Bloodstone d-3 Read online

  The werewolf grinned again. “Now Kiana can relax and be herself. She’ll still have some fights to face a couple of full moons down the road, but a lot of us will let our grudges slide. We’ve got our friend back.” She got up and danced her way into the middle of the room.

  TEN MINUTES LATER, AXEL RETURNED. HE STOPPED AND stared at me, sitting at the bride’s table, wearing her tiara, and holding a bottle of my favorite lite beer, paid for by the bride. He turned to the bar, where Kiana was mixing a cocktail for one of her friends. “The champagne I paid for ran out, so it’s a cash bar now,” she called.

  Axel turned back to me and raised a shaggy eyebrow.

  “She said she was a bartender in college. I’ve been watching. She’s charging for the drinks.”

  He sat down across from me. His eyebrow seemed to have found a permanent home halfway up his forehead.

  “I, um, beat her in a challenge. Accidentally, kind of. There was no fighting involved,” I added quickly. “Just champagne.”

  Axel surveyed the room. The place stank of spilled champagne, but there was no broken furniture or bleeding patrons. Better than a typical night.

  “How’s Juliet?” I asked.

  “Safe.” He placed the silver shackle and chain on the table. A nearby werewolf glanced at it, shuddered, and moved away. “She said you’d need this.”

  “Can I see her?”

  He shook his head. “She’s resting.”

  Shit. Axel wasn’t going to let me into his apartment. As Juliet had said earlier, he never let anyone in. He was bending his usual rule to protect her, but his hospitality wouldn’t extend to me. I’d just locked Juliet away even farther out of reach than she’d been with the Goon Squad.

  And I still didn’t have any answers.

  “Axel—”

  He shook his head, and I knew there was no use arguing.

  “Okay, then tell her to call me as soon as she’s feeling better, okay? Tomorrow, no later. I really need to talk to her. Can you do that?”

  This time I got a nod.

  I removed the bride’s tiara and set it on the table, then stood. “Keep me posted about how she’s doing, will you? I’m worried about her leg. And thanks. I know you . . . um, value your privacy. I’ll try to move her to somewhere else that’s safe as soon as I can.”

  I wrapped the chain around my waist, picked up my purse, and moved toward the door.

  Axel’s big paw shot out and grabbed my arm. “Come back after sunrise.”

  I nodded. I didn’t know whether he’d let me see Juliet or whether he merely expected me to help clean up after these rowdy werewolves. Either way, I’d be here. Axel was good people—whatever species he was.

  7

  WHEN I OPENED THE DOOR TO HIS APARTMENT, KANE looked up from his laptop screen. He sat on the sofa, feet on the coffee table, papers spread all around him. He’d rolled up his sleeves, removed his tie, and even undone the top buttons of his shirt. Mmm. Sexy attorney at work.

  But the alarm that leapt into his eyes reminded me I was the polar opposite of sexy right now.

  “My God, Vicky. What happened?” He was up in a second, his strong arms around me, pulling me close.

  “Careful. Silver,” I said, stepping back and unwrapping the chain from my waist. I coiled it and added it to the arsenal in my purse. I leaned the Old One’s short sword against the wall.

  He sniffed. “Are you . . .” Another sniff, his nostrils flaring wide. “ Are you drunk?”

  “Of course not.” He knew how little I drank. “I got caught in a little champagne fight at Creature Comforts.”

  “Creature Comforts? I thought you were going to see Juliet.”

  “I did.”

  Kane scowled, staring at my waist. “And that belt you were wearing looked an awful lot like a silver shackle. The kind they use to restrain vampires.”

  “Um. There’s a reason for that.”

  Kane closed his eyes and shook his head as if clearing it. “Tell me what happened. Start from the beginning.”

  “Better sit down.”

  “How did I know you were going to say that?” He groped backward to find the sofa and sat on its arm. His eyes took inventory of my appearance. “You’ve got blood on your cheek.”

  Oh. That was from fighting the Old Ones. I suddenly realized how long it had been since I’d looked in a mirror—and wasn’t sure I wanted to, ever again.

  “All right.” I took a deep breath. “From the beginning.” I told him everything that had happened from the time he’d dropped me off until I walked through his front door. Well, I did gloss over the bachelorette party, saying only that some Creature Comforts customers, fooling around, had started spraying champagne at each other. The party, the bride-bitch, the idiotic dominance contests—somehow, discussing the commitment rituals of werewolves with my lone-wolf boyfriend would feel more than a little awkward. I didn’t want him getting any ideas. Not now. I was comfortable with things as they were.

  There are some areas where I’m perfectly happy being a craven coward.

  “So Juliet’s safe,” I wrapped up. “I’m worried about her wound, but maybe with some rest she’ll start to heal. I’ll try to convince Axel to let me see her when I go back after sunrise.”

  Kane got up and paced in front of the sofa, rubbing his chin. He stopped abruptly and turned to me, his expression troubled. “She asked for me.”

  “What?”

  “Juliet. She asked for me as her attorney.”

  “Yeah, so? You’re a lawyer. You specialize in paranormal cases.” Kane was the most famous paranormal-rights lawyer in the nation, possibly in the world. What vampire in trouble wouldn’t want his counsel?

  “Look at the timeline, Vicky. I get a call asking me to meet with her ASAP. Within two hours, these creatures—the same kind that attacked me in Washington the night Justice Frederickson was murdered—show up to bust Juliet out of jail.”

  It took me a second to process what he was saying. “You think she was setting you up?”

  “Doesn’t it look that way?”

  “I can see why it does to you.” Even though you’re wrong, wrong, wrong. “You believe she was involved in Frederickson’s murder, so of course you’d think she’s out to get you. But we don’t know what happened in Washington. What if she went down there to try to help you?”

  “Did she tell you that?”

  “No, she didn’t get a chance to tell me anything. But she did try to tell me, several times over the past month, that she was working against the Old Ones, not with them.” I described the postcards I’d received—the international postmarks, the hints that Juliet was trying to stave off some danger related to the Old Ones.

  “You’ve gotten five of those? You never told me.”

  “If I had, what would you have done? You’d have wanted me to take them to the police. I wasn’t going to do that.” Juliet had already been running from the Old Ones. I wasn’t going to put the cops on her trail, too.

  I set my jaw, expecting to see anger in his face. Instead, what I read there was hurt.

  “You didn’t trust me,” he said.

  Shit. I’d rather have him fuming—anger I could deal with. This was harder, especially because he was right, about the postcards, anyway. I could have told him about them, but I didn’t. I didn’t tell anyone. I simply waited, hoping Juliet would find a way to let me know if she needed my help.

  Now I didn’t know what to say.

  Kane stared at me for a moment. Then he sighed.

  “All right. Talk to her. Find out her story.” He covered my hand with his, but I could see the doubt in his eyes. “I know she’s your friend, Vicky. But I don’t trust her.”

  In a way, I understood his distrust. Vampires are notoriously self-centered. Most vampires’ personalities are an unholy blend of narcissism and deviousness that make Machiavelli look like Mister Rogers. Most of the time, I’d agree with Kane’s caution. But this time, I thought he was mistaken. Juliet was no altrui
st, but she wouldn’t betray a friend.

  Kane raised his hand and touched my cheek, and I remembered my face was smeared with blood.

  “I need a shower,” I said, pulling away.

  “I don’t know,” he said, tilting his head. “That whole bloodon-the-face look is kinda sexy to a werewolf.”

  “Good to know. But I’m still taking a shower.”

  I’d taken two steps toward the bathroom when he grabbed me from behind and pulled me close against him. “Need someone to wash your back?” His voice was soft in my ear; his warm breath against my neck sent little sparks through me.

  I turned toward him and put my arms around his neck. “You know,” I murmured, my lips brushing his, “that’s the best offer I’ve had all day.”

  WHEN THE POUNDING ERUPTED ON THE FRONT DOOR, I was in the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, combing my hair. Kane had gone out to the living room to put away his work for the night.

  He answered the door. Then it closed again, and I heard three voices: Kane’s, a woman’s, and another man’s. The man’s voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.

  I looked around the bathroom. I didn’t have a bathrobe here (note to self: buy second bathrobe for Kane’s place), and I wasn’t going to put on the torn and stained dress that lay on the floor. Instead, I picked up Kane’s discarded shirt and pulled it on. Under it, I rewrapped the towel around my waist, like a sarong, and strolled nonchalantly into the living room to see what was happening.

  Kane sat on the sofa, wearing his bathrobe and looking completely at ease. Across from him, in a leather chair, sat a female zombie dressed in a blue blazer, yellow sweater, and navy pants. Her straight, shoulder-length hair was blonde; she’d probably looked good once in that shade of blue. Slouching by the door stood a norm I recognized. One I wasn’t exactly thrilled to see.

  “Norden,” I said, “I heard you were out of the hospital.”

  He snorted, not a pleasant sound. “Yeah, my insurance ran out so they booted me. Too bad. The food was lousy, but at least somebody else cooked it.” Elmer Norden had been providing security for Deadtown’s Paranormal Appreciation Day concert when Pryce loosed the Morfran to feed on the zombies. Norden tried to stop him, and my “cousin” had nearly killed the guy, slicing him up badly. Now, Norden seemed back to his usual caustic self: short and sneering, with a pitted complexion and piggy eyes. The scars on his face only made him look meaner.

  I glanced at the zombie who’d arrived with him, then back to Norden. “You’re back on the Goon Squad?”

  “Yeah. They couldn’t keep me off it, since the mayor gave me an award for my actions at that goddamn concert. I don’t remember shit about that night.”

  “You were brave.”

  “Yeah? Well, I hope nobody expects me to act brave again. I’ve had enough of that shit. And now, my first night back on the squad, I manage to run into you. My luck stinks, you know that?”

  “No worse than mine. So why are you bothering us, anyway?”

  “We got some questions for your boyfriend here about a vampire who broke out of our holding facility. He looked at the notebook in his hand. “Juliet Capulet. Says here she’s your roommate. So we got questions for you, too.”

  “Then I’m going to get dressed before you ask them. I’ll be right back.”

  “Yeah, put some pants on, for God’s sake. McFarren, go with her.”

  “What?” the female zombie and I asked at the same time.

  “Go with her. This freak’s into knives and shit like that. I don’t want her charging out of the bedroom with a goddamn sword.” He shooed at her with both hands. “Go on. Make yourself useful for once.” He turned to Kane. “Can you believe it? Two chicks on the entire goddamn Goon Squad, and I draw one of ’em as my partner. See what I mean about my lousy goddamn luck?”

  The zombie got up and followed me to the bedroom. We introduced ourselves on the way. Her name was Pamela McFarren—“But everyone calls me Pam”—and she’d been a corrections officer before the plague had turned her into a zombie. Like two thousand other Bostonians who’d woken up to find themselves zombified, she’d lost her job and her home when she was forced to relocate to Deadtown. “I didn’t mind,” she said, shrugging. “Moving out of the South Bay House of Correction and onto patrol was really a promotion.”

  “Even with Norden as a partner?”

  She barked out a laugh. “Hey, I worked in corrections. He’s a pussycat compared to some of the people I dealt with there.”

  “Norden” and “pussycat.” Two words I never expected to hear in the same sentence, unless it was something like, “Norden ran over his neighbor’s pussycat and laughed about it.”

  “Besides,” McFarren continued, “his previous partner died. I can cut the guy a little slack while he deals with that.”

  “I knew his partner. Brian Sykes was a good man.” And one of the zombies who’d been torn to shreds by the Morfran.

  “Yes,” McFarren agreed. “His death was a real loss to the force. I figure that’s why Norden’s kind of weird around zombies now. Twitchy, like. And mean.”

  “Pam, he’s that way around everybody. Norden’s one of those guys who comes across as a major-league asshole. He’ll irritate the hell out of you and enjoy doing it. And then he says or does something that makes you think, ‘Yup, it’s true. He’s a major-league asshole.’”

  McFarren laughed. Then she did me the courtesy of turning around so I could get dressed.

  I found a pair of my jeans in a drawer and pulled them on under the towel. I unwrapped the towel and hung it on the back of the door. I left Kane’s shirt on. I liked the way it felt, big and slouchy and suffused with Kane’s scent: hints of pine in a deep, moonlit forest.

  When we walked back into the living room, Norden, notebook in hand, was questioning Kane. My stomach clenched at the thought that he might tell Norden where Juliet was. Surely he wouldn’t betray her—not when I’d asked him to give her a chance. But he didn’t trust her; maybe he’d rather see her in custody.

  I swallowed the lump of worry in my throat and listened.

  “At that time,” Kane was saying, “I was in my office. I spoke with the security guard, when I signed in and again when I signed out. Several members of the night cleaning crew saw me, as well.”

  “Where’s your office?”

  “Near Government Center.” He gave the address, and Norden scribbled it down.

  “How come you were there at midnight?”

  “I needed some papers I’d left on my desk. I went in to pick them up and then did some work while I was there.” He looked up at the ceiling, as if calculating. “I passed through the checkpoints around . . . one thirty, I’d say, and then came straight home.”

  “We can verify all this, you know.”

  Kane looked Norden in the eye. “I’d think you were slacking if you didn’t.”

  Norden turned to me, his trademark sneer in full force. “Oh, look. She found some pants. So where were you tonight, freak?”

  “Me?” I kept my gaze on Norden’s face to resist the temptation of glancing at Kane for a clue about what he’d already said. “When we got back to Boston after dinner with my sister, I asked him to drop me off at the checkpoint. I felt like a drink.”

  Norden’s head snapped toward Kane. “You didn’t say anything about being with the freak.”

  “You asked me where I was between midnight and one thirty. I told you.” Kane’s voice sounded calm, that of a lawabiding citizen being reasonable. But there was an undercurrent of threat that would make any werewolf’s hackles rise. Not that Norden noticed. “And don’t call Ms. Vaughn names.” The threat deepened. “As an officer of the law, it’s your duty to be respectful to the citizens you protect.”

  Norden’s wheezy laugh showed what he thought of that idea.

  “It’s okay, Kane,” I said. “Just part of Norden’s unique charm.” But now I knew that Kane hadn’t mentioned me, or my visit to the holding facility, in his account
of the evening.

  They’d find out about the drive out to Needham anyway, when they checked for any permits we’d filed. But for now, Kane hadn’t said a word more than he had to.

  “Okay,” Norden said to me, “so you went out in the Zone. Where?”

  “A couple of places. The Wild Side. Conner’s.” Lying to Norden about visiting those places didn’t worry me in the least. Every bartender in the Zone was an expert at fobbing off cops who came around asking questions. It was a matter of principle. “There was a party at Creature Comforts, and I stayed there for a while. Then I came here.”

  Norden’s pencil flew across the page. “So you don’t know where this Juliet Capulet is, either.”

  I shook my head. He issued a disbelieving snort in response.

  “Okay, how about associates? Your roommate have any, um, unusual associates?”

  That made me laugh. “She’s an almost-seven-hundred-year-old vampire. I’d guess she’s probably picked up a few unusual associates in her time.”

  “We’re specifically interested in unregistered paranormals,” McFarren said, in a tone that suggested she was trying to be helpful.

  “I’m asking the questions,” Norden snapped. “You’re observing. Observing means you shut up and watch. Look it up in a dictionary.”

  I knew what they were fishing for, seeing as I’d left the headless corpse of an Old One on the floor of Juliet’s cell. But I shrugged. I wanted to talk to Juliet and find out more about her association with the Old Ones before I gave any information to the police.

  Norden didn’t have any more questions. He grumbled about how much he hated his job again already, then barked at McFarren that they had other places to go.

  McFarren offered me her hand. “Thanks for your cooperation,” she said. We shook, even though she wouldn’t be thanking me if she knew how much information I’d held back. But it was nice of her to make an effort—and unusual for a Goon.

  Norden snorted derisively, so I grabbed his hand to shake, too. It was cold. Icy cold, like grabbing a metal railing on a subzero January day. The shock of it hurt my fingers.