“And furthermore, I went to great time and expense to wring as much ambient light and good vibes as possible out of this room and the entire house. The flow of chi in this place would register as a Category 5 hurricane. I not only have taste, it’sgoodtaste. For the eye and the soul.”
This is where I didn’t ask if vampires had souls. Certain creatures and deities in town would probably have an answer for that, and every one of them would be different.
So instead I said, “You know who else keeps eggs in boxes? Chickens.” I held his gaze and hoped I got a smile out of him.
Old Rossi inhaled a breath and sort of choked on it as he laughed. “Reeds. Un-fucking-flappable.” He finished half-laughing half-coughing, then eased back into the cushions of the couch. “I thought your father was droll.”
It was nice to see him relax out of his pounce and devour stance. Did wonders for my blood pressure.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, gesturing toward Sven.
Black washed over his eyes, was gone in a blink. “No more so than I.” He waved one long, sturdy-fingered hand toward the loveseat to his left.
I walked around the dead body and took a seat. Not because I relished sitting down with a dead guy spread out in front of me like some macabre table cloth, but because my knees were threatening to buckle.
Adrenalin and seeing my own imminent death did that to a girl.
“Tell me what you see.” He was back to staring at Sven.
I reluctantly studied the body again. “He’s been shot in the head. I don’t see any other visible wounds. No other sign of struggle or bruising.”
“Is that all you see?”
“Other than the weird symbols in blood on his chest, yes.”
Rossi shifted his head. “You see that.”
“Who could miss it?” Red symbols on Sven’s pale skin was like blood on snow.
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in, Ben.”
Ben Rossi was one of Ordinary’s firefighters. He was a nice guy, currently dating Jame Wolfe who was also a firefighter and a werewolf. They’d moved in together a couple months back, and had thrown a big housewarming party where they invited all their relatives.
They wisely had invited me and my sisters to help maintain the peace at the party.
Vampires and werewolves did not get along, but here in Ordinary, Old Rossi and Granny Wolfe worked to keep the animosity to as low a level as possible.
The smile on Ben’s handsome face twisted into a grimace. His eyes scanned the room, looking anywhere but at Sven. “You wanted to see me?” His voice sounded strained, thin.
“Step into the room, please.”
Ben did as he was told, but I could tell he didn’t like it. He stopped as far away from the coffee table with the corpse as he could and faced Rossi.
“I’m sorry to ask this of you, Ben, but I need you to tell me what you see on my coffee table.” There was a hint of power in Old Rossi’s words, a weight that exerted pressure on Ben.
Ben’s eyes met mine briefly—a shadow of fear, of revulsion—before he turned to Sven.
Ben blinked hard several times, and squinted as if he was trying to stare into the sun.
“Sven is lying there.” Ben’s words were clipped, breathless. “He is dead.”
“Yes. Good.” The weight of Rossi’s words increased. “Tell me how he was killed.”
Ben was panting. A trickle of sweat glistened at his temple, another at the curve of his throat. He swallowed, blinked hard again, as if trying to bring an impossible thing into focus.
“Silver bullet. One. Through the brain.”
