“I was just—”
“Please hold all commentary until the author has finished, thank you. Now where was I?”
“Supple,” I reminded her.
Nina fixed her glasses and started again.
“‘He turned and I could see the vein throbbing in his neck. I longed to sink my teeth into the flesh, to taste of meaty life juice.’”
I clamped my jaws shut. Every muscle in my body winced and I bore down against the torrent of laughter.
“‘Suddenly my fangs were in him and he was underneath me, writhing.’”
My stomach dropped into my fuzzy slippers when the heroine was introduced as she plunged her fangs into her beau Horatio’s “tender virgin neck.”
When Nina was through, she looked up, beaming, expectant. “Well?” she asked breathlessly.
Somewhere around Cecilia falling into Horatio’s arms and her going back for a second taste of “that meaty life juice,” Will must have returned from the kitchen. He stood in our doorway; his face pale, his lips drawn. The little Arsenal Football logo on his chest was jumping as his heart thudded underneath. He held his tea to his lips, a statue with darting eyes.
Will eyed the stack of papers Nina held. “Is that her diary?” he asked, voice low.
Nina’s eyes went wide and her chest swelled. “Do you really think it’s that good? That believable?” She shook the papers. “Because I wrote it.”
Will eyed her. “You wrote it down or made it up?”
“Made it up.”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Inspired by true events?”
“A little.”
Will’s smile showed a small amount of relief. “Then you’re either a hell of a writer or a very, very scary woman.”
Nina preened. “Thanks. On both counts.” She flopped into a dining-room chair, forearm thrown over her forehead, fainting Victorian style. “I can’t read anymore. It’s very emotional.” Nina’s gaze was steady on me, waiting, and I took the hint. I jumped to my feet and started clapping. Will joined in.
I know you should never lie to a friend, but when that friend has two-inch fangs, I consider it warranted.
“Thank you!” Nina’s grin was so wide that it went to her earlobes. “So what are you two still doing up?” She bobbed her small shoulders and waggled her eyebrows. “A little nightcap?”
Will and I exchanged a glance. “Actually, we were just talking about the case a little bit.”
Nina’s eyes lit up. “Wait, wait, wait one second.” She jumped up, bounded over to our junk drawer and pulled out a pen and notepad. “I’m thinking my next novel might be romantic suspense or, you know, espionage. So ... go ahead. I want to take notes.”
I licked my bottom lip. “There isn’t that much to tell. I think I know where the silver bullet came from. I have an address in Chinatown.”
“Sophie, that’s huge! How did you figure that out?”
I pinched my bottom lip, quiet.
“Vlad nicked a little something from Dixon.”
Nina blinked. “Oh. Well, why aren’t you checking it out?”
“I—I’m not sure. There just seems—maybe ... I don’t know ...”
Nina put her notepad down and dropped her pen. “You think Vlad has something to do with all of this?”
My eyes went wide. “No. No, I don’t think—”
“Do you think my nephew is trying to lure you into some kind of trap or something? Because if that’s what you think—”
“No,” I said definitively. “I don’t think that at all. I just got the information, so I haven’t really had a chance to look into it. I know Vlad wouldn’t do anything like—like this.”
The lie tasted sour on my tongue.
I was reading the same line of an Elle Adair romance novel over and over again when I heard the lock tumble and Vlad walked in. He was wearing an ankle-length duster over his pressed black pants and clean white shirt. I expected a top hat or another stupid ascot, but he looked almost twenty-first century.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“Out” was his quiet reply.
He went directly to the fridge and yanked it open. “Where’s Nina?”
“Poe’s. She’s still working on her novel.”
Vlad snorted and snatched up a blood bag, piercing it with his fangs. For the first time that motion, which I had seen every day of my life with Nina, made me wince, made me consider those sharp fangs digging into soft flesh.
Vlad grinned; and with his teeth stained a hearty bloodred, he looked momentarily sinister. “What’s with you?”
“What do you know about the murders?”
“Murders?” Vlad continued working on his blood bag, then flopped down on the couch, clicking on the TV. I perched myself in the chair-and-a-half (that cost me a paycheck-and-a-half) next to him.
“The Underworld. Mrs. Henderson. Bettina,” I elaborated.
“I thought Bettina was fine.” Vlad didn’t look at me; he kept his eyes transfixed on the glowing TV screen as he clicked past the guy from CHiPs selling Lake Shastina real estate and an ad for Mister Steamy.
“The file you gave me.”
I watched his nostrils flare; his top lip curled into a bloodstained snarl. “I thought I was helping you out.”
I straightened, feeling a spike of nerves rushing through my body. “I know, I was just curious.”
Vlad looked at me now; the snarl moving up into a gruesome smile. “You don’t have to be upset, Sophie. I was just saying.”
I fought to slow my heartbeat to a normal rate. “I’m not nervous.”
Vlad went back to watching his stream of infomercials “What do you want to know about the file?”
“How did you get ahold of them?”
Vlad’s eyes cut from the TV, cut across mine, and flashed back again. “I’m holding them for a friend.”
“Come on, Vlad. These aren’t condoms or cigarettes. They’re official Underworld Detection Agency files. They’re Dixon’s files.”
“Like I said, I thought I was doing you a favor.”
I held up my hands placatingly. “I’m just trying to get to the bottom of this. I don’t suspect you, personally, of anything. I’m just trying to explore all of the options. Maybe look into some factions that might have had a grudge against other demons.”
“Factions?” Vlad cocked an eyebrow. “You mean the Empowerment Movement, don’t you?” Vlad stood up so quickly that I lost my breath.
“It’s just that Dixon is also a part of the movement—”
“I don’t believe you, Sophie. You say that you’re on our side—the Underworld side—but when it comes down to it, the first thing you do is start pointing fingers at demons. Whatever happened to ‘never judge a demon by his horns,’ huh?”
I gripped the chair arms, burrowing my fingernails into the soft fabric. “I’m just following the facts.”
“There are no facts that lead you to the Empowerment Movement.”
“Vlad, the goal of the movement is to advance the vampire race.”
I could see Vlad’s jaw clench.
I could see his fingers roll into tight, pale fists.
“And you think the only way a vampire can advance is by taking out the competition?”
I steadied my voice. “You have to admit, it’s a little odd. A banshee, a dragon, a centaur, a werewolf—but no vampire hits? Vamps are the majority in the Underworld. Statistically speaking, they should have been hit, too.”
