Crimson Death (59 page)

A
S WE ROUNDED
the corner and were finally in sight of the car, Nathaniel jiggled my hand in his and said, “If you tell me that Ted is good at undercover work, I'll believe you, but wow.”

I looked down the brick-lined street to where Edward and Nolan were waiting beside the truck, car, vehicle. Edward was leaning against it with his cream-colored cowboy hat pulled low over his face as if he were napping. He'd bent one leg so that the bottom of his black cowboy boot was against the side of the truck. He'd opened his marshal coat enough that you could glimpse his white button-up shirt. Normally he'd have been in tactical pants and boots made for fieldwork that didn't involve horses, but except for the jacket, he looked like he'd come from central casting for a Western movie.

“He is undercover,” I said. “He's pretending to be Ted Forrester, good ol' boy.”

Nicky added, “He's being what most foreigners want Americans to be: cowboys. They'll see the stereotype and not look as closely at the reality of him.”

Nathaniel looked from one to the other of us. “So you're saying he's hiding by not hiding?”

“Something like that,” I said.

Nolan stepped out from behind the vehicle and he was all in black. He'd gotten out of his special teams battle rattle like the powers that be had strongly suggested, but he was still wearing tactical pants, boots, and a black Windbreaker, and well, he just looked so damn military. It was partially his choice of civilian clothes, but it was also the attitude. He was so on alert, while Edward looked almost asleep.

“Nolan is the same no matter what he wears,” Nathaniel said.

“Ted changes like a chameleon. You just haven't seen him do it much, because he gets to be himself around me.”

“Where are Jake and Kaazim?” Dev asked.

“We'll ask Ted and Nolan,” I said.

When we were close enough, Ted folded himself off the car and came toward us. He was smiling his best happy-to-see-you smile. Even his blue eyes seemed a warmer shade of color, as if he believed the smile all the way up and through. The world had lost a scarily good character actor when Edward went into covert ops.

“Jacob is saving us a table at a restaurant that Nolan says will give us a good opinion of Irish cuisine.”

“Sounds good,” Nicky said without missing a beat. I looked from one to the other of them.

“Maybe I'll learn a new recipe we can use at home,” Nathaniel said.

“Sure, but after food, Nicky says a couple of hours' nap will help me deal with the jet lag.”

“You having a problem with it?” Nolan asked.

“She's crankier than normal,” Dev said.

Edward laughed out loud, his head back, his whole face shining. “Crankier, and no one's bleeding or dead yet?” He laughed some more. I was beginning to think it wasn't his Ted act, but just him being genuinely amused. Nolan was starting to chuckle along.

I looked at them, my face totally deadpan, and said, “Flannery isn't with us anymore, is he?”

Nolan stopped laughing and looked at me. Edward laughed harder. The other men with me managed to look solemn. Nicky said, “It was him or us.”

Edward laughed so hard, he was starting to cry as Nolan said, “Where's Flannery?”

It would have been even funnier if Flannery hadn't cleared the corner behind us just then. Nolan scowled at all of us. “That wasn't funny.”

“Yeah, it was,” I said.

Edward just nodded, laughing so hard, he had to lean against the car. The other men held out until Flannery came up and said, “What's so funny?” Then we all lost it.

W
HEN
E
DWARD HAD
finished laughing his ass off, he came over and hugged me, which he almost never did. He even apologized for laughing at me, which he did even less often. During all the unheard-of hugging and apologizing he managed to whisper, “Local informant wants to talk.”

I pulled back as if everything was normal and said, “So, where is this amazing Irish food?”

He grinned, very Ted, and said, “Pub.”

I gave him a look, suspecting this was the Irish version of his cowboy act. Pubs and drinking, very Irish, right? God, I hoped not, because as a teetotaler, I'd learned years ago that people are far less interesting drunk than they think they are, and they don't have nearly as good a time as they remember. I drank occasionally for Jean-Claude, because he could taste solid food, wine, and liquor through me. It was one of the common benefits of having a human servant: You could taste food that you hadn't tasted in centuries. I'd never be the wine snob that he was, but I was learning to appreciate a few vintages.

The pub was full of dark wood just like the last one, but this one had more tables placed closer together so it was more like those back home. It seemed the owner of the place planned on making money from all the crowded tables. It was so crowded in fact that if Jake and Kaazim hadn't already been there holding tables in the corner, we'd have never gotten seats together and maybe not at all.

Normally I wouldn't have liked the level of noise and crowd, but today it was a nice change from the strangely empty pub where Flannery had taken us. This one felt like a real business; the other one had felt like a front where you did things that didn't really have to do with drinking or food.

There is always that moment when you have police officers or combat vets when no one wants to sit with his back to the door, but there's usually no way to avoid it for a large party. Jake and Kaazim had gotten there first, so they had seats with a good view of the room and a solid wall at their backs. I expected them to offer me a seat beside them—I was queen and all, or was going to be—but Jake stood up and did the air-kiss thing as a greeting, which he'd never, ever done, but he used it to whisper, “You need to sit where you can get up easily.”

I was already tired of the whole clandestine thing, but I nodded, smiled and went along with it. I ended up sitting at the end of the table with my back to part of the room, but at least I could see the main door from the corner of my eye, and the bar with the door to the kitchen area was straight in front of me. Nathaniel sat by me, but at the corner of the table so his back was to the main door. He was used to sitting that way most of the time when we went out with enough of the guards. Damian was tucked under the table at our feet again. Dev didn't fight that his back was to the door here any more than he had at the last pub, because he could hold Nathaniel's hand. But he looked at the mirror above our table and I realized he could see the whole room in it, including the door. I tried to remember if there had been a mirror in the last place, but if there'd been one, it had been too small for me to notice. Ethan drew the short straw and had to sit beside Dev, but he was using the mirror, too. Really, there were no terrible seats here. Jake and Kaazim had done well. Edward sat beside Kaazim so he'd be closer to our conversation, with Nicky and Domino beside him. Nolan and Flannery were actually on the other end, opposite me. I thought at first their seats were bad because they had their backs to the bar and kitchen entrance, but there was another large mirror on the wall in front of them. Either through reflections or direct line of sight, we all had pretty good seats.

The waitress got our drink orders. I asked for a Coke and a glass of water, because apparently hydration helped with jet lag, so part of my problem was I hadn't had enough water, or so Edward told me. At Nolan's suggestion, most of us ordered the Guinness beef stew. Most of the men ordered either Guinness to go with the stew or another
local beer or ale. Nathaniel was the only one who got just water; even Edward indulged in a local stout that Flannery recommended.

The waitress set a couple small, useless napkins down in front of me before she set my water on one, but she hesitated before putting the Coke on the other napkin, and I realized there was writing on the napkin. In neat block letters, the message read, “Ladies' room, five minutes.”

I fought not to look up at the waitress in any way that wasn't perfectly normal. She had medium brown hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, dark brown eyes, and a pale face, so either she needed just a little makeup or she was pale for other reasons. Was she going to be meeting me in the bathroom? Was she the informant? Was she scared? Was that why she was pale?

Nathaniel and Dev both noticed the napkin. Jake probably did, too, but he didn't show it. I tried to act as normal as Jake and Kaazim, but I knew I failed. I wasn't sure I was even as smooth as Nathaniel. Dev was strangely good at it, too.

The waitress set the drink down on the napkin, and the moisture began to smear the writing almost immediately. She didn't look at me again, just handed out the other drinks. I checked my watch for the time and started keeping track of it. Was I supposed to go alone, or were there other people getting messages with their drinks? I was bad at undercover work for more than one reason. It made me antsy and gave me a huge urge to poke at things.

Edward got up first, though he had to make people move for him to get out. He didn't announce he was going to the bathroom, but it seemed logical. If I'd had Magda or Fortune with me, we could have done the girl thing of never going to the bathroom alone and I'd have had bodyguards with me, but being the only girl made it sort of awkward. Flannery got up next.

At four minutes, I made my apologies and got up from the table to meet our mystery woman. Dev started to rise, but Nicky beat him to it. He followed at my back like a shadow with no apologies that he was doing anything but guarding me. So much for clandestine.

The bathrooms were in a narrow hallway of their own that had another exit at the end of it. Nicky and I started to have a discussion
on him checking the room first, but the door opened enough that Edward was able to motion us both inside. Flannery was already leaning against the sinks, looking unhappy. Once the door closed behind us, he let me know why he was unhappy.

“You cannot trust them, Forrester. It's why they weren't at the other meeting.”

“If they are her animals to call, then they should know more about the local vampires than anyone we've interviewed so far,” Edward said.

“Who are we talking about?” I asked.

“The local Selkies.”

“Roanes for Ireland,” Flannery said.

“Roanes, Selkies, whatever—who are they?” Nicky asked.

“Seal people,” I said.

“You mean wereseals?” he asked.

“No, they're more like the clan tigers, born seals, not made by an attack,” I said.

“They are also the animals tied to the vampire master of Ireland,” Flannery said. “They may give us information, or they may spy for her. Until we know for certain that she isn't behind the vampires spreading through Dublin, we have to treat her as our major suspect for the mastermind behind all of it.”

“Why are you suddenly so reluctant to talk to another supernatural being?” I asked.

“Because Auntie Nim warned me that the Roane are so terrified of their mistress, they will do anything she commands. If they fail her, she tortures or kills them. If that was the price for disobeying her, then they cannot be trusted, Blake.”

“Or maybe that gives them the best reason to be trustworthy,” I said.

There was a soft knock at the door, and our brown-haired waitress stuck her head in, as if checking that we were all there. She looked even paler than she had before; she was scared. Was she a seal maiden like in the old stories? The next person through the door was a man. He was only a little taller than me, about Mort's height, but he was more obviously muscled, as if he'd bulk up if he tried harder. His hair was black, straight, and long enough that he ran a hand through it to
tuck it behind his ears. He had large, dark eyes so truly black that the color of his iris made it impossible to tell that he even had a pupil in the middle of that perfect liquid blackness. The eyes dominated his face the way that Nathaniel's could, and he was almost as fair of face as my fiancé.

“My girl has put a closed sign outside the door, so we won't be disturbed, but we still must be quick.” His voice held an accent that I hadn't heard before, smoother or heavier. I wanted to hear him say something else, just so I could hear the cadence of it.

Edward made the introductions. “Riley, this is Anita Blake, Nicky Murdock, and you know Flannery, I think.”

“Not personally, but of him. Tell your aunt that we have nothing to do with this plague of the dead here in Dublin.”

“You as in your people, or you as in your master?” Flannery asked.

“I speak for myself and no one else, but my people are not involved. I do not believe our mistress has done this, but I stay as far away from her as allowed. I am not part of her inner circle, but one of many of us who work here and other cities to bring in money for our people and for her. Other than some rents from properties she brings in nothing, like some great bloodsucking parasite.”

“If neither you nor the Wicked Bitch of Ireland is behind the vampires in Dublin, then who is?” I asked.

“I don't know.”

I frowned at him.

Edward saved me from asking, “Then why so much secrecy if you don't know anything?”

“I knew that you were Anita Blake's partner in the United States Marshal program. It's her that I wanted to meet.”

“Why?” Edward said, and there was almost no happy Ted in that one word, just cold suspicion.

“We hear that Jean-Claude is fair and just, that he's forcing the vampires to treat their animals with fairness. We also hear good things about Micah Callahan and the Coalition he runs. We need help.”

“What kind of help?” I asked.

“Our mistress has always been harsh, but lately she seems to have
grown both in power and in cruelty. She is punishing us as never before. I fear—we all fear—what she will do next.”

“Is she breaking the law?”

“Human law, yes. Vampire law that says we are her animals to use and abuse as she sees fit, no.”

“That second part isn't as true as it was,” I said.

“Can we appeal to Jean-Claude or Callahan for help?”

“The Coalition mostly handles disputes between animal groups, not vampires and the groups.”

“Then as the new king, can Jean-Claude intercede for us with our mistress, before she destroys us as a people?”

“Is it that bad?”

“We are told you brought Damian back to Ireland with you. Is that true?”

“And if it is, what of it?” Nicky said.

Riley looked at the big man, but he wasn't afraid of him. “Ask him what she is capable of, and tell him when he wakes for the night that she has grown worse. She tortures those we love so she can feed on both their terror and ours for them. Those of us allowed to go out for work can never take all our families with us, so she has a hostage in case we try to leave her territory. We all know what will happen to those left behind if we try to escape, but many of us want to leave her.”

“I can talk to Jean-Claude, but I can't promise anything,” I said.

He started to take my hand, but Nicky got in the way so Riley had to just drop his hands to his side and plead just with his eyes. They were good at being sad, those eyes. “Tell him we would do anything to be free of her.”

“Anything is a big offer,” I said. “Do you understand what it could mean?”

“I know that we will never be truly safe until she's dead, truly dead.”

“I'm not an assassin, Mr. Riley.”

“I know you kill vampires in America.”

“When I have a legal order of execution on a vampire who's killed people, yes.”

“She's killed hundreds over the centuries.”

“I can't convict her for centuries-old crimes. No one can,” I said.

“She is hurting, torturing, maiming people here and now, in this time.”

“If you can prove that, then the Irish police may be able to help you.”

“If she finds out that I spoke against her to you, she will kill me or have me killed. You'll never find the body either, for the sea does not give up its dead.”

“What do you want me to do for you, Mr. Riley? What can I do for you that's worth that risk?”

“There is a new vampire ruler for the first time in thousands of years. He seems to believe in equality for all preternatural beings. I ask—no, I beg—for his aid against the abusive monster that creates and feeds upon my people.”

“I'll talk to him, but the original deal with the European vampires was that Jean-Claude just rules America.”

“Maybe that's why she's gotten worse: She doesn't think anyone can touch her now.” He shuddered, pulling his coat a little tighter around himself.

“You could probably have gotten the same response in an email to him or Micah,” I said.

He looked at me then, with sorrow in his face. It was the kind of look you see on the news when people stagger out of natural disasters or war zones. “Some things you can't put in an email,” he said, and raised his shirt. His stomach was covered in scars. I'd seen worse, but not many.

Flannery made a sharp hiss between his teeth before he could stop himself. Edward showed nothing. Nicky was very still beside me. What did you say in the face of torture like that?

“She did this to me, because I was too afraid of her to want to bed her. She started cutting me and told me if I didn't find my desire that she'd cut lower and make certain I never desired anyone ever again. Somehow I found a way to . . . do what she demanded.” He slid his shirt back in place, covering up the wounds.