“I’m not so sure about the dirt pile, but the zapmeister looked like one of the uptown floaters—the guys from Queen Anne, not the ones who usually hang out down in the Square.”
There were several factions within the Seattle vampire society, small as it was. Technically they all bowed to Edward, but there were always groups trying to undermine him or one of his favorites. The factions shifted constantly, but they tended to congregate by neighborhoods: Pioneer Square; lower Queen Anne near Seattle Center and the Space Needle; the University District; and over in the Central District and southern Capitol Hill.
By agreement, the downtown core was a free zone in which vampires were supposed to keep a low profile. If one of the Queen Anne faction was doing dirty deeds below Pioneer Square, Edward would not be pleased. He wasn’t particular about his punishments or upon whom they fell, but he was swift—recently he’d learned to make retribution quickly rather than let situations fester into more trouble. Or give the appearance of weakness.
“What did Edward do about it?” I asked.
“Nothing. He’d love to say I did it and put the arm on me, but he hasn’t. He’s been very quiet.”
“That doesn’t sound right.”
“No. It doesn’t. And now he’s bringing you back to Seattle on his personal express route, so. he’s either a lot more upset than he let on, or there’s something big distracting him.”
“Edward wouldn’t ask me to mediate between the two of you, so that can’t be it. It’s got to be something else.”
“No idea what, though. Or why the Queen Anne bloodsuckers would be making trouble for me.”
I hummed as I thought, but I didn’t come up with an answer. “I guess we’ll have to wait and see what he says tonight. Or what he does.”
“I’ll back you up if I can.”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, but I’ll let you know if I need it.”
“And I’ll take him out if he hurts you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t need martyrs, sweetheart.”
“ ‘ Sweetheart’? Where did that come from?”
“You’d rather I called you ‘babe’?”
He made a gagging sound. “No, thanks. It’s just a funny kind of word.”
“Like something from a Bogart movie.”
“I thought he said ‘kid.’ ”
“In Casablanca, yeah.” I must have had Bogey on the brain, no thanks to Cary. “I could call you ‘sweetie,’ but that sounds like my mother.”
“Then, please, don’t do that. Ah, damn. I have to get off this phone. Call my pager and leave the address if you can.”
“I will. Sweetheart.”
He snorted and I laughed as we hung up.
But I didn’t feel pleased for long. I didn’t like Quinton’s report and I was less enthusiastic about my meeting with Edward by the minute.
There are two civil aviation terminals at the Burbank airport. The smaller of the two is the swanker one, so naturally that was the one Edward’s secretary had directed me to. The resident charter company didn’t have a chance to woo me with their posh sitting area since there was already a TPM flunky awaiting me. He was standing near the doors. Judging by his military posture, I guessed he’d been standing just the same way in the same spot since he’d arrived, however long that had been. He knew me the moment I stepped through the sliding glass doors.
“Ms. Blaine,” he said, stepping forward to take my bag, “the plane is waiting. Is there anything you require before we board?”
I looked him over, noting the close-clinging indigo of his aura—a color I’d rarely seen and wasn’t sure of. Still, I didn’t think turning around and leaving was an option. “I’m good to go.”
He nodded and picked up my suitcase without effort, leading me out to the hot tarmac. A white jet with a green stripe on its tail stood just beyond the doors with a rolling staircase pushed up to it.
It was bigger than I’d expected, more a small jetliner than a sporty little executive jet, and clothed in a thin red haze from the frequent passage of vampires. Inside, my escort stowed my bag in a bin near the galley and led me back past a small work area to a seat that was more like an expensive Swedish lounger than an airline seat, except this had a seat belt. The cabin looked like a very posh living room. Aft past the wings, the cabin was cut off by an upholstered wall that showed a dull blackness in the Grey. It stretched from side to side and was pierced only by two large latched doors.
My escort noted my glance toward the wall. “That’s Mr. Kammerling’s private cabin. As he’s not on board today, it’s locked down.”
“I see.” I imagined that Edward’s cabin was fitted for the needs of vampires—keeping the light of day and its noises out as well as any roving passengers who might not know his nature—and explained the bloody red energy clinging to the craft. From this side the area just looked a little more secure than the usual cabin. I raised one eyebrow a little, wondering how much the man with me knew about his employer.
“For safety’s sake, you’ll need to keep your seat belt on until we reach altitude, but after that, the cabin’s yours. It’s a short flight, but if there’s anything you want, let me know.”
“Well, there is one thing,” I started, settling into the contoured chair.
He raised his eyebrows and waited.
“What’s your name?”
He cracked a dazzling white smile and a tiny yellow flare of emotion that vanished again before he spoke. “I’m Bryson Goodall, Mr. Kammerling’s head of security. You can call me Bryce.”
He was not, I noted, TPM’s security chief. Interesting. “Does Edward think I’m going to run out on him, or is he afraid I won’t make it without you?”
“Pardon me? I don’t follow your logic, Ms. Blaine.”
“Head of security is a big man to send out as a cabin steward. So he’s afraid of something, and I have to wonder, is it me or is it something else?”
“You’ll have to ask Mr. Kammerling.”
He smiled again and excused himself to let the pilot know I was seated and ready to go. In a few minutes, we were taxiing out for an uneventful flight to Seattle.
CHAPTER 16
A blacked out sedan met us at Boeing Field just south of downtown Seattle, and Goodall settled me in the back-A seat. He rode with the driver. The sun was only just below the horizon, so Edward wasn’t up to meet me, but the isolation in the big backseat made me nervous nonetheless. I was surprised when we passed through Pioneer Square without stopping at the After Dark club—Edward’s audience chamber in his role as chief bloodsucker—and went on into downtown. I knew TPM owned quite a lot of real estate in Seattle and environs and that Edward used some of it for his personal business, but I hadn’t ever met him outside the club. Finally, the darkened sedan pulled into the parking structure under TPM’s headquarters building in downtown. Curiouser and curiouser.
Goodall stuck with me once we were out of the car, assuring me my luggage would be taken care of as he guided me into a locked elevator that he accessed with both a card and a standard key. But we didn’t ride up; we went down.
The elevator opened onto a very plush lobby, but no amount of decoration could disguise from my practiced eyes that it was the antechamber to a secure bunker. Beyond the normal-world anti-intrusion measures, the room was wrapped and tied in layer upon layer of gleaming magic that burned with the deep red glow of things born of blood and darkness. There was no indication how long the wards had been in place, so I didn’t know if it was a routine paranoia on Edward’s part or something new. Either way, anyone stupid enough to make threatening moves in this place would die screaming. That was not going to be me.
Goodall crossed the room to a pair of double doors made of some dull gray metal inlaid with bronze panels pressed deep with complex geometric patterns. They were almost Art Moderne but not quite, and they, too, emitted the hungry red glow of blood magic.