Angel: Private Eye Book One (20 page)

My heart was pounding in my chest,
reverberating up my neck, and shifting into my jaw with
bone-breaking force.

It took a heckuva long time to pull myself
away from the window. Then I crumpled on my bed and wriggled under
my covers, unashamedly bringing them up over my head.

When I felt the cable of my jacket eating
hard into my back, I shrugged out of it and threw it out from under
my blanket. Then I nestled my face as hard as I could into my
pillow as I practically sealed my eyes shut like a crypt you never
intended to open again.

Not only did Theodore Van Edgerton know
where I lived and what my name was, but he wanted to see me in a
dress, apparently.

He hadn’t left a time or place, but I was
dealing with vampires here. It would be some secluded fancy rooftop
restaurant or the recently excavated remains of some historical
building. Hell, maybe he expected me to show up at his veritable
castle of a mansion just beyond the city limits.

“Oh God, this is not happening to me,” I
said as I ran a sweaty hand down my brow, smoothing the knotted
strands of my fringe away from my eyes.

Though I was thoroughly content to shiver
and swear under my blankets, some part of me appreciated this could
be a good thing. He was really the only person who’d be able to
help me figure out what had happened to Miss Smith.

But ever since Benson’s warning, let alone
my own visceral reaction to Theodore, I now appreciated how awful
this plan was. Sure, maybe Theodore would be able to tell me what
happened to Miss Smith, but God knows what price he’d exact for
that information.

Briefly, for just the smallest fraction of a
micro second, I almost thought of calling Benson.

Okay, I didn’t have his number, I wasn’t
exactly his best bud. I could haul ass back to his building and beg
to be let in. He’d know what to do, right? He had contacts in the
vampire world, he’d be able to tell Theodore to stay the hell away
from me. But that, of course, would mean Miss Smith’s murder would
never be solved.

Even though it wasn’t dignified and wasn’t
exactly going to help anyone, I began to whine as I chewed hard on
my nails. It, of course, didn’t help, but eventually I found myself
calming down enough to pull the covers back from my mouth so I
didn’t choke.

I managed to slip into an uneasy sleep. I
dreamt again. Of course I dreamt. And of course that light followed
me. More aggressively this time. I ran through dreamlike corridor
after dreamlike corridor, my frantic footfall a pounding drum beat
in my heart.

And that light – it was everywhere. Chasing
me. Pushing me forward. Hounding me towards the dark.

By the time I woke, I was drenched in sweat,
about as bedraggled as the city streets beyond. Today, I was sure
was going to make or break me. And considering my luck, it would be
the latter.

That morning, I awoke expecting attack. An
explosion. The sky to fall in. Vampires to come spurting out of the
pipes in the bathroom. Demons to come dripping down the walls.

Except nothing happened at all.

For the first time in weeks, there wasn’t
even a cloud in the sky. It was quiet and strangely peaceful.

For some reason the vampire hoons that
usually rode their motorbikes right up to the intersection outside
the window had taken the morning off. Not to mention the werewolves
that always tore up and down the pavement shouting and screaming
and snarling at each other.

I lay there for several minutes with my
wrist pressed over my brow, my fingers grinding my eyes shut. My
teeth were bared and my body was tensed, ready for an attack.

The memory of that vampire’s strange
placards burnt brightly in my mind's eye. So brightly, that as I
closed my eyes, I could see the mock salute he'd given me.

Groaning, I eventually pushed the covers off
and stood.

A few slices of the bright and cheery
morning light were making it through the cracks in my blinds.

I frowned at them. Not the blinds, but the
cherry light.

I quickly padded into the kitchen, made
myself a cup of coffee, and sat down to read the paper.

The paper always magically appeared in the
kitchen, right next to the coffee machine. It was here long before
Mr Marvelous made it in in the morning.

I hadn't even bothered to ask how it got
there, probably magical rats for all I knew.

Not for the first time since I'd started
working here, I was beginning to appreciate how much I didn't know
about this world, and how much that was costing me.

Thumbing through the paper, I half expected
to find some new grisly murder or crime. Some fell magical deed to
take the edge off the goddamn bright sunshine outside.

Nothing. Not a thing. It seemed as if last
night, aside from the party, nothing much had happened in Hope
City.

I finished my coffee and allowed myself the
smallest smile. Because, hey, maybe my gut instinct was wrong, and
today really would be a good one.

It was approximately five minutes later,
when I was pulling on a pair of mom jeans and my most comfy top,
that I got a message on my phone. It wasn't from Sarah or Mr
Marvelous. It was from frigging Benson. And no, don't ask me how he
got my number.

I stared at the screen, bottom lip caught
between my teeth, a pained hissing wheezing sound filtering from my
pursed lips.

He wanted another vial of my blood.
Apparently he wasn't done running tests yet.

Instantly, a sick feeling clutched at my gut
as I realized what I was doing. I was giving a vampire my blood.
This wasn’t like going to the doctors and realizing you needed a
couple more tests.

This was like giving a vampire a pre-made
snack.

That fact hit me over and over again. But
there was nothing I could do. I'd signed that contract, and so far
even though I didn't want to admit it, Benson had held up his end
of the bargain. Which meant I had to take myself to pathology and
get them to squeeze a little more red juice from my veins.

Making a face at the reflective shiny metal
splash behind the cooker, I pocketed my phone, stretched and walked
into Mr Marvelous’ office.

He wasn't there, but a message was. I hadn't
heard him arrive, but somehow a sticky note was flapping on his
computer screen as if he’d dashed in and dashed out like the road
runner.

I swiveled my head from side-to-side, trying
to catch a glimpse of him, but there was nothing.

Frowning, I plucked up the sticky note and
held it firmly between my fingers.

I'll be out all day. If there are any crimes
that come in, solve them.

That was it. There was no “How are you, how
was last night? Did you, oh, I don't know, get threatened by any
more vampires?”

Screwing up the sticky note and throwing it
in the dustbin by my feet, I kicked the side of Mr Marvelous’ desk
for good measure, crossed my arms, and stared out of the window
glumly.

Though I would have liked to have remained
there all day, blaming the sunshine for leading me astray, I knew I
couldn't. Benson wanted another vial of my blood, and beyond that,
I had to decide what I was going to do about the message. Should I
really put on a dress and wait for Theodore Van Edgerton to
magically appear?

“No,” I said, the words cracking from my
lips without any effort of my own.

As soon as I heard myself say that, I
realized that, yes, that was the only answer to this situation.
There was no goddamn way I could put on a dress and wait for a
bloodsucking vampire to pick me up.

Glad I’d finally made that decision, I
loosened my arms from around my middle, grabbed my coat, and headed
out.

It didn't take long to reach the clinic and
muddle through another one of my weak explanations as to why I
needed a pristine vial of my blood and why I wasn't going to send
it to any government run pathology labs.

Once I had the vial in my pocket sealed in
one of those little plastic yellow biohazard bags, I felt a certain
kind of weight off my shoulders. But another kind of weight was
building in my gut instead, prickling at my intestines like
somebody playing an eerie tune on a guitar. The kind of tune you
might get in one of those suspense films when you're waiting for
the heroine to make her next stupid mistake.

Cramming a hand on my stomach and realizing
I was hungry but couldn't bear the thought of food, I decided it
was best to get this over with. I'd walk straight to Benson's
nearest building, drop off the blood, and be done with this by
lunchtime.

That single thought buoyed me, but it
couldn't for long. It was as I was walking down the street through
a relatively well-to-do section of town that I heard a strange
rumble. There were plenty of cars crisscrossing through the
intersections and darting down the winding streets. They were of
every shape and size, from sports cars belonging to leering vampire
teenagers, to massive Harley-Davidson motorbikes being ridden by
massive hairy werewolves.

But this – the engine I caught humming
through the air – it was different. Call it instinct, but I knew it
was coming for me.

I stiffened, yanking my head to the side,
but it wasn't in time.

The next thing I knew, a limousine pulled up
on the curb beside me. Not next to the curb, but on it. It rode up
a storm drain, mounted the pavement, and came to a stop barely a
millimeter from my left foot.

I shrieked and doubled back just as the
passenger door was thrown open.

Before I knew what was happening, two tall
gaunt men in impeccable black suits barreled out, grabbed me by the
shoulders, and shoved me inside.

There were several other people on the
street – two old grandma-looking types and a witch and warlock
walking hand-in-hand. Not one of them blinked. Two guys were
kidnapping me in broad daylight, and no one seemed to care. Not a
single person plunged a hand into their pocket, ripped out a phone,
and called the police.

Heck, I saw one of them shrug as if this was
a pretty ordinary morning routine.

Me, I didn't shrug. I sat there squeezed
between those two gaunt men as one reached over and did my seatbelt
up.

“What the hell is happening?” I shrieked.
“Get away from me.” I tried to jerk back, locked a foot on his
knee, and kicked him away.

But it wouldn't work.

The guy was somehow as stiff and hard as a
wall.

He was wearing those big wraparound shades
that blocked the sunlight from coming in at any angle, and yet I
swore I could see something glowing underneath. Something that
shouldn't be there. Red light.

I was starting to learn more about this
magical world. Every night I ensured I read one chapter from Mr
Marvelous’ file book. So I knew what a golem was. A creature made
out of clay and brought to life by a scroll deposited inside its
skull.

As I tried to shove the guy off once more,
the heel of my boot scraped across his knee and a chunk of
something fell out from the bottom of his suit pants.

Clay.

It crushed against his shiny polished black
shoe and scattered over the clean carpet beneath him.

He twisted his head and looked at me
menacingly. “Don't struggle,” he said. If you could call what came
from his mouth a voice. It was more like the kind of rumble you'd
expect before a massive earthquake tore a mountain in half.

I swallowed so hard I was sure I was going
to gag. Though I kept trying to struggle, there was nothing I could
do.

These guys were made of rock, and as they
latched two hands on my shoulders and weighed me down, it was as if
somebody had tied an anchor around my middle.

My breathing came in rapid, terrified pants
as I watched the limousine pull out from the curb and drive down
the street like a bat out of hell. Actually, who was I kidding? A
bat out of hell didn't have the same engine this beast had.

It was no normal limousine, and seemed to
rather possess the acceleration capacity of a jetliner.

Before I knew it, we had crossed half of
town.

Again we mounted the curb, several confused
pedestrians scooting out of the way.

“What are you doing? Let me out, let me
out!” I shrieked.

One of the golems leaned over, grabbed the
door, and pushed it open. He got out with a creak.

I saw an opportunity that wasn't there,
shoved forward, fell to my knees and rolled out of the car.

Before I could spring to my feet, kick the
golem in the shins, and shriek for help, I looked up at a pair of
extremely expensive tailored suit pants.

As my head dipped further back and my gaze
drifted up a tall, slender, well-built form, my eyes locked on none
other than Theodore Van Edgerton.

He twisted his head to the side, a cruel,
yet amused smile spreading his lips. “You don't have to get down on
all fours yet,” he said in a light tone. “And where is your
dress?”

“What?” My jaw dropped open, and there
wasn't a thing I could do to close it. “What's going on here?”

Theodore leaned down and cupped an arm
around my elbow, pulling me to my feet in such a quick move my head
spun.

Though I tried to take a jerked step back
and shove him away, I quickly found a strange kind of weakness
spreading from my arm and deep into my chest.

It was almost as if Theodore’s touch was an
anesthetic, and I was slowly shutting down. “What?” I began, but I
could barely move my lips.

“It's time for lunch,” Theodore said. He
brought up a hand and tapped his watch. “Actually, it's a little
early for lunch. Then we’ll make it brunch,” he continued his
one-sided conversation and leaned over to pat a non-existent speck
from my shoulder.

He led me forward.

In the terror that was being shoved into an
expensive limousine and driven half way across town only to be
dumped at Theodore’s feet, I hadn't bothered to notice where we
were. As I tugged my head back and swiveled it to the side, I
really did lose all control of my jaw. I swear it ripped off my
head and fell somewhere near my feet with a suitable clang. We were
at categorically the most expensive restaurant in the city, if not
the country.