Angel: Private Eye Book One (3 page)

The police. Oh, thank God, it was the
police.

Sure enough, there was a grind of tires and
the growl of an engine, and a second later, a squad car came into
view.

I struggled, trying to push myself up, but
there was no point. My legs had turned into jelly, my body nothing
more than soggy cardboard.

A uniformed officer jumped out of the front
seat, just as a detective piled out of the back.

The detective ran up to me, scooting down to
one knee and staring earnestly into my eyes. “Ma’am, are you all
right?” His eyes locked on the droplets of blood trickling from the
wound in my neck.

I brought a shaking hand up and pressed it
over the wound, finally managing a shaky nod. “I was attacked. I
was attacked,” I stuttered so badly my words would be
indiscernible.

Immediately the guy pulled off his jacket
and furled it around my shoulders. Then he started looking around
the crime scene. “Where’s the perp? Where did the vampire go?” He
swiveled his gaze back to me. “And what was that almighty burst of
light? We saw it from several blocks away.”

My head began to buzz as he mentioned the
light, but it wasn't nearly as bad as the awful metallic taste that
swam through my mouth when he asked where the vampire had gone.

“Did he get away? Ma’am, did you see where
the vampire went?” the detective asked in a direct, calm tone
clearly designed to put me at ease.

Finally I brought up a shaking hand.

I pointed at the pile of ash by my feet.

At first the guy didn't understand. At first
the guy kept swiveling his gaze around, clearly looking for any
indication where the vampire had run off to.

Then the detective stopped. And slowly he
turned his attention back to me. By now the uniformed officer had
gotten out of the car. He had some kind of strange glowing device
in his hand that burned with an unmistakable red, magical glow.

As soon as he brought it towards me, let
alone the pile of dust on the ground, it began to beep like an
overexcited Geiger counter.

In a single snapped second, the detective’s
crumpled, caring gaze changed.

He pushed to his feet, his wary, dark eyes
locked on me. “Ma’am, did you kill that vampire?”

The question made my already ringing mind
twist into freefall. My head began to spin, faster and faster,
faster and faster.

“Ma’am, did you kill that vampire?” the
detective asked once more.

“I didn't mean to,” I managed. Then I
blacked out.

When I came to, I was being checked over by
a stiff lipped nurse in the police station.

At first, my mind couldn't catch up to what
had happened. At first, all I was aware of was this godawful
ringing in my mind that felt like a choir screeching between my
ears.

Then the metallic taste of leftover fear
filled my mouth. So did the memory of what had happened.

I'd been attacked… and I’d killed a guy. Or
something had killed him.

As soon as I was awake, the stiff lipped,
severe-looking nurse grabbed the phone from her pocket, made a call
and then settled back to watching me with that hard gaze. “She's
awake.”

I didn't need any clarification to realize
the nurse was talking about me.

A few minutes later, the detective from the
alleyway appeared. He was back in his jacket; he’d obviously taken
it off me. That wasn't the only thing he'd taken from me. His
compassion was gone. Now his gaze was as hard as steel wrapped in
diamond. “Miss Luck, you are going to be charged with first-degree
murder,” he said with no introduction.

If my mind had spun before, it was
absolutely nothing compared to what it did now. I felt like it
imploded. Like my sense of self shattered and hit the floor with a
bang.

“What? What?” I stuttered.

“Miss Elizabeth Luck, you killed a vampire
tonight. He may be an otherworlder, like yourself, but that's still
murder,” the detective said with a tone about as dangerous as a
knife held to your back. His gaze was about as deadly, too.

I started to shake my head, over and over
and over again. “Murder? Murder? I didn't kill anyone. That guy… he
just, he attacked me. Tried to feed on me. But he had some kind of
reaction to my blood. Like, like an allergy, or something. I didn't
kill him.” My world began to fall down around me. I'd started the
day terrified that I wouldn't be able to find a job. Now I was
going to be charged with first-degree murder.

Neither the detective nor the nurse softened
their hard gazes as they stared at me like the scum that collects
in storm drains after a deluge.

“What are you?” the detective asked as he
locked his arms around his middle. “Witch? A sorcerer? It isn’t on
your citizen file, but that doesn't mean much to people like you,
does it?” He bared his teeth at me. “Get your kicks by luring
unsuspecting vampires into alleyways and hexing them, do you? Well
I've got news for you, missy, William Benson III is on his way. If
you think you can mess with the vampire clan of Hope City and get
away with it, you are dead wrong,” the guy's voice shook violently
hard on the word dead.

Benson… William Benson III. He was meant to
be one of the most powerful vampires in the city, let alone the
country. He was also the richest, too. Heck, his wealth rivaled
most small governments.

Oh, but that wasn't to mention the most
important fact. William Benson III was the spokesperson for the
vampire clans of Hope City.

And, apparently, soon to be my
executioner.

Before I knew what was happening, my head
began to spin again. And this time there was no stopping it as it
snatched me down into the relatively peaceful arms of
unconsciousness. Peaceful arms that wouldn't be able to keep me
safe for long.

My reckoning was coming – a reckoning that
would come at the strong, perfect hands of William Benson.

“Sorry for dragging you down here while
you’re busy,” Detective Cortez said as he leaned back in his chair
and crossed his arms.

William smoothed a smile over his face and
offered the detective a gracious nod. “I have told you before, I am
always at the Hope City PD's disposal. Especially when a crime is
committed against a vampire.” Benson smiled and showed his
teeth.

Detective Cortez snorted. “I have no idea
what the idiotic witch was thinking. Killing a vampire in one of
the busiest nightclub districts of the city? She must have a death
wish.”

“Perhaps,” Benson agreed simply.

“I'm already throwing the book at her. We’ve
got more than enough evidence to prove that the witch murdered him
in cold blood.”

Benson didn't twitch at that word. Many
vampires less skilled would have. He did, however, narrow his gaze.
“How are we so sure that she's a witch? And do you have any idea
how she murdered the victim?”

Detective Cortez didn't look particularly
pleased by that question.

“A taxi driver has come forward saying he
saw Miss Luck running down that alleyway mere minutes before the
crime was committed.”

Benson nodded politely. “I see, but do we
have any idea how this Miss Luck – is it? How she murdered
him?”

Cortez brought a hand up and grated his
nails over the back of his head – a telling move. “She killed the
guy – hexed him with her blood. I mean, all it took was one drink,
and the guy turned to dust.”

William didn’t react. He’d spent several
lifetimes perfecting the ability to keep a completely neutral
expression. “Indeed, but are we sure she hexed her blood? It takes
a great deal of magic, patience, and some would say sheer stupidity
to lace your own blood with a magical spell capable of killing a
vampire. Let alone turning one to dust.”

“What are you saying?” Cortez leaned back in
his chair, the wooden legs groaning over the marked black-and-white
linoleum of the floor.

“That I need to look at the evidence. I
assume you’ve removed the totality of the victim’s ashes from the
scene. Have you also taken a sample of Miss Luck’s blood?” William
kept his voice even. Dead even. He wasn’t like some of the newer
vampires, like some of his crasser brethren. He could work in a
pathology taking blood, and it wouldn’t send his hunger wild.

He was in control of his passions, not the
other way around.

William was vaguely aware that much of the
amorous affection for vampire’s came from their lust. To a certain
subset of the human population, they were attracted to vampires’
raw, undiluted, almost unstoppable passion.

Not William. He’d conquered his drive long
ago. So it took no effort to control his expression whatsoever as
he nodded at Cortez. “Do you have her bloods?”

Cortez made an uncomfortable move, his
muscles creaking as they stiffened. William could also smell the
distinct scent of heightened stress as Cortez clearly battled with
his conscience.

It wasn’t that Cortez wouldn’t trust William
– it was that Cortez would have heard the stories. Blood could send
even the most gracious, courteous, polite vampire wild. Catch them
on the wrong day, and a single drop of freely given blood could
strip a vampire of every sentiment of reason, leaving only that
pulsating, never-quenchable thirst instead.

William kept his expression even.

Cortez appeared to come to his decision. He
shrugged, opened his desk, and tugged out two evidence bags. One
held a vial of dust – presumably the victim’s ashes.

The other held a perfect sample of ruby-red
glistening blood.

William reached out and plucked up the ash
first. He pulled it from the ziplock clear plastic bag, and held it
firmly in the palm of his hand.

He quietened his mind and locked every scrap
of his attention on the ash. On the life it had been.

He looked for any trace of the spell that
had killed the vampire. If he’d really been hexed, his ash would
still be sparking with microscopic charges of ethema – the primary
energy source for magic.

…
Nothing.

The ash was clean.

Finally William Benson III reached forward
and tenderly plucked up the blood.

It sang to him. Reached out. Pushed through
his mind and snagged a hold around his heart.

…
It was powerful.
Extremely powerful stuff. So powerful, he almost considered
dropping it.

He didn’t, though. He wrapped his fingers
harder around the vial, drawing it close to his face.

Perhaps for half a second, he forgot to
control his expression, because he looked up to see Cortez
swallowing visibly.

William cleared his throat. He ticked his
head to the side, inserting a finger into his collar and neatening
it.

Finally he concentrated on the blood –
pushed past the insane hold it seemed to have over him.

There was no doubting that human blood was
attractive to vampires. The blood of certain other magical races,
however, was much, much more potent.

He suspected that’s what he was holding
now.

“So,” Cortez appeared to reluctantly break
the eerie silence, “What are you detecting? Can you feel the hex
she used to kill the guy?”

“There’s no hex in this blood,” William
managed, his voice not as even as he’d have liked.

“What?” Cortez spluttered. “Well… there has
to be something else.”

“There is.” Reluctantly, though it felt like
ripping off one of his arms, William handed the blood back to
Cortez.

Cortez looked at him questioningly. “What do
you mean?”

“I think it’s time I meet this Miss Luck,”
her name rolled off William’s tongue with a pleasant tang.

“She’s currently in one of the holding
cells. I’ll arrange for her to be brought to my office—” Cortez
grabbed his rumpled jacket from over the back of his chair.

William brought a hand up, surprised at how
quick the move was. “No. I’ll get her. It will give me a chance to
size her up.”

Cortez froze halfway through tugging his
jacket on, brow crumpling to a thin line over his dark eyes. “What
does that mean? What the hell is she, anyway?”

“Oh, Hell is only one possibility, Detective
Cortez. But there are many others,” William said cryptically as he
stopped himself from giving the vial of Miss Luck’s blood one last
longing look.

“What the heck does that mean?”

“That it’s time I find out what race Miss
Luck comes from.” With that, Benson turned on his foot, a flicker
of something igniting in his gut.

It was a sensation he hadn’t felt for years.
Interest. Curiosity.

The feeling that something was about to
begin. He curled his lips and savored the sensation as he strode
forward, Italian loafers beating a solid drumbeat on the
linoleum.

I sat there, still shaking. Though they'd
given me something for the blood loss and shock, it wasn't
working.

I was in the cells now, pressed right up as
far as I could get along one of the rickety metal seats. The cell
was filled with other perps who'd been dragged in that night. Real
criminals, if my innocent little mind was any judge. One looked
like a body witch – a sorceress who could spell herself into
looking like anyone or anything for your pleasure. Or torture –
depending on who paid her.

My skin crawled the way she looked at me. As
if she was sizing up my measurements, remembering them in case
anyone was stupid enough to ever ask for a 5’3 mouse with blond
stringy hair and a figure like a toothpick.

There was a sullen warlock pacing from one
end of the room to the other, his arms clasped tightly around his
well-built, muscular body. There were flecks of what looked like
either dried blood or blood red paint under his nails. Or both.
Unlike the vampires, it would be harder for the warlocks to source
the material they needed for their spells. I'd always heard that
certain enchantments that required pure blood could be thinned down
with red pigment. Though the results were rarely the same, unless
you were brewing spells for someone with the nous and balls to
complain to a warlock, that didn't matter. It was a little like
powerful drug lords cutting down their cocaine with powdered
sugar.