I selected a table away from the other patrons and we ordered our drinks when the waitress came.
“Okay,” he said, once she’d gone. “Explain what the hell you thought you were doing.”
“No,” I said. “Not until you start answering some questions yourself.”
“Emberly—” he growled, that darkness within him crowding even closer.
“No.” I crossed my arms and met his gaze calmly, although I was far from calm on the inside. “I want to know what’s going on, Sam. I want to know why those things are still after me. I want to know how the hell they can even come after me, given they’re supposedly infected by a vampirelike virus and should have been crisped by daylight. But most of all, I want to know who the fuck you’re working for.”
He stared at me silently. Though there was little change in his expression, I had a notion that a battle was being waged deep within him. I waited, hoping the right side won. Hoping that darkness didn’t.
Eventually, he leaned back in his chair and blew out a breath. It was a sound of frustration and annoyance combined. “I work for the Paranormal Investigations Team—or PIT, as it is more commonly known. We sit between the police and the military, and we’re sent in to deal with problems that involve the paranormal.”
“Define problems.”
He shrugged. “Any activity involving paranormal beings that sits either within or without the law and provides a potential threat to humanity.”
Any activity? That suggested they had scarily wide-ranging powers. Even more than I’d suspected. “How long have you been with them?”
He hesitated. “Just over a year.”
I smiled up at the waitress as she delivered his coffee and my tea, then, once she’d left, said, “But you’re human. I would have thought a team designed to handle paranormal creatures and crime would consist mainly of paranormal personnel.”
A human, even one as fast and as strong as Sam, wouldn’t have much hope against a vampire—or most other nonhumans, for that matter—even if he was armed to the teeth. And while white-ash stakes and silver bullets did work, vampires moved so fast they could be on you before you were able to use a weapon—something I knew from experience.
“A good percentage of the team is nonhuman,” he said eventually. “But there are humans on the team—although they are generally blessed with extraordinary abilities.”
“So telepaths, pyrokinetics, stuff like that?”
He nodded. “They’re mostly used in off-field areas, but they are sometimes placed in the less . . . tenuous . . . field operations.”
“None of which explains why you’re out in the field. You’re human, but you certainly haven’t any sort of psychic abilities.”
“I’m there because I can be.” His voice was flat. Obviously, it was a subject he wasn’t about to get into. Not yet, anyway. And I very much suspected that if I pushed, he’d clam up totally, and I still had plenty of other questions. “So why are the red cloaks still after me?”
“That I don’t know.” He frowned as he dumped several sugars into his coffee—which was surprising given he never used to take sugar. “They obviously still want something, but what, I have no idea.”
“But even that night I saved your ass, they came after me. And that was before Mark was killed.”
He nodded. His gaze, when it met mine, held little of the recent darkness. All I could see was concern—not just about what was happening, but for my safety. It was gone almost as soon as I registered it, but it nevertheless had hope fluttering.
Which was stupid. Even if the man I knew did still exist somewhere beneath the cloak of darkness and anger, he’d certainly shown no desire toward me. Quite the opposite, in fact.
“But,” he said, “we’re not entirely sure Baltimore’s killing is connected to his work on the red plague virus—the way he was killed is not the norm for them.”
“Meaning if they’d been involved, he would have died the same way Professor Wilson died?”
His gaze suddenly sharpened, and again a tremor ran down my spine. Yet I wasn’t entirely sure that tremor was all fear. Then he all but spat, “Jackson Miller.”
“Yes.” My voice was noncommittal. “It seems you were right. My meeting him wasn’t a coincidence.”
“I should break his fucking neck—”
“Touch him,” I warned, “and I’ll break yours.”
He studied me for several long minutes. “So, it’s like that, is it?”
“Yes,” I said, though it wasn’t. Not yet. “He’s at least been honest with me, Sam. Unlike you.”
“I’m being more honest right now than I fucking should be,” he growled. “Don’t push me, Emberly.”
I didn’t. “Why didn’t those things burn up in daylight?”
“Because the earth’s ozone layer blocks ninety-seven to ninety-nine percent of UV radiation from entering the atmosphere.”
“But vampires still burn when touched by sunlight.”
“Yes, but that’s because there’s three bands of ultraviolet radiation in sunlight—UVA, UVB, and UVC. It’s the combination of all three that kills vampires, whereas the red plague victims seem only affected by UVA—or black light, as it’s known.”
I frowned. “But from what I understand, UVA is the main source of radiation hitting earth, meaning the red cloaks should burn in sunlight.”
“It’s the main source, yes, but for some reason, when it’s combined with the other two types, the red plague victims are immune. That was the second part of your boss’s brief—pinpoint what gave the red plague victims their immunity.”
“I bet there are quite a few vamps in town who’d love to get their hands on that sort of research.” Especially the sindicati—which was a point in favor of Jackson’s suspicions they were involved somewhere along the line.
“Given he was killed at night, it’s certainly an option we’re exploring. The only flaw is that vampires can’t cross thresholds uninvited, and that invitation has to be freely given.”
I nodded. “Which doesn’t preclude the possibility of vampires hiring human thugs to do their dirty work. Did you find any prints in Mark’s apartment?”
“That,” he said, somewhat dryly, “is not information I’m about to hand over to someone who is not a police officer. Why did you and Miller drive away from the accident?”
The darkness in him seemed to have receded, but my reaction to his closeness hadn’t. It was a constant push-pull of fear and desire that was as confusing as hell.
“It wasn’t an accident,” I said bluntly. “And we both know it. We were intending to question them, but one came at us—”
“There were two?” he interrupted sharply. “We only found one.”
I nodded. “The second one was shot and cindered.”
He frowned. “Your flames shouldn’t stop them.”
“They didn’t. The bullets in the head did. My flames just rendered his body to ash, which blew away on the wind.”
“But why would your flames work in daylight but not at night?”
“Well, technically they did work; it’s just that the UV lights burned them quicker.”
“But Rochelle’s flames can’t render them to ash.”
“That would be because a Fae doesn’t create flames; they can only use and control them. And a regular fire, however hot, is totally different from the flames of a phoenix.” I couldn’t quite keep the sarcasm from my voice. “We’re spirits and we burn far hotter, trust me.”