Tales of the Otherworld (37 page)

Sean stepped from the room the police were using for interviews. Those still awaiting their turns glanced up with equal parts curiosity and trepidation. If they were checking his expression to see how well he’d fared, they found no clues there. Sean’s attention had moved on to the media gauntlet waiting outside.

He tried to remember how much money he had in his wallet. A few hundred. Would it get him out the back door? No, it would only call more attention to himself.

He picked up his pace, heading for the exit.

“—cause of death is clearly exsanguination,” boomed a voice behind him.

“You mean he bled to death,” replied a woman.

“That, my dear detective, is the definition of
exsanguination
.”

Sean glanced over his shoulder. A sixtyish man with gray whiskers and a pot belly was striding through the bar, a pinch-faced brunette struggling to keep up.

An officer stepped into their path.

“Detective,” he said, nodding to the woman. He turned to the man. “Doc? You might want to go out the back. What with this chubawumpa business …”

“Chupacabra,” the doctor corrected, giving the word a Spanish lilt. “And it’s not ‘business,’ young man. It is nonsense. Superstitious nonsense.”

“Okay, but you still might want to—”

“I do not fear the media,” the doctor boomed, like a general about to take on the Mongolian hordes.

Sean let the doctor and detective pass, then slid out in their wake, staying a few yards back so he wouldn’t be mistaken for one of their party.

As soon as the doors opened, the flashes and shouts began.

“Dr. Bailey! Are you aware this is the first recorded instance of a chupacabra killing a human?”

The doctor answered with a derisive snort.

“Detective, over here!”

“Doc, is it true that—”

“Detective MacLeod! Could this be the Middleton Chupacabra?”

The detective turned to the young woman who’d yelled the last question. “Sandy, you know I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer. Chupacabras? Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me it was a vampire.”

A wave of laughter rolled out.

As the crowd pelted the coroner and detective with questions, Sean slid away.

The next morning, Sean sat on his hotel bed in Tacoma, and stared down at the newspaper. Even here, twenty miles from Middleton, the chupacabra story had made the front section. It was near the back, and written as tongue-in-cheek monster speculation, but it was there nonetheless.

Even after reading the article, Sean still didn’t know exactly what a
chupacabra was. Obviously a beast of folklore that some people around here believed in. That was a problem. Unlike a vampire story, which no self-respecting journalist would touch, the chupacabra was news in this region, having apparently been “terrorizing” Middleton for months now.

The Cabals would find this. They’d been vigilant about vampire activity for two years now, ever since a vampire had gone on a killing spree, murdering Cabal youths. One of Sean’s cousins had been among the victims.

The Cabals would find this and they’d find Sean’s name attached, and discover where he’d been. Part of him wanted to say “Oh, well” and accept the consequences. But he wasn’t ready for that.

A rap at the door.

It was his executive assistant, Mary. Now nearing retirement, Mary had been with the Nast Cabal since Sean’s father had been a boy. When Sean had selected her from the secretarial pool, his grandfather had praised him for choosing experience over attractiveness. Truth was, Sean didn’t dare pick one of the nubile twentysomethings or there’d be office cooler talk when he didn’t at least flirt with her.

“Mr. Nast, sir?” Mary eyed his jeans and sweatshirt with disapproval. It might be Saturday, but that was no way for an executive to dress. “Shall I send the porter up for your bags?”

“No, I’m not taking the jet back. I’m driving to Portland for the weekend.”

Her disapproval solidified with a hardening of her lips. Everyone knew what Portland held for Sean—his half sister, Savannah, lived there with her guardians, Paige Winterbourne and Lucas Cortez. His family refused to acknowledge Savannah. Her name couldn’t even be mentioned in his grandfather’s hearing.

“If you’re quite certain, sir …” Mary said.

“I am,” he said firmly, then nodded a dismissal, waited for her to step back, and shut the door.

He stood there a moment, behind the closed door.

Portland. Savannah. Lucas. The solution to his dilemma had just landed in his lap.

A
CORTEZ CABAL SATELLITE OFFICE IN PORTLAND
.

I stared down at the untouched legal papers on my desk. I didn’t know who I was more angry with: my father for doing this or myself for not seeing it coming.

Paige had tried to convince me that this decision might be simply part of an overall expansion plan. According to Adam, my father had asked him to keep quiet only because the proposed office was still that: a proposal.

Perfectly valid explanations. And patently false.

I sighed, lifted my glasses, and pinched the bridge of my nose, struggling to focus on my work. Paige had gone shopping in preparation for a weekend visit by Savannah’s half brother Sean. I wanted to get through this work before he arrived. I didn’t want to spoil our weekend by retreating to do paperwork, particularly when we had a guest.

I picked up the top sheet. Real estate law. Closing a purchase. As dull as legal work got, but it paid well enough.

Speaking of real estate, where was my father planning to build—?

I slapped the stray thought aside and concentrated on the papers. The business property in question had sold for an astounding price, considering the neighborhood. Portland was doing well. Very well. Perhaps that was why my father—

No. I knew better. Five years ago, the Cortez board of directors had debated northwestern expansion, but they’d rejected the idea. There was no solid supernatural community in Portland. The market, while good,
didn’t suit Cortez Corporation interests. And they already had a tiny office in Seattle, which had staffing problems, being so far from the Miami headquarters that employees saw it as an exile.

“Hey, Lucas,” Savannah said, walking in. “Is there a stapler in here?”

I held out mine, but she ignored it, plunked down in Paige’s chair, and started looking through the desk drawers.

At sixteen, Savannah was almost as tall as me, finally outgrowing her awkward coltish stage and maturing into a willowy young woman. She was also growing into her strong features, and starting to turn heads. But boys had yet to begin banging down our door. There was something about Savannah—an edge, a forthrightness—that I suspected frightened off many a would-be admirer. I’d heard the same said about her mother—that men had admired from afar…preferably out of spellcasting range. Having met Eve both before and after her death, I didn’t blame them.

“So,” Savannah said, continuing her drawer search. “Are you still brooding about the satellite office thing?”

“I’m not—” I stopped. Argue with Savannah and she’d only needle all the more—sharp and deep enough to draw the blood of truths more comfortably left hidden.

“Is it really such a bad idea?” She lifted her hand to ward off my argument. “Hear me out, okay? Yeah, going to Adam—especially behind your back—was a dirty trick, even for Benicio. Setting up in Portland without warning you? Really nasty, especially since you’re too settled here to move easily. I’m sure he’s counting on that. And he’s definitely going to use this to advance the whole ‘get Lucas to run the company’ master plan. It’s going to cause problems, but …” She met my gaze. “It could actually
solve
one big problem. A Cabal office here means more supernaturals here and more Cabal wrongs for you to right. Without ever leaving home. And Paige can help. That’s what you guys want, isn’t it? Pool your resources more often, combining your—” A dismissive hand wave. “Crusades.”

I sighed. “Our work is not a cru—”

“Whatever. Point is, it won’t be all good, but maybe it won’t be all bad either.”

“True, but the bad, I’m afraid, will significantly outweigh the good. Do you know what made us choose Portland?”

She started listing reasons on her fingers. “Escape the Cabal stuff.
Give you a break from your dad’s Cabal heir crap. Keep me away from Grandpa Dearest. Protect Paige from anyone wanting to get at you. Protect Paige from anyone wanting to help the Cortezes rid themselves of a witch daughter-in-law.” She stopped. “Shit. Paige.”

“My father would try to ensure that a Cabal office here would not increase the danger Paige faces,” I said. “However, her comfort with living here, and her concerns over
our
comfort and safety, would grow.”

“She worries more than enough already.”

“And, in this case, it would be justifiable. An increased supernatural presence
would
mean increased risk—for all of us—from those outside my father’s sphere of influence. He should have considered that.”

“But then he’d have to admit there are supernaturals who aren’t afraid of Benicio Cortez.”

Paige’s car sounded in the drive.

“Go help her unpack the groceries,” I said. “And tell her I’ll be right down.”

Sean arrived just before lunch. He was the only Nast who’d formed any sort of relationship with Savannah. According to their grandfather, Thomas, Savannah was not his son’s child—it was all part of a beyond-the-grave scheme by a notorious black witch to secure a share of Nast wealth for her daughter. As for the fact that Kristof—not Eve—had been the one to proclaim his paternity, that apparently was a minor and inconsequential detail.

When Savannah came of age, the choice to pursue her birthright or let the matter lie would be hers. For now she enjoyed a growing relationship with Sean, who had also set up a trust fund for her using part of his inheritance.

During lunch, Sean alternated between distracted and rushed, as if the meal was something merely to get through. So I was not surprised when, as Savannah served dessert, Sean said, “I need to talk to you about something, Lucas.” He paused, then turned Paige’s way. “And you, too, Paige, since it’s something the interracial council might want to look into.”

He related the story of how the night before, in a bar, he’d stumbled upon an exsanguinated corpse with fang marks on his neck.

“Some vampire’s getting sloppy,” Savannah said. “Bet it’s Cass. Getting senile in her old age and forgetting where she left her dinner.”

“The chance of it being a real vampire’s annual kill is slight,” I said. “However, given the Cabal’s current attitude toward vampires—”

“Exactly what I was thinking,” Sean cut in, leaning forward. He stopped and eased back. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt, but it’s true. Granddad still…well, he hasn’t forgotten what happened to my cousin.”

“Forgotten or forgiven,” Paige murmured.

I nodded. “The perpetrators may be dead, but the murders only served to exacerbate an already tense situation, giving the Cabals reason to intensify their suspicion of all vampires. However, a single case in a small city will likely pass unnoticed.”

“There’s more,” Sean said.

He explained.

When he finished, Savannah screwed up her face. “They think it’s a what?”

“Chupacabra,” Sean said.

“A cockroach?”

Paige stifled a laugh. “Better brush up on your Spanish. That’d be
cucaracha.
Though a giant vampiric cockroach could be interesting.”

“Fine, Little Miss Can’t Be Wrong. What’s a chupa-whatever?”

“I have no idea. The literal translation would be something like
goat-sucker
.”

“Goat-sucker?” Savannah chortled. “Now who’s in need of remedial Spanish?”

“Paige’s translation is correct,” I said. “The nature of the creature is, at the moment, unimportant. Sean is right. If this is making statewide news, it’s unlikely to pass unnoticed. Cassandra must be notified and ready for a Cabal investigation into any vampires living near—”

“Uh, actually,” Sean said, “I was hoping it could be solved
before
the Cabals get involved. If you aren’t too busy, I’d be willing to hire you—both of you—to investigate.”

“Well, that’s one idea,” Paige said. “But I’m not sure it would be worth—”

“There’s something else,” Sean said. “This bar. I went there with a coworker, for him, and…well, if anyone found out what kind of bar
it is…they’d jump to the wrong conclusion and…it could be embarrassing.”

“What was it?” Savannah said. “A fetish club?”

We all looked at her.

“What? He said it’d be embarrassing.”

“It was a gay bar,” Sean said.

Savannah made a rude noise. “Is that it? Geez. Big deal.”

“I’d really like to hire you,” Sean said.

I glanced at Paige. “Let us check our schedules and discuss it.”

“Well,” I said as Paige poured tea later that afternoon. “I suppose that answered
that
question.”

“And you owe me a spell, Cortez.”

I arched my brows. “No, you suggested the bet, but if you recall, I failed to formally accept.”

“Oh-ho, so you need to
formally accept
bets now? And I suppose you wouldn’t have claimed your prize if it turned out
you
were right about why Sean never mentions girlfriends.”

“Dating a married woman would have been a perfectly reasonable explanation.”

“He says, adroitly avoiding an answer.”

She sat across from me at the kitchen table and sipped her tea. Sean and Savannah had gone trail riding. She’d started horseback riding after we’d come to Portland, and fallen in love with the sport. When Sean began visiting, riding with Savannah had been an easy excuse to spend some time together, and it had grown into something for them to share.

Horseback riding seemed an odd choice for someone as restless and impatient as Savannah, but Paige thought Savannah simply liked having control over something bigger and stronger than herself. It
was
teaching Savannah patience, and her spellcasting had improved. Too much, as Paige often pointed out. Savannah was powerful enough as it was.