House Rules (9 page)

I frowned in sympathy, then moved closer to wipe a crimson stain from his cheek. “Well,
Mr. Manly Man, you have a drugstore’s worth of lipstick on your face.”

Jeff sighed and scrubbed the mark. “That’s not gonna work. I’m supposed to meet Fallon
later.”

“I don’t think she’d be thrilled about their interest in you. Or the evidence.”

“She’d go ballistic,” he said. “She’s got history there, I guess, with cheating.”

“Ah,” I said. I didn’t know enough about her to say more than that.

“The good news is, we’ve discovered they’re easily distracted. Catcher couldn’t calm
them down, so they went nuclear about a minor issue—
again
—and drove over here. We discovered a few minutes of gaming calms them down and gets
them talking rationally again.”

“They have to band together to solve problems,” my grandfather said. “And this is
much less messy than paintball.”

“Whatever works,” I said with a smile, then gestured at Jeff’s getup. “And what’s
this you’re wearing?”

“The ensemble of Roland of Westmere. He’s a character from ‘Jakob’s Quest’—that’s
the game I was playing.”

“I can’t imagine being so involved in a video game that I’d want to wear a costume.
I mean, what’s the appeal?”

“What
isn’t
the appeal? I get to have someone else’s drama for a little while instead of my own.”

Okay, that I could understand. My Sentinel leathers were a kind of costume for me—an
ensemble that let me feel a little more kick-ass and bluff a little more easily. Not
that the role didn’t come with its own drama.

“Fair enough,” I told Jeff.

He gestured toward the back of the House. “I’m going to change real quick and then
I’ll come fill you in. Catcher’s in the back if you want to talk to him.”

“Do you need a drink, baby girl?” my grandfather asked.

“No, I’m good. But thank you. I’ll go find Catcher.”

I walked down the hallway to the former storage room my grandfather had turned into
an office for his volunteer crew. Catcher sat at a homely-looking desk. No costume
for him, fortunately. He wore a flat expression, jeans, and a T-shirt that pictured
a velociraptor, teeth bared, riding a giant kitten and wearing his own T-shirt that
read,
KTHXBAI
.

“FYI,” I said, stepping into the room, “I think the Internet threw up on your T-shirt.”

Catcher rolled his eyes. “Is it just me, or is there always vampire drama to attend
to?”

“Unfortunately, there is, and I’m attending to it. Although I could say the same thing
about sorceress drama. And speaking of, how’s yours?”

I meant Mallory, of course, because I wanted—from at least one of them—an update about
their relationship.

Uncharacteristically, Catcher blushed. I took that as a good sign.

“We’re talking,” he said.

“That sounds promising. Especially since you’re living in her house.”

Before the onset of her magical addiction, Mallory and Catcher shared her brownstone
in Wicker Park. When Mallory decamped to live with the shifters, Catcher stayed put.

His blush deepened, and I gave myself five more points. Advantage: Merit.

“Our relationship is a movie of the week,” he admitted.

Jeff, having quickly changed, walked into the room wearing a pale-blue button-down
shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and khakis. The combo was his unofficial uniform.
He sat down at his desk and began tapping on his keyboard, which was actually a conglomeration
of keyboards he’d turned into one Frankensteinian monstrosity.

“I checked Eve’s calls,” he said. “She’d cleared out her call list within the last
day or two, so there are only a couple of phone calls on it: to Rose, to the registration
center.”

“Crap,” I said. “I was hoping for more of a lead there. She probably called the registration
center to see if they were open.”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“What about biological material on the phone? Fingerprints, anything like that? Or
the glass?”

“We’ve asked Detective Jacobs to take a look,” Catcher said. Detective Jacobs was
a solid cop and a friend of my grandfather’s. Unlike some of the other CPD members,
he didn’t assume we were troublemakers just because we were vampires.

“Good,” I said.

Jeff swiveled in his chair to face me, fingers intertwined over his abdomen. “It is
good. The problem is, the CPD is already backlogged. Even pulling in a favor, it could
be a few days before we find anything out.”

I sat down and blew out a breath, deflated. I’d been hoping for something more from
those two little bits of evidence. They were the only leads we had, and they were
looking like pretty crappy leads.

“I’m out of ideas,” I said.

“It’s possible there’s nothing to this,” Catcher said. “Maybe they aren’t missing.
Maybe this is just about two vampires who decided to make their own decision, go their
own way. They are Rogues, after all.”

“Yeah, but even Rogues follow patterns. And from what Noah was saying, it was out
of character for these two to completely up and disappear.”

“Merit?”

We all looked up. My grandfather stood in the doorway. “There are some folks here
I think you’ll want to see.”

His expression was neutral, and I found my hopes lifting. Was it Oliver and Eve? Had
they dropped by to tell us they were fine, and this had all been a big misunderstanding?

I followed him into the hallway, Catcher and Jeff at my heels, and then back into
the living room.

In front of the door, tucked into jackets against the cold, stood Noah, Rose, and
a third vampire I didn’t know. Rose’s eyes were red and swollen. The new girl, who
had tan skin and sleek, jet-black hair, had an arm around Rose.

Their expressions didn’t bode well; nor did the melancholic magic that accompanied
them into the house.

“We’re sorry to barge in,” Noah said.

“Not at all,” my grandfather said. “Please come in. I can take your jackets, if you
like.”

“No, we’re okay,” Noah said, as they stepped inside.

My grandfather smiled gently and gestured toward the sofa. “Have a seat.”

Noah nodded, and the trio moved silently to the couch.

“You know Rose,” Noah said when they were seated. “This is Elena.”

“Catcher and Jeff Christopher,” I said, motioning to the pair, who stood behind me.
“And my grandfather Chuck Merit. What’s happened?” I asked Noah.

“We found them,” Noah said.

As Rose broke into a sob, Noah pulled his cell phone from his pocket, pushed a button
or two, and handed it to me.

CHAPTER FIVE

VAMPIRES, INTERRUPTED

I
’d braced myself for the worst, and that was hardly preparation enough. The picture
was grainy and the colors were mottled, but there was no denying the subject matter.

Oliver and Eve were dead.

There were few guaranteed ways to kill a vampire—aspen stake, sunlight, total dismemberment,
decapitation. The latter two options were why vampires carried swords into battle.
Our blades were a sure weapon to fell an immortal foe.

Whoever had done this deed, whatever dark-hearted monster, had chosen decapitation.

They lay side by side on a wood floor in a pool of blood. They were holding hands,
their fingers intertwined in a final act of love—a denial of death. Their arms were
covered in tattoos that seemed to flow together, as if they’d been inked arm over
arm by the same artist.

They both had blond hair, but it was matted with blood. Their throats had been cut
completely, their heads severed but resting only centimeters away from their bodies,
a mockery of their immortality. They might have survived other wounds that would kill
most humans; vampires healed quickly, and gashes might have eventually closed. But
decapitation was, quite clearly, a mortal wound. A cruel cut.

There were no other signs of trauma. They might have been sleeping . . . other than
the obvious insult.

I’d seen death before, and I’d taken life myself—always in the heat of battle, and
always to protect someone or something that I’d loved. That was different. Unless
Noah had information about Oliver and Eve we just didn’t understand, this was cold-blooded,
and shocking in its brutality.

My stomach swooned. My skin felt clammy, and a cold trickle of sweat slipped down
my back. My head spun. I was swamped by the sudden memories of the loss I’d suffered
a few months ago, before Ethan had been brought back to me. . . .

Shakily, I handed the phone to my grandfather, then looked at Noah, Rose, and Elena.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Noah nodded. “We aren’t troublemakers. I don’t know who could have done this.”

“A monster,” my grandfather said frankly, handing the phone to Catcher and Jeff, then
looking at Noah, Rose, and Elena in turn. “I’m sorry for your loss, as well. I know
that’s little consolation, but I’m sorry for it.”

I wondered how many times he’d spoken those words in his decades-long career as a
cop.

“You took the picture?” Catcher asked.

Noah nodded again. “A friend of ours is a professional photographer. He loves to take
shots of urban decay: building husks, graffiti, rusting steel, things like that. There’s
an old document warehouse not far from his studio. It was built in the nineteen forties,
and he didn’t think it would last much longer. He wanted to take a look before it
was torn down or fell down, so he was walking through it with a colleague.”

Noah cleared his throat, as if the explanation was getting more difficult. “They were
walking around one of the upper floors, and they smelled blood, but they couldn’t
figure out where it was coming from. No visible source anywhere. James—that’s the
vampire—eventually found a latch. There was a secret room, a vault of some kind at
the back of the room. They opened the door . . . and found Oliver and Eve.”

Rose sobbed. My grandfather offered a box of tissues housed in a cozy knitted by my
grandmother. Elena pulled a few out and handed them to Rose, who pressed them to her
face but only cried harder.

“We took a look—just to confirm it was them—then came here. I left others to retrieve
their remains. In case there’s other evidence there, we wanted someone to know.”

I looked at my grandfather, silently seeking his advice. A murder would fall under
the purview of the CPD, but it wasn’t as if the city’s sentiment toward vampires was
friendly right now. We were, after all, animals that required licensing.

“I can make a discreet phone call to the CPD,” my grandfather said. “In the meantime,”
he told Catcher, “you might take a look at the scene for any other evidence.” He glanced
at Noah. “If that’s all right with you?”

Noah nodded.

“Merit and I will go,” Catcher said.

Noah was a big and buff man, but I caught a glint of relief in his eyes. He didn’t
want to return to the crime scene, and I didn’t blame him. “Yeah,” he said. “That’s
probably best.”

“I hate to ask this,” Catcher said, “but is there any chance James or his friend is
involved?”

Noah shook his head. “I know you have to ask, and no. I’ve thought about it, and I
truly believe he had nothing to do with it. Oliver and Eve were good kids. Ditto James.
He prefers cameras to weapons, and he volunteers at a halfway house for guys with
addiction problems. The service-oriented type.”

Catcher nodded. “Then we’ll start with the building. Jeff, while we’re gone, check
the property records for anything interesting. The owner, the history, anything that
might tell us why the building was picked.”

“Will do,” Jeff said. He stood and waved gallantly down the hallway. “If any of you
would like to join me in my office, you’re welcome to. You could lend your expertise.”

Noah rose and followed Jeff down the hall, leaving Elena and Rose on the couch, curled
together in their grief.

My grandfather looked around the room. “Why don’t I make some coffee, or perhaps tea?”
He smiled gently at Rose and Elena. “Would either of you young ladies like that?”

“Tea would be great,” Elena said gratefully, and my grandfather nodded and disappeared
into the kitchen.

“We’ll be back,” I assured Elena. “Noah knows how to reach us if necessary.”

“Find something,” she said, and I truly hoped we would.

* * *

Catcher volunteered to drive to the address Noah had given us, which was also in Little
Italy. Unfortunately, it made a grim kind of sense that the killer would do the killing
not far from the registration center where Oliver and Eve were taken.

On the way, I took a moment to update the House. I called Ethan, but didn’t get an
answer, and opted not to leave a grim voice mail. This was news I’d deliver in person.

“Two dead vampires,” Catcher said when I tucked the phone away again. “And by all
accounts, decent, innocent vampires.”

Two vampires who’d lain down together, hands intertwined, and wouldn’t awaken again.
I wasn’t sure why I kept coming back to that detail. Perhaps it was the former grad
student in me. I’d studied medieval literature, and there was something about the
image that evoked Romeo and Juliet.

Had that been the killer’s purpose? Not just to kill vampires—or to kill these two
vampires—but to paint an image of sweet and sad and bitter death?

There was something terrifyingly foreign about the idea. I understood killing in the
heat of battle. I could understand killing for anger or revenge; the motivation was
clear. But killing for poignancy? Killing to shock or offend? That was something much
stranger, and I couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it.

“The killer was setting a scene,” I said. “Arranging them just so. They couldn’t have
held hands through . . . what happened to them.”

“And he knew how to take out a vampire. He knew decapitation would do it, or he got
really lucky on the first try.”

I nodded. “Staking would have been easier. Aspen is so fast—a second and they’d have
been gone. But if they’d been staked, ash would be the only thing left.”

“Sunlight also would have been faster,” Catcher said. “If he’d wanted them really,
truly gone, there are lots of ways to hide that evidence, and we’d never have found
them. So that’s the first question—what’s he trying to tell us? And second, why these
vampires in particular? Why Oliver and Eve? Did he mean to kill them . . . ?”

“Or did he just mean to kill?” I wondered.

Not exactly the most comforting thought.

* * *

The rain fell in a whispery mist, adding another layer of bleakness to the evening.
We parked the car on an empty side street and stared up at our destination—a white
brick warehouse with
WILKINS
painted across the side in peeling blue paint. The windows were mostly boarded now,
and the site was wrapped in torn plastic fencing to keep out visitors. Unfortunately,
the warehouse’s condition was similar to that of the other nearby buildings. They
were old or dilapidated, in serious need of paint and rehab.

Catcher lifted the collar of his jacket and buttoned it up against the irritatingly
constant rain and chill in the air. “Into the deep?” he asked.

I nodded and prepared to take the lead when a figure emerged through the darkness
on the other end of the block. I put a hand on the pommel of my sword.

“Merit,” Catcher whispered, a warning.

“He’s a vampire,” I quietly said when the familiar magic reached me. “No hostility
that I can sense.”

He was tall and angularly thin, with long arms and legs tucked into an old-fashioned
black suit complete with vest beneath his trim jacket. His dark hair was short, a
striking contrast to his muttonchop sideburns.

The light of a passing car reflected in his eyes, which were completely silver.

Vampires’ eyes silvered when they were in the throes of strong emotions. Unfortunately,
I couldn’t tell which emotion he was feeling; his magic, although nervous, was otherwise
neutral. Was he so adept at hiding his feelings, or was his reaction merely biological?

“You’re Merit?” he asked.

I nodded, but kept a hand on my sword, a warning that I was prepared for action, and
funny business wouldn’t be tolerated. (Although in stressful times like this, I rarely
said no to a good bit of sarcasm.)

Catcher watched him warily. “I’m Catcher, and you have us at a disadvantage.”

“Horace Wilson,” the vampire said, extending a hand. “Corporal, if you prefer it,
although Horace is fine, too.”

“You serve?” Catcher asked.

“Served,” he said, emphasizing the past tense. “Eleventh Maine Volunteer Infantry.”

That would have made him a soldier in the Civil War, and at least a century and a
half old.

“We’re sorry to hear of your losses,” Catcher said.

“Appreciated, although I didn’t know them myself. I’m just here to help. Rogues have
a public service corps—purely volunteer, but we take care of things that need to be
done. Some of them grimmer than others.”

Horace glanced around the neighborhood, which seemed quiet and asleep, but we were
odd-looking enough that we’d attract attention eventually.

“Let’s get inside,” he said. “We’ve taken care of the kids.”

“Kids?” I asked.

“Oliver and Eve. They were relatively young. Kids to me and most in my circle.” He
waved us toward a bit of fence that was rumpled, then lifted it so we could sneak
beneath. When we were inside the barrier, we followed Horace toward the building and
a set of double entrance doors.

He looked over at me. “You’re a kid yourself.”

“Vampire since April,” I said.

“Good transition?”

“It’s had its moments,” I said.

The doors, heavy and industrial, hung poorly on their hinges. Horace pushed them open
with two hands, sparks flying up from the grate of steel against the concrete pad
below. When he’d made a gap large enough to squeeze through, he switched on a flashlight.

We followed him into the building and directly into a stairwell. We climbed up to
the third floor and emerged into a gigantic empty space, presumably where the documents
had once been stored.

It might have previously been a warehouse, but its storage days had long since passed.
No furniture, no shelves, no operating lights. Graffiti marked the exposed brick walls,
and water dripped from ceiling tiles into puddles on the scarred wooden floors.

Horace shined a flashlight across the huge room to other side, where the door to the
hidden room that James had found stood open.

“That’s it,” he said, then offered the flashlight to me. “I’ve been in once, and that
was plenty for me. I’ll wait out here.”

I took it and nodded. Catcher beside me, the circle of light bobbing in front of us,
we walked across the room, footsteps echoing across the worn wooden floors.

We reached the secret door, a tidy slab of faux brick that, when closed, would have
slotted neatly into the rest of the wall. But for the blood, James never would have
found it.

The door rotated on a single point that balanced its weight. A brick to the right
of the door stuck out a bit farther than the others. That, I assumed, was the hidden
latch that opened the door.

“It’s an interesting contraption,” Catcher said.

“For someone wanting to hide something, sure.”

The scent of blood spilled from the vault, and I was glad I’d had blood before I left
the House. Intellectually, I had no interest in the spilled blood of two murdered
Rogues. But my baser predatory instincts didn’t much care for ethics, and the blood’s
origin didn’t diminish its desirability. I was a vampire, and blood was blood.

We stepped inside.

Oliver and Eve—as Horace had promised—were gone. But the evidence of their brutal
murders remained. Their deaths had been marked by the pool of dark blood on the floor,
still damp in the night’s humidity.

A wave of scent washed over me, and I closed my eyes for a moment against the instinctive
attraction.

“Keep it together,” Catcher whispered, moving ahead of me toward the puddles.

“In the process,” I assured him. When I was positive I was in control, I opened my
eyes again, then ran the beam back and forth across the room in the event any clues
might be found there. The room was big enough on its own, probably thirty by thirty
feet square.

There were no windows, no shelves, no goods a warehouse would actually store. As in
the rest of the space, the walls were made of exposed brick. Other than the size,
and the hidden door, there was nothing here that differentiated it from the rest of
the warehouse.