“Hey, hey!” laughed the radio DJ as a song ended. “Well, you know, we don’t usually take requests here on the Ricky Bent show, but this was such a classic I had to do it — especially when I found out we actually had it in our collection! From Solomon to Miri, here are the Harmonic Dialtones with
Baby Answer My Call.”
This time the car shot across two lanes of traffic amid horns like a chorus and brake lights like fireworks as Miranda hastily pulled over to the shoulder and grabbed for the phone box. Vampire talons split the heavy packing tape that sealed the box, then Miranda was wrenching out blocks of foam packing. The ringing phone was wrapped in a thick layer of plastic. Miranda tore it off and unfolded the phone, fumbling for the connect button.
“It took you long enough,” said Solomon sarcastically.
Miranda sat back in her seat. “Sorry,” she replied into the mouthpiece, “but I wasn’t really expecting someone to call me on a phone that hadn’t been activated, yet. Let me guess: it wasn’t just luck that got me the phone.” '
“Mages make their own luck. You won’t have to pay an activation fee either. I decided it was time you went cellular. I got tired of having to use magick to locate you when you weren’t at home.” Solomon paused. “Where are you now?”
“On the 427 above the Queensway.” Miranda glanced over her shoulder to check the traffic, then, cradling the phone between her head and shoulder, pulled back onto the road. She shifted the phone back into her hand and drove while she talked. “Heading back into Toronto.”
“What the hell were you doing out at the airport?” “Feeding,” Miranda said simply. She wasn’t sure that she wanted Solomon to know about Tango any more than she wanted the pack to know. But if Solomon had used his magick to locate her out at the airport, there was the possibility that he had seen her collect Riley’s bags as well. She hoped he hadn’t.
“Feeding?” he asked incredulously. “At the airport?” She relaxed a bit. Maybe he hadn’t been watching her. “You know those urban myths about kids
disappearing at airports?” she lied.
Solomon chuckled. “You’re evil, Miri.”
“You didn’t give me a cellular phone just to make small talk, did you? What do you want?”
“Come out to my house right away.”
“How right away? Is this for the Bandog or...?” “Neither. It’s about the pack’s next job. Assignment number three.”
Miranda frowned at the phone. She had to get the bags to Tango — she had promised them to her first thing tonight and she had been hoping that she might have a little time to talk to the changeling. She couldn’t very well tell Solomon that she had an errand to run. “Should I bring the pack? I’ll drop by and pick them up.”
“You don’t have to. David has already gotten them. That’s how I found out you were somewhere else.” Miranda cursed silently as he talked. “How long is it going to take you to get here? Twenty minutes from where you are, then ten through the city to my place?” “That sounds about right.” It sounded too right, actually. At a normal driving speed, it would take her almost exactly that long to get to Solomon’s home. Miranda cursed again.
“I’ll see you in half an hour then.”
“All right. Wait! Solomon!” Miranda searched for a pen or pencil in the car. “What’s my phone number?” He gave it to her, laughing. She gritted her teeth against the sound and scrawled the number on the lid of the phone box. “Thanks.”
She hung up and tossed the phone back into the box. Half an hour left her no time to get the bags to Tango. The changeling would have to wait. She would see her after she went to Solomon’s. Except that... Miranda slapped her hands against the rim of the steering wheel. Except that after the meeting with Solomon, the pack would be with her again. She would have to get rid of them before she could see Tango. And what if Solomon wanted them to commit another penny murder tonight? Her stomach curdled. She had to give the bags to Tango before going to Solomon. It would only take a few extra minutes. Solomon wouldn’t notice. She could make the time. Miranda pushed the accelerator down and the car flew forward, surging along the highway.
* * *
Tango paced back and forth through the living room of Riley’s apartment. Some mindless sitcom was playing on the television, the canned laughter of the soundtrack cackling out on cue. She had been waiting anxiously for Miranda to appear since the sun went down. For the first hour, she had been able to persuade herself that she was just being ridiculous, that Miranda couldn’t possibly have had time yet to get out to the airport and back. She had actually even managed to sit still long enough to watch two sitcoms and a fragment of a third. Then the anxiety that she had been putting off all day had finally begun to sink in and she had lost interest in the bawdy humor of the television. She kept it on now for the sound only; the silence when the set was off just seemed to make things worse.
Where was Miranda? Had she been able to get to the airport? Did she have Riley’s bags? What would be in them?
The sitcom ended and the news came on. More repeated footage of Todd’s body being removed from his apartment, but now also scenes from the demonstration that afternoon. Tango had seen them already as well, played out on the early evening news: a home video of a protest turned angry, of demonstrators shrieking at police officers and grabbing for them, of officers pushing back and sometimes striking out. More video of the aftermath of the riot, the flashing lights of squad cars and ambulances, the people that Dex had run down crying and screaming, all of it jolting and jumping as the owner of the video camera fled from the scene to avoid arrest. Tango steeled herself and watched it all over again, choking back her anger at Dex.
When the sidhe had stopped to let her off at Riley’s apartment, he had gotten out of the car to inspect the damage inflicted by the protesters. The long smears of blood decorating the sides of the car like racing stripes would, he had decided, wash off easily. A couple of shallow dents on the hood, however, had sent him into a silent rage. Tango had walked away in disgust. Even from inside the building, climbing grimly up the old stairs, she had heard the roar of Dex’s Mustang pulling away. It had reminded her of the roar of some ravening animal.
The news was almost over before the intercom that connected to the front door of the building finally buzzed. Tango was on it almost instantly. “Hello?”
“It’s Miranda.” The old intercom distorted the vampire’s voice. “I have the bags.”
“Come up.” Tango pressed the button that would unlock the front door, then ran out and down the stairs to meet her.
Miranda looked pleased to see her there. “I can’t stay,” she said hurriedly. She passed her the bags. “Here.”
“Miranda, what...”
“I can’t explain. I’ve got to run.” She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a torn piece of cardboard. “Give me a call,” she added, thrusting the cardboard into an outside pocket on one of the bags.
Then she was gone, back down the stairs and out of the front door. Tango, staggered by the whirlwind of her arrival and departure, struggled back up the stairs under the awkward bulk of Riley’s luggage. The bags weren’t too heavy for her, just clumsily big. Once she was in the apartment again, she set the bags down in the center of the floor and laid Miranda’s phone number by the telephone. For a moment, she contemplated the luggage that had been causing her such tension all day. The little luggage locks were still attached to the zippers. Hopefully that meant the bags hadn’t been opened since Riley had checked them in San Francisco. Tango knelt down before the suitcase. She didn’t have a key, but a faint thread of Glamour made her fingers strong enough to snap the feeble metal with a twist. She unzipped the suitcase and flipped back the lid.
She had heard a dry rattling inside the suitcase as she’d carried it up the stairs. Now she knew what had caused it. There were eight packages of crayons lying on top of the clothes in the suitcase, the kind of big packs that contained ninety-six crayons each. Tango frowned in confusion. Crayons? She lifted a box out. It was still shrink-wrapped. What would Riley have wanted with crayons? Could it have something to do with the reason for his kidnapping? Certainly nothing else about the disappearance made any sense. She worked a kenning, trying to sense Glamour on the boxes.
What she sensed made her heart sink in disappointment. She unwrapped the box in her hand and opened it, dumping the contents onto the floor. They weren’t crayons now that the box was open, but joints of some kind, wrapped up in twists of brightly colored paper. The magickal drugs that Riley had purchased from the Cult of Ecstasy, disguised by Glamour so they could be smuggled across the border. There was no clue here to his kidnapping. All the drugs told her was that he had at least completed his errand to the Cult while he was in San Francisco.
Tango scooped the joints back into the crayon box and set it, along with the other seven boxes, to one side. She turned her attention to the other contents of the suitcase.
* * *
Solomon lived in a discreet old house on top of the bluffs that overlooked downtown Toronto. The house was classically elegant, tucked in among the trees and winding streets that sheltered other expensive homes. Clean red brick, trim that always seemed freshly painted, a cobblestone drive, grounds that were twice as large as most modern building lots — the house would have commanded a very hefty price on the real estate market. Miranda wasn’t sure exactly how Solomon had acquired the house, but she doubted if he had purchased it outright. There were too many other ways to acquire property. Much of the wealth that
Solomon enjoyed came from members of the Bandog, members who were willing to curry favor with money just as she curried favor with sex. Miranda didn’t inquire too closely about the house.
Nothing about the neat exterior of the house so much as hinted at what went on inside. If those private activities were revealed, though, property values in the neighborhood would probably plummet.
Miranda pulled into the drive, past tall, ornamental iron gates that were open to receive her, and parked by the side of the house. There was a side door to the house and she almost used it before remembering that this was supposed to be her first visit here. The pack might become suspicious if she came into the house that way. She went around to the front of the house and across the wide verandah. David must have been watching for her, because he opened the front door even as she was reaching to turn the old-fashioned doorbell. She almost grimaced at his eerie alertness. “I’m Miranda,” she said, as though he were a complete stranger. “Solomon is expecting me. 1 think my friends are already here.”
“Yes.” David’s face betrayed no more recognition than her own. Not that it ever did. “If you will follow me, Solomon will see you immediately.” He turned smoothly, leading her into the dark interior of the house.
She heard the rest of the pack before she saw them. Matt was lecturing Tolly on good behavior. When David led her into the Victorian-style parlor where the pack was waiting, she saw why. They all had wineglasses filled with blood, a courtesy that Solomon frequently extended to her when she visited. Tolly had been using his to paint his face, turning it into a mask of red swirls.
He simply smiled back at Matt’s lectures. At least he had removed most of the piercings from yesterday, although Miranda saw that he had kept the silver shaft that transfixed his tongue. Blue was very wisely staying out of the discussion. Miranda stopped beside him. “How long have you been here?”
He looked up. “Twenty-five minutes, maybe a bit longer. Where did you slip off to tonight?”
“Feeding,” she said shortly.
David cleared his throat discreetly. “This way.” He indicated a heavy, dark wood door that Miranda knew led into Solomon’s study. Blue rose while Miranda snapped for Matt and Tolly. But David shook his head. “No, I’m sorry. I meant only Miranda. She is the one Solomon wishes to see.” .
Matt flushed. “Why did you bring the rest of us here, then?”
“He will speak with you all after he has spoken with Miranda.” David regarded Matt coolly. “I don’t question his decisions.”
And
neither should you
was the clear implication. Blue permitted himself a tight grin at Matt’s discomfort. Tolly snickered. Miranda didn’t even look at Matt. She simply followed David as he walked over and knocked on the door, then opened it just enough to permit her entrance. The door closed behind her with the muffled thud of solid wood.
“You’re late.” Solomon was seated behind his desk, a simple, graceful construction of glass and black metal. In stark contrast to the rest of the house, his study was decorated in a very contemporary style. The glass-and-metal desk, matching shelves, black metal-frame chairs. A powerful desktop computer. The curtains on the window, dark and heavy in the rest of the house, had been replaced by blinds. The windows themselves had also been replaced with seamless panes and sleek frames. Solomon’s study faced out into the dark tangle of a ravine. Lights from other houses were barely visible, their brilliance masked by the thick leaves.
“By ten minutes. You didn’t give me much time. I got caught in traffic.” Miranda crossed the room and leaned across the desk to kiss Solomon’s chain tattoo. His hand lingered on her face, but she dropped down into one of the chairs facing the desk. “Thanks for the phone, by the way.”
“Where is it now?”
“In the car.”
“I want you to carry it with you all the time. I want to be able to reach you if I need to.” He smiled and sat forward. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, and the fabric rustled when he moved. “You’re doing a perfect job, Miri.”
Miranda nodded modestly. “Thank you. So what’s our next assignment?” She almost crossed her fingers, hoping that it wouldn’t be another gay man from Hopeful. Tango hadn’t said anything to her about Todd’s murder in the brief moments she had seen her. Maybe she didn’t suspect the vampires’ involvement. If a third man connected with Hopeful died, though.... “We can’t go back to Hopeful again. Nobody has remembered our faces yet, but they will if we keep going there.”