election.”
“I can’t let the spell caster go,” Lore said flatly. “Murder is murder.”
Darak gave a shrug. “As you wish.”
Talia is in danger. He knew that, but hearing it from this stranger made the threat all the more concrete. “Did the dead mention the name of the killer?”
“No.” Darak stepped back, his enormous frame filling their corner of the lounge. “I don’t think she knew it.”
Darak turned and made his way toward the door, the dog and the other two vampires at his heels. This time, Lore let them leave.
What the hell am I supposed to make of that? Lore picked up his cup, then set it aside in disgust. The encounter with the vampires had made him edgy, itching to feel the crack of the necromancer’s bones against his knuckles. The only plus was that Talia was safely behind magical wards—and what Darak had said proved that she was innocent. Unfortunately, a secondhand account from a ghost would never stand up in court. Lore would have to do better to clear her name.
And to do that, he needed more information.
Checking his watch, Lore noted it was past his appointed meeting time. He looked around, but didn’t see the face he was looking for.
He also needed something stronger than coffee. By the time he got himself a beer from the bar, all the normal tables and chairs were taken, so Lore sat down in one of the soft leather seats clustered around a coffee table. Lore shifted uncomfortably, his jeans sliding on the leather seat. It was a bit like sitting on a giant black marshmallow. He just wasn’t trendy urbanite material.
Irritated, he checked his phone and found a voice message from Baines, demanding to talk to him again. Lore deleted it. He’d make himself available when he had time.
A woman left a nearby table and sat down across from him. “You called me, and here I am. What can I do for you?”
Lore did a double take. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see you.”
The truth was, he hadn’t recognized Errata Jones. The celebrity werecougar talk show host of CSUP radio, she normally wore a Goth getup of black leather. Only the chin-length jet-black hair was familiar. Today she wore a heavy cream sweater and jeans beneath a tweed coat, and her face was bare. For the first time, Lore thought she was actually pretty.
“I need your help,” he said, deciding to be blunt.
“Do you? I wonder how I can help one of the mighty hellhounds?”
She tilted her head to one side a moment, considering him. Her eyes were green-flecked hazel, her skin more golden than he had expected. He’d bet good money the black hair was a dye job.
He waited patiently as she squirmed out of the coat, knowing better than to rush a cat toward a decision. She picked up her peppermint hot chocolate and crossed her legs. He could see her jeans were wet from the knees down, evidence of her trek through the snow. “Tell me,” she said.
“Are you up for doing some investigative work?”
“I always wanted to be Brenda Starr. I’m more than just a sultry voice, you know.”
She was indeed one of the smartest people Lore knew, though that intelligence was very different from Perry’s. Where Perry found facts, Errata made connections. “I need answers from someone who isn’t with the police. Strictly off the record for now, but you can have anything I know for an exclusive later.”
Errata raised one eyebrow slightly. “Really?”
“There was an incident.”
“Incident?”
“Beheading. Vampire. I don’t think it’s public knowledge yet. I didn’t see any reporters.”
“Hairballs!” She set down her mug again, leaning forward. “When? Are we talking slayers?”
“Not anything sanctioned by human or vampire law.” He sketched out the bare bones of Michelle Faulkner’s murder, finishing with what Darak had said. “My problem is that there are far too many strangers in town. Finding one spell caster won’t be easy. I’m counting on Perry’s help, too.”
Errata made a face. “And the spell guy isn’t the only new problem in town. There are rumors of pro-human fanatics arriving with plans to blow Spookytown to kingdom come. With so many visitors, mass carnage would be the height of efficiency.”
“Who are we talking about?”
“Some say the Hunters.”
“I didn’t think there were any outside of Europe.”
“There is one bunch who lives down east. They could be out here for the election along with everyone else.”
Lore swore, and then dropped his voice. “This has to stay just between you and me. I have the prime suspect in the murder locked in my bedroom.”
Errata stared. “What the hell?”
“It’s a long story.”
“You are such a dog. Who is it?”
“A female vampire.”
Her whole body tightened, like a compressing spring. “You know bondage is only cool if it’s consensual, right?”
He felt unwelcome heat creeping to his ears. “This is not for games. I can’t turn her in to the police. She’s not guilty. There’s a good chance they’ll execute her just to say they closed the case.”
“So she’s hiding with you?”
“Yes.”
“Was that her idea?”
“Not exactly.”
Errata sat back, looking away. “I get that you grew up in the Castle, where locking someone up was considered normal, but you can’t do that here. This is, y’know, the real world.”
He wanted to snap at her. “It’s not like that. Help me prove her innocence.”
Errata turned back to him, her hazel eyes grim. “What do you need?”
“Tell me if you can find out anything about Talia Rostova’s history with her sire, starting with who that is. Something happened between them. This is more than just a rogue-on-the-run story.” It had left a sadness in Talia he itched to fix.
“Is that part idle curiosity, or do you really think knowing her history will help you catch her cousin’s killer?”
“Maybe.” He sounded defensive even to himself.
Her eyes narrowed to slits. “Just be sure you know what you’re doing.”
I wish. “We don’t have much time. She’s a target.”
Errata stood, a graceful movement worthy of a feline. “Then I’ll let you know what I find out ASAP.”
“Be careful.”
Her lips quirked. “You and Perry. So good at stating the obvious.”
“He should be there next time we meet.”
Errata gave him a sly look as she picked up her coat and purse. “Tomorrow night. Your place. I want to see this vampire of yours. She must be something if you’re going to so much trouble.”
Lore experienced a wave of possessiveness for his territory and for Talia. “Yeah, okay,” he said reluctantly.
“One condition.”
“What?”
She was serious again. “You have to let her go. You can’t keep a bloodsucker in custody without reporting it to the vamp authorities.”
Lore narrowed his eyes. “Don’t go there.”
Errata leaned over him, showing tiny, sharp canines. “Caravelli’s only a phone call away. If anyone else finds out . . .”
