind of a name is Marek anyway?” Donovan jammed the down button with his thumb.

“An old one, I think.” Riga stepped into the elevator.

“He's not really a...” He glanced at Ash. “They don't exist, do they?”

“I'm only now coming to believe it myself, even after seeing Livinia... die.” Disintegrate, her flesh turning to dust, bones collapsing, clothing fluttering to the ground. Riga bit her lower lip.

“What's wrong?”

“I have to call my sister, tell her about Pen.”

Lightly, he laid his hand on her back. “Do you want me to do it?”

“No.” Yes.

Back in the cool of the limo, Riga dug out her cell phone and called her sister.

Rebecca picked up after the sixth ring, panting. “Riga! Hey.” A dog barked in the background.

“Hi, Sis. Pen's taken off without telling anyone. Have you heard from her?”

“She called an hour ago.”

Riga blinked. “She did? What did she say? Where is she?”

“She said she was taking some time off from the show to explore New Orleans, and that the two of you had an argument.”

“Rebecca, I really need to talk to her.”

“Don’t worry. She's just yanking your chain.”

“I still need to talk to her.”

Rebecca sighed. “You're not a parent. I've learned not to kowtow when my child's throwing a tantrum.”

Riga flinched, her lungs constricting. “No, I'm not her parent, but I'm not the only one looking for her. I don’t mean to worry you, but Pen’s putting her job at risk. Did she tell you where she's staying?”

“No. I can ask her next time she calls.”

“Please do. And in the meantime, can you send me something that belongs to Pen? Something she cares about?”

“Something she cares about? Is this some sort of riddle? What are you up to?”

Riga rubbed the back of her neck, and her palm came away damp. Her sister was in denial about the magic in their lives. Riga couldn't blame her. If she'd had a choice....

She looked at Donovan, frowning at a text he'd just received. Magic had brought them together, and that was something she’d never regret. “Please send it to my hotel.”

“I'm not going to mail random objects to New Orleans without a reason. What do you want, exactly?”

“One of her camera lenses will do.” Nothing mattered more to Pen than her work. A lens would retain her psychic traces.

“A camera lens? Do you have any idea how expensive and breakable those are?”

The car rocked, hitting a pothole.

“I'll pay the postage. Send me the lens.” A headache bloomed behind Riga's left temple.

“Riga, I don't know what all this is about—”

“Look, someone attacked me in the hotel. I don't like the idea of Pen wandering around New Orleans on her own, okay?”

A long pause. Then, “Fine. I'll send something.”

Riga slumped in the leather seat. “Thank you. I'll let you know when I find her.”

Her sister hung up.

Gnawing her lower lip, Riga stared at the phone. She hadn't confided all her fears. There was no sense in both of them worrying. But Rebecca was Pen's mother. And if Riga was a mother, she'd want to know the truth.

“Pen's an adult and can take care of herself,” Donovan said. “And we have no reason to think anything has happened to her.”

“I have a bad feeling about this.”

“We'll go ahead with the private investigation firm Ash recommended.”

“Thanks. It would make me feel better.”

He leaned forward and pressed the intercom. “Ash, make it happen with that investigative firm we discussed.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Relaxing into his seat, Donovan released the button. “Now. Tell me about vampires.”

“You know the movie version, the blood drinking psychopaths.”

“Do they really drink blood?”

“I doubt it, but until recently I thought they were a myth. I always preferred the idea that they were the spirits of magicians, who managed to re-manifest themselves through the force of their ego-mind after death. They live a sort of half-life, drawing on the psychic energy of others to exist. Oddly, the most vulnerable point for that sort of drain is the back of the neck.”

“Soulless?”

“That’s a metaphysical question I can’t answer.”

“If your theory is correct, strictly speaking, vampires don't exist. They’re not ghosts, they’re just imagination.”