Angel: Private Eye Book One (16 page)

She shook her head. “No. Not William Benson.
Theodore Van Edgerton. He… will know.” With that, Susan Smith
disappeared. For good.

I screamed, thrust towards her, tried to
catch her again, tried to use whatever little mysterious magic I
had to hold her in place, if only for a few more seconds of
life.

It didn't work.

Susan Smith died. Finally.

And I broke down, a sobbing, blubbering
mess.

Eventually I pushed myself out of the
vent.

I half expected to see Cortez marching
meanly along the street, ready to snap at me for disappearing when
he'd explicitly told me to stay put.

He wasn't there.

The street was empty.

Maybe sense dictated that I should wait
around for Cortez so I could tell him what had happened.

I couldn't.

I walked back to the beast, crawled inside,
and drove back to Mr Marvelous’ shop in a haze.

Then I crawled into bed. And slept. God
knows I needed to sleep.

I did not, however, need to dream.

The first few hours, my body was so weary
with fatigue I was out like a log, but as I resurfaced around 6
o'clock in the evening, I slipped back into the strangest
slumber.

Something was chasing me. Not someone. Not
some monster. Some force. Some powerful force. And it was glowing.
The brightest light you'd ever seen. The most powerful illumination
in all the universe.

I pushed myself along, desperate body
winding through some indistinct corridor.

Fear pulsed through me, rocketed through my
heart, felt like a catapult shooting me forward as fast as I could
go. There was nothing. Nothing that could stop the light from
reaching me.

It backed me into a corner, and—

I woke with a scream. An extremely pathetic,
rattling scream. The kind of scream you give at finding a spider
jump on your face.

It took me far, far too long to calm down,
suck in a breath, and realize I was alive.

It would take me much, much longer to chase
away the eerie effects of that dream. The light had done something
to me when it had reached me in my nightmare. Filled me up with a
power I'd felt before. The same power, specifically, that had
charged through my body when the vampire had bitten me.

This, perhaps, was exactly the kind of
experience I should share with Benson. Who knew, maybe it would
turn out to be some important clue.

But the very thought of sharing this
experience with anyone made my toes curl.

There was, however, something else I needed
to ask Benson. Though the experience of seeing Susan Smith's ghost
was a truly harrowing one, and one I would never forget for as long
as I lived, it had also left me with a certain feeling of
determination.

I’d promised her I would find her killer.
And as I rocked back and forth on my bowed bed, springs of the
crappy mattress creaking like some old gnarled tree, I knew I had
to do it. Everything I could to find her killer. Which meant
finding one Theodore Van Edgerton.

I vaguely recognized his name, and when I
looked him up on the Internet, I realized he had a stake in most of
the gambling enterprises in Hope City. He owned all the primary
casinos, and had a controlling interest in most of the poker
machines, too. In other words, a real nice guy. If the Internet was
to be trusted, he’d only bought those controlling shares recently.
He'd moved into Hope City a few months ago.

My mind instantly locked on what Benson had
told me this morning. After he’d demanded I give him a vial of my
blood, he’d casually mentioned that I could come to see him if I
needed any information on the vampires of Hope City. I kind of
hated the prospect of willingly going to see Benson, but couldn't
see any way around it. I really doubted Theodore would meet with me
if I showed up at one of his casinos. Plus, I was starting to learn
enough about this world to appreciate that would be a very stupid
idea. If Benson arranged a meeting, and hopefully stuck around to
ensure Theodore didn't bleed me dry, I'd have a much better chance
of solving this case.

Though it was already 7 o’clock, and I was
extremely hungry and still pretty tired, I resigned myself to going
to see Benson tonight.

This case was personal now. Personal,
because Susan Smith was no longer just a dead body on a bed to me.
I'd held her and seen her fade away. So no more dallying.

I washed my face, brushed my hair, changed
into a top and jeans, and walked out the door into the magical
alleyway between our buildings.

Mr Marvelous wasn't back yet, but I still
had the keys to the beast. Though maybe I should have texted him
and asked his permission to drive the car, I didn't want to waste
any more time.

I messaged Sarah and let her know not to
come around till later. Then I hauled my ass into the beast and
found myself smiling as the engine roared into life. “Lizzie Luck,
you are not a speed freak,” I reminded myself in a pointed tone as
I nonetheless giggled at the deafening roar the engine made as I
pulled out of the car park and onto the road.

I should probably have called Benson first,
emailed, attempted to notify his offices that I was coming. I
didn't.

The further I drove through town, the more
the haunting memory of Susan's ghost played in my mind. A nervous,
jittery feeling collected in my hands, and I kept tapping them
against the steering wheel as I changed gears.

At exactly 8 o'clock sharp, I arrived at
Benson’s primary tower.

I ticked my head back and looked at it as I
parked across the street.

Christ almighty, it was a sight.

I knew that I was rich, but there was rich,
and then there was living in what looked like the modern equivalent
of Buckingham Palace.

It was the tallest skyscraper in the city,
made of gleaming glass and metal. It had what should have been an
impossible curve to it, giving it the feeling of a wave. But if you
dipped your head to one side, it looked instead like a hand. Maybe
it was just my overactive imagination, but it kind of looked like a
hand ready to lurch out and grab you.

“Not now,” I told my nerves sharply as I
finally got out of the car.

There was quite a lot of traffic, and I
noted with an interested frown as I saw a crowd of people walking
towards Benson's tower. Each and every one of them was dressed like
1 million bucks. Me? I was dressed like precisely 20 bucks. My
jeans were hand-me-downs, I'd scored my top on sale, my shoes were
ballet flats from the drug store, and the jacket belonged to Mr
Marvelous.

I crossed the pavement and paused just
outside of the building. Though I'd come here in a blaze of
determination, now I kind of realized one important fact. There was
clearly a function going on, and I clearly wasn't invited. There
were also security guards checking people’s invitations at the
massive front doors.

The old Lizzie Luck would have chosen this
point to turn around, defeated. The old Lizzie Luck wouldn't have
bothered walking up the front steps, notifying the guards who she
was, and seeing if that would be enough to get in.

But the old Lizzie Luck hadn't been tasked
with solving a murder.

Ignoring how uncomfortable I felt, I cleared
my throat, crammed my hands further into the pockets of my trench
coat, and even took half a second to straighten Mr Marvelous’
pin.

I cleared my throat and walked forward.

I honestly expected the security guards at
the door to growl at me, and tell me to shove off. They didn't. In
fact, the larger of the two, the guy who looked like he was in
charge, waved me forward. “Miss Luck. This way.” He pointed to the
doors.

I frowned. “Ah, sorry? I don't have an
invite,” I clarified stupidly.

“Mr Benson has extended an open invitation
to you. You can have access to his buildings any time. If you would
just like to wait in the atrium, I’ll make a call and he’ll see you
in a moment.”

Flabbergasted, I pushed past the extremely
wealthy-looking guests, and stood by myself in a little corner of
the atrium. I said little, but the atrium was massive. It looked
like a ballroom. As I cast my gaze around, I saw some extremely
expensive artwork on display along the walls and arranged in
tasteful display cases, giving the room a museum-like feel.

A few guests shot me confused, wary looks,
mostly women, mostly dressed up to the T. They were probably
legitimately questioning how a woman in five dollar ballet flats
from the drug store could get William Benson's attention so
quickly.

I found myself curling in, hunching my
shoulders, trying to make myself a smaller target. As I was already
pretty petite, it should have worked. It didn't. I kept catching
judgmental gazes until somebody cleared their throat from beside
me.

Benson.

I had absolutely no idea how he’d gotten
there. To walk up beside me, either he'd sidled along the walls, or
he'd walked right through my field of vision, and I’d just blanked
him.

I squeaked like a mouse.

And he smiled. “To what do I owe this
pleasure?” I could practically feel him itching to reach into his
pocket and pluck out that goddamn work contract.

I cleared my throat. “I need your help.”

His gaze narrowed. “Help? Have you finally
decided to—”

I shook my head, interrupting him quickly.
“Earlier today, you offered your assistance if I needed to contact
any of the vampires in the city regarding the case. I now need that
help.” I surprised myself by sounding professional.

I clearly surprised Benson, too, because he
shot me a long sideways glance as he pushed one hand into his
pocket and gestured forward with the other. “I have some time now.
I'll take you to my office.”

I looked around. “You sure you're free? It
looks like you're having some kind of party or something.”

“I was. But it's irrelevant now. You're
here.” He gave a very gentlemanly nod then led me forward.

Were he not a vampire, and were I not
indebted to him, I would have given a giddy smile at the charm
oozing off him.

As it was, I straightened and reminded
myself why I was here.

Benson led me to one of the lifts on the
opposite side of the room. Though there were plenty of guests
milling around, waiting for one of the lifts to arrive, no one
joined us as Benson strode forward, pushed past several people and
pressed the door button.

Instantly a lift arrived. We walked in
alone, Benson clearing his throat when an older gentleman and his
wife threatened to walk inside with us.

The man laughed it off, bowed, and scuttled
out.

The door closed with a ping.

My heart – oh, that old thing started to
race faster and faster the higher we climbed.

He didn’t say a word to me, and appeared to
keep to himself.

Appearances, however, are always misleading
when it comes to vampires. He was watching me out of the corner of
his eye. Intently.

Though it couldn’t have been more than a
minute or two, the ride up in the lift felt like an eternity. I
became exquisitely aware of how close he was. While I sure as heck
wasn’t as subtle as he was, I was watching him out of the corner of
my eye, too.

He smiled.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I needed to get
this done and get out of here as quickly as I could. I cleared my
throat. “I need your help organizing a meeting with a vampire—”

He brought up a finger to silence me. Though
it hovered close to my lips, it never quite touched me. “Not here,
Miss Luck,” he said as the doors opened with a ping, revealing a
long corridor, “For decency’s sake, we should wait until we’re in
my office.”

I went pink at that prospect, the kind of
iridescent pink you wouldn’t be able to hide with a coat of
paint.

He waved me forward through the longest,
widest, neatest corridor I’d ever seen. Though there were windows
along one side, it felt like a tunnel leading you down to
something.

I got a taste of what that something was as
we approached a massive set of imposing doors and I shivered
uncontrollably.

Immediately, Benson darted his keen gaze
over to me. “Are you cold?” he asked in that almost languorous
voice he used sometimes. The kind of voice that was just begging to
help you drift off to sleep.

I shook my head, yet at the same time I
brought my hands up and rubbed at my shoulders feverishly.

Cold I wasn’t. Tickled, I was. And no, I
didn’t find the sight of Benson’s imposing office doors hilarious.
It just felt like something was crawling along my skin.

I shifted around uncomfortably, as if I were
trying to wriggle out of my jacket.

“It’ll be better once we get inside,” he
suddenly said, still inspecting me with a watchful eye.

“Sorry?”

“Your reaction to the built up magic in this
corridor, Miss Luck – it will get better once we’re inside. I’m
always very careful to ensure my office is cleaned – both of
physical and magical residue – daily.”

“I… I’m not having a reaction to magic,” I
said with a slight huff.

Benson’s lips folded into a smile. “Oh,
you’re just cold then, are you? Perhaps you’d like my jacket.” He
moved to take it off, one hand locking on the button above his
waste.

I shook my head so quickly it could have
spun off and shattered the window to my side.

He let out a light chuckle. “Sensing magic
is nothing to be ashamed of, Miss Luck.”

“Could you just stop calling me that? My
name’s Lizzie. And I certainly can’t sense magic. I’m just… tired,
that’s all.”

“Well then, there’s a rather comfortable
antique chaise longue in my office, I’m sure I won’t mind if you
lie down on it for a while.”

Oh deary, my skin went all pink again. Heck,
at this rate, I’d turn into a giant raspberry shuffling around in a
trench coat.