Angel: Private Eye Book One (4 page)

There were two other inhabitants of the
cell. But I couldn't even begin to guess what they were, let alone
what crime had dragged them in here.

They huddled together standing up in one
corner, their backs pressed against the wall. They were both
wearing dark hoods that covered everything apart from their sallow
yellow skinned hands.

At first glance, they looked terrified –
just as I was – of everyone else in here.

At second glance, if you locked your
attention on the faint shapes of their necks and shoulders, you
could see the points of bone beneath the fabric. Demon spellers, if
I was any judge. And let's face it – I wasn't. A vampire had died
of an overdose after biting me, and I had no idea what had
happened.

Just as my stomach began to tie itself into
a painfully tight knot of fear, I heard footsteps. Low, determined,
heading our way. They echoed out with the unmistakable squeak and
shudder of leather over cracked concrete.

Almost as one, everyone in the cell turned
to face the bars as someone walked into view. I imagined we all
hoped it would be our ticket out of here.

As I was pressed up against the corner of
the wall, I couldn't quite see past the pacing warlock and the body
witch. I could see enough, however, to note their exact expressions
as someone finally stopped in front of the bars. If they’d looked
hopeful before, now they looked crushed. It was as if somebody had
kicked in their faces until the only expression they would ever
show again was total and complete fear.

Though it was probably smarter to stay
exactly where I was, curiosity got the better of me.

I pushed to my feet and arched my neck to
the left, just as a man purposefully took a step to the left to
stare at me.

With one hand pressed casually into his
pocket and an even-tempered, polite expression smoothed across his
extremely handsome face, it didn't take me long to recognize him.
He was an otherworlder, sure, but he just happened to be the most
famous otherworlder in the city.

William Benson III. He was one of the only
otherworlders to sit on the Council, he was also one of the few
permitted to employ humans. And, most importantly, he was purported
to be the richest man in the city. He owned an integrated
investment firm with fingers in almost every company in the
state.

And now he was looking right at me, piercing
eyes roving over my body from head to foot.

There was one other fact about Benson that
was important right now. One other fact that locked me to the
spot.

He was a vampire. From one of the oldest
families in Europe. His clan had lived through centuries upon
centuries of fighting, of wars, even the dark ages hadn't killed
them. And now humanity had finally woken up to find real monsters
under the bed, and knew everything about the otherworlders, they'd
had the sense to embrace men like William Benson. Not only would it
be financially impossible to ignore him, but one look in those
crystalline blue eyes, and you wouldn't be able to.

Plus, from all reports, he kept most of the
vampires in Hope City in check.

And me? I’d just killed one of his
vampires.

With his hand still casually locked in his
pocket, he nodded at me. “Come with me,” he said as he took a step
forward and casually waved his free hand to the side.

Immediately the magical locks holding the
cell door in place disengaged with a resounding click.

The door swung open.

Benson was standing on his own. There were
no other officers around him, no backup.

The warlock looked powerful, and the two
aspiring demons in the corner didn't appear to be pushovers,
either. Theoretically, if they combined their skills, they’d be
able to force their way past Benson and make a run for it.

Theoretically.

Nobody tried it. Nobody dared.

I didn't move.

I stood there in complete shock as I stared
at him.

“Come with me,” he said in a clearer tone
this time as he waved me forward with another languid flick of his
hands, as if he were doing nothing more than brushing an unwanted
speck of dirt from his pristine jacket.

“I… I didn't… mean to kill the vampire,” the
words exploded from my lips as fear took to my gut like a wildfire
through dry scrub.

“Come with me,” he said once more, his tone
rippling with a note of finality.

Christ, this was it.

I wasn't just going to get charged for
killing a vampire in self-defense, but William Benson III himself
was going to bleed me dry.

There was nothing that could stop me from
shivering as I finally took several shaky steps out of the cell.
William didn't move backwards, and instead stood straight as he
stared at me from head to foot.

I nervously took several steps backwards,
locking my sweaty hands behind my back. It felt as if I’d dipped my
hands in the sea or had swapped my fingers for the cloying digits
of a water pixie.

“Follow me,” he said as he turned sharply on
his expensive Italian loafers and walked forward.

Perfectly balanced. Perfectly poised.
Despite the fact he was in an expensive cashmere wool suit that
looked as if it had been allotted divine proportions by Pythagoras
himself, you could still see the predator under all that
tailoring.

It was in every precise shift of his large,
well-proportioned shoulders. In the way he struck the floor with
the balls of his feet.

Me? I shivered with every step. I knew the
rules – don't show fear in front of a vampire. They like that. Get
a kick out of it. It reminds them they're the ones in charge.

Show enough fear, and you'll pique their
curiosity until that curiosity turns into bloodlust.

Theoretically vampires as prestigious and
well-adapted to the human environment as William Benson III didn't
have bloodlust anymore.

As he shifted his head slightly and looked
at me out of the corner of his eye, I doubted that.

This was when I should fall down onto one
knee and babble that I was too young to die. Apparently, if you
could catch a vampire before their lust for your blood burned out
their reasoning, you could make a deal with them. They’d spare you
if you gave them some favor. Maybe they’d save you for later, but
it would buy you a few more measly years.

That's how most humans back in the day had
become indebted to those monsters. They'd screamed for their lives,
foolishly telling the vampire they’d do anything – just anything –
if only they’d be allowed to live.

Anything – just anything – was a seriously
open contract. And vampires were some of the most ruthless and
exploitative businessmen this side of Lucifer.

My one saving grace – my one small feeble
hope – was that we were still in the police station. And
technically, this was a house of law. Though humans pretty much
hated all otherworlders, there were still laws in place to protect
us. Even from ourselves.

As we finally made it out of the cellblock
and into a bustling hallway jam-packed with harried-looking cops, I
sliced my gaze to the nearest one in hope.

A diminutive female detective in a
mismatched pinstripe pencil suit, she didn't even make eye contact
as she jostled past. She did, however, tip her head low and give an
almost suggestive smile to William.

Yes, he was drop-dead gorgeous. But you had
to appreciate the drop-dead part of that equation. The charms,
perfect jaw, and strapping build came with a hell of a cost. One
the devil had cooked up himself. Eternal, bloodied damnation.

If you willingly hooked up with a vampire –
despite the otherworldly pleasure they were meant to give you – you
deserved your fate.

At a time like this, I should probably reach
for some kind of religious symbol. A cross, Star of David, a
crescent moon. Hell, a snapped-off incense stick and a meditation
pad would probably do. Anything or anyone to pray to. Any last
ditch attempt to call on the good graces of the universe to save
me.

Back in the past, I had worn a cross around
my neck. One my great-grandmother had given me before she’d passed.
It was gold with a tiny diamond in the center of the cross. It was
categorically the most expensive thing I owned. And knowing full
well that most otherworlders were like magpies, and gleefully stole
anything shiny, it was at home tucked in a strong box under my
bed.

That didn't stop my hand from drawing up to
my bedraggled, torn cotton collar in a feeble attempt to clutch the
cross that wasn't there.

Immediately William’s gaze sliced over to
me. I could tell, because as soon as his eyes locked on my neck, a
godawful shiver pulsed down my back.

My wavering gaze locked on his until he slid
his eyes up to mine then looked away.

A flight of nervous tingles shot down my
back with all the bombastic force of the Valkyrie.

I locked my sweaty fingers over my collar,
pushed a breath through my teeth, and kept looking around for some
escape.

Nothing. Every detective or uniformed
officer we passed was too busy. They all had wads of paper in their
hands, or half empty coffee cups clutched in their white-knuckled
grips. And all wore the same expression of furrowed-brow
stress.

The part of my brain that wasn't currently
tripping out on fear appreciated where they were coming from.

Ever since the otherworld work regulations
came into place, crime had doubled.

Of course it had.

In one fell swoop the government had pushed
tens of thousands of people in Hope City out of work.

And there was only so many jobs amongst the
otherworlders to go around – as I'd experienced personally over the
past two weeks.

You push people to the edge – especially
magical people – and they push back.

Hard.

I saw two officers stagger past, one
sporting a massive magical rash down one side of his face, sparks
discharging blue and white magic. Great big red angry welts covered
his partner's hands.

Suffice to say, they both looked pissed.

That being said, they didn't take out an
ounce of that aggression on the bona fides vampire leader/king who
walked past. Instead, they nodded at William Benson with something
even I couldn't deny was respect.

Me? They looked at me like I was scum. My
jacket was torn, my blouse ripped at the throat. There were two
puncture marks in my neck, and crusted blood was still splashed
over my shoulder.

I wasn’t an angry person. My flat mate told
me I didn't have the balls to understand where anger came from. I
was the meek girl. Weak. The innocent one who was always too much
of an airhead to appreciate what was going on.

That being said, as I realized I'd find no
help amongst the police, just judgement, a tiny spark of anger
flared in my gut. It was almost immediately extinguished by an
absolute cascade of fear when we reached a door.

Again I felt Benson's eyes on the back of my
neck. They say a vampire’s gaze is like an appendage. Like a
ghostly limb. If they look at you hard, you can feel their fingers
caressing the line of your neck and dropping down to your
collarbone.

I'd never really experienced it before – at
least not to this extent. One casual look from Benson, and it was
like his hand was pressing down hard into my shoulder. One long,
direct look, and it was like he was folding me into his arms.

I shivered at that thought as he pushed
forward, locked a large hand on the door handle, and opened it.

We entered a bustling floor that at one
glance seemed like a detective unit. There were a few uniformed
officers flitting in and out, delivering criminals and taking away
mountains of paperwork.

The sound in here was calamitous. From
shrieking banshees and wailing witches to angry detectives shouting
over their perps. There was the grate of shoes on linoleum, the
splash of coffee cups as they were slammed onto desks, and the
general sound of stress filling the air like a crumpled spring.

Benson led me through the various desks and
workstations, shifting around the darting officers and criminals
like a snake gliding through grass.

We reached a desk, and I recognized the
detective behind it.

Cortez. The guy who’d brought me in.

His expression was… different. Back in the
alley, when he'd thought I'd killed the vampire, his face had been
as hard as carved wood. Now his brow was slick with a tiny
smattering of sweat, and his hard jaw was tucked up high in a neat
frown.

He also wasn't blinking. He was surveying me
with what felt like unusual interest, like I was some curiosity
Benson had scraped from the floor of the cells.

Both men appeared to share an important look
before they turned their attention back to me.

I didn't so much feel like a specimen from a
lab anymore – as I cowered under their gazes, I felt like one of
those crabs you get crammed into those tiny fish tanks in expensive
Chinese restaurants.

If I'd had any claws, I might've brought
them up in defense. Instead, I wrapped my arms around my middle and
collapsed into the chair behind Cortez’s desk.

Cortez slowly stood, locking a hand on his
desk as he drew his other hand up, made a fist, and pushed it
against his hip.

He darted his gaze to the side, probably on
the premise of checking some scrap of paper on his desk, but I
wasn’t an idiot – he was still staring at me intently out of the
corner of his eye.

I couldn't take it anymore.

I broke down.

“I didn't know – I didn't – I didn't kill
him on purpose. I—”

“What race do you come from?” Benson asked
in a smooth tone.

And I do mean smooth. Heck, it felt like
someone suddenly brushed satin over every inch of my body.

I shivered.

“Miss Luck, this is a serious case – please
tell us what race you are,” Benson continued.