Hellbent (15 page)

He leaned forward, eager now that we were getting down to brass tacks. “You’ve been in contact with him?”

“Yes.”

“In what capacity?” he wanted to know. “Is he living with some other House? Has he run away to join the circus, or some ostracists, or something like that? One day he just
vanished.
”

I opted to stick with a streamlined version of the truth, sanitized for Ian’s protection. “He hired me last year.”

“He … he hired you? For what?”

There was no time like the present to deploy my Cheshire cat smile. No teeth. Smooth line. Slightly predatory. Not reaching my eyes. I said, “I’m something of an acquisitions specialist. My expertise leans toward antiques, jewels, and other assorted valuables, but I can sometimes be persuaded to seek out other quarry.”

As it turned out, Max was good at reading between lines, too. “You’re a thief.”

“Yes, and an expensive one. But he had an open checkbook, and I had a free slot in my schedule, so I took the gig. He wanted me to retrieve some long-lost records from the government.”

His eyes went wide before he had time to keep them narrow and cool. Still, they reverted to narrow and cool in a fraction of a second. “Really?”

“Really. About ten years ago there was this military project, and to make a long story short, they were swiping vampires and weres for experimentation. Ian was looking for information about a vampire who had disappeared into the program—a man named Bruner—and that’s pretty much all I can say without delving too far past the boundaries of client privilege.” I’d made up the part about Bruner on the spot. If he were still alive, it might’ve annoyed him. I liked the thought of that.

“You’ll sell him out to me, but you won’t tiptoe over the line of client privilege?”

“This is how I earn my living. Without a House to back me up,
all I have is my reputation as a professional—and my own personal capacity for self-defense, which is not at all negligible.”

Just then the potential overlap between my interests and Adrian’s interests and Maximilian’s interests occurred to me in kaleidoscope form, in such a fashion that I wasn’t sure, for a moment, how to proceed. If I wasn’t careful, things could get sticky. Coincidence or divine design would see to that. If I was
too
careful, I’d look even more suspicious than I already did.

“Raylene?” Max asked.

I hate it when I get lost in thought and it’s that fucking obvious to whoever I’m sitting with. “Yeah, sorry. Listen, here’s the thing. Ian’s case tied in with another case I’m working on. The funny thing is, I think it ties in with yours, too, and that throws a monkey wrench into my proposal.”

For just an instant, he looked uncertain. “How’s that?”

I went on, winging it, winging it, winging it. “It’s like this: I was going to offer to put you in touch with Ian … if I could get your permission to proceed on my other case with the weight of your House’s support.”

“It might be a fair trade—I’m not sure yet. But you’re asking us to put our family name and resources on the line.”

“I know,” I said quickly. “And I was hoping that you wanted Ian badly enough to reach such an arrangement.”

“But now you’re not certain?”

I shook my head. “No, I’m certain that you’d
let
me ride under your banner. But now I’m not sure that I
want
to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he nearly growled.

I realized the perceived insult shortly after it flew out of my mouth, so I hastened to correct myself. “Please don’t misunderstand me. The failing is not with you, or your city. But the House I hoped to investigate was … Well, you see, I need to poke around the Atlanta House.”

Maximilian exhaled and leaned back into the plush stuffing of his curved couch. “Ah. Thus your concern, yes. Though I must ask, what do you want with the Barringtons?”

Again I stuck to the truth. I was more likely to learn something useful that way. “A young vampire of theirs, a girl by the name of Isabelle, disappeared years ago—and the circumstances are approximately as straightforward as those surrounding your father’s death. Isabelle’s brother is looking for her, and it’s my job to help him find her.”

“Diversifying your business into people-finding, eh?”

“Whatever pays the bills. But surely you can see where I’m coming from, and why I was interested in a mutually beneficial arrangement. I have something you want—or I can very likely get it. And you have something I want—the authority and protection of a House. Call me nuts, but I wasn’t interested in showing up on the Barrington doorstep as a loner.”

“No, it makes perfect sense. It’s the kind of thing I might do, were I in your situation.”

He tapped his fingers against the top of his thigh. They made a soft thumping noise against the wool/cashmere-blend suit in which he’d sheathed himself. “Obviously, I would not ask you to part with such valuable information as Ian’s whereabouts for nothing,” he lied.

I had a feeling that he would’ve been more than happy to pound matchsticks under my fingernails until I talked, but everyone knows that’s not always the most direct and efficient way of getting correct information.

“Let’s not talk money,” I said as an opener. “I don’t need yours, and you don’t want to give me any.”

“Information,” he said.

“Authority,” I countered. “If I go to Atlanta now, under the auspices of the San Francisco House, they’re going to assume I’m
investigating your father’s death. They’ll be on the defensive before I get in the front door. Your House’s protection can only get me inside; it can’t get me results. But if you designate me as a temporary seneschal, I might get somewhere. If nothing else, they’ll think twice about murdering me on the spot for minor indiscretions.”

“But only twice,” he correctly pointed out. “The third thought will see you cast out at sunrise.”

“Let
me
worry about that. You just worry about signing off on my passport, and I’ll worry about getting Ian in touch with you before the week is out. See? Not a dime exchanging hands. And we can both get something we want.”

“You’re very persuasive, but I have some concerns. How do you plan to reach my brother?”

“He used to keep a pair of ghouls. As far as anyone knew, he mostly allowed a guy name Calvin Kelly to run his affairs. But Cal died last year, and since then, his secondary has been in charge. I have an ‘in’ with this pinch hitter.”

Maximilian nodded. He’d probably been at least tangentially aware of Cal, and by name-dropping him, I was planting the seeds of sincerity. “Keeping a spare—good idea. That Ian, always thinking ahead. Why would his backup be willing to make contact with you?”

“Because I did this kid a favor, on the side. And on the house,” I added. “His sister was homeless. I found her a place to live and set her up. He’ll give me the time of day, and more if I push him for it.”

His fingers stopped tapping. “Before the convocation?”

“I might have to freshen up some of my contact information, and it may take me a night or two to get Domino on the line. But I know it can be done.”

“That’ll be … fine. And if you can make such contact
happen—so that we can follow up, and establish a firmer connection …” He spread the euphemisms thicker than peanut butter. “I’ll get you your seneschal pass. On one more condition.”

“Name it.”

“While you’re there, you find out what really happened to my father. I want a full report when you return, and if I’m not satisfied that you’ve done your best—or that you’re telling the truth—then I will be very, very displeased.”

I swallowed, discreetly enough that I hoped he hadn’t seen it. “Absolutely. I’ll find out whatever I can, and I’ll pass everything along to you when I return. Assuming I return.”

“Your death, dismemberment, or otherwise running afoul of the Barringtons would absolutely be considered a fair excuse for not reporting back to me. But anything else is grounds to find your name listed beside my brother’s. Deal?”

“Deal,” I said, though the syllable nearly choked me.

He leaned forward, extended his hand, and I shook it—because that’s how we civilized undead murderers do business.

A
drian returned with the rest of the ghouls, looking relieved to see me and thrilled to be leaving—even though he’d been the one who wanted to come in the first place. But he played it cool, and he looked unharmed. I couldn’t wait to grill him about what he’d learned. I’ve never been comfortable with ghouls myself, but I’d be the last vampire on earth to suggest they don’t have their uses.

All was looking well, I’d successfully winged my way into a productive conversation, and we were just about ready to take off … when Maximilian decided to get a little old school. I’m sure he thought he was being gallant—or maybe he was just showing off how well he knew the routines that no one practiced very often anymore—but when he walked to the liquor
cabinet and withdrew a couple of crystal brandy glasses, I had the sneaking suspicion that we were in for trouble.

Not huge trouble. Not life-altering trouble, or violently dying trouble. Merely some awkwardness the likes of which I would’ve preferred to avoid.

No such luck.

“Before you go,” he said as he set the glasses on a silver tray, “let’s settle the matter with a toast.” Then he pulled out a slim silver knife that would’ve passed for a letter opener at twenty paces, but was as sharp as a razor.

Adrian noticed immediately that Max didn’t pull out a decanter of brandy, or any other container of anything else. He was trying not to look worried. He’s a sharp lad, that Adrian.

“Annabelle,” Max summoned his ghoul-in-chief, the pretty woman with the black hair and dress. Particularly favored ghouls are often included in these things, as a nod to the fact that they will likely be involved somehow in whatever business dealing is being sealed. This meant that Adrian was going to be called upon for involvement, and I hadn’t told him about it.

In my defense, that’s because I didn’t think in a million years that Max would whip out the old tradition.

Oops.

“Raylene,” Adrian said softly, halfway between a begging and a warning.

“Don’t be silly,” I replied with more stiffness than I meant to. “You’ve done this before.” Then I said to Maximilian, “But it’s been a while. The Exchange isn’t often practiced in other cities, not anymore.”

“Nor here, either.”

“And what was that you were saying earlier, about outdated niceties?”

Without looking at me, he said, “But my father liked it, and
I’m hoping to see it make a comeback. It’s so delightfully
personal
, don’t you think?” He picked up the knife and offered it to me with one of the glasses. It’s polite to let the guest go first.

I took it and shrugged, like this is something I do every damn day with Adrian, whom I assumed would sooner drink turpentine than anything that came out of my veins. I turned the knife’s sharp little tip down, and with a flick of my wrist, I opened a small slash—then upturned my wrist to catch whatever fell before the incision healed itself. Usually this means filling about half a small-form brandy glass, which is exactly how it went. Then I passed the knife back to Max, and he did the same.

“In collaboration,” he murmured as he passed his glass to Annabelle, who held it up to her mouth.

She paused, waiting for Adrian to do likewise. This was supposed to be a synchronized event.

I turned my head so that—it was to be hoped—no one but Adrian could see the look I gave him. It was a casserole look, layered with threats, pleas, insistence, and bribery. I had no idea if it would work, but I was pretty sure that if I’d broached the subject earlier in the evening, he would’ve told me where I could stick my pretty glass of vampire goo.

For a fraction of a moment, I wished to God that he
were
my ghoul—and I could tell him things one brain to another, so I could reassure him that this was mostly normal, and not sinister, and I didn’t plan it, and if he wanted us to get out of here without heaping great stinking piles of suspicion and possibly violent death down upon our heads, then he needed to play along. If he were really my ghoul I would’ve told him the one thing that would’ve had him line up with a salute:
Drink this, and these yahoos will fund and support a trip to Atlanta, where I might find out what happened to your sister
.

But I couldn’t tell him any of that. I had to trust that he
trusted me, which was a precarious thing to balance a con job upon.

Following a slight hesitation that ran
almost
long enough to rouse curiosity in our hosts, Adrian took the glass and held it to his lips. He watched Annabelle, taking his cues from her, which was smart. I couldn’t give him any cues because I’m not a ghoul.

To my unending astonishment (which I did my best to mask), he began to drink.

Not a lot. Only a bit. A few seconds’ worth of sipping, and a slight lowering of the blood level in the glass.

When Annabelle stopped, Adrian stopped. When she handed her glass back to Maximilian, Adrian handed his back to me.

I could’ve whooped for joy at how smoothly this was going; I wanted to do a jig and slap Adrian on the back, because God knows I didn’t think he’d go that far to keep a cover—and hot damn, he pulled it off. We were almost home free.

Maximilian and I then exchanged glasses and downed the remains of each other’s blood, kind of like sorority girls doing shots off a bar. One quick chug, swallow, and then back onto the tray the glasses went. The tray was sent off with Annabelle, and then our host showed us back through the beaded curtain.

“I trust you can find your way out?” he said, holding the fringe so it didn’t drop back and tickle us, or tangle up in our hair, or whatever it is that sinister beaded curtains do to inconvenience the unwitting masses.

“Sure. And we’ll be in touch. If things go according to plan, I’ll have you on the phone with your brother within a couple of nights.”

“Excellent. Upon such a call, I’ll draw up your paperwork. And I’ll anxiously await your report from Atlanta. Deliver it to me before convocation, and we’ll consider the deal settled.”