Under Wraps (13 page)

Vlad simply shrugged and I quickened my pace.

I filled Nina and Vlad in on last night’s activities as we pulled into the police department parking lot. Nina’s brows were furrowed, and she was gnawing on her lower lip.

“But you’re okay though, right?” Her eyes were as wide as saucers, and there was a tiny bit of flush in her normally pale cheeks. “You didn’t actually get bitten or anything, did you?”

“Werewolves are always looking to increase their numbers,” Vlad said from the backseat, his eyes focused on his iPod.

I felt myself sink back into the passenger seat as Nina’s cold eyes slipped from my face to my collarbone.

“Or scratched?” She shook her head. “It doesn’t take much.”

“No, I didn’t get bitten or scratched, and I’m fine. You mean it doesn’t take much to be turned into a werewolf?” I frowned.

Nina pressed her lips together. “A bite, a scratch.”

Vlad leaned forward, his cold fingers brushing the back of my neck as he craned his into the front seat. “In the olden days it was drinking rainwater out of a wolf’s paw print.”

I wrinkled my nose. “Gross.” I leaned forward, out of Vlad’s reach. “And, Vlad, I’m trying to be a good hostess, but you’ve seriously upped the creep factor in here by like, a thousand.”

He grinned, pleased with himself.

I turned to Nina. “I’m not concerned about me turning into a werewolf. I’m really worried about Mr. Sampson. Did you guys hear anything at Dirt last night, anything about anyone going rogue or new blood in the city or anything?”

“No,” Nina said, her fingers trailing over the steering wheel. “As a matter of fact, Dirt was pretty quiet last night.” She looked at me sideways. “Do you really think Mr. Sampson could be in trouble?”

“I hope not,” I said, staring through the windshield.

The UDA was humming by the time we walked in. Lines were already starting to form, and the waiting room chairs were all filled. There was a wizard snapping the pages of a two-month-old
Sports Illustrated,
a centaur named Nick discreetly nibbling on a
Martha Stewart Weddings,
and a demon with a horrible overbite and a horn through his nose shuffling and reshuffling his papers. I bit my lip, getting the distinct feeling that Sampson really didn’t just take a midnight sojourn and head back to work this morning, fresh and shiny.

“Uh-oh,” I muttered to Nina, “this doesn’t look good.”

Nina just shrugged and pointed to the calendar pinned to one wall. “It’s the first of the month,” she said matter-of-factly. “It’s always crazy on the first.” Nina grabbed Vlad by the arm. “Come on. I’ll take you to the mailroom. You’re going to be working with a banshee named Ari. He’s super nice. Just don’t look him directly in the eye or show him his reflection. It sends him to a parallel dimension, and he gets so pissed when that happens. It also really messes up payroll. Let’s go.”

Nina skipped down the hall, dragging a very slow-moving Vlad sullenly behind her.

Lydia, a pixie from HR, looked up while handing out papers to a group of Kholog demons. She narrowed her eyes when she saw me, and instantly I heard her voice reverberating in my head.

“Thank God you are finally here,” she said. “This place is about to explode, and half the staff is MIA!”

I squeezed my eyes shut; no matter how long I’ve worked here, I never seemed to get comfortable with her telekinetics.

“What do you mean half the staff?” I said to Lydia after we’d gotten behind the counter.

She stamped the Khologs’ papers and slammed her window shut, her blond bangs falling into her eyes.

“Mr. Sampson is out today, and you guys are”—her violet eyes darted to the clock on her desk—“forty-five minutes late. Esme in receiving never showed.” Lydia drew her long, slender fingers to her temples and rubbed in little circles. “I swear, this place is a zoo.”

“Did Mr. Sampson
say
he was going to be out today?”

Lydia’s face went pinched, annoyed. I stepped back, remembering—you should never anger a pixie. “I’m just asking,” I said calmly, “for your sake.”

Lydia pinched her pink lips together and raised a questioning brow. “Wouldn’t you know? You’re his little pecksie.”

I turned on my heel and headed for Mr. Sampson’s office.

I was standing with my hands on hips, surveying the damage in Pete’s office when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled, my stomach in my throat. “Oh,” I said, clutching my chest, “it’s just you.”

“And I’m thrilled to see you, too,” Parker said, his grin wry.

“I’m sorry. I was just hoping …” My eyes wandered back to the broken chains and I sighed, hugging my arms to my chest. “I guess I was kind of hoping last night didn’t happen. Or that Mr. Sampson would have come back by now.” My eyes raked over the damage, and I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It looks pretty bad in here.”

“Sampson must have gotten pretty violent.”

I gritted my teeth. “Or the people who came after him did.”

Parker opened his mouth and then closed it again; he patted me awkwardly on the shoulder. “We’ve got work to do.”

“Shouldn’t we look for clues here?” I said, stepping over crumpled furniture. “Or maybe we should go back to Sampson’s den, check to see if everything is okay over there? I already tried his home phone and his cell phone, and there was no answer on either.”

“Lawson,” Parker started. “We’ll get to all of that. But right now …”

“Fine,” I said, cutting him off in midsentence, “but give me a sec.” I closed the door gently, making a mental note to come back and gather clues. I gestured for Parker to follow me, and I headed to processing, where I found Lorraine, sitting at her desk, her black cat Costineau curled up in her lap. Lorraine grinned when she saw us and knitted her fingers together, elbows poised.

“Hello, Sophie,” she said sweetly, “how may I help you?”

Lorraine was a Gestalt witch—of the green order. She was as sweet as pie with honey-colored hair that hung down her back and eyes that flashed from midnight blue to a green that was as clear and as deep as a jeweled pond. She didn’t swear, eat cheese or drink, but she was known worldwide for causing two tsunamis and an earthquake that decimated her ex-boyfriend, his new girlfriend, and an ancient civilization. But as long as you stayed on her good side, she was a complete gem.

“Hi, Lorraine!” I said brightly. “You look great! And Costineau!” I reached out to stroke the sleeping kitty. He opened one milky yellow eye and hissed at me, his little cat back arching, black fur spiking.

“Hey, I was just wondering …” I felt myself twirling my hair around my finger and I stopped, shoving my hands into my pockets. “Mr. Sampson has been out the last couple of days. Do you think, possibly, you could do a sweep for him? Just a quick one, just to check?”

Lorraine could send a sweep around the world in record time and tell you exactly where anyone was, right down to the position he was in while lying in bed. Very handy for finding werewolf bosses and checking in on the occasional cheating spouse.

“Sorry.” She wagged her head, one long-nailed index finger tapping the sign above her head: ABSOLUTELY NO WITCHCRAFT FOR NON-BUSINESS PURPOSES ON THE PREMISES.

I looked over my shoulder at Parker, who looked dumbfounded, and I blew out a small sigh.

“But it’s an emergency,” I said to Lorraine, trying my best to make my green eyes look innocent and imploring. I dropped my voice. “We’re worried that Mr. Sampson could be in danger.”

Lorraine’s shining eyes shifted left and right, and she leaned closer toward us so that Costineau squealed and jumped off her lap, settling at her feet under the desk.

“Well, if it’s an emergency …” She sucked in a breath, letting us hang. “Okay, fine. But just a quick one,” she said finally, holding up a single finger.

I nodded quickly, and Lorraine eyed me, then settled back in her chair, breathing deeply and closing her eyes.

I stepped back, letting her work, and I glanced at Parker, satisfied. His blue eyes were wide, terrified, and I looked back at Lorraine, who had paled considerably. Tiny beads of sweat stood out at her hairline and above her lip. Her thin shoulders shook underneath her black shawl.

“Is that normal?” Hayes mouthed. I shrugged.

“No,” Lorraine said finally, letting out a gasp. “I can’t find him.” She blinked repeatedly. “I can’t find anything at all on Mr. Sampson.” She cocked her head. “It’s weird.”

“Are you sure?” Parker said, stepping in front of me.

Lorraine raised one dark eyebrow and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I’m sorry. And you are?”

“Sorry,” I said, pulling Parker by the arm. “This is Detective Parker Hayes. He’s concerned about Mr. Sampson, too.”

Lorraine nodded, her eyes fixed on Parker.

“Thank you, Lorraine, for trying. Sorry we bothered you.” I began to pull Parker along with me.

“Sophie, wait.” Lorraine was on her feet behind her desk. She pulled a dark pink envelope out of her top drawer and pressed it across the desk to me. “This is for you.”

I eyed the envelope.
Clues? A love note from Sampson?
I headed back, holding Lorraine’s eye as I took the note. “Thank you,” I said, slipping it into my pocket.

I followed Parker out the door. We paused in the hallway.

“So?” Parker asked.

“So, right now I’m really concerned,” I said. “Lorraine can find anyone. Anyone who wants to be found—or anyone who’s not being hidden.”

“Hidden? Someone can hide someone … magically?” Parker fell into step with me.

“Yeah. Magic shields hide a lot.” I nodded hello to a gargoyle stepping out of the ladies’ room trailing a half yard of toilet paper from her hoof.

“Like that?”

“Yep, like that. They’re everywhere. We—norms—just don’t think they are, so we don’t see them, even if the veils are thin.”

“Oh,” said Parker, “I’m pretty sure if I saw that walking down South of Market, I’d remember it.”

“This is San Francisco. A fire-breathing dragon shimmying down the street beating a tambourine wouldn’t even raise an eyebrow.”

Parker frowned. “Yeah, you’re probably right. But, no. This isn’t right.”

“Parker …”

Parker looked me up and down. “What about you?”

“What about me?” I asked, frowning.

Parker lowered his voice. “Can’t you do your hoodoo-voodoo thing, too?”

“Hoodoo voodoo?”

“You know, seeing. Isn’t that your thing?”

I crossed my arms. “My
thing
is filing papers and taking fingerprints. And seeing through veils. The whole seeing-people-in-my-mind thing is … not there yet … with me. Right now Lorraine is the only one who can mind sweep.”

“No.” Parker stopped and stood, military style, legs spread, arms crossed, lips pursed. “This thing with Lorraine—I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. And I’m really getting worried. She should have at least been able to pick up something on Pete. Even she said it was weird.”

“No.” Parker wagged his head, going into detective mode. “I think she did find something on Sampson—or maybe she found him. I don’t think she was telling us everything.” He gestured toward my pocket. “Check the note. What does it say?”

“I don’t know why she would lie,” I said, fishing out the envelope.

“I don’t know either, but I’m pretty sure she was. So?”

I peeled open the envelope. “Uh-oh.”

Parker’s eyes went wide. “What?”

I flipped the note toward him and grinned. “She’s having a Tupperware party on Thursday. Shall I pick you up a juicer?”

Parker rolled his eyes and turned on his heel. “Meet me upstairs at one,” he said, before heading toward the elevators.

Parker disappeared down the hall toward the elevator, and I turned, heading to my desk—the one that sat outside of Mr. Sampson’s office and was now sporting a jagged gash and a spray of broken glass along its side. I kicked aside the tiny shards of glass and rifled through my drawers, stacking up the folders that contained the more personal aspects of Mr. Sampson’s life: his car registration, his calendar, the list of client contacts I used to mail out his Christmas/Solstice/Sorry Your Spouse Got Sucked into a Swirling Vortex cards. I was scanning for anything that might give Parker and me some useful information on where Pete Sampson may have gone—or where he may have been taken.

“Ahem,” I heard a male voice.

I looked over the top of my desk, saw no one, and frowned. I went back to stripping my files when I heard it again.

“Ahem?”

I slammed the files down and stood up, palms pressed against my desk. I was craning my neck to look out the open door when I saw two dark, bushy eyebrows and a spray of black hair at the edge of my desk.

“Oh, Vlorg,” I said, my hand to my heart. “I’m sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Vlorg smiled apologetically, his yellowed, snaggled teeth pressed against his pale gray lips. “It happens.”

He came around the side of the desk, and my hand went over my nose instinctively. “I’m sorry,” I said again, then shoved it in my pocket, feeling ashamed.

Had I mentioned that trolls smelled? Besides bearing the burden of being only three feet tall, having constantly moist skin that grows a downy layer of lichen, and being orthodontically cursed, they smelled. Badly. Like a more pungent combination of blue cheese, belly button, and wet dog.

“Oh good, you’re already cleaning out your desk. The boys will be along any minute and we’ll move it out for you.”

“Move it out?”

Vlorg rolled up on his toes and grinned. “Elpher Brothers Moving, at your service.”

“Right.” I nodded, remembering my run-in with Vlorg’s brother, Steve.

Vlorg rubbed his stubby fingers over the bashed side of my desk and let out a low whistle. “This baby really took a beating.” He grinned at me, and I noticed that his two snaggled front teeth were his
only
teeth.

“Who told you to move it?” I asked.

Vlorg shrugged. “Don’t know. The work order was in my box when I came in this morning, and the new desk is supposed to be here on Monday.” He looked around. “Are you going to be at the public desk until then or something?”