Skinwalker

Page 42

“Four vampires fit the description. Five if you count Ma-rio Esposito. He’s Italian, and shorter, but he’s dark skinned. None of them went missing that I know of, no vampires except the five, and of the five known dead, two were fair-haired, one was Negro, and the others were of European background, with brown hair. But I’ll ask around.”
“I’d like the security dossiers on them all.”
Bruiser smiled into his mug, a that’ll-never-happen expression. He sipped once more, put the mug down, and stood, moving with grace suited to the dance floor or a du eling ring. I edged his age up from the fifty or sixty I had given him. “Thanks for the tea. It wasn’t bad.”
“You’re welcome. The security dossiers?”
“I’ll see what I can do.” His tone said he wouldn’t put much energy into it.
“Where’d you get the key? More of Leo’s security precautions?”
“Yeah.” He stuck his hands in his pockets, pursed his lips, and looked around, as if about to say something. Instead he moved to the front door. “Lock me out.” And he was gone.
“That accomplished jack,” I said to the empty house.
I swept up the dried mud, showered, and hit the sack. I was exhausted.
A ringing phone woke me. I fumbled until I found Beast’s travel pack and unzipped it. The cell’s battery was low, emitting a warning beep even as I answered. “Yeah?”
“They’re sending Katie to ground tonight. You need to be in the cemetery before midnight.”
“I need to what?” I stretched my lids, sleep-sand cracking at the corners. It was still daylight, and I heard laughter outside, tourists chatting. “Troll?” I said to the cell.
“Katie survived the attack,” he said, his voice weary. “But Leo says she needs to go to ground. It’s a healing ceremony. I don’t know much about it. But all the Mithrans congregate at the cemetery and they . . .” His words trailed off. “They bury her.”
“And getting buried heals her?” I said, striving for sarcasm, and having to settle for disgust. Vamps creep me out. “And I have to be there why . . . ?”
“They’ve been summoned to a gathering. The older vampires will be there, all in one place.” I heard him lick his lips. Softer, he said, “Humans aren’t allowed to attend, so you have to get there early and find a place to hide.”
So I can do surveillance. Right. I checked the time on the cell and rolled to my feet. “My cell’s dying. Send one of the girls with directions.”
“Will do. And Jane? Get this guy.” His voice broke, and I realized he was grieving for his bloodsucking boss. I had a quick memory, snapshot sharp, of Troll held against the wall by the rogue’s will. “Take him out,” he said.
“Sure,” I said, uncomfortable with his emotion. How did you grieve for a piece of meat? “I’ll get him.” I plugged in the cell to charge it up and took a look at my hair. The snarl would not do for a funeral. And how was I supposed to hide from a big group of vamps who could scent-search as well as Beast? Big question and no answer. Not yet.
I spent the next few hours doing the scut work of the security and investigating business—records search and paperwork. I started out studying the boilerplate of contracts with blood-servants and the security dossiers of the five missing vamps that came by scooter messenger. Leo was willing to let me have access after all, not that there was much in them. The files had been well scoured of anything interesting beyond name, date and country of birth, and vamp bloodlines back to an original vamp sire. It was interesting to see the interconnected and twisted relationships all the way back to AD 700 in one case, but little was really useful. So far as I could tell, there was nothing linking the five missing vamps. I was wasting time.
I called the twins, Brian and Brandon, asking about anything they might have heard, which turned out to be nothing. The five vamps had just vanished from their secret lairs. They did invite me over anytime, sounding quite interested in seeing me, which did a lot for my ego, and they tendered an invitation to a party for the city’s security-specialist blood-servants, to take place at a shooting range that served beer and pizza. Networking in the city of vamps.
Online, I discovered where land deeds and real estate records were kept, and that New Orleans records were not all in one centralized place. They were in lots of different places and in various states of integrity. I could have called Rick, but there were some hands-on security tasks I couldn’t delegate, especially to a guy who seemed to have his own agenda. Before leaving the house, I looked up criminal records of the missing vamps. Nada. Zilch. Their financial records were no better and no worse than the ordinary human’s. Some lived on savings and investments, and some lived on credit; some had been wealthy, and some hadn’t. They still had nothing in common.
Tia came over in the middle of my search with the address and map to the vamp cemetery. She was sleepy and looked drugged, but it was vamp I smelled on her, not chemicals.
I cranked up Bitsa and rode to the Orleans Parish Civil District Court, and then to the Notarial Archive Office on Poydras Street to check records and look for recent land purchases, building permits, and similar activities that involved vamps. The Notarial Archive Office had been recently painted but smelled like mold and stagnant water to my sensitive nose—maybe remnants of Hurricane Katrina. There were a lot of records to go through, all the way back to the early eighteen hundreds, and what I found didn’t seem to have anything to do with my hunt.
Clan St. Martin had published a book on Mithrans, due to be released in twelve months. They had used the proceeds from the sale of a horse farm near Springhill to finance it.
Clan Arceneau was cashing in city and parish public works bonds and investing in land.
The mayor’s wife, Anna, had recently purchased fourteen parcels of swampland south and west of New Orleans.
Clan Bouvier was hurting for cash, if the recent sales of their land was any indication.
Nothing jumped out at me and said, “Here’s where the bodies are buried, who the rogue is, and where he hides.” More wasted time.
I did stumble upon the original deed to Clan Pellissier land, made to one Leonard Eugène Zacharie Pellissier, Marquis. I also discovered a deed to a graveyard that changed hands; it was the same cemetery I needed to visit tonight, privately held land, unlike human cemeteries in the area that were owned by churches or by the city. The deed to the vamp graveyard had been signed over in 1902, by Leo, to one Sabina Delgado y Aguilera. Not a vamp name I recognized, and not something I really needed to know. Altogether, a total waste of time.
I was on my way out of the building, late afternoon sunlight hitting me hard, when I ran—almost literally—into Rick LaFleur, on his way inside.
If he was surprised to see me he didn’t show it, and dang if he didn’t look good in jeans, T-shirt, and the same old sandals he’d worn once before. He stopped two steps below me, one knee bent, and pushed his sunglasses back on his head. “The vampire hunter,” he said, a wry tone in his voice that I couldn’t interpret.
“The Joe,” I said, in the same tone. “You got that info I was looking for on land deeds?”
“Most of it. I’ll bring it by. You had lunch?”
I squinted up at the sun, which was nearing the western horizon, and let a trace of amusement into my voice. “Several hours past.”
He shrugged. “Hours of a musician. Come to the club tonight. I have a solo set.” His lips turned up and his black eyes flashed in frank sexual interest. “You can dance for me again.”
I felt my blood warm at the possibilities in his gaze. “I’ll think about it,” I said, walking past him to where Bitsa sat patiently in the shade. Feeling the heat of his gaze on my butt as I walked, my face warmed. “But I’m not much for being a notch on a guy’s bedpost,” I said over my shoulder. “I think a player like you has enough of those.” I straddled my bike and helmeted up. “Let me know about the info.” I cranked up Bitsa and motored off, Rick visible in the rearview until I was out of sight.
I had studied the map, committing it to memory, and by sundown, I was naked, in the back garden. And Beast was ticked. Skinwalkers have the magic of sinking into the genetic structure of animals, sinking deep and changing form, from human to another, to match, exactly, the body of the other animal from the genetic structure up, copied from genetic material stored in bones, teeth, and skin of the dead.
I had been making shifts for eleven years and Beast had always hated it when I chose any shape but hers. Now, since the dream/memory of the making of Beast, I too was suddenly unhappy with the process. Itchy-uncomfortable. Okay, maybe guilty. The dream of the thievery had proved how Beast came to reside inside me, a theory I had never investigated, which made me a coward. To save my own life, I had stolen the body and soul of a living being. I knew, deep down, it was black magic—accidental, but no less dark for the lack of intent.
We—Beast and I—had learned to live together, to share her form and mine, but I was pretty sure she never forgave me for my sin of stealing her. The alliance was never easy, and when I chose another form to shift into, another animal, my fractured, doubled soul didn’t survive the transition intact. Beast was buried so deeply I couldn’t find her then, which meant I walked alone. When I shifted back to human, Beast always made me pay the price.
The price was even higher when I took a form that required a change of mass into something smaller or larger than Beast, because mass has to go, or come from, somewhere. The law of conservation of mass/matter held true, especially in skinwalker magic, so there was always the fear that I’d permanently lose all or part of myself or Beast when I shifted into a smaller body with a smaller brain, leaving so much behind. She hated it and always found a way to punish me.
As the sun cast golden spears across the sky, I sat on the topmost stone. It was warm, the heat comforting on my bare bottom, soothing. I opened the zipper bag containing my animal fetishes and pulled out a necklace. I set one of feathers and talons around my neck, and placed the gold nugget necklace on the boulder. It was too large for the form I chose.