"A demonstration wasn't necessary," Eve said easily. "I know you bleed. Lobar certainly did."
"His throat. Yes, that's what I saw in the smoke." She reached out for Alban when he came in, carrying a shallow silver bowl. "But there was more. Something else." She took the bowl, tipped it up to her lips. "Mutilation. Oh, how they despise us."
"They?"
"The weak and the white."
She took a black swatch of cloth from the pocket of her robe, passed it to Alban. He lifted her injured hand, raised it to his lips. With quick efficiently, he bound up her wounded palm. Selina never spared him a glance.
"Those who view our master with hate," she continued. "And more, those who practice the magic of the foolish."
"So, in your opinion, this was a religious murder?"
"Of course; I have no doubt." She finished the soother, set the bowl aside. "Do you?"
"Quite a number of them; but then, I have to investigate the old-fashioned way. I can't call up the devil and ask for a consult. Lobar was here last night."
"Yes, until nearly three. He would have taken the mark soon." Selina sighed, idly running her red-tipped nails up and down Alban's arm. "One of his last acts was to join his body with mine."
"You had sex with him last night."
"Yes. Sex is an important part of our rituals. I chose him last night." She shuddered again because the choice had been hers. And the deed. "Something must have told me."
"A bird maybe. A big black bird." Lifting a brow, Eve studied Alban. "So, it's no problem with you to watch while other men have sex with your… companion. Most men are a little territorial. They might harbor unhealthy resentments."
"We don't believe in monogamy. We find it limiting and foolish. Sex is pleasure, and we don't put restrictions on our pleasures. Consensual sex in a private home or licensed club isn't against your laws, Lieutenant." He smiled. "I'm sure you engage in it yourself."
"You like to watch, Alban?"
His brows lifted. "Is that an invitation?" At Selina's quick chuckle, he shifted and took her hand. "There, you're feeling better now."
"Grief passes, doesn't it, Selina?"
"It must," she agreed, nodding at Eve. "Life is to be lived. You'll look for who did this, and perhaps you'll find them. But the punishment of our master is greater and more terrible than any you could invent."
"Your master isn't my concern. Murder is. Since you have an interest in the deceased, maybe you'll let me take a look around."
"Get a warrant, and you're welcome." The tranq had clouded her eyes, but her voice was strong enough when she stood. "You're more a fool than I originally thought if you believe I had anything to do with this. He was one of ours. He was loyal. It is against the law to harm a loyal member of the cult."
"And he talked to me last night in a privacy booth. Did the smoke tell you what he told me, Selina?''
Her eyes shifted, darkened. "You'll have to find other waters to fish in, Dallas. I'm tired, Alban. Show them out." She glided a way, back through the arch.
"There's nothing we can do for you, Lieutenant. Selina needs to rest." He glanced toward the arch, worry in his eyes. "I need to tend her."
"Got you trained, does she?'' With light disdain coating her voice, Eve rose. "Do you do tricks, too?"
Sadly, he shook his head. "My devotion to Selina is personal. She has powers, and the powerful have needs. I meet hers, gratefully." He walked back into the foyer, opened the door. "We would like to take Lobar's body when it's possible. We have our death ceremony."
"So does his family, and they come ahead of you."
– =O=-***-=O=-
"What do we have on this Alban?" Eve demanded the moment they were outside in the now drenching rain.
"Next to nothing." Peabody ducked into the car and immediately felt more at ease. She knew it was foolish to hope she never had to go back inside that building, but she hoped in any case. "No priors, next to no background. If he was born with a name other than Alban, it doesn't pop."
"There's more. There's always more."
Not so, Eve thought, drumming her fingers against the wheel. She'd once investigated another suspicious character and had found little to nothing. His only name was Roarke.
"Look again," she ordered and pulled away from the curb.
"Funny, isn't it?" she continued while Peabody plugged in her data unit. "There's next to no traffic on this block. Turn the corner…" She did so and immediately hit a snarl of nasty and comforting vehicular traffic, bumping badtemperedly through the rain. People hustled along sidewalks and glides, huddled in doorways. Two glide-cart operators on opposing corners hunched under ratty awnings and scowled at each other.
"People have instincts they're not even aware of." Still less than comfortable, Peabody glanced back, as if expecting something not quite human might be scrabbling behind them. "There's a bad feeling around that building."
"It's brick and glass."
"Yeah, but places tend to take on the personalities of the people who live in them."
A car turned the corner ahead, blasting its horn at the sea of pedestrians who streamed across against the go light. Insults were cheerfully hurled both verbally and through equally graphic hand signals. Someone spat.
Steam poured up through the vents from the underground system in dirty clouds. It tangled thickly with the smoke belching from a ratty and obviously under code glida grill fighting its way through the mass of wet humanity. A level up, the nearest skywalk shuddered to a halt and sent all its passengers into a riot of cursing and complaints.
Overhead, a tourist blimp blasted out a spiel of the advantages and highlights of living in an urban wonderland.
Peabody took a cleansing breath, pleased to be back in the midst of the arrogant and crowded New York she understood. "Take Roarke's place," she continued. "It's grand and elegant and intimidating, but it's also sexy and mysterious." She was too busy riddling with the unit to notice the amused look Eve shot her. "My parents' place? It's all open and warm and a little confused."
"What about your place, Peabody? What's that?"
"Temporary," Peabody said definitely. "Dallas, your car unit isn't cooperating here. I should be able to transfer data to -" She broke off as Eve leaned over, smacked the dash above the car screen. An image popped on, wobbling drunkenly. "That's some better," Peabody decided and requested a run on Alban.
Alban – no known alternate name – born 3-22-2020 Omaha, Nebraska.
"Funny," Eve interrupted, "he didn't look corn fed."
ID number, the computer continued with a definite hiccup in its program, 31666-LRT-99. Parents unknown. Marital status, single. No known means of support. No financial data available.
"Interesting. Sounds like he's leeching off Selina. Criminal records, all arrests."
No criminal record.
"Education?"
Unknown.
"Our boy's wiped, or had somebody wipe records," Eve told Peabody. "You don't get to be nearly forty years old without generating more data than this. He's got connections somewhere."
She needed Feeney, she thought grumpily. Feeney could tickle the computer and trick additional data. Instead, she was going to have to go to Roarke and add another layer to his involvement.
"Well, shit." She pulled up in front of Spirit Quest, frowned at the Closed sign on the door. "Run up for a look-see, Peabody. Maybe she's inside."
"Got an umbrella or a rain shield?"
Eve arched a brow. "Are you trying to be funny?"
Peabody only sighed, then pushed out of the car. She plodded and splashed through the rain, peered into windows. Shivering a little, she turned back, shook her soaking head, then groaned when Eve jerked a thumb toward the apartment over the shop. Resigned, Peabody trudged around the side, climbed a set of rickety metal stairs. Moments later, she was back, streaming water.
"No answer," she told Eve. "Minimal security. Unless you count the swatch of Saint-John's-wort over the entrance."
"She has a swatch of warts? That's disgusting."