part of that arrangement, I’ll need to bind you to secrecy.”
“I have a client. Ethel Hoobin.”
“Take a new client. House Avalante has deeper pockets.”
I pushed back my chair. “That won’t do. It’s time for you to go.”
“Wait a moment. Are you telling me you’re refusing my offer?”
“I’m telling you that. Now beat it.”
He didn’t rise. “You’re as stubborn as I’d heard,” he said. “I don’t suppose a fat bag of coin would change your mind.”
“I’m about to lose my temper,” I said.
He smiled, remembered who he was with, covered his mouth with his hand, like I’d do if I yawned before a lady.
“Sit back down. Please.”
“I asked you to leave.”
“And I shall,” he replied. “You may throw me out or hear me out. Which will it be?”
I pondered that, shrugged and sat. He looked on, bemused behind his glasses.
“My superiors have a somewhat simplistic view of mankind. They believe all men can be bought. They sent me here with twenty thousand crowns and instructions to enlist your services in our search for Martha Hoobin.” He leaned forward, elbows on my desk. “I know something of you, finder. I told them that you couldn’t be bought. They laughed. I shall be quite pleased to tell them they were wrong.”
“Twenty thousand crowns?”
“Twenty thousand,” he repeated. “All yours, if you would agree to accept it as a retainer with the agreement that we would obtain your services, and your secrecy, as a finder in the search for Martha Hoobin.”
“I’m going to ask this again, Mr. Prestley. Answer, or get out. What does House Avalante want with Martha Hoobin?”
Evis was silent. I felt his eyes upon me, felt a shiver go down my spine.
“We want nothing with Martha Hoobin. What we want are the people behind her disappearance.”
“And who are they?”
He shook his head. “If we knew that, Mr. Markhat, I assure you that members of the House gardening staff would be dumping their dismembered corpses in the River about now.”
“You think I know?”
He shrugged. “Not yet. That’s the problem, Mr. Markhat. We’re running out of time, you and I. If one of us hasn’t found Martha Hoobin in the next four days, stop looking. She’ll be dead. Just like all the others.”
I looked down at the list. “They’re dead.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“By whose hand?”
He shook his head. “I do not know.”
“Why four days? What happens then?”
The muscles around his jaw began to move beneath his cold pale skin. “I cannot say,” he said.
“What can you say?”
“I can tell you about the other names. Prostitutes, all. From houses less prestigious than the Velvet. One has vanished each month, for the last eleven months.”
“How-”
“I cannot say,” he said. “No one looked, when they vanished. They had no family. Few had close friends.”
“Then how do you know so much?”
“The House has many interests,” he said. “We’ve been following this one for some time. With, I fear, little success.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“We both want the same thing.” He sounded tired. “If anything I tell you helps you find Martha Hoobin, you’re welcome to it. Maybe you’ll remember that we did try to help.”
I wrestled with the concept of helpful vampires for a moment. Then I pulled open a drawer, found Martha’s silver comb, held it up.
“Ever seen this before?”
He lowered his shaded glasses, inspected the comb and handed it back to me. Then he reached back inside his coat-and withdrew an identical silver swan-comb.
He put it down on my desk, beside the one I’d found. They were twins, down to the carving of the feathers and the color of the bristles.
“I have three more. All found among the belongings of…” He pulled the list around, pointed to three names. “Her, and her, and her.”
“Notice anything strange about yours?”
He frowned. “No. Why?”
I hesitated. But he’d told me things, and I decided if I wanted him to keep talking I might have to open up myself.
“A friend of mine tried to do her witch-touch act to it. Dropped it like a hot brick. Said she couldn’t feel that it had ever belonged to anyone. She said that wasn’t right, that she thought someone had put some kind of black mojo on it.”
“We tried the same thing,” said the halfdead. “No one saw anything of significance through any of these-but they didn’t notice a lack of sight either.” He nudged my comb with a forefinger. “Odd. When did your friend try witch sight on it?”
“Yesterday.”
He nodded.
“Ours were not nearly so fresh,” he said. “Hmm. Perhaps if the spell were cast to fade away…”
“My friend said that was more than just street mojo. She said it was black hex. Sorcery.”
“That would be significant, if true,” said Evis. He looked up suddenly at me. “I don’t suppose you’d allow me to take this away for further study?”
“I don’t suppose you’d give me a receipt?”
He beamed. “Gladly.” And I swear he reached back into that coat, pulled out a small leather-bound notebook and a gold writing pen.
“Tell me something,” I said, as he scribbled away. “Were you maybe a lawyer, before?”
He looked up, lifted an eyebrow. “Before I died and became a blood-thirsty halfdead fiend?”
“I wasn’t going to say ‘fiend’.”
He laughed. “I was a lawyer, yes. Before the War. Nevertheless, I wound up in the infantry. I took a Troll arrow at Potter’s Hill.”
I sat upright. “Potter’s Hill? Summer of seventy-four? I was there.”
The halfdead finished writing, signed the page with a flourish, tore the paper out of the book and slid it across the desk toward me. “There was a halfdead in our regiment. We’d spoken, become friends, of a sort. He saw I was dying, asked me if I wanted to-to take a chance.” He shrugged. “I do not recall my reply. But I woke up dead two nights later. Funny old thing, life.”
I took the receipt. It was all there, neat and legal, one silver comb, on temporary loan for sorcerous inspection, blah blah blah.
Potter’s Hill. Hell, he’d died right under my nose.
“All right,” I said, tapping his comb. “One veteran to another. Mind if I keep this one to show around?”
“With my compliments.” He slipped his notebook back in his pocket, and his golden pen. “One more thing, Mr. Markhat.”
“And what is that?”
“We are aware of you and your efforts. Others may be aware of these things too. Persons not as well disposed toward you as I and my House.”
“I get that a lot,” I said. “Don’t worry. I’ll put two strings on my screen-door tonight.”
He shook his head.
