“I remember them,” Joe said. “A pitcher of draft brown ale, three glasses. Paid cash. They didn’t cause any trouble, but they sure looked like it.”
“This Darak guy talked to Michelle’s spirit?” Talia said incredulously.
“A few vampires have such power,” Joe replied. “It’s rare, but sometimes the old ones can see the dead.”
The thought horrified her. “Then Michelle’s spirit . . .”
“The spirits don’t stay earthbound once the spell has consumed the energy released in their death,” Perry said in a comforting voice. “She’s gone. You don’t have to worry about her.”
Talia nodded gratefully, forcing down another wave of grief. She couldn’t fold now. Not in public. Not when she was getting solid information. Justice comes first, grief later.
“Is it possible that you have a personal connection with the attacker?” Lore asked, looking at her closely.
Talia answered honestly. “I know of a few vampires who did some sorcery, including my sire, but I don’t know of anyone who does necromancy.”
“Few would admit to it,” said Perry. “Forbidden spells, remember?”
Talia bit her thumbnail. “Do necromancers ever kill vampires? I keep thinking it was me who was meant to die. But wouldn’t most people be able to tell the difference between a human and a vampire? Michelle looked like me, but a sorcerer should know she was alive, right?”
Perry looked at her curiously. “I doubt you were the target. By all accounts, humans work best for a death spell. What I want to know is why someone burned the clinic and constituency office—and why use such a labor-intensive method? What’s the point? It’s not going to stop the election.”
“But think of the effect it has,” said Joe. “It’s showy and scary. It’s going to bring the queen running to find out who the hell is on her turf.”
“I asked Caravelli to tell Queen Omara to delay her trip.” Lore shifted irritably in his chair. “It didn’t work. He called tonight. She’s coming as soon as she can. The only saving grace is the snow. The airport is closed.”
“But that means Caravelli can’t come home, either,” Joe added.
Lore rubbed his eyes, as if tired. “We’re on our own, and we have until the weather breaks to solve this.”
Errata had sat silently through most of the exchange, but now she stirred. “If what we’ve guessed is true, the necromancer is one of Queen Omara’s enemies. Unfortunately, that’s a rather long list.”
Joe turned to Lore. “I’m coming in late to this party. Is that why you asked us here? To play were-detective?”
“Yes,” Lore said simply. “I asked you because you’ve been around the longest. You’ve seen more than any of the rest of us.”
Joe shrugged. “Glad to know I’m good for something besides mixing appletinis, but aren’t there human police working the murder case?”
“And what good are they going to be against a necromancer?” Lore replied.
“Good point.” Joe fell silent, musing for a moment. “I was a soldier. Cutting off a head isn’t easy. Whoever did it had to be strong.”
Perry got to his feet, pacing over to the window. Talia could see him in front of his classroom, pointer in hand. “With this kind of a spell, the necromancer him- or herself has to do the killing. Because of the enormous amount of time it takes to build the right skills for this kind of magic, I don’t think we’re looking for a human.” He turned to face them. “Sorcerers are usually immortals, or at least long-lived.”
“You’re not immortal,” Errata returned.
“Yeah, but I’m a genius. Not a fair comparison.”
Lore shook his head. “A vampire would traditionally use a sword for a beheading. It didn’t look like a sword wound. That’s the one detail that doesn’t make sense.”
Talia clamped her hand over her mouth, desperately trying to keep the image of Michelle’s corpse out of her mind. At the same time, the logical part of her brain scrambled to put the facts together. “What about an immortal who for some reason couldn’t use a sword properly?”
Lore gave her a sharp glance. “What are you thinking?”
She got to her feet, her stomach roiling with tension. She’d figured it out, but she needed a few minutes to decide what telling the truth would mean. “I think I need some air.”
“It’s freezing cold outside,” said Errata. “Take my coat.”
Talia headed for the door.
Lore jumped up. “What if someone sees you? We know you’re innocent. The police don’t.”
“I’ll take the back stairs and stay out of sight.”
She heard Errata’s voice, low and urgent. “Let her go.”
Talia hesitated before grabbing the Burberry. If she took it, she’d be obligated to bring it back, and every instinct screamed to run. She grabbed an old, ratty jacket instead. It hung to her knees and looked like Lore had worn it while rebuilding a diesel engine.
She banged out the door and into the airless twilight of the sixth-floor hallway.
I am in so much trouble.
Chapter 17
Outside the fire door at the building’s back entrance, the parking lot was a glittering snowscape. Talia stood in the tiny clearing someone had shoveled so the door could swing open. Beyond was a knee-high drift that stretched across the lot to the street. Rows of snowcovered cars made the landscape look like an inverted egg carton.
She knew it had been snowing, but this was way more than she’d expected. Back in her hometown, winters had been worse than this, but they’d worked up to it. A body had time to brace itself. This had come on freakishly fast.
She flashed back to the big hill behind her childhood home. Kids knew how to play even when adults were mired in life-and-death problems. She and her brother, Max, had found a big refrigerator box and used it for a toboggan, sliding down the hill over and over until every last bit of their clothes was soaked. There had been a snowball fight after that, one bunch of neighborhood kids against another. They’d known everyone in the area. They were all pretty much related, anyway. Cousins of cousins.
Her mom had been the odd one out. Whatever had made her marry Dad? Why had he, the ultimate Hunter, picked a wife outside the tribe?
Opposites attract?
But not forever. Her father had all but crushed the life out of her mom—not with his fists, but with the hard edge of his will. Why had he wanted to kill the radiance in her that moved his heart? Because loving someone makes you vulnerable. Weakness is never the Hunter way.
More to the point, why had it taken her mother so long to leave? She had to have stayed for Talia and Max, toughing it out as long as she had. She left just after Talia had gone away to school. Too bad cancer had killed her a year after she’d found freedom.
The men had blamed Talia. If she hadn’t escaped to university, the family would have stayed together. That had been the weapon they’d used to drag her back home: guilt.
They made me feel like a monster even before I was Turned. Most of the time that made her angry, but sometimes she believed those old accusations. You’re selfish. You insist on having your own way. Then everything gets worse.
The facts could be twisted to fit that theory. She’d left for school and lost her mother. Escaped to Fairview and lost Michelle. Tried to break up with her fiancé and lost everything—right down to her life.
Talia took a step forward. Her high-heeled boots skidded on the frosty ground. There’d been enough of a melt during the day to coat the sidewalk with ice, and then another fall of snow to hide it. She caught her balance, holding her arms out like airplane wings. Cold stabbed at her toes. Clearly, Jimmy Choo knock offs weren’t designed for Arctic exploration.