“We can verify all this, you know.”
Kane looked Norden in the eye. “I’d think you were slacking if you didn’t.”
Norden turned to me, his trademark sneer in full force. “Oh, look. She found some pants. So where were you tonight, freak?”
“Me?” I kept my gaze on Norden’s face to resist the temptation of glancing at Kane for a clue about what he’d already said. “When we got back to Boston after dinner with my sister, I asked him to drop me off at the checkpoint. I felt like a drink.”
Norden’s head snapped toward Kane. “You didn’t say anything about being with the freak.”
“You asked me where I was between midnight and one thirty. I told you.” Kane’s voice sounded calm, that of a lawabiding citizen being reasonable. But there was an undercurrent of threat that would make any werewolf’s hackles rise. Not that Norden noticed. “And don’t call Ms. Vaughn names.” The threat deepened. “As an officer of the law, it’s your duty to be respectful to the citizens you protect.”
Norden’s wheezy laugh showed what he thought of that idea.
“It’s okay, Kane,” I said. “Just part of Norden’s unique charm.” But now I knew that Kane hadn’t mentioned me, or my visit to the holding facility, in his account of the evening.
They’d find out about the drive out to Needham anyway, when they checked for any permits we’d filed. But for now, Kane hadn’t said a word more than he had to.
“Okay,” Norden said to me, “so you went out in the Zone. Where?”
“A couple of places. The Wild Side. Conner’s.” Lying to Norden about visiting those places didn’t worry me in the least. Every bartender in the Zone was an expert at fobbing off cops who came around asking questions. It was a matter of principle. “There was a party at Creature Comforts, and I stayed there for a while. Then I came here.”
Norden’s pencil flew across the page. “So you don’t know where this Juliet Capulet is, either.”
I shook my head. He issued a disbelieving snort in response.
“Okay, how about associates? Your roommate have any, um, unusual associates?”
That made me laugh. “She’s an almost-seven-hundred-year-old vampire. I’d guess she’s probably picked up a few unusual associates in her time.”
“We’re specifically interested in unregistered paranormals,” McFarren said, in a tone that suggested she was trying to be helpful.
“I’m asking the questions,” Norden snapped. “You’re observing. Observing means you shut up and watch. Look it up in a dictionary.”
I knew what they were fishing for, seeing as I’d left the headless corpse of an Old One on the floor of Juliet’s cell. But I shrugged. I wanted to talk to Juliet and find out more about her association with the Old Ones before I gave any information to the police.
Norden didn’t have any more questions. He grumbled about how much he hated his job again already, then barked at McFarren that they had other places to go.
McFarren offered me her hand. “Thanks for your cooperation,” she said. We shook, even though she wouldn’t be thanking me if she knew how much information I’d held back. But it was nice of her to make an effort—and unusual for a Goon.
Norden snorted derisively, so I grabbed his hand to shake, too. It was cold. Icy cold, like grabbing a metal railing on a subzero January day. The shock of it hurt my fingers.
Norden flung my hand away and pulled on a pair of gloves. “What?” he said. “I got circulation problems since I got cut up. That okay with you, freak?”
“Whatever.” My fingers felt like they had frostbite. I clutched them with my other hand to warm them up.
“Come on, let’s go.” McFarren touched Norden’s arm.
He yanked away, grimacing. “Don’t touch me. Don’t ever touch me. Not if you know what’s good for you.” He wrenched open the door. “Goddamn walking corpse,” he muttered as he left.
McFarren was right. Norden was extra twitchy and mean around zombies, even by his own standards. We exchanged a look, then she followed Norden into the hall. When the door closed behind them, I turned to Kane. “Thanks for not giving Juliet away.”
“I did that for you, not her.” His face clouded. “Besides, I’m no friend of the Goon Squad.”
I sat down next to him on the sofa. He put an arm around me, ran his fingers lightly along my collarbone, inside the shirt collar. “You know,” I pointed out, “you say ‘previously deceased human’ instead of zombie. You say ‘paranormal American’ instead of monster. You even say ‘human’ instead of norm. But that’s the second time tonight I’ve heard you call the JHP the Goon Squad.”
“Well, they are goons. They patrol Deadtown to enforce laws that residents had no say in. Their purpose isn’t to protect and serve; it’s to intimidate and oppress.”
“McFarren seems okay.”
“Yeah. Maybe she’ll do the world a favor and tear Norden’s head off before the night is out.” Kane sighed, and there was real weariness in the sound. “It’s been one disaster after another tonight.”
“I don’t know.” I snuggled in closer. “I kind of enjoyed our shower.”
He leaned into me and inhaled deeply. “I like it when your hair smells like my shampoo.” He inhaled again. “See, that’s how we should’ve started the evening. We’d never have made it out of the apartment. No awkward dinner, no vampire jailbreak, no Goon Squad visit.”
“I’m glad I got Juliet out of there. I’m glad she’s safe.” If I hadn’t been there, the Old Ones would have grabbed her. I was certain of it.
“I’m glad she’s safe, too. And I honestly hope you’re right about her.” He squeezed my shoulder. “Come on, let’s get to bed. We’ve both got to be up early.”
True. Dawn was a few short hours away. And as soon as the sun cleared the horizon, I’d be knocking on Axel’s door.
8
A CLOSED SIGN HUNG CROOKEDLY IN CREATURE COMFORTS’ window, but the door was unlocked. I pulled it open and stepped into the half-gloom of the unlit room. The bar had been cleaned up since the werewolves left. The tables were in their usual places; the smell of ammonia blotted out any lingering traces of champagne and werewolf musk. I wondered if Kiana had made her friends help Axel tidy up.
“Axel?”
He came forward from the storeroom, wiping his hands on a towel.
“How’s Juliet?”
He flipped the towel onto his shoulder. “Stitched up her leg. Dunno if it helped.”
That didn’t sound good. Vampires shouldn’t need stitches. When a vampire gets injured, the edges of the wound creep back together and knit up invisibly, not even leaving a scar. Of course, that should have happened before we left the holding facility.
Axel gestured for me to follow him. We went down the back hallway, past the ancient payphone, past the restrooms—Axel had labeled them BOOS and GHOULS to amuse tourists—and past the door to Axel’s cellar apartment.
“Um, Axel?”
He stopped, turned around, and raised an eyebrow.
“Isn’t Juliet in your apartment?”
I couldn’t tell whether his grunt was negative or affirmative, but he kept walking toward the storeroom.
Had he actually set up a cot for her back there? It wasn’t secure enough, not with the Goons and the Old Ones looking for her. After I saw Juliet, I’d try to convince Axel to let her into his lair.
But as we entered the storeroom, there was no sign of a cot. No sign of Juliet at all. Axel went over to some beer kegs near the back of the room. He twisted a cap on one of them, and a hidden door slid open. Beyond the door was a staircase descending into the cellar. Axel started down it.
“Wait, this is the door to your place? What about that triplelocked steel door with the oversized NO ENTRY sign?”