Vendetta (Deadly Curiosities Book 2) Page 15

  “Thank you, Cassidy,” Sorren said raggedly. “There are many things the Dark Gift enables me to do, but often, it’s the simplest things it denies me.”

  Like going abroad in daylight, I thought. Or spending a mortal lifetime with a woman he cared about.

  “No problem,” I assured him. Belatedly, Baxter seemed to notice that I had arrived home. Sorren carefully put him on the floor, and Baxter waggled his way over, utterly unconcerned about the obvious breach of etiquette. I picked him up and hugged him, then took him back and set him on Sorren’s lap. Sorren looked up at me quizzically.

  “You look like you need him at the moment more than I do,” I replied. I went out to the kitchen. I only had one glass of wine with dinner, but this was definitely shaping up to be a two-glass day.

  I brought the wine back in with me and settled into an armchair facing Sorren. Baxter was on his lap with a goofy grin. For a moment, it was awkwardly silent.

  “I met her in 1940,” Sorren said finally. “She was twenty. I was… older than that,” he said with a sad smile. “She loved horses and mint juleps – and me. Even though she figured out quickly enough just what I was,” he added, and if he had needed to breathe, he might have sighed. “She had a touch of her mother’s Sight.”

  “I could tell that you two were close,” I said, not entirely sure what to say. Technically, Sorren was my boss, or at least, my patron. Then again, in my last job, I had sat with my boss on more than one occasion while she drank herself numb and talked about her divorce. Chalk it up to being a good listener. But more than anything, Sorren was a friend. He’d had my back in a lot of fights. I wanted to hear him out.

  “Helen was the last mortal I permitted myself to become romantically involved with,” he said quietly. “Ever. It’s just not fair, to either of us… and sometimes it’s so hard.” He smiled. “But damn, she was a very special woman. Smart. Funny. An amazing dancer. Not afraid of anything. So open to curiosity. Do you have any idea how rare that was back then?”

  Or even now, I thought, remembering Anthony’s struggle to reconcile himself to what his own senses testified.

  He didn’t really expect an answer, so I didn’t give one. Helen Butler was over ninety years old. There were a lot of things people didn’t talk about back then, including vampires. She must have been exceptional to handle that.

  “I’m guessing that eventually she found someone else.” Since she was ‘Mrs.’ Butler instead of ‘Miss’, that was pretty obvious.

  Sorren nodded. “We were together for several years. But eventually, it had to end. She wanted a real home, and children. Neither of which I could provide. She did not want to be turned. I looked in on her from a distance, now and again to make sure she was well. The years go so quickly for mortals, and so slowly for us. Her husband died a decade ago. She outlived her children. And then the Alzheimer’s set in…”

  “And you found a way to reconnect,” I supplied. “To make sure she was taken care of.”

  He looked away. “I can’t cure Alzheimer’s. But for most people, it makes the past more real than the present. I can glamour her, just a bit, and nudge those memories to the fore. And as far as she’s concerned, for a little while, it’s seventy years ago, and nothing has changed.”

  Damn. I couldn’t think of anything to say to that, so for a few moments, we were quiet. Finally, Sorren sat up and shook himself out of his mood. “Thank you,” he said again. “But there are other things that also need attention.”

  “Yeah, and I’ve got some news on that,” I replied, filling him in on what I knew of the bombing, what Teag and I had experienced with Valerie, as well as Anthony’s news. I added the unexpected visit from Daniel Hunter, plus what we had seen at Tarleton House and Father Anne’s Nephilim information.

  “Hunter is an asset, but he’s also a wild card,” Sorren replied, scratching Baxter behind the ears. “I’ve worked with him once or twice. He’s more of a hit man or a bounty hunter than anything else, which means that his real allegiance is to himself.”

  “Lovely.”

  Sorren shrugged. “In an all-out fight, he’s handy to have around. He’s not a member of the Alliance. More of a resource we call in when we need to. So no, I don’t entirely trust him. But I think we’re going to need some hired guns for this fight, and he’s one of the best.”

  His expression darkened when I told him about Coffee Guy and the attack at Magnolia Cemetery and the paintings in Father Anne’s book. He made me repeat some of the details of the attack, and describe exactly what I remembered of the monster.

  “You are absolutely certain that the man you saw at Honeysuckle Café became the monster that attacked you outside the cemetery?” Sorren asked.

  “Not a doubt in my mind,” I said. “I had a bad feeling about the guy, even though he was handsome enough to be on a romance novel cover. He just seemed… too perfect. More like a painting than a person. And when I brushed his hand, I knew he had some kind of magic, and I got the clear impression he didn’t want me to know that.”

  “This isn’t good,” Sorren said, standing and beginning to pace. “First something taking a bite out of ghosts to feed on their energy. Daniel called it a ‘Reaper’. That’s certainly one of the kinds of things that are able to do that. There are others. Does Daniel know for sure it was a Reaper, or did he just jump to that conclusion?”

  “No idea,” I replied. “We don’t really have very helpful conversations,” I added drily. “But Father Anne told me about Sariel. Do you think he could have survived and come back for revenge?”

  Sorren muttered a curse in Dutch under his breath. “That would be extraordinary. We were so sure… Then the staircase disappearances,” Sorren mused. “I’ve been thinking they’re unrelated. Maybe so – or maybe not. There are too many distractions!” He looked at me in exasperation.

  “But what if the distractions are part of the same problem?” I asked. “The attack in Boston, and at the other sites. The bomb tonight at Trifles and Folly. A Nephilim coming after me. What if this is all tied together with the attacks on your other properties? You said you thought this was personal. What if it is Sariel, returned somehow?”

  “Now Daniel shows up talking about Alliance protocols – and Watchers,” he said. I noticed that he ignored my last question.

  “Translation, please.”

  “Alliance protocols are a series of responses to an escalating supernatural threat. There are precautions to be taken – physically and magically – and protections to be raised. Sort of the magical equivalent of red alert.”

  “Lovely,” I replied.

  “Back to the Nephilim. There aren’t a lot of beings that can successfully pass themselves off as human, even for a few minutes. The one you met was able to run a solid, stable illusion that fooled a shop full of people and could hold that form to eat and drink. He also chose an extremely attractive form.”

  “And Coffee Guy was out in broad daylight.”

  “So he’s not a vampire,” Sorren said with a grimace. “Shapeshifters generally change from one species to another, not from monsters into cover models. Some demons can do it, too.” He shook his head. “I think you’re right about it being a Nephilim. But how did it get here and why did it come? They don’t just wander around without a purpose.”

  “I know you think you destroyed Sariel,” I said, refusing to let him evade the question. “But is it possible that he survived somehow and came back for revenge? Because that would make this all make a lot more sense.”

  Sorren ran a hand back through his hair. “God. That was something I hadn’t even considered before you mentioned it. That complicates things.”

  “But is it possible? Could it possibly be Sariel?”

  Sorren looked pole-axed. “I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.” He looked at me. “The next time Daniel shows up, get him to commit to a meeting. Then text me. I want to know why he suddenly decided to come here.”

  “Not thrilled about it, but I’l
l get it set up,” I said with an expression of distaste. “Oh, I also ran into Clockman over at Palmetto Meadows.” I told him about the altercation in the parking lot. “He has a neighbor there. And he seems to be keeping an eye on old Mr. Thompson.”

  Sorren smiled. “Ah, Chuck Pettis. Another good resource. I asked him to watch Thompson because back in the day, Thompson was a pretty powerful wizard and Chuck already knew all about him. I want to assume that Thompson is out of the game, but wizards can live a long time, and he may not be as frail as he wants people to think.”

  I guess that hit men and wizards and bad-ass fighters get old, if they’re lucky to live long enough, but it’s difficult to imagine. Maybe there was more kick left in old Mr. Thompson than Chuck or I imagined. The question was, would he be a friend or a foe?

  “There’s also a nurse over there, Judy, who has at least a bit of magic,” I added. “She’s always been very nice to me and she fusses over Baxter, but I was surprised when I found out she had at least enough power to zap me when we brushed hands.”

  Sorren nodded. “She doesn’t know about the Alliance, but she’s one of the good guys,” he said. “Part of a local coven, fairly talented with white magic.” He shrugged. “You can understand that she doesn’t broadcast that, given the circumstances.”

  I understood. Charleston was fine with its ghosts, but old ways of thinking died hard, and some folks in the community had unfriendly feelings toward anything that had to do with magic or witchcraft. Fortunately, those views were fading, but they weren’t gone yet and they could certainly cause complications for someone in Judy’s position.

  “Her secret is safe with me,” I said. “Did you have something to do with her being hired?”

  Sorren smiled. “Always good to have a person on the inside,” he replied. “Someone to watch over Helen – and keep an eye on Edwin Thompson.”

  “Could she protect them, if it came down to that?”

  “Nurses without magic have done amazing things to protect their patients when the chips are down. I suspect her magic would trigger naturally in a dangerous situation, but I have no idea what that would mean, or what experience she has using her talent. Judy’s not a bodyguard, just a friend with a little something extra.”

  “What next?”

  Sorren put Baxter down on the floor gently, and stood. “I have some information I need to track down, and I’m still trying to get the Boston office back in order. I also need to talk to Archibald Donnelly over at the Briggs Society, and he’s damnably hard to find. We need to talk to Daniel Hunter. There’ve been more threats against my Alliance sites and my personal safe houses, and now with the bomb at Trifles and Folly and the danger to the nursing home, I’m more certain than ever this is someone’s vendetta against me. Someone who’s willing to hurt my people to get to me. And if it’s really Sariel, if he wasn’t destroyed…” His voice trailed off. “So don’t take chances,” he said after a moment. I’ll be back as soon as possible.” He leveled a look at me. “Stay safe.”

  I picked Baxter up and walked Sorren to the door. But as the gate clicked shut behind him, I wondered how exactly I was supposed to avoid taking chances, and what ‘safe’ really meant under the circumstances.

  IT’S NEVER A good day when the police are waiting outside your door in the morning.

  “Cassidy Kincaide?” the dark-suited woman asked, coming up beside me just as I was unlocking the door to Trifles and Folly. “Detective Monroe, Charleston Police. I’d like to talk with you about the bomb someone left outside your shop last night.”

  I opened the door and stepped aside so she could enter. Detective Monroe’s head turned one way and the other as she took in our merchandise. We had a pretty nice assortment on display at the moment: French mantel clocks, silver tea sets and place settings, vintage china, porcelain figurines, and more. The low jewelers’ cases were empty since we put rings and small items in the safe overnight, but it didn’t take much imagination to figure out what kinds of pieces we offered.

  “Nice place,” she said offhandedly. Her lack of interest told me old stuff wasn’t her thing. I pegged Detective Monroe for early thirties. She had short dark hair and a no-nonsense attitude that was either career cop or ex-military. And while her voice tried for friendly, her eyes were coldly recording everything.

  “You didn’t bother to come down to the shop last night,” she said as if she were just making conversation.

  “I didn’t need to,” I replied, putting my purse in my office as the detective followed me around. I figured she was going to get a good look at the place one way or the other, and at least if I kept going on about my business I might be ready if customers walked in.

  “Why not? Weren’t you worried? Someone tried to blow the place up.”

  I met her gaze. “I saw the report on the news, and the police called me at home. The situation was already taken care of, as far as the bomb went. And if there’s a whacko bomber running around Charleston, I couldn’t see what the point would be of going down to my store in the dead of night and making a target of myself.”

  “Do you think you were the target?” Her voice was flat, but she was quick on the uptake. I didn’t want her poking around.

  “We don’t know if the bomb was intended for our store, or if the placement was just an unfortunate coincidence,” I said, though I had my own opinions on the matter. “If someone wants to set off a bomb downtown for whatever reason, it’s going to be in front of someone’s business. Right now, we don’t know enough to leap to conclusions. We sell antiques. Not what most people consider to be a dangerous profession.” That wasn’t exactly the truth, but she wouldn’t believe me if I told her, so I didn’t.

  “Your store’s been around for a very long time,” Monroe said, taking a slow tour of the shelves in the front. She didn’t pick anything up to examine, but I could see her making mental note of the details. “That’s unusual.”

  “Not so much here in Charleston,” I replied as I began to move trays of rings and bracelets and watches from the safe into the cases. “People love their history. And there are plenty of good antiques.”

  “Uh huh.” She didn’t look like the type who had much use for antiques. “So do you have any enemies, Ms. Kincaide?”

  Yeah, but all of them are dead or undead, I thought. Not exactly something I could say out loud. “No one I can think of,” I replied.

  “Just odd for a random bomb to show up in front of a store and there to be absolutely no connection to the owners,” she mused. Her casual manner didn’t fool me a bit. Detective Monroe was a pit bull in a suit, and I wanted her gone and paying attention to someone else as quickly as possible.

  “I’ll be grateful when the police find whoever was responsible,” I said, arranging the trays of jewelry carefully. My comment sounded good, but I knew the police weren’t going to get to the bottom of this case. Not when supernatural bad guys were involved.

  “Have you seen anyone lurking around the store?” she asked. “Anyone who didn’t belong?”

  Only Daniel Hunter, but he wasn’t a problem for the police. “No. We get all types in here, but no one suspicious lately.”

  “I heard that you sometimes buy pieces from guys who bid on unclaimed baggage and abandoned storage units,” Monroe said, taking way too long to make her way around our displays. “Sometimes, those types of people don’t come by their merchandise in quite the way they say they do. Have you seen anything odd come through recently from those sources?”

  I knew what she was hinting at. Sometimes, people who claimed to job odd lots tended to get a little iffy about ownership, meaning they were fencing stolen goods. In other cases, people who legitimately bid on luggage or storage units discovered later that the things they purchased were hot.

  “We’ve been in business for over three hundred years, Detective,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral. “And that’s never been a problem. Certainly it’s never caused anyone to try to blow up the store – if the sto
re was really the bomber’s target. Are you even investigating the idea that the bomber could have had a different agenda – like mass panic?” I paused. “Did you have any other questions?” I added. “Because I don’t think I have anything else to offer.”

  Monroe looked at me appraisingly. “Wasn’t your part-time helper hurt when the guy next door disappeared?”

  She damn well knew about Maggie. I was getting tired of playing games. “Yes, Maggie got hurt. Have your officers made any progress in finding the guy who went missing?”

  Monroe might have heard the impatience in my voice. I saw a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. “No, we haven’t. Seems like your employee got pretty lucky.”

  I put the last tray in the glass case and straightened up. “Detective Monroe,” I said. “I’m a little confused. Last night, someone tried to set off a bomb in front of my store. Whether or not they were aiming for us in particular, that could have destroyed my business. A few days ago, my employee was hurt, as you note, in a yet-unsolved attack. It would seem to me that we’re the ones needing the protection, but so far, this conversation has had an unfriendly tone to it, and I’d like to know why.”

  Monroe stood up sharply. I could see she didn’t like to be challenged, but she was in my shop wasting my time, and since my people had been victimized, I’d had it with the insinuations.

  “I’ve heard talk about you and your shop,” Monroe replied, and there was a chill in her voice. “People say that strange stuff happens here. There’s something a little hinky about this place. I’ve heard rumors that you specialize in haunted objects, that you think you’re some kind of ghost whisperer.”

  I laughed out loud. “I’m not a medium, Detective. And I am most definitely not a ghost whisperer.” Hell no. When I get desperate enough to talk at ghosts, I usually shout.

  Monroe shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t like charlatans who fill people’s heads full of nonsense to inflate their prices.”