I crossed Powell on my way to
Union Square
. The streets were crowded, busy with people heading for the BART station on
Market Street
. The palm trees were rocking gently in the breeze carrying the fog over the city. I was almost across the square when I heard the sound of someone running behind me. It didn’t take an ounce of vampire’s rapport to figure out it was Sloane.
On the stairs to the left of me, I saw a street artist closing up his art box. Samples of his charcoal portraits were set on a board next to his easel. I moved toward him.
“I need a portrait done,” I said.
“Right now.”
The artist looked up, annoyed. “It’s too dark, man,” he said. “Come back tomorrow.”
I held out a hundred-dollar bill. “Perhaps this will help you see the light.”
He gave a sudden laugh. “Sure,” he said.
“Why not?”
I reached past him, clipped the linen page to the sketchpad on his easel, turning the page so the image of
Thoth
was concealed. “Use this.”
“Whatever you want.”
He dug out a fresh piece of charcoal.
Began to move it across the paper in swift, practiced strokes.
I was standing perfectly relaxed and still when Sloane approached.
“What did you do with it, Donahue?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He swore creatively.
“The page.”
“What page?” I glanced around the square where vagrant pieces of paper bounced along on the breeze. “Did you drop your portfolio again? You seriously need to keep that thing zipped, Sloane.”
Sloane opened his mouth then closed it again.
Busted, aren’t you
? I thought. He couldn’t tell me precisely what he was looking for because that would also no doubt reveal the fact that he had stolen it.
“I won’t forget this,” he said.
“Neither will
I
. Since you’ve been so kind as to share with
me,
let me offer you a piece of advice, Sloane. Stay out of my affairs, and I’ll stay out of yours.”
I let my eyes hold his until I saw he understood. He wasn’t the only one who could take information to the Board. He turned on one heel, moved off down the street. The artist finished the portrait, unclipped it from the easel.
“Aren’t you going to look at it?” he asked as I took the sketch from him.
Until that moment, I hadn’t even considered it. The sketch had been a means to an end, nothing more. But now I studied it, my curiosity piqued. It had been a long time since I had seen myself through someone else’s eyes.
The artist had captured a man in his early thirties with pale eyes and an expression that was both open and knowing at the same time. With a shock, I realized he had made me look entirely human.
Carefully, I rolled up the drawing and slipped it beneath my coat. Tomorrow I would have to do some research and figure out how to turn Sloane’s larceny to my advantage. Tonight…I glanced at my watch.
Damn! I was going to be late. The smart choice might be to call off my date altogether. But that would feel too much like giving in to Sloane. He had upped the ante, but he wasn’t the only one who could do that.
No, that’s not the reason I couldn’t break my date. She was the reason. I wanted her long wild brown hair tangled in my fingers. I craved the scent of her skin, her touch. I wanted to feel the weight of her body pressed against mine. I wanted to love her tonight and all the other nights.
Perhaps the time had come to tell Candace what I truly was.
Fourteen
Las Vegas
, present
Candace
Before I could leave my office, my cell phone rang. I recognized the number and the name: Gray Skies.
Gray for Blanchard Gray.
Finally
, I thought. Maybe I was about to get a break at last.
“Talk to me, Blanchard,” I said, as I picked up.
He didn’t bother with a hello, but then neither had
I.
“I need to see you, Candace. We need to talk right now.”
I have heard Blanchard’s voice do many things. Beg. Laugh. Cry. But I had never heard it this close to panic.
“Where?”
“My office.”
It was almost two a.m.
“I’m on my way,” I said.
And rang off.
Blanchard works at the medical examiner’s office. At this hour, it was deserted except for the people who work the night shift and, of course, the corpses. Instantly, as I walked in, my heels loud against the tile floor, I was assaulted by the harsh smell of chemicals. I smell dead people.
Or not.
I hate coming here. It always means trouble.
I knocked on Blanchard’s office door. It swung open, and I saw him throwing papers into a box.
“What’s up?” I asked. “Are you quitting? What the hell is going on?”
“Leave of absence,” he answered shortly. He yanked another drawer open.
“Wait a minute,” I protested.
“For how long?”
“For as long as it takes,” he replied. “If you had an ounce of sense, you’d leave town, too.”
“Blanchard, wait.
Stop.”
I picked up the box he was packing and moved it out of reach. “What do you mean leaving town?”
“Leaving town as in scramming.
Cutting my losses.
Running like hell.
There’s trouble brewing, sweetheart. A big power struggle…” He held up a hand when I would have spoken. “I know, I know. There’s been vampire infighting before, someone trying to grab someone else’s power to move up the ladder, but nothing like what’s about to go down. This is like a war.”
“Who’s behind it?”
“Uh-uh,” he said. “Not until you give me back my box.”
I could feel my temper start to slip. It was two a.m., after all, I was tired and frustrated, and all he was doing was putting me off.
“Blanchard, will you please cut the crap and tell me what you know right now?”
“There’s a power play about to go down.”
“I know that much!” I all but shouted. “You said that before. Who’s behind it? Who’s involved?”
“I don’t know for sure. It’s all just rumors.”
“Of course it is,” I sighed. “But rumors have names that go with them, Blanchard. I may be just a dumb human, but even I know that much.”
“It’s the Bat Pack,” he suddenly burst out. “The rumors are saying it’s the Bat Pack. Can I please have my box back now?”
“Well, shit,” I said.
“That’s exactly right. We’re paddling up shit creek, and I’m getting out before my canoe capsizes.”
“But you told me the Bat Packers were low-level wannabes.”
“So sue me! I was wrong.” He made a sudden lunge and snatched back the box. “Apparently, they’re not as stupid or as powerless as advertised.”
“Apparently,” I said. But some things did make more sense, now.
Such as my reaction to them at the Venetian.
“Anything else I should know?”
“It’s about a power shift. I know I keep saying that, but it’s really all I know. I think it’s bigger than Vegas, but I don’t know for sure.”
“So the Bat Pack is trying to get more power.”
“More than that.
They’re after someone, someone up the hierarchy.”
“Someone high on the vampire hierarchy?
Who?”
“How would I know? I’m not exactly up there myself. But listen! If you tell anyone I told you this, my existence won’t be worth a damn, Candace.”
“For crying out loud, Blanchard,” I said. “Who the hell do you think I’m going to tell?”
“I don’t know who you’ll tell,” Blanchard exploded. “I never know what you do with the information I pass on. That’s the way you like it, and the way I like it. I’m just trying to maintain some semblance of the status quo.”
“By leaving town.”
“You are so right. I’m getting out of Vegas till the whole thing blows over.” He tossed one last folder into the box, hefted it, and walked to the door. “Do you want to come?”
I opened my mouth,
then
closed it again.
Things must be bad
, I thought. Blanchard was breaking our number-one rule: no personal involvement.
“Thanks for the invitation,” I said. “I really mean that. But I think I’d better stick around.”
“They’ve seen us together.
The Bat Pack.”
“I know that,” I said. I didn’t add that I had already had additional run-ins with the Bat Pack on my own. Fear pumped through me. I had played these games before. I hoped that experience would be enough to prepare me for what had scared Blanchard this much. “Don’t worry. I’ll be careful.”
“See you when I get back, then,” he said. “I hope.”
“I hope so, too,” I replied, but he was already gone.
My phone rang.
Again.
I rolled over and stared at the clock. Nine a.m. Shit! I overslept. After my chat with Blanchard, I had trouble drifting off into a peaceful sleep. The last time I looked at the clock it was six a.m. Now I felt as if I had been run over by a convoy of tourist buses. I reached out, picked up the phone.
“Yeah?”
I croaked.
“Wake up, Steele,” Al’s voice barked into the phone. “I need you down here, pronto.”
I pushed myself upright. “What is it? Did you catch whoever’s running the con?”
Al gave a short,
unamused
laugh. “I wish,” he said.
“Then what’s going on?”
“Did you see the morning news on
Sunrise Las Vegas
?”
“Do I sound like I saw it?”
Al ignored my tone. “They did a stand-up in front of the
Sher
.
Lance Weatherly reporting on the No-Limits tournament.”
“And you’re going to tell me why this free publicity is not a good thing any little minute now.”
“Because the free publicity included the fact that the tournament may be the target of a con.”
This time, I sat bolt upright. “He did what?”
“You heard me,” Al said grimly. “The information got left on an anonymous tip line.”
“That’s incredibly unreliable, Al. Any legitimate reporter would have…”
“No one ever said Lance Weatherly was legitimate.” Al cut me off. “He’s a pretty boy who likes digging up dirt, and he doesn’t particularly care if what he digs up is true or false. So Weatherly made the most of the opportunity to ask some leading questions about whether anyone should trust the casino. I don’t suppose I have to tell you that Randolph Glass is fit to be tied.”