Frost Moon (28 page)

“I’m not,” he said sharply, meeting her eye to eye. “I don’t answer to you, Saffron. I answer to Darkrose, and even then only as long as it doesn’t interfere with keeping her alive. You may be modern and progressive, but South Africa is very definitely populated with Old World vampires. I need every hand I have to keep you safe, so everyone is going.”

Savannah looked at Darkrose, who just shrugged.

“Good bodyguards are hard to find,” she said. “I would never argue with a man who would take a bullet for me, much less a human willing to guard my daytime resting place rather than put a stake in me at the first opportunity. Vickman’s word stands.”

I stared into my own drink. I knew how important this trip was to them. They were going to Johannesburg, where ‘Saffron’ would formally petition Darkrose’s former master to release Darkrose, so she could join Saffron’s court. It had taken a year of delicate negotiations and a huge payout by Delancaster to make this trip happen, but the end result would be the end of animosity between vampires on either side of the Atlantic and… and the beginning of a new life of happiness for my ex-girlfriend and her lover.

I couldn’t begrudge them going. But right at that moment, I was scared shitless
for
Wulf,
by
Wulf, and by whatever other forces lurked out there around him.

“The full moon is just tomorrow night,” I pleaded. “Can’t you delay the trip for at least forty-eight hours?”

“We could move the meet to the festival,” Savannah said thoughtfully. “It’s not too late to charter a direct flight to Sunday—”

“Yes, it is,” Darkrose snapped. “Delancaster is already in the air.”

“We’ve been planning for Darkrose to go back to the South African Court for
eighteen months
now,” Vickman said. “This is a coordinated operation. We can’t stop now. We especially can’t leave your
master
hanging around in South Africa alone, no matter how good his own bodyguards are.”

Savannah scowled, but slowly nodded. Then she looked up at me.

“So…” she asked. “You going to be OK?”

I stared at my coffee glumly. What was the saying? Unexpected danger on my part didn’t constitute an emergency on her part? Maybe that was unfair, but until last week Savannah and I hadn’t even been speaking, and now here I was asking her to shitcan her trip out of the country, inconvenience her whole entourage, piss off her boss and maybe even screw up her future… just because someone was trying to kill me.

But in all honesty, Savannah’s protection hadn’t helped me much so far, not even when she’d been standing in the same room as the shooter. Even this damn collar was just a warning to whoever decided to break me that Savannah would pick up the pieces—a deterrent, not an actual shield. Even if she stayed, I was still effectively on my own.

“No, I’ll be OK,” I said, pulling at my collar. The metal was surprisingly unyielding and the rubber on its inside was damp with sweat. I hadn’t realized I was that nervous. “Worst comes to worst, I can always call on the Oakdale Clan—”

“Oakdale?” Vickman said. “Wasn’t it one of their fangs that took a chunk out of you? Ain’t that why you took the collar?”

“You have it backwards,” I said.
“They’re
OK. In fact they punished Transomnia for hassling me. That’s why he was pissed and took out his revenge on me.”

“Calaphase is on the lookout for him,” Savannah said. “You know? Calaphase turned out all right.”

“That he did,” Darkrose said.

I stewed. At first I’d been infuriated when I’d been forced to take Savannah’s protection, but now the thought of her and her coterie being gone for a week was… unsettling. Then a horrible thought hit me. “Wait a minute,” I said. “If you’re gone next week, how will you
vote?”

Darkrose looked confused; Vickman’s mouth opened. Vote in the ordinary November elections, as if that aspect of the greater world mattered to their kind? But Savannah just shook her head. “Oh, Dakota,” she said, eerily like Jinx. “What am I going to do with you?”

Vickman’s watch beeped. “It’s time,” he said, standing. He carried no suitcase, just a small shoulder bag. Then Darkrose’s tall-dark-and-handsome human servant stood, managing the carry-ons. Finally the vampires rose: Savannah, in her simple red leather dress, goggles hanging about her throat, and Darkrose, in a heavy layered coat and cloak that was practically a burqua when she pulled the hood up.

“Sorry to see you go,” I said, standing awkwardly. I still wasn’t used to how eerily coordinated the two of them were. Had Savannah and I been that way, once, or was it a vampire thing? “Surprised you don’t have Doug pulling a pack.”

“Doug’s a human grad student,” Savannah said, “not my enthralled servant. He doesn’t have time for all this gallivanting.”

“And you do?” I asked. “Are you ever going to get your Ph.D in vampirology?”

“Some day,” she said. “But not today.”

We stood there, staring at each other.

“Oh, quit being a pain in my ass and give me a hug,” Savannah said, stepping in and squeezing me about the waist so that all my air left with a whoosh. “Take care, Dakota.”

I waved awkwardly and watched them walk off. I expected to see Savannah look back and wave to me, but she was lost, chatting with Darkrose, who gave her a warm hug.

I sighed, stared down at the table, at my rapidly cooling coffee. I swept it up and finished it in one forced gulp, then considered finishing the dregs of Savannah’s Bloody Mary. What the hell. I wouldn’t be driving for at least half an hour. I picked it up, finished it, staring at the grainy tomato juice draining off the bottom of the glass, then slammed it down and tossed a few more coins on top of the tip we’d left on the table. Then I picked up my cane and started limping back towards the MARTA station at the end of the airport terminal.

On the way, I took stock. Rand was already working the angle on the shooter, but he was only good against mortal threats. If Transomnia attacked again, I was toast, but if I had some warning, I could go to Calaphase for help—that little shit was now a big embarrassment to him. If, at the werehouse, one of the Bear King’s kindred got rowdy, I could count on Buck. I might even be able to ask for Buck’s help if Wulf turned out to be behind the killings. If not… the full moon hit zenith in less than twenty-seven hours, and took to the sky in even less. Even if I could get the tattoo prepared, I had no way of finding him.

The train slid into the station, a long, smooth, well-lit machine, a pinnacle of modern technology. Then my eyes lit up.

There was
someone
who knew where Wulf lived.

“Philip,” I said into my cell when he picked up. I sat down in one of the back-to-back seats near the middle of the car, and other passengers filed in, one taking the seat just behind me. “It’s Dakota. What’s that noise? Sounds like a Starbucks. Can I meet you?”

“Not unless you’re willing to ride that Vespa all the way to North Carolina,” he said, voice raised slightly to overcome the sound of a blender in the background. “And ‘that noise’ is a helicopter I couldn’t even admit existed until nine months ago.”

My skin grew cold. “What’s happened?”

“We got a lead, Dakota,” he said, sounding not at
all
happy. “A pizza parlor employee was abducted a few hours ago in Charlotte— heavily tattooed, snatched just after moonrise, so… we’re riding to the rescue.”

“You go, Philip,” I said softly. “Did the pizza guy have magical tattoos?”

“Oh yeah, and get this—he had one done by Sumner,” he said. “Similar to the one you saw. This is
exactly
what we’ve seen before, from the distance between attacks to the victim type down to the lead time to full moon. It fits the profile
perfectly
.”

He didn’t say the cliche, but I could hear it in his voice. “Too perfectly?” I asked. “Jeez, Philip, you don’t think it’s some kind of trap?”

“I
want
to think it’s a distraction,” Philip said, sounding angry and disgusted. “Damn goose chase, in fact. But there’s a life on the line. I can’t let another person die because I sat on a lead.”

My eyebrows raised.
Another
person? “You do what you have to, Philip,” I said. But his reference kept bugging at me, and finally I asked, “Another person… do you mean Spleen?”

“What did you call for, Dakota?” Philip asked sharply.

“I need to find Wulf,” I said, and I heard him hiss. “I’ve lost my contact, and he’s not answering the number we have on him—”

“Can you give me that number?” Philip said.

“I need to find him,” I said. “Do you know where he sleeps?”

“Yes, but he’s skipped, Dakota,” Philip said. “We already tried to pick him up—”

“You tried to pick him up?” That was more of an accusation than a question.

“Dakota!” Philip said. “A werewolf looking for a tattoo turns up right where we expect to find a tattoo killer that strikes on the full moon. Mysterious forces are plotting against him. His tattooist is attacked—
twice!
His handler ends up dead, savaged as if by an animal. Sounds exactly like a ‘person of interest’ in the full vagueness of that awful phrase. Of course we tried to pick him up. Please, if you give me his number—”

“He
saved my life
,” I said. “Or at least, helped save me from someone other than himself. He’s not your guy.”

“Dakota,” Philip said. “This is
me
we’re talking about here. You really think I’d accuse him without damn good proof?” I didn’t immediately respond, and he said: “Dakota?”

Finally I said, “No.”

“All right then,” Philip said. “Give me his number and I’ll try to—”

“Give
me
his last known location and I’ll try to find him,” I countered.

Philip paused. “You need to stay out of this,” he said. “Stay away from Wulf—”

“It was
you”
I snapped, “that told me I should do his tattoo—”

“That was before Spleen ended up dead,” Philip barked back. “Before someone else tried to shoot you at the Masquerade! It isn’t safe—”

“It’s not safe for him,” I said. “The full moon is one day away. I have to help him—”

“He’s an old wolf,” Philip said. “I researched that suit of his. The style’s at least thirty years out of date. He survives the full moon twelve times a year. He knows how to do it again. If you really want to help him, you’ll lie low until the moon is on the wane and we’ve nailed this killer, or at least driven him off. Shack up with Saffron if you have to—”

“She’s gone,” I said, “To Africa.”

“Bloody hell,” he said. “Bloody fucking hell. I was counting on her! Hell of a time to— damnit, look, call Rand, get into protective custody—”

“Fuck that,” I said.

“Dakota!” Philip said. “You’ve had
four
attacks on you recently—”

“Four?” I said. “Only two, and the one by Transomnia isn’t related—”

“Dakota,” he said. “Presidents and gangsters have multiple assassins gunning for them, but even
they
don’t get four attacks a week this side of Pakistan. Transomnia, the Masquerade shooter, Spleen
and
that business with Wulf, they’re
all
connected to you—”

“Business with Wulf?” I said.

“At the hospital,” Philip said. “Whoever ratted him to the hospital staff didn’t say Wulf was ‘bothering them’—they said,
Call the police, that maniac tried to gut me with a knife
!”

“Holy crap,” I said. “Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“The interviewing officer didn’t tell
me,”
Philip said. “I just found their exact words going over the transcripts. Whoever said that didn’t want him run off—they wanted him arrested, maybe even shot and killed. That’s a premeditated attack in my book.”

“Jeez,” I said. But I didn’t want to admit he was right. I was a skeptic. I didn’t believe in all that conspiracy crap. “But, still… are you sure you’re not being too paranoid—”

“With one dead, two hospitalized, and one man terrorized into going on the run?” Philip said. “You can never be too paranoid with that kind of shit piling up in just six days. Never.”

I just sat there, stunned. I wanted to deny it, to tell him he was a conspiracy nut, but he was a very genuine man in black with his own shiny black helicopter, and the body count
was
stacking up. His words left me feeling I was sinking into murky water, getting deeper all the time, able to see nothing but churning ripples left by unseen sharks.

“Dakota, we’re going to land soon,” Philip said, as gently as he could over the whine. “I’ll be busy, but… I can start the wheels turning, see if we can track Wulf down.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Will you please give me his number, then?” Philip said.

“Philip,” I said, then stopped. “I can’t. I can’t betray his trust. Not even for you. It’s hard to explain what trust means to us down here.”

“Look, Dakota,” Philip said. “All right. Wulf is a suspect, and I need to question him. I freely admit it. But just
question
him—that’s it. I have no intention of running the first guy I’ve collared to the DA, not with eyewitnesses denying his involvement and mysterious figures trying to manipulate the police. And if he is innocent, then
he is in danger.
He needs to be cleared, he needs protection, and most of all, he needs your tattoo. To do all that, we need to find him. Could you imagine, just for a minute, just for
one
minute, that I’m not trying to notch up a collar here, but that I want to find him because I have his best interests at heart?”

I wavered, then broke down. “All right, Philip,” I said. “678—”

“Wait,” he said, “let me get a fucking pen—”

“If you hurt him,” I said, “or disappear him, you’re a dead man.”

“Dakota, I meant it. At this point I just want to talk to him, offer him police protection if he will accept it—and either way, tell him to get a good lawyer.”

“Police do that?”

“We do what we have to,” Philip said. I gave him the number, and then he said: “Look, I’m gone, but if you need us—you have my number, and Rand’s. And if it’s an emergency, call ‘Black Mayday, Black Mayday’ on any police channel. Say you are an important asset in a DEI case, and someone in Atlanta will pick it up and respond as soon as they can.”