Chapter 20
I put the Browning under the pillow with the safety on. At home with the gun in the special holster I'd added to the headboard of the bed, the safety would have been off. But I'd look pretty silly if I accidentally shot myself during the night--day--trying to protect myself from werewolves.
The Firestar I put under the couch cushion, safety on. Normally it would have been in my luggage, but I was feeling just a little insecure.
The knives were in the luggage. Things weren't quite dangerous enough to wear the wrist sheaths to bed. Besides, they weren't very comfortable, not to sleep in, anyway.
I had just settled down for a long day's sleep when I realized I hadn't called Special Agent Bradford. Damn. I threw the blanket back and padded to the telephone in nothing but a t-shirt and undies. Yes, the Browning came with me. Doesn't do you a damn bit of good to have a weapon if it isn't with you.
I dialed the number and got no answer. Fancy that. Didn't everyone work twenty-four hours a day? I had his beeper number. Could the news about Xavier wait? Would even having the name help them? Agent Bradford had made it very clear that I was persona non grata. First, Freemont had blackballed me; second, the Quinlans were threatening to sue everybody unless I was kept away from the case. I'd done such a bang-up job protecting their family, they didn't want a repeat. They seemed to think I'd get their son killed. Fancy that.
I had Bradford's beeper number. He'd given strict orders that if I found out anything I was to tell him, and only him. Made me not want to tell him a bloody thing. But who was I to say the FBI didn't have a vampire file somewhere? Maybe the name would mean something to them. Maybe it would help them find Jeff. Besides, Jean-Claude hadn't told me not to give Xavier's name to the cops. I used the beeper number. I left my phone number. Now I could either go back to bed, and let his return call wake me, or I could sit in the chair for a few minutes and wait. I waited.
The phone rang in under five minutes. I like a man who returns his pages promptly. I said "Hello," in case it wasn't him. It was.
"Special Agent Bradford. This number was on my beeper." His voice was rough with sleep.
"This is Anita Blake."
A moment of silence, then, "Do you know what time it is?"
"I haven't been to bed yet, so yeah, I know what time it is."
Another silence. "What do you want, Ms. Blake?"
I took a deep breath and let it out slow. Getting mad would not be helpful. "I have a possible name for the vampire that's been slaughtering kids."
"What's the name?"
"Xavier."
"Last name?"
"Vampires don't have last names, as a general rule."
"Thank you for the name, Ms. Blake. How did you get it?"
I thought about that for a few seconds. I couldn't think of a really good answer. "It sort of fell into my lap."
"Why don't I believe that, Ms. Blake? I thought I'd made myself clear this evening. You are not to involve yourself in this case, in any way."
"Look, I didn't have to call, but I want Jeff Quinlan back alive. I thought the FBI might be able to use the name of the vampire who took him."
"I want to know how you got the name," he said.
"An informant."
"I'd like to talk to this informant," he said.
"No," I said.
"Are you withholding information from a federal investigation, Ms. Blake?"
"No, Agent Bradford, I am going out of my way to share information."
He was quiet again. "Alright, Ms. Blake, you're right. Thank you for the name. We'll run it in the computers."
"This vampire has a history of harming preadolescent boys. He's a pedophile."
"Good lord, a vampire pedophile." He finally sounded genuinely interested in what I was saying. "And he has the Quinlan boy."
"Yeah," I said.
"I would really like to talk to this source of yours," he said.
"He's a little shy around the police."
"I could insist, Ms. Blake. We've got reports that a private jet flew in last night, and a coffin got unloaded. It's registered to a J. C. Corporation. They seem to own a lot of vampire-related, St. Louis-based businesses. Do you know anything about that, Ms. Blake?"
Lying to the FBI seemed like a bad idea, but I wasn't sure what they'd do with the truth. The Feds were investigating vampire crime, and suddenly a new vamp shows up in town. The least they would do was question him. The worst... well, there was the vampire in Mississippi that had been accidentally transferred to a cell with a window. The sun rose, and... French fried vampire. An ACLU lawyer had sued the cops' asses, and won, but that didn't bring the vamp back. Admittedly the dead vamp was one of the newly dead. Jean-Claude would have escaped fairly easily, but just escaping from the law by using vampire powers would get a warrant for his arrest. Sort of like what was happening to Magnus.
Besides, a vampire had killed a cop last night. The police might not be terribly careful with any vampire right now. The police are only human, after all.
"You still there, Blake?"
"I'm here."
"You didn't answer my question."
"Where was the coffin delivered?" I asked.
"It wasn't. It just disappeared."
"So what do you want from me?"
"There was some luggage that went with it. The luggage was picked up a little while ago by two young men. The description of one of them sounds a lot like Larry Kirkland."
"Is that so?"
"That's so."
We both sat on our ends of the phone waiting for someone to say something. "I could send some agents down to your hotel room."
"There are no coffins in my hotel room, Agent Bradford."
"You sure of that, Blake?"
"My hand to God."
"Do you know who runs this J. C. Corporation?"
"No." It was the truth. Until Bradford told me about it, I'd never heard of the J. C. Corporation. It would only have been an educated guess if I'd said Jean-Claude owned it. Okay, I was fooling myself, but so what?
"Do you know where the coffin was delivered?" he asked.
"Nope."
"Would you tell me if you knew?"
"If it would help find Jeff Quinlan, you bet."
"Alright, Blake, but no more helping. Stay the fuck out of this case. When we find the vampires we'll call you in, and you can do your job. You're a vampire hunter, not a cop. Try to remember that."
"Fine," I said.
"Good. Now I'm going back to sleep. I suggest you do the same. We'll find the vampires today, Blake. And let's just say I don't believe everything Freemont said. We'll call you in for the kill."
"Thanks."
"Good night, Blake."
"Good night, Bradford."
We hung up. I sat there for a minute, just letting it all sink in. If they found Jean-Claude in my room, what would they do? I'd seen the cops pop a comatose vampire in a body bag, transport it to the station house, and wait for nightfall to question it. I'd thought it was a bad idea because the vamp would wake up pissed. It did. I ended up killing it. I've always felt bad about that particular kill. It was an out-of-state job. The local cops invited me in to advise them. Once we found the vamp, they stopped listening to my advice. Reminded me of now. That vampire had also just been brought in for questioning.
I was suddenly tired. It was like the entire night just hit me in one grinding wave. Sleep dragged at me. I had to go to sleep. I couldn't help Jeff Quinlan, or anybody else, until I'd had a few hours of sleep. Besides, maybe the Feds would find him. Stranger things had happened.
I left a wake-up call with the desk for noon, and cuddled under the blanket. The Browning was lumpy under the pillow. At least I couldn't feel the Firestar under the couch cushion. I half wished I'd packed Sigmund, my stuffed toy penguin, but somehow having Jean-Claude or Jason find me sleeping with a stuffed toy bothered me almost as much as them trying to eat me. What price machismo?
Chapter 21
Someone was banging on the door. I opened my eyes to a room filled with soft, indirect sunlight. The curtains in here weren't nearly as thick as the ones in the bedroom. Which was why I was out here and Jean-Claude was in there.
I struggled into the jeans I'd left on the floor and yelled, "I'm coming."
The banging stopped, then it sounded like they kicked the door. Was this a federal wake-up call? I went to the door with the Browning in my hand. Somehow I didn't think the FBI would be so rude. I stood to the side of the door and asked, "Who is it?"
"It's Dorcas Bouvier." She kicked the door again. "Open this damn door."
I peeked through the little peephole. It was Dorcas Bouvier, or her evil twin. She didn't have a weapon in sight. I was probably safe. I put the Browning under the t-shirt in the waistband of my pants. The t-shirt was a large and fell to mid-thigh. It hid the gun and then some.
I unlocked the door and stood to one side. Dorcas shoved the door open, leaving it swinging open behind her. I closed and locked the door, leaning against it watching her.
Dorcas stalked through the room like some sort of exotic cat. Her waist-length, chestnut hair swung like a curtain as she moved. She finally turned and glared at me with those sea-green eyes that were a mirror of her brother's. The pupil had spiraled downward to a pinpoint, leaving the irises floating and making her look almost blind.
"Where is he?"
"Where's who?" I asked.
She glared at me and went for the bedroom door. I couldn't get there in time to stop her, and I wasn't willing to shoot her yet.
When I came up behind her she was two steps into the bedroom, back rigid, staring at the bed. It was worth staring at.
Jean-Claude lay on his back with the wine-dark sheets pulled up to mid-chest. One shoulder and a pale, pale arm were stretched across the dark sheets. In the semidarkness his hair blended with the pillow to leave his face white and nearly ethereal.
Jason lay on his stomach. The only things under the sheet were one leg and, barely, his buttocks. If he was wearing clothes, I couldn't tell. He raised up on his elbows and turned to us. His yellow hair had fallen into his face, and he blinked like he'd been deeply asleep. He smiled when he saw Dorcas Bouvier.
"It isn't Magnus," she said.
"No," I said, "it isn't. You want to talk outside?"
"Don't go on my account," Jason said. He rolled onto one elbow. The silken sheet slid across his hips as he moved.
Dorcas Bouvier turned on her heel and marched out of the room. I closed the door to the sound of Jason's laughter.
Dorcas looked shaken, embarrassed even. Good to see. I was embarrassed, too, but didn't know what to do about it. Trying to explain your way out of situations like this never works. People are always willing to believe the worst of you. So I didn't try. I just stood there looking at her. She wouldn't meet my eyes.
After a nice uncomfortable silence that caused heat to wash up her face, she said, "I don't know what to say. I thought my brother was in there. I..." She met my eyes finally. She was already regaining her composure, her surety of purpose. You could watch it solidify in her eyes. She was here for more than rousting her brother out of my bed.
"Why in the world would you think Magnus was here?"
"May I sit down?"
I motioned her to a seat. She sat in one of the chairs, spine very straight, perfect posture. My stepmother, Judith, would have been proud. I leaned on the arm of the couch because I couldn't sit down with the Browning down my pants. I wasn't sure how she'd take me being armed, so I didn't want to show the gun. Some people freeze up around firearms. Go figure.
"I know Magnus was with you last night."
"With me?" I said.
"I don't mean..." Heat crept up her face again. "I don't mean with you. I mean I know you saw him last night."
"He tell you that?"
She shook her head, making her hair slide like fur over her shoulders. It was eerily reminiscent of Magnus. "I saw you together."
I studied her face, trying to read past the embarrassment. "You weren't there last night."
"Where?" she asked.
I frowned at her. "How did you see us?"
"You admit you saw him last night, then," she said. Her eagerness came back in a rush.
"What I want to know is how you saw us together."
She took a deep breath. "That's my business."
"Magnus said his sister was better at visions than he was. Is that true?"
"What didn't he tell you?" she asked. She was angry again. Her emotions seemed to collide, spinning too fast over her face and voice.
"He didn't tell me why he ran from the police."
She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. "I don't know why he ran. It doesn't make any sense." She looked back up at me. "I know he didn't kill those children."
"I agree," I said.
Surprise showed on her face. "I thought you told the police he did it."
I shook my head. "No, I told them he could have done it. I never said he did it."
"But... The detective was so sure. She said you'd told her."
I cursed softly under my breath. "Detective Freemont?"
"Yes."
"Don't believe everything she tells you, especially about me. She doesn't seem to like me very much."
"If you didn't tell them, then why are they so sure Magnus did these horrible things? He would have no reason to kill these people."
I shrugged. "Magnus isn't wanted for the killings anymore. Didn't anybody tell you that?"
She shook her head. "No. You mean he can come back home?"
I sighed. "It's not that simple. Magnus used glamor on the police to escape. That's a felony all on its own. The cops will kill him on sight, Ms. Bouvier. They don't mess around where magic is concerned. Can't say I blame them."
"I saw the two of you talking outside under the sky."
"I did see him last night."
"Did you tell the police?"
"No."
She stared at me. "Why not?"
"Magnus is probably guilty of something, or he wouldn't have run, but he deserves better treatment than he's getting."
"Yes," she said, "he does."
"What made you think he'd be in my bed?"
She looked down at her lap again. "Magnus can be very persuasive. I can't remember the last time a woman told him no. I apologize for assuming that about you." She stopped, glanced towards the bedroom, then back to me. She blushed again.
I was not going to explain how I ended up with two males in my bed. Surely it was obvious from the blanket and pillow that I'd slept out here. Surely.
"What do you want from me, Ms. Bouvier?"
"I want to find Magnus before he gets himself killed. I thought you could help me. How could you have betrayed Magnus to the police? Surely you know what it's like to be different."
I wanted to ask if it showed, if she could see "Necromancer" written across my forehead, but I didn't. If the answer was yes, I wasn't sure I wanted to know.
"If he hadn't run away, they would have simply questioned him. They didn't have enough to arrest him. Do you have any idea why he ran?"
She shook her head. "I've tried to think of something, anything, but it doesn't make any sense to me, Ms. Blake. My brother is a little amoral, but he's not a bad man."
I wasn't sure you could be a little amoral, but I let it slide. "If he turns himself in to me, I'll walk him into the police station. But short of that, I don't know what I can do."
"I've been everywhere I can think of, but he's just not there. I even checked the mound."
"The mound?" I asked.
She stared up at me. "He didn't tell you about the creature?"
I thought about lying to see if I could get information, but the look in her eyes told me I'd blown it. "He didn't mention any creature."
"Of course; if he had told you, the police would be down there with dynamite. Dynamite won't kill it, but it would screw our magical wards six ways to Sunday."
"What creature?" I asked.
"Is there anything Magnus told you that you didn't tell the police?" Dorcas asked.
I thought about that for a second. "No."
"He was right not to tell you."
"Maybe, but I'm trying to help him now."
"Do you have a guilty conscience?" she asked.
"Maybe," I said.
She looked at me. Her pupils had resurfaced, and she looked almost normal. Almost. "How can I trust you?"
"You probably can't. But I do want to help Magnus. Please talk to me, Ms. Bouvier."
"I have to have your word that you won't tell the police. I am serious, Ms. Blake. If the police interfere, they could loose the thing and people would die."
I debated but couldn't see any reason the police would need to know. "Okay, I give you my word."
"I may not have Magnus's way with glamor, but an oath to one of the fey is a serious matter, Ms. Blake. Lying to us tends to go badly."
"Is that a threat?"
"Think of it as a warning." The air moved between us like heat rising off a road. Her eyes swirled like miniature whirlpools.
Maybe I should have shown her my gun. "Don't threaten me, Dorcas. I'm not in the mood."
The magic seemed to seep away like water running into a crack in the rocks. You knew it was still there, below the surface. But for someone who had been threatened by werewolves and vampires, she paled in comparison. Magnus seemed to have most of the talent in the family. On the scale of scariness, Magnus was up there.
"Just so we understand each other, Ms. Blake. If you tell the police and they let loose the creature, the deaths will be on your head."
"Alright, I'm impressed; now tell me about it."
"Did Magnus tell you about our ancestor, Llyn Bouvier?"
"Yeah, he was the first European in this area. He married into the local tribe. Converted them to Christianity. He was also fey."
She nodded. "He brought another fey with him."
"A wife?" I asked.
"No, he had captured one of the less intelligent fairies. He imprisoned it in a magically constructed box. It escaped and slaughtered nearly the entire tribe we're descended from. He finally managed to contain it with the help of an Indian shaman, or priest, but he never regained control over it. The best he could do was to imprison it."
"What kind of fairie did he bring over?"
"Bloody Bones isn't just the name of our bar," she said. "It's short for Rawhead and Bloody Bones."
My eyes widened. "But that's a nursery boggle; why would your ancestor want to capture one? They don't have any treasure, or wishes, to give out. Or am I wrong on that?"
"No, you're quite correct. Bloody Bones has no riches or gentle magic to grant wishes."
"Then why capture it?"
"Most children born of human and fairie blood don't have a lot of magic."
"That's what the legends say," I said, "but Magnus proves that wrong."
"Llyn Bouvier made a sort of pact for himself and his descendants. We would all have fey power, at a price."
She was dragging this out, and I was tired. "Just tell me, Ms. Bouvier. The suspense is getting irritating."
"Has it ever occurred to you that this might be embarrassing for me to admit?" she asked.
"No; if that's the case, I apologize."
"My ancestor imprisoned Bloody Bones so he could make a potion of its blood. But the potion had to be remade periodically, retaken, or his magic deserted him."
I stared at her. "How did the other fey take this little idea?"
"He was forced to flee Europe, or they would have killed him. It is forbidden among us to use each other like that."
"I can see why."
"His barbaric act gave us glamor. Power. But it was still purchased by blood, Ms. Blake. After Rawhead and Bloody Bones was imprisoned, my ancestor gave up his potion. He finally saw it as evil. Though his power faded, his children had the power of fairie in their blood. So here we are," she said.
"So you've got Rawhead and Bloody Bones hidden in some magic box somewhere?" I asked.
She smiled, and it made her face seem suddenly young and lovely. I had no way of judging her age. I couldn't see a line on her face. "When the magic failed the first time, Rawhead and Bloody Bones grew to its full size. It is bigger than a person, almost as big as a giant. It is imprisoned in a mound of earth and magic."
"You say it nearly wiped out an entire tribe way back when?"
She nodded.
I sighed. "I have to see where it's imprisoned."
"You promised..."
"I promised not to tell the police, but you've just told me there's a giant-sized creature capable of mass destruction imprisoned near here. I have to see that it's secure, that it's not going to break out and start slaughtering people."
"I assure you, Ms. Blake, our family has managed for centuries. We know what we're doing."
"If I can't tell the cops, I have to see for myself."
She stood up, trying to use her height to intimidate me. She wasn't even close. "And you'll bring the police, right? Do you think I'm that stupid?"
"I won't bring the cops, Ms. Bouvier, but I have to see it. If it does break out and I didn't warn the cops, then it would be my fault that no one was prepared."
"You can't prepare for Bloody Bones," she said. "It is immortal, Ms. Blake, truly immortal. It cannot die. You could cut off its head and it would not die. The police can do nothing but make things worse."
She had a point. "I still need to see for myself."
"You are a stubborn woman."
"Yeah, I can be a real pain in the ass, Ms. Bouvier. Let's not dance, just take me to see the prison, and if it's secure I'll leave you to it."
"If it's not secure enough for you?" she asked.
"We contact a witch and see what she recommends."
She frowned. "You wouldn't just go to the police?"
"If my home was robbed, I'd call the cops. If I need help with magic, I call somebody who can do magic."
"You are a strange woman, Ms. Blake. I don't understand you."
"There's a lot of that going around," I said. "Do I get to see where Rawhead and Bloody Bones is buried, or not?"
"Alright, I'll show you."
"When?"
"Without Magnus we're shorthanded at the bar, so not today. Come to the bar around three tomorrow. I'll take you from there."
"I have a coworker that I'd like to bring along," I said.
"One of those in the bedroom?"
"No."
"Why do you want to bring him?"
"Because I'm training him, and when will he ever get to see fey magic again?" She seemed to think about it for a minute, then nodded. "Alright, you may bring one other person with you, but no more."
"Trust me, Ms. Bouvier, one is plenty."
"My friends call me Dorrie," she said. She held out her hand.
"I'm Anita." I shook her hand. She had a nice, firm grip for a woman. Sexist but true. Most women don't seem to know how to give a good handshake.
She held my hand longer than she had to. When she took her hand back, I remembered Magnus's clairvoyance. Dorrie turned those wide, eerie eyes to me. She held her hand to her chest like it hurt. "I see blood, and pain, and death. It follows you like a cloud, Anita Blake."
I watched horror seep into her eyes. Horror at the brief glimpse she'd had of me, my life, my past. I didn't look away. If you're not ashamed, you don't need to look away. Sometimes I would prefer a different line of work, but it's what I do, who I am.
The look faded from her eyes, and she blinked. "I won't underestimate you, Anita."
Dorrie looked normal again, or as normal as she had when she first came in, which wasn't very. Now for the first time I looked at her and wondered if I was seeing what was really there. Was she using glamor on me now, to appear normal? To appear less powerful than she was?
"I'll return the favor, Dorrie."
She flashed me that lovely smile again that made her seem young and vulnerable. Illusion, maybe? "Until tomorrow, then."
"Until tomorrow," I said.
She left, and I locked the door behind her. So Magnus's family were the guardians of a monster. Had that had something to do with why he ran? Dorrie didn't think it was a reason. She should know. But there was a feeling in the room of power gently moving on the air currents. A faint whiff of magic traced the air like perfume, and I hadn't known it until just before she left. Maybe Dorrie was just as good with glamor as Magnus, just more subtle. Could I really trust Dorrie Bouvier? Hmmm.
Why had I asked if Larry could go along? Because I knew it would please him. It might even make up for treating him so badly in front of Jason. But standing there, sensing Dorrie Bouvier's power hanging like a ghost in the air, I wasn't sure it was a good idea. Oh, hell, I knew it wasn't, but I was going, and Larry would go, too. He had a right to go. He even had a right to endanger himself. I couldn't keep him safe forever. He was going to have to learn to take care of himself. I hated it, but I knew it was true.
I wasn't ready to cut the apron strings, but I was going to have to lengthen them a bit. I was going to give Larry the proverbial rope. Here was hoping he didn't hang himself.