Gunmetal Magic (52 page)

“It’s being handled,” Curran said.

“I would like to be involved in that handling.”

“I’m sure you would,” Curran said. “It’s hard to believe, but I go whole days without worrying about your likes and dislikes.”

The vampire opened its mouth, imitating a sigh. It was an eerie sight: his jaws unhinged, his chest moved up and down, but no air came out.

“I believe in civil discourse, so please forgive me if I sound
blunt: you took a child away from his parents against their will. In other words, you abducted him by force. Last time I checked, that constitutes kidnapping. I have a very capable staff, which, should I give the word, would present a very compelling case to the Paranormal Activity Division.”

“The PAD can bite me,” Curran said. “I also have a very capable staff. I’ll drown you in paper. How would you like to be sued?”

“On what grounds?” The vamp looked outraged.

“Reckless endangerment.” Curran leaned forward. “Your journeymen dropped two vampires in the middle of a crowded restaurant.”

“There were extenuating circumstances and you were unharmed.”

Curran’s eyes acquired a dangerous glint. “I’m sure the public will take that into account, especially after my people plaster the sordid horror story of the Arirang Massacre over every newspaper they can find.”

The vamp bared its fangs.

Curran’s upper lip trembled in the beginning of a snarl.

I stabbed a throwing knife into the table between them.

The man and the monster fell silent.

“There is a child being slowly choked to death upstairs,” I said. “If the two of you could stop baring your teeth for a second, you might even remember that.”

Silence stretched out between us.

“I simply wish to help,” Ghastek said.

Yeah, right.

Curran’s face looked set in stone. “We don’t need you.”

“Yes, you do,” Ghastek said. “You have the necklace, but I have Lawrence. He dated Amanda for over a year. I think you will be interested to know that Colin Sunny, Amanda’s father, has a sister. She is married to Orencio Forney.”

“Orencio Forney, the DA?”

“Precisely,” Ghastek said. “After yesterday’s affair, the Sunnys are staying in Forney’s house. I trust you understand the implications.”

I understood them, alright. The Sunnys had just become untouchable. If the Pack attempted to pick a fight with the DA, the tide of negative publicity would drown us, not to mention
that every cop in the city would make it his personal mission to complicate shapeshifters’ lives whenever possible.

Curran’s face hardened into that blank, unreadable expression. He saw the writing on the wall as well, and he didn’t like it. “Have you asked for an interview?”

“In the politest terms possible. We were extremely persuasive, but they are unavailable for comment.”

“They aren’t asking for Roderick?” What the hell?

“No, they are not,” Ghastek said. “I found it extremely odd as well. The DA has circled the wagons. If you want any background on the boy and his mother, our Lawrence is your best bet. Give me access and I will share.”

I looked at Curran. We needed that background.

His face was unreadable.

Come on, baby.

“Fine,” he said.

A wise man once told me that a man’s house said a lot about his soul. Over the years I had come to the conclusion that was complete bullshit. The Keep, with its foreboding, grim towers and massive fortifications, might have indicated something about Curran’s need to protect his people, but it said nothing about how much responsibility he dragged around. It said nothing about the fact that he was fair and generous. And it sure as hell gave no hint that underneath all that Beast Lord’s roaring, he was hilarious.

The Casino, on the other hand, looked like a beautiful mirage born of desert heat, sand, and magic. White and elegant, it nearly floated above the ground of the large lot decorated with fountains, statues, and colored lamps. All that beauty hid a stable of vampires. Undead, forever hungry, and gripped in the steel vise of navigators’ minds, haunted its slim minarets. A casino milking money from human greed occupied its main floor, and deep inside it, the People brewed their schemes and machinations with the ruthless precision of a high-tech corporation, interested only in results and profits.

I parked the Jeep and peered at the Casino through the windshield. I didn’t want to go in. Judging by the surly look on his face, Curran didn’t want to go in either.

We opened our doors at the same time and headed toward the Casino.

“We’re doing this for the child,” Curran said.

“Yes.” It was good to remember that. “We’re just going to go in and talk to them.”

“And not kill anybody,” Curran added.

“Or anything.”

“And not break things.”

“Because we don’t want a giant bill from the People.”

“Yes.” Curran’s face was grim. “I’m not giving them any of the Pack’s money.”

I nodded. “We’ll be good, we won’t have to pay any damages, and then we’ll come out and take a nice shower.”

“Wash the stench off. I can smell the bloodsuckers from here.”

“I can
feel
them from here.”

I could—the sparks of vampiric magic tugged on me from the white parapets.

“Thanks for doing this,” Curran said.

“Thank you for coming with me.”

Get in, get out, don’t cause a giant war between the Pack and the People. Piece of cake.

We passed through the tall arched entrance guarded by two men with curved yataghan swords. The guards wore black and looked suitably menacing. They very carefully didn’t look at us.

Inside, a deluge of sound assaulted us: the noises of slot machines, refitted to work during magic, metal ringing, music, beeping, mixing with shouts from the crowd surrendering their hard-earned money for the promise of easy cash. Lemon-scented perfume drifted through the cold air—the People were keeping their customers awake, because the sleeping couldn’t gamble.

Curran wrinkled his nose.

“Almost there, baby,” I told him, zeroing in on the service entrance door at the far end of the vast room.

A large overweight man spun away from the machines and ran into Curran. “Hey! Watch it!”

Curran sidestepped him and we kept walking.

“Asshole!” the man barked at our backs.

“I love this place,” Curran said.

“It’s so serene and peaceful, and filled with considerate people. I thought you’d enjoy the ambiance.”

“I adore it.”

We passed through the service entrance. One of the journeymen, a man in black trousers, a black shirt, and a dark purple vest rose from behind the desk.

“How can I help you?”

“It’s alright, Stuart.” A woman descended the stairway on the side, walking into the room. She was five two and looked like an anatomical impossibility created from adolescent boys’ dreams. Tiny waist, generous hips, and an award-winning chest, wrapped in dusky silk. Her hair fell down past her butt in red wavy locks, and when she smiled at you, you had a strong urge to do whatever she asked. Her name was Rowena and she ran the People’s PR department and piloted the undead for a living.

She was also in debt to the witches, which in a roundabout way caused her to be in debt to me. If I asked a favor, she had to grant it, a fact we both carefully hid from everyone.

“Mr. Lennart. Ms. Daniels.” Rowena fired off a beautiful smile. “Lawrence is waiting for you upstairs. Follow me, please.”

We followed, Rowena’s shiny perfect butt shifting as she walked up the stairs two feet in front of us. Curran heroically didn’t look at it.

She led us to a small room with a two-way mirror. One would’ve expected a table, severe gray walls, and chairs bolted to the floor in an interrogation room, but no, the walls were cream with a delicate pale lattice carved at the top and the furniture consisted of a modern sofa and two soft chairs companionably arranged around a coffee table. Lawrence sat on the edge of the sofa. He looked pale and his eyes were bloodshot.

We sat in the chairs across from him.

“Do you know who we are?” Curran said quietly.

Lawrence nodded. “I’ve been briefed. I’m supposed to cooperate.”

I pulled out a notepad from my pocket. “How long did you know Amanda?”

Lawrence swallowed. “Three years. She was admitted as an apprentice right after her high school graduation.”

“How long had you dated?” I asked.

“Thirteen months next week,” he said. His voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat.

“Tell us about her family,” Curran said.

Lawrence sighed. “She didn’t like them.”

“Why not?” I prompted.

“She said her mother was very cold. Aurellia would go through the motions, make sure that Amanda and her brother were fed and appropriately dressed. She was very specific about their schedule. The Steel Calendar, Amanda called it. If they had a doctor’s appointment or a school trip, it was put on the calendar and there was no deviation allowed from it. Amanda had perfect attendance her entire four years in high school. No matter how sick she was, her mother would send her to school. Never late. But there was no love or real warmth there.”

“And her father?” Curran asked.

“Colin worships the ground Aurellia walks on.” Lawrence gave a bitter laugh. “It’s like he is blind when she’s in the room. The only time Amanda could talk to him was when her mother was otherwise occupied. She couldn’t wait to get out of that house. She told me that’s why she enlisted with the People. The apprentices qualify for room and board in the Casino.”

“Was her mother upset because Amanda did this?” I asked.

“Aurellia doesn’t get upset. She’s like a pretty robot,” Lawrence said. “Never screams. Never loses her temper. I don’t think she cared one way or another.”

“Have you ever interacted with the parents personally?” Curran asked.

“Yes. We went to a dinner once. Colin seemed normal. Aurellia didn’t speak, except when she ordered her food. I got a feeling she does only what is required of her, and talking to me or Amanda wasn’t required.”

“What about the necklace?” I asked.

Lawrence took several shallow rapid breaths.

We waited.

“It was a gift,” he finally said. “It arrived at the house one Christmas, addressed to Colin. He took it out of the box—it
was in a glass case—and tried to open it, and then Aurellia took it out of his hands. They put the necklace, still in its glass box, and displayed it on the wall in their foyer really high up. Amanda was about fifteen at the time. She loved it. She said she used to stand there and look at it all the time, because it was so beautiful. She was never allowed to touch it. They had a break-in six months ago. The burglars took some jewelry, money, and somehow got the necklace down and made off with it. She was really upset about it.”

Lawrence looked at his hands. “I saw it at a pawnshop a week ago. I bought it for her. I…I killed her. She was so nice, so beautiful. She would sing little songs sometimes to herself when she was thinking about something or when she made coffee. And I killed her. She put it on and she just…she just died. I was right there and I couldn’t do anything…”

We stayed with him for another ten minutes, but Lawrence was done.

Ghastek waited for us in the hallway.

“Please tell me he’s on suicide watch,” Curran said.

“Of course,” the Master of the Dead said. “He is under the care of a therapist, he’s given access to the priest, and he is watched even when he sleeps. However, if he truly wants to kill himself, there is nothing any of us can do. It is unfortunate. He is nearing the end of his five-year journeymanship. We’ve invested a lot of money and time into his education.”

Of course. How silly of me to forget: the People didn’t have employees, they had human assets, each of which came with a price tag attached.

“I’ve examined your drawing of the writing on the necklace,” Ghastek said. “You said it appears to be a runic script of some sort but the characters are unfamiliar to me. How accurate is this drawing?”

“As accurate as humanly possible,” I told him.

He raised his eyebrows. “Are you familiar with the term ‘human error’?”

Are you familiar with the term “knuckle sandwich”?
“The person who copied the runes from the necklace is an expert at what she does. Just because you don’t recognize the script doesn’t mean it’s not runic in origin. The Elder Futhark alphabet has undergone many modifications over the years.”

Ghastek took out the copy of Julie’s drawing. “I’ve studied this subject extensively and I’ve never seen a rune like this.” Ghastek pointed to a symbol that looked like an X with a double left diagonal arm.

Well, of course. He didn’t know it, therefore it couldn’t possibly be a rune. “Both Fehu and Ansuz runes have double arms. Why couldn’t this rune have one? If you tossed it into a collection of runes and told a layman to pick out one that doesn’t belong, he wouldn’t grab that one.”

Ghastek gave me a condescending look. “The term ‘layman’ refers to a nonexpert by definition. Of course a nonexpert wouldn’t be able to single out this rune, Kate. We could throw stars and spirals into the mix and he would be unlikely to pick those out either.”

You conceited ass.

Curran cleared his throat.

I realized I had taken a step toward Ghastek. No killing, no punching, no destruction of property. Right.

“We’re taking this matter to an expert,” Curran said.

“I think it’s prudent, considering the circumstances.”

Oh, well, so good of him to give us his permission.

“Where is this expert?” Ghastek asked.

“At the Norse Heritage Foundation,” I told him.

Ghastek wrinkled his face into a semblance of a disgusted sneer, as if he’d just stuck his head into a bag of rotten potatoes.

“You’re going to see the neo-Vikings?”

“Yes.”

“They’re ignorant, loud buffoons. All they do is sit in their mead hall, get drunk, and punch each other when their masculinity is threatened.”

“You don’t have to come,” I told him.

Ghastek let out a long-suffering sigh. “Very well. I’ll get my vampire.”