“That one, the closed door,” Erica says, then heads to the open kitchen.
Simon yanks his hand away, wishing he could scour it clean. Rubbing the werewolf’s touch off on his sweater would look strange. Erica is puttering around, moving random items to seemingly random places, keeping a wary eye on her guests.
Mustn’t outstay their welcome.
Simon gestures at Lawrence’s bedroom. “After you?”
“Thanks for remembering.” Cody leans close. Not touching, just looming into Simon’s personal space. His murmur is hot in Simon’s ear: “Boyfriend.”
“Shut up,” Simon hisses, and jerks out of the way. Then he glances at Erica to make sure she hasn’t seen. Luckily, she’s currently busy moving a bowl from one spot on the counter to another.
Simon is hardly a monk, but he hasn’t had a lasting relationship in the past half century. Loneliness is more comfortable than trusting a man not to leave.
Cody opens the door, hand near the firearm at his hip, and enters Lawrence’s room. A moment later, he says, “Holy shit. You can come in, but… holy shit.”
A bad feeling comes over Simon. Specifically, a faint burning in his eyes.
“Wonderful,” Simon mutters, following Cody in. He closes the door and takes in Lawrence’s bedroom.
Messier than the living room, but Simon has seen worse bachelor hovels over the centuries. The laundry pile cascades from its armchair onto the floor. At least the bed has a frame, and actual curtains cover the blinds.
Also strung over the blinds are garlands of garlic bulbs, the pungency overpowering any laundry odor. Simon’s eyes sting worse.
The wall above the bed is covered in crosses. Wood, gold, iron, silver, beautiful carvings and two sticks tied together. The visual impact is bizarre.
The spiritual impact is nothing. Everyone knows the thing about crosses is a myth. Everyone who knows anything real about vampires, at least.
Cody covers his nose. Werewolves aren’t allergic to garlic, but the smell must still be strong for him. “Are you going to be okay with this?”
“Just make it quick.” Simon resists the urge to rub his eyes, which will only make it worse, and heads towards the computer desk. “You start with his dresser.”
“What are we looking for, exactly?” Cody asks.
“Fuck if I know,” Simon snaps, then catches himself. It’s not Cody’s fault that Lawrence knew about the stupid garlic allergy. “Sorry. Anything about hunters or vampires, I suppose. Ideally there will be a notebook with an unhinged manifesto.”
“Got it. Looking for the book titledMy Exact Motive and Plan to Kill a Vampire.” Cody is annoyingly funnysometimes. He opens two drawers at once. “You know, you should warn a man before calling him your boyfriend out of nowhere.”
Eyes still burning, Simon opens a junk-filled desk drawer. “I didn’t call you anything,” he says, grabbing a pen to poke the other objects around with. “I just agreed with Erica. First rule of deception—if your mark helps you out with an explanation, you let them.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” Cody says drily. “Nothing of interest here, except this guy owned the most boring sock collection I’ve ever seen. I’ll check the closet.”
Simon finds a case to pack up Lawrence’s laptops and hard drives. Convenient of modern creatures to centralize their secrets, though Simon may have to ask a tech savvy youngster to break in. Hopefully Cody knows how to hack. They have to teach hacking in bodyguard school, right? If only Simon had Lawrence’s phone, too, but either Kimiko or Dima has that.
Then Simon peers under the bed, where he finds a case of water bottles labeledHoly Water.
Probably not the real stuff, judging by the crosses on the wall. Simon can’t sense any magic in it either. But he won’t take chances. It’s good that Cody is here—a thought that annoys Simon greatly. “Can you check if this water is blessed by witches, or the fake religious stuff?”
Cody opens one bottle and sniffs. “Fake religious stuff.”
The rest of the search goes just like that. There’s a collection of stakes in the nightstand, which would be effective in killing vampires if aimed correctly. As well as most other creatures. But the stakes are on top of a dozen novels and pseudo-histories, none of them truthful at first glance.
All Lawrence’s wards and weapons are based on superstition. Some of which is accurate, like the garlic allergy. Some of which is misunderstood, like the holy water. Simon has been an atheist for centuries. If any gods exist, their priests hold no particular sway over vampires. Witches are the ones who can bless water and oil against vampires, using magic, not prayer.
Lawrence was obsessed with vampires. No—Simon looks at the window. The man was terrified of them. But he can’t be affiliated with a true hunters’ guild. A real hunter would have real holy water under his bed.
“This is weird,” Cody says, frowning up at the crosses. Smarter than he looks. He might say he isn’t an investigator, but he seems very interested in investigating.
“We’ll figure out what it means later.” Simon winces internally at the slip. He doesn’t mean to include Cody in any ‘we.’ “Pack up the stakes, the books, and I suppose some clothes, so this looks like a care package. Then take the garlic down—don’t bring it, just throw it out so poor Erica doesn’t have to deal with the smell. Then wash your hands three times. Then we leave.”
