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“Don’t try and rope me, Edward. I just need information; I’m not asking for a favor.”

“Very well,” he snapped. “What do you want to know?”

“Who is killing the homeless in Pioneer Square?”

He seemed surprised. “However should I know? And why did you think I would?”

“The deaths have been very odd—not much blood in the bodies, hands and legs apparently chewed off in some cases.”

Edward scowled, sending a ripple of cold over me. “I suppose the seed of suspicion was planted by your unfortunately clever friend Quinton. I can’t say I care for the company you keep.”

“I’m not so fond of some of it, either,” I replied pointedly. “You worked together just fine before. Why the animosity?”

He almost smiled. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Edward joked—not that it was a joke. “Why would you, cynical one, believe such a tale, even from a friend?” He put an unpleasant spin on the last word.

“I’ve seen some of the bodies myself. But I don’t know if these are vampire victims—I haven’t seen many, but none of them looked like this. So I don’t know what’s wrong with these—except that something magical killed them and took their blood and limbs along when it left. That sounds like your kind, but there are other factors. Besides the sleeping dead, there have been zombies seen in the area—one I think might be an earlier victim of whatever did this—and there’s a pattern that goes back sixty years or more. It’s not a human killing these people. But since vampires also walk after death, you can understand how I thought there might be a connection.”

Edward’s lip curled in disgust. “I assure you none of my people are responsible. We don’t… rend, and we don’t raise zombies. The occasional mistakes are dealt with, not allowed to roam the night.”

“If I accept that no vampire did this—”

“None did!” His voice carried force that battered against my mind and body. I didn’t quite stop myself from flinching. Edward seemed a little mollified by my discomfort. The rest of the vampires in the room glanced at us and then away with a ripple of surprise across the red-fired surface of the Grey.

“I don’t know that. I don’t know what becomes of vampires’ victims or where zombies come from. That’s why I’m asking you. Whatever nasty thing is doing this, it has to stop. I assume you don’t want the police to start asking public questions about bloodless bodies in Pioneer Square or the Weekly to begin spouting sensationalism about the walking dead and slaughtered homeless people.”

“Zombies are necromancers* business, not ours,” he spat. “We turn our kills only rarely and with care—”

“Like the care you exercised with Cameron?”

The growl he made raised black waves in the Grey. “That is not the matter at issue here. These dead are not made to walk—nor to lie bloodless in the street—by us. It would be madness and none of mine are mad. If you wish to know more, you should speak to Carlos.”

His anger left me dizzy and nauseated. I swallowed hard but held my outward cool—I think. “I probably will. I want to stop this—regardless of who may be responsible.”

“Be assured it is not one of mine.” He leaned away, indicating an end to the conversation. “I have no further information for you, but I shan’t hinder you in its pursuit.” Damn right you won’t, I thought. “I’ll even warn my people away from you and your lone wolf if that will help you to resolve this mystery.”

“That would help, as would any other information that flows to you about it.”

He gave a brusque nod. “You’ll have it. Is that all?”

I looked at the envelope still lying on the table. “Are we square?”

His lips and nostrils twitched but he nodded. “Yes. Though you might wish to examine the oddities of your… friend before you trust him further.”

I raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Then I slid out of the booth and stood beside the table. Leaving him angry wasn’t the best idea, so I nodded my head in what could be mistaken for a very small obeisance and said, “Thank you.”

I could feel a flatness in the heaving Grey behind me as I left, as if I’d managed to surprise Edward, though I doubted that was possible. My mind was whirling with disjointed bits of knowledge and questions trying to find each other, and I had to struggle to keep my attention on the dangerous path to the door. I assumed Edward’s word had some binding to it. I never trusted vampires, though I knew promises could have magical implications in such an atmosphere as that one. What I couldn’t know was if any of the other vampires might believe we’d broken whatever pact lay between Edward and me and started to think I’d make a lovely snack once I left the protection of the club. I had to watch them as I went, seeing calculation in some shifted gazes, eyes gleaming with hunger and curiosity as they watched me go.

None followed me out or appeared on the street once I exited the gate.

I didn’t know why Edward had been so disgusted and offended by the idea of zombies, but the weight of his words convinced me he’d been telling the truth about vampire involvement in the recent deaths of undergrounders. Not that he and his pack were innocent of preying on them under other circumstances, but I was reasonably convinced that they hadn’t done this. Or at least none that cleaved to Edward’s protection had. Which included Carlos.

Since Carlos was also a necromancer, it seemed the next logical step was going to him, which I dreaded even more than speaking to Edward. I did not wish to renew the despair and horror I’d felt at our last parting. Even more so I didn’t want to end up in his debt.

An itchy little idea flitted at the back of my mind and I thought perhaps I wouldn’t have to talk to Carlos after all. I’d helped his protégé, Cameron, a couple of months before with the problem of a dead man who might or might not wake up as a vampire. At the time, Cam had implied there were worse things the deceased might come back as—things that had made Cameron shiver with dread.

Not much fazes a vampire, even an infant one. Whatever it was, perhaps it was connected to my current problem. I’d helped to straighten out the mess of Cameron’s death and unlife, and I didn’t find Cameron particularly threatening—yet.

I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and called Cam’s number. He answered quickly.

“Hey, Harper.”

“Hey, Cam. I have a problem and I think you might have a hint of the answer.”

“Really? Well, then fire away.”

“I’d rather meet in person. There may be a bit more to it than a quick Q and A.”

I heard the static and fuzz of him putting his hand over the phone. The furry silence lasted a few moments before his voice returned.

“We’ll be at the Big Picture in fifteen minutes. In the den. Go straight at the bottom of the stairs and turn left after the ramp. See you there.”

He didn’t give me time to object that “we” was what I’d been hoping to avoid.

But at least the venue seemed safe. I’d never been in it, but I’d heard of it.

The Big Picture was a tiny movie theater in a bar under El Gaucho. It also rented space out for private meetings, so there was a good chance that we’d have privacy—unless one of them really wanted to see the film.

It was too chilly in my thinner dress clothes and with my knee reacting to the weather to walk so far or wait for a bus, so I took the Rover up to Wall and First and found a parking space in a surface pay lot that hadn’t yet filled up with young drinkers insisting on braving the cold to have a good time at the swankier establishments in Belltown. I walked in El Gaucho’s doors and turned right before the doorman could frown at my trousers, following the short corridor to the neon sign that flashed big picture over the staircase leading down. For a moment, I was bitterly pleased I’d never managed to see a film there with Will, and then I tromped on that thought and went on.