“I’m fine,” I said softly, trying not to spook him.
He looked at me, his expression haunted. “This time.”
I couldn’t think of a way to respond, so I stayed silent. Fortunately, we reached the police station shortly thereafter. Before jumping out, I gave him a quick kiss. “Thanks. And … I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For everything. Love you.”
“You too.” He smiled when he said it; his eyes lit up and his dimples flashed. I’ve always loved those dimples. “I’ll wait for your call.”
“Right.”
The Santa Maria de Luna Police Department has a pretty lobby—once you get through security. The atrium is airy and there is a lovely fountain and a display of plaques honoring officers injured or killed in the line of duty. I always stop there to say a quick prayer for lost friends.
I was looking at the small gold plaque that bore the name Karl Gibson when Alex came up beside me—the officer at reception had called to let her know I’d arrived. I’d met Karl right after the vampire had tried to turn me, and though we hadn’t had long to get to know each other before Karl’s death, I’d liked him. He’d been shot trying to stop a plot that involved a greater demon and a political coup.
“He was a good man,” I said to Alex.
“And a good cop,” she replied. “I still miss him.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I changed the subject. “So, why am I here?”
“Upstairs.” She gestured with one arm toward the door, and while she wasn’t exactly acting friendly, I didn’t get any kind of a weird betrayal vibe either. So I went with her.
I hadn’t been upstairs very often since the building had been redecorated and redesigned—the city was turning a lot of offices into open-plan workspaces, and the police department was no exception. Considered on its own merits, it wasn’t bad. The small, grim, mostly windowless offices had been replaced by a huge, brightly lit open area that held a cubicle farm. The half-height cubicle walls were covered in nubby mauve fabric; plants in colorful pots were placed at intervals throughout the room; more plants hung from the ceiling. The carpet was orange and purple in a weird, abstract pattern. I thought it was hideously ugly, but it looked serviceable, wouldn’t show stains, and would probably last until doomsday.
All that light and color was intended to make the place look cheerful and bright, which struck me as wrong on so many levels. I mean, seriously? It’s a police station; it’s full of people who are being questioned or arrested. Then again, I suppose cops are just as entitled to a nice workspace as anyone else.
The size of the open space made sound echo and carry despite the cubicle walls and acoustical tiles in the ceiling. There was no privacy, but at the same time it would be hard to distinguish any particular conversation in the overall din of ringing phones, whirring copiers and printers, other conversations, and the click of fingers on keyboards.
Alex’s cubicle was in the far back corner of the room, near the fire escape and only three steps away from both the copier and the coffee machine. She’d personalized the space a little with a Far Side calendar and a framed photo of her with Vicki. The suit she wore, charcoal gray, with a red silk blouse, was the same in both the photo and real life. The woman, however, had changed. She looked older, grimmer, and much more tired. She gestured for me to take the visitor’s chair and poured me a cup of black coffee without bothering to ask.
“Alex?” I made her name a question.
She lowered herself into her chair. Taking a sip of her coffee, she sighed. “So, do you want the good news, the bad news, or the seriously weird shit?”
“It’s been a rough couple of days. Start with the good news.”
She nodded and smiled. “Love your hair. That cut looks really good on you.”
“Thanks.” My tone was dry. Not that I didn’t appreciate the compliment, but I was pretty sure we weren’t here to discuss grooming.
“The bad news: we found what was left of your car.” She opened the center drawer of her desk, pulled out a little metal plate, and tossed it onto the desk in front of me. “Sorry,” she said as I stared at my Miata’s VIN stamped into the ID plate.
“Damn it!” I wasn’t surprised, but I was disappointed. I’d hoped … well, never mind what I’d hoped. I’d liked that car. I’d had it for years. Now I was going to have to find something else and probably have some huge car payment to deal with. And, God help me, I was going to have to deal with yet another insurance claim. Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back. I was not going to cry, damn it. I was not. I was alive. I wasn’t horribly scarred. I had my friends and my freedom. I’d get another car. “And the weird news?”
“I got an anonymous tip a few minutes ago. Someone said that if I wanted to find some stolen magical artifacts, I should go to this address.” She pulled a slip of paper from the still-open drawer. “Now, while lots of artifacts go missing, I’m not the one to get calls about them. Not my department. But since you’re missing a couple of things, I thought maybe I’d go check this out … and that you might like to ride along.”
I jumped to my feet.
“Don’t get your hopes up, Graves. It could be nothing.”
Too late for the warning. I was hoping like crazy. My knives and my siren ring are my most prized possessions—and they are such heavy-duty magical artifacts that there was no way I could replace them. I don’t have that kind of money.
Still, Alex was smiling as she rose from her chair. Leaning over the cubicle partition, she told the coworker in the next stall, “I’m taking my lunch break. I’ll be back in an hour.”
He gave a nod of acknowledgment and kept talking on the phone.
The address was down in the warehouse district. The area was familiar. It’s off the beaten track, not well patrolled, and not all that busy. Most of the manufacturing has moved elsewhere, so there are a lot of vacant buildings; their For Lease signs are barely readable under the graffiti. The street was echoingly empty and bits of trash blew across the road like modern tumbleweeds. More than one bad guy has established a home base in this warren, with the result that the whole neighborhood just had a bad vibe. Even in broad daylight a chill ran up my spine that had nothing to do with the AC in Alex’s car.
Alex pulled her car to the curb. Unfastening her seat belt, she reached between the seats to retrieve her bulletproof vest. As she put it on, she asked me, “That jacket of yours spelled?”
“Yes.” In fact, I was probably safer wearing my blazer than she would be in her vest. I don’t cut corners on protection, and Isaac Levy does terrific work.
“Yeah, well, you still stay behind me,” Alex ordered as we got out of the car.
“Gladly,” I agreed. “But I don’t suppose you have a spare gun?”
Grumbling, she reached down, pulled a Derringer from an ankle holster, and passed it to me.
She led the way up a set of cracked concrete steps up to a loading dock and a metal door marked DELIVERIES in peeling white paint. The door was unlocked and partially open. Alex stopped outside. She drew her weapon, holding it next to her right leg as she called, “Police. Open up!” and swung her arm to pound on the door.
When her fist made contact, the door swung easily back—too easily. Somebody had spelled it to open at a touch.
I smelled blood, sweat, piss, and fear. My vampire senses heightened and I could hear the squeals of rodents and soft gasping noises that reminded me of the way it sounded when someone tried to scream without drawing a deep breath. My teeth lengthened, saliva filling my mouth.