She nodded seriously and glanced around the room, though we were the only two people in the garden center. She leaned across the counter and said in a near-whisper. “He’s being chased by his master. And …”
“And?”
“And the Vampire Lords. They want to kill him for something he has.”
I was speechless. There was no way that Michael could know that I’d been hired by Jacques on behalf of Lord Ruthven. Besides, Jacques didn’t want to kill Michael. He just wanted the blood tally. Unless … unless Michael knew the value of the book he’d stolen, and he knew that the Vampire Lords would come after it.
This whole thing had gotten more complicated. And more dangerous.
Ava continued, nodding as if she’d just unburdened herself of a mighty secret. “Just try to help him. Make sure he’s safe. I don’t want him to get hurt. He doesn’t trust OtherOps, but I do. I know you’ll do the right thing.”
I swallowed a lump in my throat and held up the paper. “I’ll do my best. Thank you for the help, miss.” I returned to my truck, where I stared at the scrap of paper in my hand for a few minutes. The address looked familiar, and it only took a quick Google search to find out why.
It was the address that the lady from the clinic had dropped blood off at the other day. “Well,” I said to no one in particular. “I sure feel like shit for tricking that kid. But this makes my job easier.”
Chapter 9
The fact that Michael knew the Vampire Lords would want the blood tally made me wonder what he planned on doing with the damn thing. Was he going to sell it? If so, to whom? Did he even have those kinds of contacts? Was he trying to use whatever information or power it might grant for himself? Was he just trying to keep it away from Boris? There were too many variables here. What I did know was that I was being lied to by Boris, Jacques, and Ada. I might be a slave – nothing more than a working schmuck – but I expected to be treated like a professional by all parties involved.
I left Mum’s Hearth and Yard and headed straight toward the address that Ava had given me in Brooklyn Centre. On the way I called Nadine. She picked up after two rings.
“Hey, hun! Haven’t heard from you for a while. Spending a lot of time on the road?”
“You could say that,” I answered. “Did Ada brief you on the job I’m on?”
Nadine made a disapproving hmm noise. “She told me it was need to know. Need to know, my ass. I know where all the bodies are buried, and she doesn’t think I can be privy to some little dual-vampire double-cross job? I feel slighted, darling. But I know it’s not your fault. What can I do for you?”
It was awfully strange that Ada hadn’t given Nadine a full briefing. Nadine was right – I couldn’t think of a single job whose details had ever been above her pay grade. It only reinforced my belief that Ada was being blackmailed and she didn’t want anyone to know about it. “I’m sorry, Nadine. She’s being super weird lately. Look, I need a favor.”
“Yeah?”
“Something I don’t want Ada to find out about.”
“Oh, you know she finds out about everything eventually.”
“Eventually is fine. Just not for, say, a week?”
Nadine chuckled. “I think I can do that.”
“I need a safe house. One where I can keep someone who doesn’t want to be there.”
“Is that so?”
“Ada has me on a runaway thrall job, but the whole thing doesn’t add up. I want to bring in the thrall, stash him someplace safe, and give myself some time to figure out what exactly is going on.”
I could hear the clicking of Nadine’s long nails on her keyboard. A few moments passed before she said, “All right, I can do that. Jose and Karen have a couple places they stash runners when needed. I’ll send you an address within the hour.”
“Excellent. You’re the best, Nadine.”
“I know I am. Have a good one, hun. Good luck with your runner.”
I hung up just as I got off the freeway and began to navigate the narrow, suburban streets of Brooklyn Centre. It was a crumby neighborhood. Some of the houses had boarded-up windows, most had overgrown lawns and long-rotted siding. I found the house I’d tailed S. Montgomery to the other day, double-checked the address that Ava had given me, and got out of the car to take a longer, more thoughtful look. Ava had called it a “boys home.” That could mean anything, to be honest. It was the only house on the street with a recent coat of paint, a repaired front porch, and a kept yard.
I’m glad you’re not just handing him over to Boris or Jacques, Maggie said suddenly.
I considered putting on my flack vest or wearing my Glock openly but dismissed both notions. There was nothing violent about a place like this, and I didn’t want to introduce violence just by the way I was dressed. Yeah, well I’ll probably still have to do just that. But I’d like to be better informed before I do.
Understood. Maggie was silent for a moment, then continued. The place is warded. Pretty complex sorcery, though sloppy in places – I bet they need to be remade every few weeks.
Any idea why a boys home would be warded?
Honestly? Probably to keep away predatory Other. There are plenty of things that go bump in the night and love to prey on children who have been tossed out on their own.
That’s super gross.
No disagreement here. I could be wrong, though. Maybe he knows.
As the words left Maggie’s mouth, I saw the front door of the house open, and a man stepped out on to the porch. He was small and unassuming, easily a foot shorter than me. He wore black slacks and a black button-down topped by a black and white clergy collar. His sleeves were rolled up and he was drying his hands on a towel as he smiled toward me.
“Hello, good sir!” he called out in a Scottish accent. “Can I help you with something?”
I put on my Valkyrie Collections ball cap and walked up to the foot of the porch, stopping just shy of the bottom step. “Good morning, Father. I’m looking for a boy named Michael Pavlovich. I was told I could find him here.”
“Ah? Who told you that?”
“An acquaintance.”
“I see.” The priest’s friendly face had changed when I mentioned Michael. His expression became more closed, his smile forced. Despite this, he tossed the tower onto his shoulder and took a step down toward me, offering a hand. “My name is Father Orrock. You can call me Bill.”
I shook his hand. “Alek Fitz. Valkyrie Collections.”
His eyes darted toward my hat. “Yes, I’m familiar with the company. Can I offer you a cup of tea, Mr. Fitz?”
Is he going to poison me? I asked Maggie.
Hell if I know. He’s not happy about your presence, but I doubt he’s dumb enough to poison a reaper.
It’s pretty hard to poison someone with troll blood, so I shrugged. “Sure,” I responded. “I would love a cup of tea.”
The smile grew more sincere. “Good. Come on in, my friend.”
I followed the priest into the kitchen. The house was old and well-worn, but clearly cared for. The beat-up wood floors were decorated with secondhand rugs, the walls hung with secondhand portraits. I recognized a few as eighteenth-century philosophers from an old art book of Ada’s. A wide staircase led up to the second floor, and I caught sight of a scrawny young man of maybe twenty sitting at the top of the steps, staring at me from beneath the banister. He had sunken, haunted eyes and did not blink when my gaze lingered on him.