Reckoning: A Fallen Siren Novel (12 page)

I raise baffled eyebrows at Zack. “What kind of danger are you referring to, Miss Bertram?”

“Are you recording this?”

“No.”

“I’m not giving you permission to record this,” she shouts, her voice shrill.

Zack is making finger circles in the air and mouthing,
Obviously her belfry is missing a bat.

I suppress a chuckle. “I can assure you I’m not—”

Before I have a chance to finish, she interjects, “Most likely, they have been taken by the very evil creature they were trying to conjure up that night.”

“Conjure up?” This gets our attention.

“With that board! They were conducting some kind of pagan ritual!”

With a
Ouija board?
Zack mouths.

Bertram is now on a no-holds-barred rant. “Ouija boards are a conduit into the underworld, plain and simple. I thought I’d saved them in time, saved their immortal souls. But now? Lord knows what’s happened to them. Satan is alive. Mark my words—this is the devil’s work. A force of evil. I can feel it. That stupid doctor says it’s all in my head, but I know better.”

“Doctor?”

“At the hospital. Just got out this morning. I was admitted for stress last Thursday.”

Well, the phone call accomplished one thing. Once we check hospital records to verify her whereabouts for the last five days, we can eliminate Constance Bertram as a suspect. Before I hang up, I thank her for her time and let her know we’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.

“No,” she hisses. “You won’t. If you have any other questions, you contact my lawyer.”

Zack and I exchange looks as the connection is broken. I slip my cell back into my purse.

Zack has gone from finger circling to rolling his eyes. “She’s completely unhinged,” he says.

I nod in agreement. Zack and I both have experience with things paranormal. But I’ve lived a long time and as far as I know, a Ouija board has never conjured up anything but teenage nightmares and late-night hysterics.

I sigh. “I think our next stop should be Wicked Ink. If that turns out to be another dead end, we can always circle back and pay Ms. Bertram a visit.”

“I wonder if she looks like she sounds?” he asks.

“You mean like an eighteenth-century harridan?” I nod. “Let’s hope we never have to meet her in person.”

*   *   *

The bell over the door rings as we walk into Wicked Ink. It’s Zack’s first time in the place. It doesn’t look like a typical tattoo parlor, and it isn’t. The floors are a dark, polished wood. To our right is a large, round dining room table, surrounded by high-back red velvet chairs. On top of the table, black leather-bound books are piled high. Sterling silver candelabras containing lit black candles blaze from each end. More candles are in the standing candelabras that line the north and south walls. The walls and ceiling are padded, tufted, and covered with an elegant black-on-black brocade. A series of ornate, silver-framed floor-to-ceiling mirrors covers the east wall across from me. It’s oddly quiet. No heavy metal blaring from hidden speakers. Only the barely discernable hum of an air conditioner pumping refrigerated air into a room I’d guess was about sixty degrees already.

“Can I help you?”

I turn to see a familiar face emerge from a door cut into the brocade-covered wall so discreetly that it’s all but invisible.

“Owen.” I hold out my hand. “You look good.”

“Better than the last time you saw me,” he says, grinning.

Owen Cooper is a vampire. Zack and I know him because we saved him from the finality of the real death just five short months ago. It was my first case with Zack in San Diego. It was also how I met Kallistos.

Owen is dressed much the same as he was the last time I saw him, too. Worn jeans, T-shirt, leather jacket, black boots. His light brown hair looks recently cut. His eyes are clear. His sinewy build is slightly more filled out.

“Emma, great to see you. Hey, Zack, my man, how’s it going?”

Zack returns the fist bump offered by the perpetual twentysomething. “Emma’s right. You’re looking good.”

Owen shoves his hands in his pockets. “Back on the bag. I’ve been clean since that night.”

The night we rescued him from a physician who had been kidnapping and experimenting on vampires.

“You work here now?” I ask.

“Rose hired me. Figured it’d keep me out of trouble. It’s good to be working again.” Five months ago, the on-again, off-again blood addict was in the throes of detox.

“It obviously agrees with you,” Zack says.

“So, how can I help you?”

“We’re here on official business,” I tell him.

“Cool.”

I pull out the photos of Hannah Clemons and Sylvia Roberts. “Can you tell us if either of these girls have been here?”

“They look a little young for tatts. We strictly adhere to the law. They have to be eighteen, no exceptions.”

I pull out the photo of Julie. “This one’s eighteen. Does she look familiar?”

“No, but that doesn’t mean she hasn’t been here. You know who you should show these to?”

“Rose,” I answer.

“I was thinking Simon.”

Simon is the human techie who keeps the Blood Emporiums running smoothly. He’s also one of Kallistos’ most trusted employees. Recruited straight out of CalTech, the twentysomething operational director of the entire Western Region is smarter than smart. He works in the basement, and as far as I know, he just might live there, too.

“Is he here?” I ask.

Owen shakes his head. “He’s up in Orange County today. I can leave a message on his voice mail, have him call you when he gets back.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

“Do you know when he’ll be back?” Zack asks.

“Sorry, I don’t.”

“Rose?”

He shakes his head again. “Day off. Do you want to call her?”

“I have her number,” I reply. “We may do that later.”

But for now, another dead end.

Zack and I say our good-byes and walk back toward the car. On the way Zack surprises me by hailing a passing cab. It pulls to the curb.

“I’ve got to get to my meeting. I’ll catch up with you later.”

“How much later?”

The set of his shoulders and the tightening of the lines
around his mouth tell me he doesn’t want to answer the question. “A few hours, maybe. I’m not sure. It’s important. I’ll call.”

I have no idea what Zack’s supersecret meeting with Sarah and Seamus is all about. I can tell it’s weighing heavily on his mind, but that isn’t enough to curb the irritation welling up in me. Or to stop what to my ears sounded like a completely insincere “Good luck” from springing from my lips.

No reaction. The tone is lost on Zack. “Thanks,” he says absently, before climbing into the backseat of the cab.

The taxi pulls away and I’m left standing alone on the curb, battling frustration and annoyance. I find myself hoping this is about Sarah moving onto Seamus’ compound. About Zack cutting ties with her once and for all. But then, what would change, really? He’ll be free to move on, to find someone with whom he’ll be happy. I’ve noticed the way the women in the office look at him. Now the scuttlebutt is that he has a live-in girlfriend. Once word gets out that his relationship status has changed . . .

I shake my head. Trouble is, he’s already met that someone. He just doesn’t remember.

I do.

Something’s missing. I don’t even know what it is, but I know I want it back in the worst possible way.

What is wrong with me?

Something else is missing . . . three girls. And my mind is on Zack’s love life.

Focus, Emma.

I head back to the office. Billings is at his desk. He shakes his head as I approach.

“Nothing of interest on Julie’s computer,” he says. “Just the usual teenage girl stuff between Julie and her friends. Some innocuous boy-girl chatter about homework, teachers. Same on Sylvia’s. No word yet on Hannah’s computer. I’ve got the tracking company looking for it.”

He pauses and hands me a sheaf of printed pages. “Hard copies of messages from their social networking sites. Mainly posts wondering what happened to the girls and offering words of encouragement to each other.”

I thumb through the thirty or so pages, noting that messages for Julie represent concern from every social group on campus—scholars to athletes, band nerds to cheerleaders. Julie may be Rain’s only friend, but she’s the kind of girl who is friendly to everyone.

Hannah and Sylvia are part of the
popular
crowd and the comments on their pages also reflect worry, alarm, even sympathy for the girls’ families.

I take the log back to my desk. Thinking of friendship
makes me think of Liz. And thinking of Liz makes me think of Bertram. I don’t place any stock in Bertram’s accusation that the girls were dabbling in witchcraft—especially with a Ouija board. To one who is familiar with the
real
evil creatures in the world, the woman’s rant had comic undertones. But as an agent investigating the disappearance of three young girls, the undertones, for me, take on a more sinister aspect.

Wouldn’t hurt to ask Liz whether she’s detected any disturbance in the witching-world force.

I give her a call, and lead with what I know she’ll appreciate the most. “Kallistos gave me a key to the penthouse.”

I hear her breath hitch. “So, you’re moving in?”

“Not exactly. But things have been good, better than good. Listen, I could use your help with something. It’s about a case with a possible witchcraft element. Mind if I come over?”

*   *   *

For the last three months Liz has been living with Evan Porter, a thirtysomething attorney vampire. He’s hardworking, earnest, loyal, and completely in love with my best friend. The condo that was his home and is now theirs is in the Marina District downtown in the old Soap Factory, one of the largest all-brick buildings on the West Coast . . . and an exclusive address. Units run close to a mil. Liz, per usual, answers the door before I even have the chance to ring the bell.

She’s not wearing anything remarkable—jeans, an oversized sweater, and calf-high leather boots. But still, she shines. Liz is five foot seven of stunning. With her
long, curly dark hair, almond eyes, and a model’s stature, she turns heads wherever she goes.

“So, about this key.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Now, you know I’m not here to talk about the key. Besides, it doesn’t mean what you think it means.”

She leads me through to the living room. The walls that used to be plain white are now a soft yellow. I sink into the overstuffed sofa, now adorned with decorative pillows and a cozy throw. The colorful accents contrast nicely with the funky black-and-white rug under the coffee table.

“Are these new?” I ask.

Her eyes narrow. “Don’t try to change the subject. Emma, you know the guy’s nuts about you.”

“The
guy’s
a vampire almost as old as I am. He had a relationship with my sister. A relationship that ended in his death—or undeath? You know what I mean. He knows the score. And he knows the risks. What he feels for me is desire, lust, nothing more. But that’s okay. It works both ways.”

Liz takes a moment to turn the sound down on the television before claiming her favorite chair. “You expect me to believe that’s
all
it is? After
five
months? You forget. I know you. Want to know why you’re never with any guy for very long?”

“Because I want to save them from a slow, painful, and inevitable death?”

She dismisses my answer with a casual wave. “Because although you search for safe, you really yearn for something deeper.”

I suppress a smile. “I yearn, huh?”

“Shut up. You wouldn’t even be thinking of moving in with Kallistos if sex was the only link between the two of you.”

“I’m not moving in with him. And I’m not giving up my place. Kallistos said he doesn’t want me to give up anything. He just wants me to be a bigger part of his life.”

She moves to the sofa and reaches for my hand. “Emma. I know you still have feelings for Zack. But I also see that Kallistos makes you happy. And you deserve to be happy.”

I nod. “We understand one another.”

“Demeter hasn’t raised her ugly head in months now. Relax. As you said, he knows the score. And being with an überpowerful vamp as rich as Kallistos must have its perks, right? I say, enjoy what you have while you have it.”

“Easier said than done.”

Liz waves off my concern. “I’m dying to see what the penthouse looks like. Think we can run over after lunch?”

“Absolutely!” I stick my hand into the main compartment of my purse and fish around. The old-fashioned fob the key is attached to makes it fairly easy to find. “Ta-da! My shiny new all-access pass.” I dangle the card in front of Liz and watch the color drain from her face.

“Son of a bitch.” She snatches the key out of the air.

“What is it?”

Liz’s expression tells me I don’t want to hear the answer.

“Liz?”

“It contains magic,” she says, handing it back to me. “A locator spell of some kind is attached to it. And it’s a
fairly powerful one at that. Think GPS only less conspicuous and more reliable.”

“Your magic?”

“No.”

My world shifts. In the space of a moment, the solid ground beneath me changes to quicksand. The honesty and trust that I so value in my relationship with Kallistos begins to give way to something else. Something blacker. Darker.

“Shit.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions.”

Even if the key means what he said it means, I know now that it also means something else. I toss it back into my purse. “He wants to keep tabs on me.”

“Maybe to protect you,” Liz says.

“Like property.”

“Like a lover he doesn’t want to risk losing. A King always has enemies. Being close to him puts you in danger. Don’t stew over this. Talk to him.” My cell phone is sitting next to my purse on her coffee table. She tilts her head toward it. “Call him.”

I pick it up. After all, even Seamus said I could be used against Kallistos. How did he put it? I’m a vulnerability.

I put it back down. Still, Kallistos should have told me—should have asked me—if I wanted his protection.

Liz watches my face, sees the indecision in my actions. “He could track you dozens of ways. He didn’t have to give you a key in order to do it,” Liz points out.

She’s right, of course. But he could have been honest with me. Should have been honest. Regardless of his motives, I feel betrayed. “I can’t deal with this right now.”

“Then when?”

Liz’s question registers in the back of my mind, but it fades as something else captures my attention. The television. “Hold that thought.”

Constance Bertram is speaking to a reporter. Her words scroll across the bottom of the screen . . .

Witchcraft. It has to be. Point Loma Academy is a hotbed of Satan worshippers. The school administrators may be afraid to acknowledge what’s going on in the school. But I am not. Three girls missing now. Three! How many more have to be sacrificed before action is taken?

Pictures of Julie, Hannah, and Sylvia flash on the screen. Liz grabs the remote and turns up the volume. “Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”

I nod.

My phone rings. My shoulders bunch. “Johnson.” I connect the call.

“Are you near a television?” he barks, without preamble.

“I’m watching it now, sir.”

“What the fuck, Monroe? Did you and Armstrong know about this?”

I feel a headache coming on. “We interviewed her by phone earlier. It was all going to be in our report. She didn’t come across as credible and—”

He cuts me off. “The phones are ringing off the hook. Reporters from every television station are calling to ask if we believe three girls have been kidnapped by some damned Satanic cult. News crews are setting up outside the field office. I need an update now. I’ve scheduled a press conference in two hours. You and Armstrong better get here with a statement I can use. You have one
hour. And, Monroe, it had better be something real. Something concrete. Something that will shift attention away from this raving lunatic, Bertram.”

He’s gone.

“Let me guess,” says Liz. “The shit just hit the fan.”

“I have to call Zack.” Unfortunately, his cell goes straight to voice mail. He’s turned it off? Furiously, I leave him a message.
We need to talk. Call me as soon as you get this. We’re due at the office in one hour.

Liz is studying my face. “Zack is AWOL?”

“Had some kind of important meeting to attend. Werewolf business.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Now? In the middle of a case?”

I shake my head, too irritated to reply rationally. I take a deep, calming breath. “Liz, I have to come up with a statement for Johnson. Now, more than ever, I need to pick your brain about this.” Quickly, I fill her in on the case. Everything, including my “interview” with Rain and our conversation with Constance Bertram just an hour or so ago. “Bertram must have contacted the media right after we spoke with her.”

I rub a palm against my forehead. “Do you have any aspirin?”

“Sure.” Liz heads into the kitchen. When she returns a few minutes later with two aspirin and a tall glass of ice water, photos of the missing girls are once again flashing on the screen.

“Three victims, young, innocent, blond. For someone who practices black magic, they could be a valuable commodity. But I’ve heard no rumors of such activity in the area. And I have extensive connections.” She sits back
down. “Then again, anyone who would do such a thing would be discreet.”

I pop the pills into my mouth and rinse them down with a few swallows of water. “Taking three girls at once, though, is hardly being discreet.”

Liz agrees with a nod. “I don’t think this has anything to do with witchcraft. And certainly not with three teenagers playing with a Ouija board. But—”

“Between Rain’s memory being wiped and a tenuous connection to Wicked Ink, I’ve got a bad feeling a vampire is mixed up in this.” I gather up my phone and handbag. “I should talk to Kallistos.”

“Yes! That’s what I was saying.” She releases a sigh, then wraps her arms around me and gives me a fortifying hug. “I love you, you know. Hang in there.”

Kallistos’ words roll around in my head:
You may be irresistible. But I’m not. At least not where you’re concerned . . . I can walk in the light, but I’m not of it. I’ve done things, had to do things, will continue to do things. Do you understand?

I wasn’t sure I did then.

Now I’m beginning to.

“Come on, Liz. I meant I need to connect with him about the
case
. Three missing girls trumps the disaster that is my love life.”

Her eyes narrow. “I know. But at some point you’re going to have to stop avoiding it.”

“I’m not avoiding. I have a plan.”

“Which is?”

“Ignore it for now. Deal with it later. I’ve got to start working on this statement. I’m going to head over to the
Palomar. With luck Zack can meet me. Keep your ear to the ground?”

She nods. “If I hear anything, I’ll call you. Go.”

I do, my head spinning with thoughts about Kallistos and the case. By the time I get to my car, I’m weighed down by questions for which there are no answers.

My cell chimes.

The incoming text is from Zack. He received my voice mail along with one from Johnson. He’s wrapping up his lunch appointment and is ready to meet.

I type,
Come to the Palomar.

First and foremost, we have to deal with Johnson’s request. What can we say? That no, it’s probably not a coven of witches or a satanic cult that’s responsible for the disappearance of three girls.

It may be vampires.

And, by the way, my lover is their King.