I let out my breath. “Fish tanks?”
“Any other ideas?”
“No,” I said honestly. Snake scales would have been bad; snake scales might have meant a lamia, or the lamia. As far as I knew, there was only one. I was just glad it wasn’t snake scales. “And I don’t see how this connects with the ghouls.”
“Ghouls?” Again with the blank look.
This time it was the chief who coughed. “We have a statement from an eyewitness—that is, a human eyewitness—confirming that two of the boys were seen at the Wheelhouse two weeks prior looking for a ghoul known as Ray D. The victim was found with a Wheelhouse matchbook in his pocket, and an illegible number on it. And if I understand correctly, Miss Johanssen’s undines tentatively identified two of the party in the boat as ghouls.”
“Also, one of them attacked me last night,” I added. The chief shot me a dumbstruck look. “I’m not sure if it’s related.”
“Sorry, sir,” Cody murmured. “I didn’t have time to report it.”
Detective Wilkes scribbled in a leather-bound notebook. “Okay, okay,” he muttered to himself. “Got a bit of a learning curve here.” He glanced up at us. “I’ve never worked a case with a—what do you call it?—eldritch angle before. You’re going to have to bring me up to speed on a few things.”
“Where do you want to start?” I asked.
He tossed the question back to me. “Where do you want to start?”
I patted my straw satchel, emboldened by the presence of dauda-dagr inside it. “I’d like to have a few words with the new head ghoul.”
“So would I,” Cody said in a flat tone.
Detective Wilkes brushed his finger over his neat mustache, thinking. “All right, I’ll tell you what. Give me an hour to study the case file and make a few calls to my team. I’d like to get them started running background checks on everyone involved and looking into local pet stores or aquarium maintenance services.” He pointed at me. “I’d like to see your full report on the, um, undines’ testimony. I understand it isn’t written yet?”
“No,” I admitted.
“Not to mention this ghoul attack.” The chief glowered. “Daisy, if this is getting dangerous—”
“It’s not the kind of attack you can report, sir,” I said. “Not to mundane authorities. It was a violation of Hel’s rules. Unless you can charge a man with attempting to feed on the emotions of the unwilling?”
He sighed.
Tim Wilkes looked slightly pale. “So that’s what ghouls do?”
“That’s what ghouls do,” Cody confirmed.
“Not usually.” I don’t know why I felt compelled to defend them, except maybe for the memory of Stefan Ludovic’s ice-blue eyes. Tragic figures, Hel had called them. In Stefan’s case, I could almost believe it. Or maybe I just wanted to. The others, not so much. “Usually, they feed on the willing.”
“Who are willing because they’re miserable, and want to have their emotions drained,” Cody countered. “A vicious cycle most ghouls are only too happy to perpetuate.”
“None of which even remotely begins to explain how and why a twenty-one-year-old boy apparently drowned in salt water a thousand miles from the nearest ocean,” Chief Bryant interjected in a hard voice. He tossed a copy of today’s Appeldoorn Guardian on the conference table. The headline screamed,
PEMKOWET CHIEF OF POLICE
CONTINUES TO STONEWALL
Should Legislative Action Be Considered?
“I suggest you get to work before the shitstorm intensifies.”
Briefly, I entertained an unwelcome vision of Garm the bread-loving hellhound lying shot and bleeding on the dunes, Yggdrasil II hewn down with a thundering crash by an army of chain saws, and Little Niflheim excavated with backhoes. “Duly noted, sir.”
“Good.”
Seventeen
A little more than an hour later, Cody, Detective Wilkes, and I set out to pay a visit to Stefan Ludovic at the Wheelhouse, having first confirmed with a phone call that the head ghoul was on the premises and willing to receive us.
There were at least a dozen motorcycles in the parking lot, which seemed a bit excessive for not quite noon on a Wednesday. I wondered whether Stefan had called for backup. He didn’t strike me as the nervous type, but he didn’t strike me as the type to shy away from a show of force, either.
There was also a shiny black Lincoln Town Car with tinted windows sitting in the lot, its engine idling. I wondered what the hell that was all about.
I didn’t have to wonder long. As soon as we exited the car, a driver in a suit and tie got out of the Lincoln and opened the door for his passenger. A pair of long, shapely legs in stiletto heels emerged with the elegance of considerable practice, followed by the rest of a familiar figure.
“Hey, baby girl!” Lurine greeted me. She wore oversize sunglasses and a formfitting dress with a bold, graphic print. “Long time no see.”
“Is that . . . ?” Cody sounded stunned.
Lurine lowered her sunglasses enough to peer over them, looking him up and down. “Oh, my, you are a fine-looking specimen.”
Detective Wilkes’s voice was faint and incredulous. “Are you, um, Lurine Hollister, ma’am?”
She winked at him. “Guilty as charged.”
I sighed. “Lurine, what are you doing here?”
“Let’s just say that I had a feeling you’d turn up here today.” Lurine slung an affectionate arm over my shoulders. “Your mom’s worried about you, cupcake. And I promised to look after you a long time ago.”
“You know Lurine Hollister?” Cody turned his stunned expression in my direction.
“Uh-huh.”
“Ever since my little cupcake here was hardly more than a baby.” Lurine planted a smacking kiss on my temple. “Right, Daise?”
“Yep.”
“Is she . . .” The detective lowered his voice. “One of your kind?”
Lurine gave him a mild glance. “And what kind do you suppose that might be, cutie-pie?”
He flushed. “I’ve no idea, ma’am.”
She patted his arm with her free hand. “That’s probably for the best, don’t you think?”
“I’ve seen all your movies,” Cody blurted. “You were great in Revulsion Asylum, and Return to Revulsion Asylum.”
Lurine smiled at him. “You’re sweet.”
Cody blushed, too. “What can I say? I’m a fan.”
Oh, gah!
“I can’t believe your taste in movies,” I said to Cody. “That’s what you watch? Seriously?” Realizing what I’d said, I grimaced and checked myself. “So sorry, Lurine. No offense intended.”
She squeezed my shoulders. “None taken, cupcake. Shall we go inside?”
“You don’t have to do this,” I said to her. “In fact, you really shouldn’t do this.”
Releasing me, Lurine rummaged in her purse and withdrew a neatly folded handkerchief, which she used to blot the crimson lipstick imprint she’d left on my brow. “Oh, don’t argue with me.” Surveying her handiwork, she gave my temple a final swipe and stowed her handkerchief. “I’ve been bored lately. This will be fun.”
“Ma’am.” Detective Wilkes cleared his throat. “Ah . . . Ms. Hollister. This is highly irregular.”
She gave him another wink. “That’s what makes it fun.”
I think the detective would have tried to stop her if he dared, but he didn’t. Lurine sauntered toward the door of the Wheelhouse, and the rest of us fell obediently in line behind her.
“I can’t believe you know Lurine Hollister!” Cody whispered to me. I punched him unobtrusively in the shoulder. “Ow! What was that for?”
“Nothing.”
This time, there was no clatter of cue sticks and pool balls to go silent when we entered the bar. It was already silent.
But it got . . . more silent.
I counted seven or eight rough-looking ghouls with pale skin, glittering eyes, and doting women near them. To my relief, Al the Walrus wasn’t among them; to my covert disappointment, neither was Stefan Ludovic. There were another four or five mortal men, also members of the Outcasts, wearing their colors with sullen pride. The same skinny human bartender with the muttonchops was on duty, wearing a sleeveless black concert T-shirt that showed off the tattoos on his wiry arms.
Since we’d called ahead, they had been expecting us.
They hadn’t expected Lurine.
See, here’s the thing. Like I said, members of the eldritch community always recognize one another as kin of a sort. Sometimes it’s obvious; sometimes it’s not. If there’s a glamour, we can see through it. Even if there isn’t, as is the case with half-breeds like me or shape-shifters like Cody, there’s a palpable sense of otherness.
On the other hand, recognizing someone as other doesn’t necessarily translate into knowing exactly what that other is. But if it hadn’t been evident enough last night, today I realized Lurine was in a category by herself.
Predators recognize one another, too. And the ghouls in the bar that day may not have known exactly what Lurine was, but they sure as hell recognized her as something bigger and badder and older than themselves.
“Hello, boys.” She took off her sunglasses. “So nice of you to see us. Is the boss in the house?”
Frozen, no one replied.
I nodded toward the back of the bar. “He’s probably lurking in the shadows. He likes to make an entrance.”
“He’s a show-off,” Cody agreed.
Lurine pursed her carmine lips. “So predictable.”
From the shadows came a low chuckle.
“I’m really not in control of this investigation, am I?” Detective Wilkes mused to himself. He blinked. “Did I say that out loud?”
Unexpectedly, the muttonchopped bartender banged an empty glass on the service bar. “Hey, Stefan!” he hollered. “Your fucking cops are fucking here again! Are you gonna talk to them or not?”