“Sometimes Vampires fake a death so the youngling can be declared dead in the human world. That way no one is out looking for them since they’re not considered a missing person.”
He folded his arms, and I could tell he was wondering all sorts of things about me. “I don’t think it’s that. They said no signs of a struggle, which rules out Vampires since they make a mess with all the blood. Sounds more like someone got killed by a juicer.”
“What makes you say that?”
“Anytime there’s a crime, insiders check if it’s Breed. They get rid of the bodies if it is.”
“I know about them. They work in every field. Cops, hospital workers, probably lawyers.”
We both had a chuckle.
Switch leaned against the brick archway by the window. “They found a body last week. It was an unusual death according to the coroner’s report, and they deemed it a homicide.”
“Coroner’s report. If theyweren’tremoved from the morgue, that means they were human.”
He aimed his fingers at me like a gun and clicked his tongue. “You got it.”
I steered my gaze to the windows behind him. “So you think they juiced a human, and now they’ve upgraded to Breed?”
“Sometimes those light addicts start with humans because they’re frail and can’t fight back. Humans die easily, and I don’t think their light’s all that strong. Sounds like the sloppy work of a rogue. Could also be a feeder,” he suggested, referring to Vampires with blood addictions. “They didn’t mention cause of death. If it was a Vampire, they probably wouldn’t want to say anything since they’d be drained. People would freak out. Conspiracy theorists would have a field day. Most folks would probably pin it on a cult though.”
“If itisa blood addict, it seems like picking off humans would be the easier choice. They don’t taste any different than Breed. Why start targeting Breed, who would be more difficult to kill?”
He curled his lip, clearly disgusted with facts. “The more humans you kill, the more cops on the streets. Most feeders have hunting grounds, and a lot of bodies turning up would shut it down real quick. It’s easier with Breed. We collect bodies from the morgue and erase evidence and memories. The trouble is, when the news starts reporting the stories, you can’t steal the bodies without it getting noticed.”
“Sounds like someone needs to hire a tracker and find the killer.”
“The higher authority won’t do anything about juicers and feeders, so usually it falls on sentries—those guys who patrol the streets. Whoever’s behind it is probably more concerned about keeping cops away from his hunting ground than anything. That’s why they switched over to Breed.”
“Maybe you should have been a detective.”
“I’ve been watching this stuff play out for years. If you pay attention to the news, you’ll see it too. You can bet the cops are working to bury the story even though they’ll probably be dealing with more murders. Missing bodies make them look incompetent. Just another day in Cognito.” Switch rubbed his hands together as a parade of servers carried in the food. “I should have worn bigger pants.”
While he followed behind the food procession, I glanced out the window at the snowy parking lot. A white owl was sitting atop my truck, and I almost didn’t notice him until he twisted his head around. We stared at each other for a long time. Why was Houdini here? The last I’d seen of him, he had decided to remain half-dead in the shadow realm. Since we’d never recovered any additional jewelry taken from Lenore’s party, I wasn’t certain of his fate.
Perhaps he’d shown up to fill me in, but I wasn’t about to let Houdini rain on my fiesta.
CHAPTER2
As much as I loved tequila, I stuck with the tea during lunch. The food was tremendous, and the staff went out of their way to make it a memorable visit. All of us planned to pitch in for a generous tip. Despite the festive atmosphere, I couldn’t get over seeing Houdini in the parking lot.
After rising from my chair, I slipped on my leather jacket. “I’m heading out for a while,” I announced, pulling a black beanie from my coat pocket and putting it on. “I feel like being alone for a while.”
I could have said I was going to check out the roads or see what was open, but that might invite others to join. No one paid attention as I grabbed my keys and headed outside.
My breath fogged the wintry air as my black boots crunched across the fresh snow. I scanned the empty parking lot—no sign of Houdini. Once inside the truck, I slammed the door and fired up the engine. It purred like a hungry lion, and the wipers came on, flicking snow left and right.
Houdini’s owl suddenly landed on my hood. I kept waiting for him to shift, wondering if he’d still be dressed in the gothic red-and-black attire from the winter ball last month. Houdini would never shift around my team—he didn’t want people I knew to see him, let alone know his secrets.
When he flapped his large wings and flew off, I watched him glide over to a stop sign and wait patiently until I pulled out of the parking lot. The road was easy to navigate since the tire tracks kept me from striking the curb. After a few more turns, I realized we weren’t heading toward the Breed district or anything familiar. His owl stayed ahead of me, and anytime it got too far away, it would land on something and wait. Eventually I wound up on a road that led out of the city.
“This is ridiculous,” I grumbled. “If you want to talk, just pick a diner. It’s too cold to stand in the fucking woods.”
Curiosity led me on. When the turns grew familiar and he flew up a private country road, I realized exactly where we were going.
Christian’s house—or Château Cinderblock, as I liked to call it—was nestled deep in the woods. He’d bought the land as a place to get away. No electricity, no people. My heart sped up at the thought that something might be wrong. The private road turned into a dirt pathway, so I had to follow Houdini to avoid getting stuck since there were no tracks to follow. Trees stood against the white backdrop like burnt matchsticks, their branches bejeweled with pendants of ice that hung like glistening diamonds. Houdini’s owl landed in a pine tree and waited when my wheels spun in the mud. Not wanting to get stuck, I backed up and then drove forward again, regaining traction. His owl soared ahead and landed on the windowless structure. Christian’s bike was out front, the seat covered in a layer of snow.
When I shut off the engine, I recalled a conversation I’d had with Houdini where he suggested Christian might have a bloodslave. With that in mind, I got out of the truck, sickened that Houdini might have been right all along. This wasn’t how I wanted to find out.
