Dark Currents (5 page)

Seven

“Y
our mom’s not what I expected,” Cody commented on the drive back toward the town.

“How so?”

He gave me a sidelong glance, topaz eyes glinting. “Oh, I don’t know. She’s really . . . nice.”

I yawned, slumping a little in my seat. “Meaning I’m not?”

“Let me put it this way,” he said, not unkindly. “You’ve got a short fuse.”

I gazed at his hands on the steering wheel. Cody had good hands, nicely shaped, with long fingers, strong and sinewy. Rather like the rest of him, from what I’d seen. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

He concentrated on the road. “What we talked about earlier . . . You’re right about Jen Cassopolis. Her sister’s still out at Twilight Manor, right? I’d forgotten about some of the crap she went through. She deserves better.”

I sat up straighter. “Hey, now! I didn’t say
better
.”

Cody shrugged. “It’s what you meant, and you were right. It’s okay. I’ll call her. I’ll do the old ‘it’s not you; it’s me’ routine. After all, it’s true.”

“Is it because of the whole mating-within-your-species thing?” I asked.

He didn’t answer.

I let the silence ride a while, but I couldn’t help being bedeviled with curiosity. “Did you love her?”

“Caroline?” His mouth twisted. “Honestly, I can’t say. Long-distance relationships are tough, and there’s a lot we never got a chance to find out. But I liked her a lot, Daisy. An awful lot.”

“I’m sorry,” I said honestly.

He gave me another glance, his expression softening. “I know. Thanks, Pixy Stix.”

My tail twitched with indignation. “What’s that all about, anyway?” I grumbled. “Why the hell did Brent call me that?”

Cody chuckled. “Hell if I know, but it’s funny.”

We passed the turnoff to downtown Pemkowet and headed for the rural highway. I grimaced. “You’re taking us to the Wheelhouse?”

“Yep. I told you.” Cody turned onto the highway. “It’s okay. You can stay in the patrol car if you’re scared.”

“I’m not
scared
,” I protested. “I just don’t like ghouls.”

“Who does?”

“Skanks,” I said morosely.

“One man’s skank is another man’s alluring woman in distress,” Cody said philosophically, pulling into the parking lot. “Since you value it so highly, I’m trying to pay attention to your mother’s advice. Are you coming or staying?”

I unbuckled my seat belt. “Coming.”

Okay, a word about ghouls. Yes, fine, I’ll admit it: They do actually scare me quite a bit. The thing is, with vampires, it’s a straightforward transaction. Vamps provide you with hypnotic pleasure in exchange for sucking your blood. If they deem you worthy, in time, they might deign to change you and make you one of them. If they don’t, like Jen’s sister, Bethany, you’re a blood-slut until they get tired of you and either kill you, which fortunately hadn’t happened to anyone since I’d been working for the department, or cut you loose, at which point in time you’re like any hopeless addict.

Ghouls are different.

By and large, ghouls are as deathless as vampires, but they feed on their victims’
emotions
, which is why they’re drawn to the most vulnerable, abused members of society. And that scared me, because in a deep, dark part of me, I could see the appeal of it. I struggled to control my emotions on a minute-to-minute basis. The thought of relinquishing that control . . . Well, there was something sinfully, mindlessly, blissfully appealing in it.

Also terrifying. Because, for better or worse, my emotions defined me.

I took a deep breath before I got out of the car. A handful of gleaming motorcycles were parked outside the bar, mostly Harleys. Because yes, as if ghouls weren’t intimidating enough in the first place, most of them belong to biker gangs.

Although truth be told, the bikes themselves were works of art, gleaming and gorgeous. Fighting a perverse urge to try on the nearest for size, I sidled past them, shoving my hands in my pockets.

Cody gave me an odd look. “What are you doing?”

“Didn’t you ever see
Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure
?” I asked him, envisioning the row of bikes toppling like dominoes.

“No.”

I shrugged. “Never mind.”

Inside the Wheelhouse, it was dark and seedy. There were a half dozen patrons: four rough-looking guys wearing black leather vests with Outcast motorcycle club patches, and a couple of . . . well, skanks. The sound of clanking pool balls and gruff banter gave way to dead silence as Cody and I entered the bar.

The bartender exchanged a glance with the patrons, then ambled over toward us. He was a wiry guy with ornate tattoos peeking out beneath his rolled-up sleeves, and full muttonchops, a look he was definitely
not
rocking. “What can I do you for, Ossifer?”

Cody opened the file. “I’d like you to look at a few photos, let me know if you recognize any of them.”

Muttonchop gave him a tight smile. “Nope, not a one.”

Cody’s brows rose. “You haven’t even looked at them.”

Muttonchop glanced toward the back of the bar again. A fifth guy I hadn’t noticed before, seated in the shadows, nodded at him. He thumbed through the photos. “Nope, sorry. Can’t help you.”

“No problem,” Cody said pleasantly, moving past the bartender. “I’ll just ask these ladies and gentlemen to have a look.”

I stuck tight behind him. One of the pool players, a big guy with a walrus mustache, moved to intercept us.

The bartender wasn’t a ghoul, but this guy was. Ghouls don’t have that underlying deathly white pallor that vampires do, maybe because they’re not prone to ignite in sunlight, but you can always tell that their skin tone is a few shades paler than it was when they were alive. And their pupils are always too dilated, their stares too intense. There’s something inhumanly
avid
about their eyes.

Walrus Mustache blocked Cody’s path with a pool cue. “Mind telling us what this is about, Officer?”

“Just need you to look at a few photos, tell me if you recognize anyone.”

He gave the photos a dismissive glance. “Nah, these look like college boys. What are some college pussies doing in a place like this?”

“You tell me,” Cody said in an even voice.

“Lemme see.” One of the skanks pushed her way forward. She was twenty-something going on forty, haggard before her time. “I seen some college boys in here a couple of weeks ago.”

Walrus Mustache rounded on her. “You do what you’re told, Loretta!”

Fear flared in her eyes, then faded, replaced by a vacant contentment. “I’m sorry, Al. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

A rich, molten tide of anger rose in me, driving out fear. The atmosphere tightened as I stepped out from behind Cody. Behind the bar, the bartender swore as the seal on one of his kegs burst.

I raised my voice. “Let her look at the photos, you big fucking bully!”

Al the Walrus turned that avid gaze on me, his pupils glittering as he licked his lips with a thick tongue. “Says who?” I felt my anger draining against my will, and a sheen of pleasure glazed his eyes. “Oh, you’re a tasty morsel!”

A spike of terror jolted me. I willed it to feed my anger, loosing a barrage of fury I hadn’t indulged in since adolescence, and held up my rune-marked left hand. “Hel’s liaison, asshole!”

Fear flickered in his eyes, and his pupils shrank.

Cody plucked the pool cue deftly from the Walrus’s hand, a glint of phosphorescence in his own eyes. “Would
that
be an authority you’d respect?”

From the back of the bar came a deep chuckle. The man sitting in the shadows rose and came toward us, moving with a practiced fighter’s loose-limbed ease. “Stand down, man.” He clapped one hand on the Walrus’s shoulder. “No feeding on the unwilling, remember? They’re just doing their jobs.”

The man from the shadows had a hint of an accent I couldn’t place, something Eastern European, maybe, worn smooth by the patina of time. Definitely not a local. He was tall and broad shouldered, well built without being muscle-bound. Like the others, he wore a leather vest with an Outcast patch over a T-shirt and jeans, but somehow he made it look more of a fashion statement, less of a lifestyle choice. He had high, rugged cheekbones, black hair he wore a little too long, and pale ice-blue eyes, the kind you see on husky dogs sometimes.

Okay, that’s a terrible comparison, but the point is, he was gorgeous.

He was also a motherfucking ghoul.

I swallowed against a surge of attraction and fear, altogether losing my grip on fury. Beside me, Cody bristled. I stood, braced in numb horror, expecting the man from the shadows to drink my emotions, but he only waited with an expression of patient amusement while I wrestled myself under control.

That avid spark in his ice-blue eyes was there, no mistaking it, but this ghoul was no slave to his appetites. I had a feeling he was very, very old.

“Better?” he asked.

I nodded.

He turned to Cody, looking him up and down. “Interesting. Very interesting. May I have a look at those photos, Officer?”

Cody handed over the file. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before. You got a name, son?”

“Son.” The ghoul laughed deep in his chest. “Yes, Officer. My name is Stefan. Stefan Ludovic. I haven’t been in Pemkowet long, but I hope to stay here.” He scrutinized the photos. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen these boys.” He beckoned. “Loretta?”

Loretta came forward with alacrity, peering at the photos. “Yeah, them’s the ones. Them two, anyway.” She pointed at Thad Vanderhei and Mike Huizenga. “They was asking for Ray D. I don’t remember the skinny little guy.”

I whipped out my notepad, jotting notes.

“Ray D.” Cody rubbed his chin. “Is he dealing meth again?”

“Not in my territory.” Stefan the ghoul’s voice went flat, his pupils shrinking. “The nectar of chemically induced emotions is poisonous.”

Cody gave him a speculative look. “So you’re new in town, but this is already
your
turf?”

Stefan waved one negligent hand. “Does anyone dispute it?”

No one did, although a couple of them, like Al the Walrus, didn’t look too happy about it.

By the time Cody was through questioning Loretta, it was established that Thad and Mike had been in the bar looking for Ray D two weeks ago Saturday, but had failed to find him, because no one had seen Ray D for several months. No one knew where he was living or how to contact him, and no one knew why a couple of college kids were looking for him, or at least no one would admit to it. As far as they were concerned, no one even knew whether Ray D had a last name.

New-ghoul-in-town Stefan was adamant that Ray D wasn’t dealing on his turf, and the weird thing was, I thought he meant it. There’s a long-established connection among ghouls, biker gangs, and drug dealing, what with a lucrative illegal activity that sows misery being the perfect confluence of ghoulish interests, but Stefan appeared dead earnest about the whole poisonous-nectar business.

Also weirdly, I found that sort of hot in a creepy way. I know. So wrong, but true.

“Thanks for the cooperation,” Cody said to Stefan. “It’s appreciated.”

The ghoul inclined his head. “Anytime, Officer.” His ice-blue gaze settled on me, his pupils dilating. “And it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss . . . ?”

“Johanssen,” I said. “Daisy.”

He gave his deep chuckle. “Daisy?”

“Uh-huh.” The way he was looking at me made my insides squirm, not entirely unpleasantly.

“Daisy,” Stefan repeated. “I hope our paths cross again.” He smiled. “For less unfortunate reasons, of course.”

“I think we’re done here.” Cody’s tone was brusque. “We’ll be in touch if there’s anything further.”

“Of course.”

On the way out of the bar, I spied a fishbowl filled with matchbooks and grabbed one, figuring it couldn’t hurt to compare it to the matchbook found in Thad Vanderhei’s pocket. The muttonchopped bartender, busy mopping up a prodigious amount of spilled beer, startled and then glared at me. I guess my little temper tantrum caused more than one keg to blow its seal. I gave him a half-assed apologetic shrug and followed Cody out the door.

No, I did not successfully fight the urge to look back and see if Stefan the hunky ghoul was watching me, and yes, he was.

Eight

“O
kay, you were right; that was productive,” I said as we pulled out of the parking lot. “We’ve got an actual lead.”

“Mm-hmm.” Cody didn’t sound as pleased as I’d expected.

“What?”

“If Loretta’s telling the truth, Thad and Mike came into the bar looking for Ray D. They claim no one’s seen him for months; no one knew how to get in touch with him.” Cody reached over and tapped the matchbook I was holding. “But Thad and Mike appear to have left with a phone number.”

“So someone’s lying,” I said.

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “Or maybe they got the number from someone who wasn’t there today, and Loretta didn’t see it.”

I flipped open my notepad and glanced at the list I’d made of all the patrons Loretta remembered being in the bar that afternoon. “Are we going to question all of these people?”

“If we have to.”

It had already been a long day of questioning witnesses, and we had all the other bars to revisit. It made my head ache. “I didn’t realize regular police work would be quite so tedious,” I admitted.

Cody smiled. “You watch too many movies.”

“You don’t watch enough,” I retorted. “I can’t believe you haven’t seen
Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure
! It’s a classic.”

“If you say so.”

“Yes, Mr. Laconic. I do.” I studied his profile. “So what did you think of Stefan Ludovic?”

He stopped smiling. “Didn’t like him; don’t trust him.” He glanced at me. “For someone who claims not to like ghouls, you gave a pretty convincing performance to the contrary.”

Ooh, alpha-male jealousy! A tingle ran down my spine, culminating in a burst of pleasure at the base of my tail. “What are you talking about?” I scoffed disingenuously. “I barely spoke to him.”

“Uh-huh.” Cody’s expression turned wry. “Thing is, I can’t figure out if he was being helpful to pull rank in the Outcasts or just to impress you.” He drove across the bridge and crossed into the left lane, signaling for the turn to downtown Pemkowet. “Or maybe it’s something else altogether. Maybe he’s trying to throw us off the scent.”

I shook my head. “I get the impression he’s clever enough for it. Loretta, not so much.”

“Good point.”

It felt good to earn Cody’s nod of approval—not in a needy, daddy-issues kind of way, just in a general-validation way. “So far, we don’t make too bad a team, do we?”

His lips twitched. “I have to admit, I liked the way you stood up to Al.”

That had felt good, too, but I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if Stefan hadn’t intervened.

We parked at the station and made another round of the bars on foot. By now, word had spread, and the bartenders and waitstaff were expecting us. Tim Bradley at the Merryman was fairly sure he hadn’t served any of the three, but a waitress named Lucy Briggs working the outside deck thought she might remember them. No one at Bob’s Bar and Grill could make a positive ID. Rosalind Meeks, the first bartender we asked at Bazooka Joe’s, where the threesome had allegedly been for last call, just laughed at us.

“End of the night? Are you kidding me?” She gestured around. It was a vast, cavernous space smelling of stale beer and mildewed carpets. “If they came in
now
, sure, I might remember them. But last call?” She shook her head. “This place is wall-to-wall with college kids, and let me tell you, they all look alike after a while.”

Cody leaned forward. “You know we’re not looking to get anyone in trouble, right? We’re just trying to verify these kids’ story.”

Rosalind gave him a world-weary smile. “Honey, you don’t need to whisper sweet nothings to me. I understand there’s a boy dead.” She took another look at Thad Vanderhei’s photo. “Twenty-one years old, probably still excited he could get into a bar legally. But I’m sorry; I honestly can’t say.”

“Thanks for trying.” Cody gathered the photos.

“Anytime.” This time, her smile had more wattage. “You’re Caleb Fairfax’s younger brother, right? I went to school with him. How’s he doing?”

“Good.”

“Married?”

Cody nodded. “Married, two kids.”

“Ah, well.” Her wattage dimmed. “You tell him Rosalind says hi. We dated for a month or two, you know.”

“I’ll be sure to tell him.”

We got the same story when we questioned the rest of the bartenders, waitstaff, and bouncers on duty, and I didn’t have the sense any of them were lying. Truth was, there was nothing especially distinctive about the trio. Three average-looking white boys in college T-shirts, board shorts, and flip-flops. You couldn’t throw a rock without hitting one of those in Pemkowet in the summer.

The lack of resolution was frustrating, and by the time we finished, I
felt
like throwing a rock at someone.

“Why couldn’t one of them have flaming red hair?” I muttered. “Or a birthmark, or a distinctive tattoo, or . . . or six fingers on one hand or something.”

“Is that from a movie?” Cody sounded tired.

“Don’t
tell
me you never saw
The Princess Bride
.” I stifled a yawn. “I swear, when this is over, I’m going to make you come over to watch a movie marathon with Mom and me.”

“I can think of worse fates.” He glanced at his watch. “Look, it’s been a long day, and we’re both operating on a few hours’ sleep. You’ve got your . . .” He gestured at the strand of freshwater pearls still looped around my neck for the sake of convenience. “Your naiad summoning at dawn?”

“Yeah,” I said. “You want to meet me in the parking lot of the nature preserve? We can hike from there.”

Cody hesitated. “No, I trust you to handle it on your own. That’s the kind of thing the chief brought you on board for. Go home. You can type up your notes later in the morning. I’ll meet with the chief and give him a verbal rundown.”

“Okay.”

I had a feeling Cody was reluctant to venture any deeper into the eldritch community than he already had; although he’d been quick enough to suggest going to the Wheelhouse, a known ghoul hangout. But then, that was only following the evidence.

Oh, hell, who knew? I didn’t pretend to understand men.

Maybe I should ask my father,
I thought, and the thought almost made me giggle. The ironic thing was, I
did
have the means. Belphegor, lesser demon and occasional incubus, had made a pact with my mother. If I summoned him, he would answer.

I knew; I’d done it once, when I turned eighteen. I won’t do it again, not ever. I just had to know whether or not it was true. And it doesn’t summon him to the mortal plane, in case you were wondering. I’m not that stupid. It’s more like . . . Skyping with the infernal realm.

The problem was that Belphegor’s idea of fatherly advice consisted of attempting to convince me to invoke my demonic birthright, at which time great powers of temptation, seduction, and destruction would become mine to wield, and men would fall at my feet in supplication and adoration.

He kind of glossed over the whole part about it causing a full-blown breach in the Inviolate Wall, leading to Armageddon.

I still hear his voice sometimes. When the wall that divides us is especially thin, my not-so-dear old dad likes to show me what I call temptation scenarios.

“Daisy?” Cody snapped his fingers in front of my face. “Lost you there for a minute. See you at the station?”

“Huh?” I shook myself out of my reverie. “Yeah, right. Sorry. I’ll be there as soon as I can tomorrow.”

I walked the few blocks to my apartment, where I was surprised and pleased to find Mogwai waiting for me. I spent a few minutes scratching under his chin while he purred and regarded me with a cryptic look; then I filled his bowl. Too tired to bother with cooking, I microwaved a bowl of ramen noodles for myself—hey, when you’re in your twenties, that’s a perfectly acceptable dinner—then sat down with Mogwai on my futon to watch some mindless TV.

At a little after nine, my phone buzzed. I glanced at it and picked up. “Hey, Jen.”

“Hey, Daise.” My best friend’s voice was listless. “I just wanted to call and see if you were okay.”

“I’m fine. Just tired.” Tucking the phone under my chin, I picked up the remote and muted the TV. “What’s up? You don’t sound good.”

There was a silence on the other end. “I don’t want to bother you. You’ve got a lot going on.”

“You heard?”

She gave a faint snort. “Are you kidding? Who didn’t?”

“Well, then you know I can’t talk about it, so you might as well tell me. What gives, girl?”

“Nothing.”

I stroked Mogwai. “Jen.”

She sighed. “Cody Fairfax called to apologize for leading me on last night. He actually gave me the whole ‘it’s not you; it’s me’ shtick. Can you believe it?”

“Maybe it’s true,” I said.

Another silence, longer than the first one. When she spoke, there was an edge of suspicion in her voice. “Did you say something to him?”

“Jen—”

“Don’t fucking ‘Jen’ me! I know you’re working with him now.”

“It’s just . . .” I made a face. This would have been a lot easier if I could have told her the whole truth. “Yeah, okay, I told him you needed someone stable, someone you could depend on. And that if he wasn’t going to be that guy, if he wasn’t interested in a real relationship, he shouldn’t mislead you.”

“You don’t
know
what might have happened! You had no right!” Her voice dropped. “But you’re not exactly a neutral third party, are you? You’ve got your own reasons for warning him off me.”

“Don’t—”

“Oh, fuck you!” She hung up the phone.

I tried calling back, but she wouldn’t pick up. Guilt pricked my conscience. I cared a lot about Jen. She’d been my best friend for a long time, my only real friend in the ordinary mundane community. Ever since I’d helped her out with her sister, Jen had had my back, defending me through thick and thin. She’d put herself on the line for me more than once. In the cutthroat world of teenagers, that was a big deal. There were times in high school when I might have gone full-blown Carrie-at-the-prom if it hadn’t been for Jennifer Cassopolis; and yes, that’s another movie Mom and I watched together. Call it a cautionary tale if you will.

Crap.

Jen was right: I wasn’t neutral. She knew me too well, and I hadn’t kept my secret as well as I’d kept Cody’s. And it was stupid, because based on what he’d said today, even if he were interested in me, it could never go anywhere. I thought he was a serial dater because if he got too close to anyone, they’d start to realize he vanished once a month during the full moon.

Hell, if I was honest with myself, I didn’t know how much of my attraction to him was because he wasn’t a full-blooded human. I’d dated a few guys over the years . . . Well, no. Even that wasn’t really true. I’d never had an actual boyfriend. I’d hooked up with a few guys over the years, but there had usually been a fair amount of drinking involved, at least on their end. Ultimately there was always a spark missing, a level of passion I hungered for that went beyond the mere mortal. And yes, there was usually a point where they freaked out on me, and yes, it had a lot to do with the tail. Well, that and what it represented, I guess.

At least a guy who turned into a wolf once a month wasn’t likely to freak out over one small posterior appendage. But that was no reason to throw my BFF under the bus. For all I knew, Cody and Jen might have dated for a month and parted amicably. Or maybe they would have fallen in love, and he would have bucked clan tradition.

I doubted it.

More likely Jen would have ended up like the bartender Rosalind who dated Cody’s brother, still wistful and pining fifteen years later.

I sighed and turned off the TV.

I could tell myself that all day long, but even if it was true, I hadn’t done the right thing. My loyalty should have been to Jen, not to Cody and an unspoken eldritch code. I shouldn’t have interfered. I should have told her the truth and let her make her own choices.

Too late now.

I poured myself a couple inches of scotch and put Nina Simone on the stereo. She sang in a lower octave than most women, deep and soulful. Throughout her life, she’d struggled with the mortal demons of mental illness. Tonight, the sound of her voice soothed an ache in me. “It’s nobody’s fault but mine,” Nina sang, commiserating with my guilty conscience.

Wandering onto the porch, I watched the afterglow fade in the west, and listened to the sounds of Pemkowet on a summer evening.

It sounded just like last night.

A young man was dead, and most of the world went on, oblivious. I went back to the living room, flipped open my own case file. Thad Vanderhei stared up at me from his DMV photo, a bland smirk on his face and a faint impression of a circle flattening his hair, suggesting he’d taken off a baseball cap to have the photo taken.

On the stereo, accompanied by a spare, haunting piano arrangement, Nina confirmed in a mournful tone that if she died and her soul was lost, it was nobody’s fault but hers.

I brushed Thad’s face with one fingertip. “What did you do?” I murmured. “What were you up to, and whose fault was it?”

No one but Nina Simone answered.