Delilah pulled out her phone. “Looking it up right now. I have a pretty good idea but don’t know the exact address.” After a moment she let out a curse.
“What’s wrong?”
“It seems that the Fly By Night Magical Investigations Agency is located on the outskirts of . . . guess where?”
I groaned. “The Greenbelt Park District?”
“We were about four blocks away from the building when we were at Severance Park.” She shook her head. “I swear, we should torch that entire neighborhood.”
We made our good-byes and headed out the door. Carter waved to us once, before closing himself behind his reinforced steel barrier again. He was an odd man, all right, if you could call him a man. Both incredibly powerful and—as we’d seen tonight—incredibly sensitive. Even though he said it was fine if Shimmer just wanted to break up with him, I had the feeling that she had touched a nerve. Just how deep of a one, I wasn’t sure. And I wasn’t sure I wanted to know, given Carter’s proclivities.
***
The wind had picked up even further and the radio warned of high gusts—nearing fifty to sixty miles an hour—coming through the rest of the night. Rain sleeted down, pelting the road like bullets, and my windshield wipers were working overtime.
I still wasn’t used to having my evenings free. I missed the smells and sounds of my bar—the Wayfarer had become a friend more than just my place of business. And when I thought about the charred ruins that had smoldered into a pile of rubble and soot, I couldn’t help but think about Chrysandra. She’d been my first friend at the bar. She’d shown me the ropes when I took over as bartender after Jocko was murdered—when we first became aware of the demonic menace threatening both Earthside and Otherworld.
Jocko had been a gentle giant. Half-giant, actually. And he’d taken me under his wing, treating me as nicely as he treated all the other employees. He’d also been an agent for the Otherworld Intelligence Agency.
That all seemed so very long ago. So much had happened since we were first shunted over Earthside. In some ways, I missed those days—nostalgia always set easier than current problems—but I also knew that the city had become as much our home as Y’Elestrial was. We’d grown up in Otherworld and so much of our identities were rooted there, but now we had dug deep to plant roots here. We had built a family with our loves and our friends. Our lives were in this city, right here, right now.
It had been over two years ago since we’d first encountered Shadow Wing’s forces, and in that time, our lives had shifted in ways we could never have imagined.
Driving through the rain-soaked streets, all these thoughts ran through my mind as I followed the GPS directions.
The Fly By Night Magical Investigations Agency straddled the border between Crabapple Park and Magnolia Avenue Northeast, which ran a line directly between the Greenbelt Park District and the outskirts of our own neighborhood—the Belles-Faire District. Crabapple Park was shrouded and a little bit spooky, though not as dark as Severance Park seemed to be. We had seldom ventured either place. The Earthside Fae who made these parks their home weren’t friendly and they didn’t welcome visitors. And of course, since Crabapple Park buttressed the Greenbelt Park District, it, too, held shadows both living and dead.
The building that the FBN Agency inhabited was a narrow three-story red brick walk-up. It was old and weathered, probably built sometime during the forties or fifties before air-conditioning and elevators were standard in office buildings. The red neon sign that hung in the front window was very noir, and I had a flashback to the painting “Nighthawks” by Edward Hopper.
As we headed up the steps to the stoop, I wondered how much business the Fly By Night got—were there really that many calls for snooping in the Supe world? But the agency seemed to occupy the entire building, and the rent couldn’t be cheap. Not in Seattle. Not for a whole building, antiquated or not.
Of course, vampires usually had a good stash of money set aside. Especially anyone who’d been around for a long time and was less than scrupulous. And I had no idea how old this Alex was, or what his mores were.
The brown paint of the double doors was peeling, and they creaked slightly as we opened them, but the overall effect wasn’t one of neglect. Simply age. Directly inside, a large office sat to the right, with a frosted glass window and on the pane, the words FLY BY NIGHT MAGICAL INVESTIGATIONS had been stenciled in black. A transom above the door only increased the noir PI effect.
Straight ahead, a staircase led to a landing, then turned back on itself. The steps were covered with a stair runner that would silence footsteps and keep visitors from slipping on the highly polished wood. As I took a closer look at the floor, I realized that, as weathered as the structure seemed, quality materials and craftsmanship had gone into the building. To the left was another frosty-windowed door—this one unmarked.
“I suppose we should try the main office first.”
I opened the door and the juxtaposition of noir with modern tech hit me. Inside, a comfortable waiting room sported chrome and glass, and the counter was grey marble, the veins a rich, dark gunmetal. The wall leading off the counter was sturdy, and a locked door led through to what must be back offices. The door was steel, and a faint purple glow emanated from it.
Behind the counter, we found ourselves facing a woman who was either older than sin or who had spent far too much time in the sun. A glint in her eye made me wary of crossing her. A cigarette hung from her blood red lips, and she puffed away, ignoring the NO SMOKING sign that was posted on the wall. Her boobs were huge, stuffed into a tight V-neck sweater, belted at the waist over a pair of stiff indigo jeans. She reminded me of some old biker mama. The nameplate in front of her read BETTE.
Camille and Delilah immediately began to cough. Smoke really bothered them. It had bothered me, too, until my lungs ceased having to work.
“Hi . . . Bette?” I approached the counter cautiously. There was something about her that set off alarm bells, but I couldn’t pinpoint what.
Looking up, she coughed and pulled the cigarette out of her mouth, stuffing it in the ashtray beside her. Her beady eyes glimmered with magic. Holy fuck, whatever she was, the woman was definitely not human.
She cocked her head and let out a crusty laugh. “That’s my name, don’t wear it out. What can I do you for?”
“We’re looking for Shimmer? She works here, I believe.”
Bette snorted. “Not no more she doesn’t. Hasn’t been in since—”
The steel door opened and out stepped a tall man. He was lean, lanky, and had a hard edge to his frost-colored eyes. His hair skimmed the top of his shoulders, the color of tousled wheat, and razor stubble covered his chin. He wore a pair of indigo jeans, a T-shirt that showed off his impressive pecs, and a pair of motorcycle boots and looked like he could have been either a biker or a cowboy.
“I’ll field this, Bette.” The accent threw me. He sounded vaguely Aussie.
“I’m Menolly D’Artigo and these are my sisters—” I began but he waved my words away.
“I know who you are. Your reputation precedes you. In any case, you won’t find Shimmer here. She took off last night, just after she tried to stake me.”
And with that, I realized we had just met Alex Radcliffe.
Chapter 3
Well, that wasn’t what we’d expected to hear.
I stared at him, not even bothering to ask if I was right and he was Alex. I pretty much figured he was, and if he wasn’t, he’d correct it soon enough. “Stake you? She tried to kill you?”
“Generally, love, trying to stake a vampire is pretty fucking close to attempted murder, wouldn’t you say? You should know. You’re one of my kind.” And with that, he pulled out a cigarette, stuck it between his teeth, and turned to Bette. “Got a light, sugar?”
“You’re trying to quit. No.” Bette snarled at him. Right away, I could see
who really ran the agency. She glared. “It may not kill you, but it’s not good for your clients.”
“You’re a fine one to talk, you old bitch.” His words were smooth and playful, and she cackled before coughing again and spitting into a handkerchief.
I grimaced. They made for quite the pair, all right, and I had a feeling that neither one put up with crap from other people but most likely harped on each other all the time.
“That’s right, boy. You may be a vampire, but you just keep those snarky fangs to yourself. I’ve been around a lot longer than you have, and I still have use of my lungs, a pack of ciggies a day or not.”
“Your lungs wouldn’t be affected if you lit a bonfire in your mouth and you know it.” Alex let out a low laugh.
Bette slapped her leg and cackled. “Got me there, pumpkin.”
I didn’t want to interrupt this mutual, if bizarre, love-fest but we needed more information about what the fuck was going on with Shimmer. Being punished by being forced to work Earthside? Trying to kill her employer and stomping off the job—probably not a good idea. In fact, I was surprised Alex hadn’t put out a hit on her.
“Um, excuse me . . .” I wasn’t sure I trusted either one of this pair, and I wondered just how much Roman knew about this little operation. “I assume you’re Alex Radcliffe?”
The vampire glanced at me, a sly grin washing across his face. “Smart as well as cute.” As I started to frown, he crooked one lip and shook his head. “Yes, I’m Alex. And yes, I run Fly By Night. Now, why are you asking about Shimmer? Did Vine send you to check up on her?”
“Vine? You call the Wing Liege Vine?” Camille looked both exasperated and mildly charmed. “Are we talking about the same person?”
“That’s his public name, isn’t it? Yes, the same one that the lizard—your husband . . . or rather, one of your husbands—answers to. Vine is a friend of mine—”
“That’s rich.” I groaned. I hadn’t meant to say that aloud but, damn, imagining the stuffy Wing Liege of the Dragon Reaches kicking back and hanging out with this dude was about as amusing as trying to imagine Martin the Ghoul having tea with one of the Fae Queens.
“You think I can’t put on the airs and cavort with the upper crust? I’m ever so offended.” But the grin on his face told me that he still had a sense of humor. As vampires aged, it grew harder to maintain ties with simple humor and pleasures, unless you actively tried. The fact that Alex could still joke meant that either he was fairly young, or he had a good grasp on his emotions and had chosen to cultivate the human side of himself.
“I’m going to refrain from answering that one.” I turned to the others. We didn’t want to spill the beans on Carter, in case Alex hadn’t known that Shimmer had been dating him. No telling who knew what about who and we’d learned to tread carefully regarding any private information.
Camille glanced at me. “A friend of ours who knows Shimmer grew worried about her and asked us to check up on her. Shimmer stormed out after an argument and he was concerned that she might run off and do something stupid.”
Alex nodded toward the door through which he’d entered the waiting area. “Come on back to my office and we’ll have a little chat.”
We followed him through the reinforced steel door, as Bette gazed at us through a cloud of smoke. I wondered what sort of Supe she was. Elder Fae? Not likely. But then, what?
The door led through to a series of back offices—four in all, and what appeared to be a break room. All the offices were closed in, no windows showing, and each one had a placard with a name on it. I tried to read the names on the other doors, but couldn’t see them from where I was. Alex opened the door with the one that read ALEX, and that was all it said. No last name, no designation.
As we followed him into the room, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Given the noir feel to the building and the chrome-and-glass of the inner offices, I wondered which extreme Alex’s office would take. I wasn’t betting on either one, and once we entered the room, it was a good thing that I hadn’t laid a wager on anything.
Alex Radcliffe’s office was a mishmash of culture shock, a kaleidoscope of chaos. With towering ceilings, the room was easily sixteen by sixteen feet, and the ceiling must have been a good twelve feet high, though not vaulted. The walls were a brilliant thyme green, and the lamps were polished brass.
One wall sported a row of trophies. Apparently, Alex was—or at one time had been—a big game hunter. The string of heads included a rhinoceros, a hippo, a giraffe, and lastly, a croc. Had he collected these before or after he’d been turned into a vampire? I wasn’t much on sports hunting, but there was a period in time when it was acceptable, and these might have come from back then, depending on how old he was.
Glass display cases on the wall showed off a series of daggers and bowie knives. All of them looked used—while highly polished, there was none of that “display blade only” feel to them. The cases themselves were decorated with ivory embellishments, their wood old, though well taken care of. The glass was pristine, with no marks or scratches to indicate age. A bow and a quiver of arrows hung off a coat rack.
Four chairs, two to a side, faced his desk, divided in the center by a small accent table. The chairs were the same wood as his desk—black walnut—and were upholstered in black leather. We settled ourselves as he headed behind his desk. The desk was oversized with a sleek feel. The glass top had to have cost a pretty penny. A matching bookcase sat against the wall, along with a double filing cabinet in olive green.
Over his desk hung a giant swordfish, eight feet long and mounted against the ceiling. To his left, a potted palm towered ten feet, its fronds swaying gently in the breeze stirred up by a circulating Vornado fan. The office smelled of cigar and cigarette smoke—so strong I could smell it even though I didn’t have to inhale.
Alex retrieved a pack of cigarettes from his pocket. “Do you mind?”
Camille cleared her throat. “Actually, the smoke really bothers us. Would you mind terribly?” She politely avoided mentioning the public no-smoking ban that had long been a statewide law.
He shrugged and tossed the pack back on the desk. “Tried to quit a few times. Said the hell with it. Though I have to consciously remember to inhale now and half the time the ciggy ends up going out because of that. So, you’re looking for Shimmer? I’d like to know what the hell happened to her, too.”
“You said she tried to stake you?” I was trying to make sense of the man in front of us. He was unlike any other vampire I’d ever met. I even understood Brett, or VampBat as he called his alter persona. Brett had been turned while a nerdy young man. He’d been—and still was—a comic book freak who took advantage of his new powers and strengths to become the superhero he’d often wished to be. But Alex and his mix of noir cum chrome and glass cum big game hunter offices were throwing me.
“So sit and talk to me, lovelies.” Alex leaned against the desk, and I had to admit, even without the vampire glamour, he would have been one hell of a looker. With it, the dangerous glint in his eye took on a bedeviled look. Yeah, he was a charmer, all right.
We claimed the chairs, and I glanced over at Camille. When she caught my eye, she gave me a “what the fuck is this” look, but she was smirking behind it. I could tell she was amused. Delilah just looked a little confused, but she, too, had a slight flush to her face. Yeah, Alex had a way about him, that was for sure.
“So, first, tell me, have you checked in with Roman? If you know who I am, you must also know that I’m the official consort of the son of Blood Wyne. Why do I have the feeling you’ve been flying under the radar?” It was a hunch, but a strong one.
Alex arched his eyebrows, but a little “heh” escaped from his lips. “I don’t much cotton to authority, if you haven’t figured that out by now. I make my own rules, and try to stay away from stepping on the wrong toes. Of course, that doesn’t always work but I’ve go
t no beef with the Vampire Nation, as long as they don’t bother me.”
“You should register your business with the Seattle Vampire Nexus if you haven’t already. Roman prefers that all vamp-owned businesses in the area be on the rolls.” The minute I said it, I felt like an ass.
I wasn’t all that thrilled with collecting information on people, even though I agreed with the general policy of keeping track of the vamps. Mostly, we were trying to counter the hate groups and the rampant anti-fang factions, and the best way we could think of to do that was to be as open and aboveboard as we could. It sucked, but it was true—if people thought you were hiding something, they automatically mistrusted you.
“That an order?” Alex caught my gaze and I could feel the challenge.
I frowned. He was baiting me. “I can’t give you orders, I’m not the daughter of the Queen. But you’re putting me in an awkward situation.” If I didn’t mention Alex to Roman, I’d be lying by default.
“You came to me. I didn’t invite you to come here.” He turned to Camille. “Now, you wanted to ask about Shimmer?”
A growl worked its way to my throat, but I held it back. Vampires had a number of ways of issuing a challenge, most too subtle for nonvamps to notice, and Alex was definitely calling me on the carpet.
But even though I bristled, I also couldn’t help but acknowledge that he had a valid point—we had come here on our own, it wasn’t like he’d pushed himself into the forefront. No, we were the intruders, and regardless of the fact that Roman was my sire, I was reluctant to report on Alex. My natural inclination to buck authority and say “fuck you” to the status quo had raised its head.
Alex glanced at me.
As I stared into his eyes, something stirred—a feeling of recognition. I wasn’t quite clear on the connection, but this man had seen a lot of country, a lot of cities and towns and lives pass by. He wasn’t old like Roman, but he wasn’t new to the life, either. And the sense of loss was there. All vampires eventually went through it—people we loved died, families passed by, and friends faded into history. It was harder on Earthside vamps—FBHs lived such short lives compared to other races. Fae, elves, often matched or exceeded vampires’ life spans, but human vamps? They usually ended up alone.