Camille glanced at me. “Go back to the website. I’ll call Tanne Baum from out here. I’ve got his phone number in my contacts.” She led the warriors down the steps as I headed back inside, glad to not be the one wandering around in the scattershot of rain.
After pouring another glass of chocolate milk, I hunted through Violet’s account. She had a prime-level membership, which meant she could peruse all the videos available, as well as all the text listings. I glanced over the settings on her profile as to what she was looking for in a partner.
She’d checked the classifications for lovers and friends with benefits, but apparently was not looking for a long-term relationship. She’d also checked the box for polyamorous, but she was straight, not bisexual. She wasn’t open to anybody other than Fae—no Weres, vamps, humans, or other races. Which made Tad’s assertion that she wasn’t interested in him more likely to be true.
Under her interests, she’d listed computers, gaming, dancing, hiking, camping, gardening, rafting, and a number of other outdoor activities. Violet didn’t drink, she didn’t smoke, and refused to try drugs. She had checked the box for kink, but in the designations, she had excluded some of the grosser activities—no water sports or bodily wastes. Also, she wasn’t into S&M, however, she was open to bondage, and slave-play.
She’d uploaded a video a couple weeks ago that had already been viewed four hundred times. A listing offered statistics as to who—by nickname only—had looked at it. As I studied the stats, I noticed that the same user had viewed the video thirty of those times, all before Violet had disappeared. The rest had watched it once or twice. Noting down the nick of her most avid fan, which was HotBod24, I watched the video.
Violet was pretty . . . long dark hair with brilliant green eyes. She was slight, but looked fairly strong, and I had the feeling she was a tough little cookie. Her voice was soft, and alluring. No wonder Tad had been attracted to her, there was something primal about her—seductive but not overt. Definitely a geek girl—as much as one of the Fae could be—she had the same glamour that all the Fae do, regardless of background or interests. Even the Fae who were hideous by human standards possessed a magnetism that was hard to deny.
Next, I did a search on HotBod24.
Well . . . according to his profile, HotBod24 was a guy, and his picture had a Fae look to it, but something felt off. His profile seemed too streamlined, almost generic, and if there’s one thing that the Fae weren’t, it was generic. Even those of us who were half-breeds had some oddball quirk that made us who we were.
The more I studied his picture, the more I had the feeling the account was a cover up. And the fact that he didn’t have a video posted seemed odd, too. I did a quick perusal and, as far as I could tell, at least 75 percent of the members had some sort of live footage available.
Next, I opened up Violet’s account e-mail. There were five e-mails from HotBod24, all sent within the past three weeks, all asking her for a meetup. They became more insistent with each one. They weren’t slimy, which some of the other letters were, but again, something nagged at me that I couldn’t put my finger on. I checked her Sent Mail. Bingo. She’d finally agreed, after writing two hesitant letters. They’d scheduled a meeting for . . .
Hell. She’d agreed to meet him at the coffee shop at the Farantino Building. At 4:00 P.M., the day she had disappeared.
As I stared at the e-mail, Camille entered the kitchen from the back porch. She was flushed from the rain, and wet.
“I got them squared away—one is on duty at all times watching the rogue portal out . . . what’s wrong?” She cocked her head. “What’s going on?”
I crooked my finger. “Come look at this. I found out Violet was having coffee with one of her contacts from Supernatural Matchups the day she vanished. Look at where she agreed to meet him.”
Camille peeked over my shoulder. “Oh fuck. Fucking hell.”
“Yeah, that was my reaction. What now?”
She shook her head. “I don’t know what to make of this. But if she is involved with daemonic activity, it can’t be all that good.” She glanced around. “Where’s Shade?”
“He’s taking care of some sort of business. He left a note that he wouldn’t be back till dinner time. What about Morio and Vanzir?”
She shrugged. “Morio was gone this morning too. Left the same kind of note. I’m not sure about Vanzir. He never leaves much in the way of messages.”
I let out a little laugh. “Gee, the house feels empty. Wait—who’s taking care of Maggie today?”
Camille’s eyes opened wide. “Fuck, I don’t know. I thought she might be with Shade.” She jumped up and me, hot on her heels, headed into Hanna’s room.
As we skidded into the tidy bedroom, we stopped short. There was Vanzir, playing on his Game Boy while Maggie was laughing in her playpen. She was dancing with her Yobie doll, and she moophed softly when she saw us, and held up her arms.
“Camey! De-ya-ya!” Her smile cut through the gloom and I lifted her out of the playpen while Camille leaned over Vanzir’s shoulder.
“Thank you—we thought she’d been left alone.”
“Hell no. Nobody leaves the Magster alone.” Vanzir flashed us one of his rare smiles free of sarcasm. “What’s shaking besides your boobs, chickie-pooh?”
Camille snorted. “Hey, I can’t help having curves. And I don’t remember you complaining . . . On second thought, never mind.” She sobered and took Maggie from me. “We found out something disturbing.”
“No—really?” And snarky Vanzir was back, but that was the way we were used to him. Anything else seemed out of place.
I told him about Violet and HotBod24 and the Farantino Building. “I have the feeling we’re poised on the tip of the iceberg here.”
“I’ll have a talk with some of the guys down in the Demon Underground. I can do that now, if you take Maggie.” He stood, cinching his belt. His jeans were skintight and ripped, and his undershirt was torn. He looked like a retro punk rocker, but he wore the look well.
“Go, but don’t be too long. Hanna’s not here and if we have to run out . . .” Camille stopped.
“Right. I’m off then.” And he was out the door before we could say another word. We followed, Camille carrying Maggie while I dragged out her playpen. Hanna had removed it from the kitchen so she could wax the floor and forgotten to put it back. After settling her in with her toys, I glanced at the clock.
“Time for her morning cream drink. She gets her meat for early breakfast and Hanna always prepares all her meals in advance now, so it’s easy to see when she’s been fed.” I pulled her bottle of cream out of the fridge and poured it into a bowl, then stuck it in the microwave for one minute. Maggie was learning to eat solid gargoyle food, but she would still get her cream dream several times a day for another few years till she was fully weaned onto solid food.
The mixture of cream, sage, cinnamon, and sugar smelled comforting and familiar as I took the warm bowl out of the microwave and put it down into Maggie’s playpen. She eagerly began to lap it up, and I watched her.
“It’s hard to believe that someday she’ll be as big and large as the granticulars.” Maggie was so cuddly and oddly proportioned that I couldn’t imagine what she’d look like when she grew up. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woodland gargoyle, other than her.”
“We should make a trip to Thistlewyd Deep. I know there are pockets of woodland gargoyles there.” Camille patted Maggie on the head, then returned to the table. “I’m going to call Carter and see if he’s found out any more info on Lowestar Radcliffe and Gerald Hanson’s deal for the Farantino Building.”
“Sounds good, but hey, we need to buy the food to pay Ivana. She’ll be here this afternoon, expecting her meat treats, and the last thing we want to do is piss off one of the Elder Fae. I’ll stay with Maggie if you head to the store and pick up the meat. Unless you want me to go.”
“No, I’ll do it.” She grabbed her purse. “I’ll be back in a few. At
least we have guards here.”
As she headed out the door, pulling her jacket on, I wandered into the living room. The relatively peaceful days of the past few months were gone, broken. I thought about turning on the TV to watch some mind-numbing trash but for once didn’t feel like it. So I put in the call to Carter. He was home, as usual.
“Carter—things are heating up with the Farantino Building. Have you found out anything more on the deal between Radcliffe and Gerald?”
I dropped into the rocking chair, propping my feet on the coffee table. Iris and Hanna both would kill me if they saw me do that but neither happened to be in the house right now.
He rifled through some papers and I heard the tapping of keys. “Yes, actually. I have it . . . right here. Okay, it looks like when the deed changed hands, it did so for the nominal sum of twenty-five dollars. Which means either Gerald didn’t need the money, or Lowestar has something on him, or perhaps both. I also did some more digging into Lowestar’s background and there is no record of him being born in India. In fact, he’s either far older than he appears or has ancestors by the same name, because the first record I can find of a Lowestar Radcliffe is . . . guess where?”
My stomach knotted. “Italy.”
“Right, he showed up right around the time that the Farantino family began to rise in power. Then he vanished again until he showed up in Seattle. The information as far as his appearance in Italy is sketchy but from what I can tell, he was labeled a “foreign supporter” of theirs. But nobody ever specified where this particular foreigner was from.”
Carter paused. “I have a bad feeling about this, Delilah. We know there’s daemonic activity attached to the building and there has been since Michael Farantino first built it. But there’s something going on there—and Grandmother Coyote is never wrong. If something big is waking up, I have a hunch that Lowestar is directly related to it.”
“More than that.” I told him about Violet and the meeting at the coffee shop. “There has to be more than a coincidence there. I can’t imagine there not being a connection.”
“Then there may be . . . Hold on . . . Let me check on something and call you back in five.” Carter signed off.
While waiting for him to call back, I wandered in to check on Maggie again. She seemed lonely, so I sat on the floor and pulled her into my lap. We cuddled for a moment, and she pushed Yobie in my face for a kiss. I hugged her, staring down into those soft gentle eyes. Her long lashes fluttered as she yawned and I realized it was time for her nap.
“Come baby, let’s put you to bed.” I carried her into her crib and she yawned again, then closed her eyes and fell asleep without a fuss, clutching Yobie. Once I was certain she was snoring up a storm, I tiptoed out of the room just in time to field Carter’s return call.
“Okay, I have some interesting news. Guess where Supernatural Matchups is headquartered?”
I groaned. “In the Farantino Building.”
“Right. And guess who was not only in charge of fielding their legal issues, but who also had stock in the company?”
A chill ran through me. “Gerald Hanson.”
“Right again.”
And then, an image from Gerald’s memory flashed through me. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck, as Camille would say. I think I know something but I need to put it together. Please, don’t go anywhere. I need to think about this and call you back when I’ve sorted it out.”
“I have a lunch date, but that’s not till two o’clock, so I’ll be here till then. And you can catch me again after five.” With that, Carter signed off.
I wanted Camille to get back. We usually worked well as sounding boards for each other. As I strained my memory, the door opened and she toted in a couple big bags.
“Don’t say anything for a minute,” I told her, grabbing the bags and carrying them into the kitchen. “I know something, but I need to figure it out. Sit down while I try to find the words.”
Camille slipped off her coat and sat down at the table as I paced. Quickly, I filled her in on everything Carter and I had discussed.
“Okay, so, what’s running through my head is this: when I was in Gerald’s mind, I saw a Fae woman, in a cell. She was locked up and Gerald was thinking about how much money she would bring. In another memory, he was talking about replacing a toy and whatever it was, was expensive. What if Supernatural Matchups . . .”
“White slavery.” Camille paled. “He was selling that woman.”
“Right! What if Supernatural Matchups is a cover up for a sex slave operation? And what if they are finding their merchandise through the dating site?”
“But if he was running it, then when he died . . .”
I snapped my fingers. “But he’s not running it. I need to check something.” I jumped back on the laptop and scanned through the Supernatural Matchups site again. The dating service had been formed . . . “They started the company the same year that Gerald sold the building to Lowestar. Lowestar’s the one in charge of it. I’ll bet you anything.”
I quickly tapped out a few inquiries into the search engine and sure enough, the Washington State Secretary of State’s site gave me all the information I needed. Under the Corporations Division, I was able to find out that the president of Supernatural Matchups was, indeed, Lowestar Radcliffe. Gerald Hanson had been VP. There it was, in black and white pixels.
“Here—look at this. One guess as to what’s happened to Violet.”
“I wonder if she’s still alive.” Camille peeked over my shoulder. “But this can’t be what Grandmother Coyote was talking about with something ancient waking up. This is new, and as far as things go, yes it’s bad but it’s not the worst thing we’ve gone up against.”
As we were puzzling things through, Vanzir burst through the door. He actually looked flushed, as well as soaked through to the skin.
“Okay, here it is. I talked to Trytian—”
Camille bristled. “Fuck, just what we need. Bring him into this.”
“Listen, toots, you want information fast? You go to the person most likely to know. So I did.” He folded his arms across his chest. “You want to hear what I have to say or not?”
“Yeah, yeah, go on.” I tossed him the hand towel off the counter. “And wipe up, you’re dripping all over Hanna’s clean floor and she’ll kill you.”
“Big fucking deal.” But he quickly wiped up the water and muddy footprints he’d tracked in. “Okay, here’s the scoop. Trytian knows perfectly well who this Lowestar Radcliffe is.”
“And how does he know?” Something in Vanzir’s tone told me we weren’t going to like this.
“Lowestar is your daemon—a very high-placed, intelligent, and powerful daemon. He doesn’t like Shadow Wing but he’s not working with the resistance. But he is out to carve himself a niche here Earthside, and he’s always out for his own agenda.”
My stomach dropped. “He’s really the daemon. The one who the Farantino family pledged themselves to.”
“Then why didn’t I catch it when we were at the coffee shop and met him? I knew there was something uneasy about it, but none of us caught it—not even Shade.” Camille rubbed her knuckles on her arm.
“He’s powerful and old and probably very good at shielding his energy. Apparently, he’s been attached to the Farantino family for a couple of hundred years. Looks like he’s been using them to establish a home base for himself. He also happens to be leader of a cult, and their focus is . . . ?” Vanzir leaned against the table, waiting.
“Let me guess.” Camille paled. “They’re trying to wake up something that’s been sleeping for a long time?”
Vanzir nodded. “Spot on. And that something would be an ancient demigod named Suvika. He’s one of the triple lords of vice and debauchery and he’s been sleeping for millennia. Lowestar Radcliffe happens to be the high priest of the cult. Trytian told me that the Farantino Building is probably—not guaranteed—but most likely, a temple dedicated to bringing Suvika out of his slumbering state to rejoin
the world of the waking. And when he does . . .”
I sighed. “Let me guess. The mighty will fall, Suvika will rise up and take control, and Lowestar, his prize priest, will reign in terror. Old story, heard it before.”
“Actually, no. They aren’t out to control the world, just sort of . . . take over the corporate structure. Suvika is also, not so conversely, a lord of business. I think Lowestar may be combining his love of debauchery with his love for money and he’s aiming to become the Donald Trump of hedonism.”
With a snort, Camille dropped into a chair. Tears ran down her face and I couldn’t figure out whether she was laughing or crying. After a moment, she caught hold of herself and wiped her eyes.
“Great, we’re taking on big business now.” She sobered. “Put two and two together and this makes sense. Lowestar is running a white slavery outfit. He is high priest in a cult that worships a demigod of vice, debauchery, and business. What better way to marry several loves while trying to bring your patron god back to the world of the waking? But that means he’s probably trying to get his hands into other businesses. Quite possibly, the threats against the Wayfarer—trying to intimidate Menolly so she’d take the lawyers up on the offer to sell? We need to know how deep his pockets are, and what holdings he’s invested in. If he’s been meddling in human affairs for a long time, there’s no telling what he has control over.”
“And think . . . waking the demigod of vice and business? That’s going to put a big monkey wrench in the balance. No wonder Grandmother Coyote wanted us involved. I wonder why she picked me, specifically?” I frowned. “But honestly, it doesn’t matter because we’re all in this together. So . . . now that we know this, how does it help us find Violet?”
“If she’s still around to be found. He’s in the business of selling people. Supernatural Matchups is focused on the Supe world, so we can assume—though we may be wrong—that he’s interested in procuring Supe men and women. I guess the place to start would be to find out who’s going to replace Gerald. They’ll have to have a new lawyer and soon. Lowestar will have to replace him.”