West Coast Witch (8 page)

“Hello, Eric.” Nick’s smug voice greeted me. “Found something, have we?”

“Thomas’ room was ransacked. I found a box of bullets, and there was a note taped
to the bottom.”

He made a noise of acknowledgment. “Well, interesting. Not where I would have put
it, but maybe he was rushed. What did it say?”

“Well, apart from calling you a bastard, he said this was big, and you needed to call
in the big guns. He was in over his head.” I read off the note for him. “Nick, this
sounds pretty bad.”

“Top twenty, eh?” He was silent a moment. “That’s interesting. I can’t think of anyone
that high on our most wanted who’s operating in Frisco.”

“Frisco, seriously?” I may have not been a native, but there was just some things
you too offense to. That was one.

“Sorry, forgot how you local yokels object to that one.” I could hear the eye-rolling
on the other side. “It’s a start. Unfortunately, I have no marshals I can send.. It’s
just you and Amy. You guys have to do this.”

“Me?” I rolled my eyes. “Jeez Louise, Nick, why can’t you come?”

He laughed. “Oh, I definitely can’t. You’re new to this, Eric.” His voice grew solemn.
“There are lots of rules in the Arcane. You may not know these yet, but you’ll find
that Amy and I and others like us are limited, though we may seem powerful. There
are rules to our game, ones that we must follow, always. No exceptions.”

“Great, I’m getting slammed with the Arcane Prime Directive.”

“Star Trek, really? I took you more for a Star Wars guy.”

I had to laugh. “Hey, I like both. It’s not a crime. I’m a geek, and I take my sci-fi
where I can get it.”

“Very well. Anyways, Mister Carpenter, you’re on
 
your own.. Keep Amy close, and, please, don’t get yourself killed. I’d hate to change
the status of your file.”

“Wait, I have a file?”

He just answered. “Find Thomas, find the girl.”

The line went dead. I pondered on that for a moment. A guy who was heading a part
of the federal government that tracked and hunted law-breaking Arcanes had a file
on me. How’s that for scary?

I have had terrible ideas in life. I was sure this one took the cake. I was going
to walk into a vampire bar and do the same exact thing that got a human killed in
a regular bar two nights ago. Yea, totally brilliant.

It was my night off. I had earned that after the mess that was the previous night.
I left the jeep at my place, and had stashed the brush in my dresser. I felt safe
at least in that those were secure as I called a cab to take me to the Last Drop.

I could practically feel the disapproving glance of the cab driver when I told him
the address. I mean, I could have made him feel better by telling him I was doing
it to go undercover and try to find a missing girl, but my attire didn’t exactly scream
‘professional investigator’. I wore a black shirt and jeans, both of which had seen
better days. The collar of the shirt, thankfully, hid the forming scars of the bite
from last night. It was hard to believe, but the wound had rapidly healed. I’d have
to ask Amy about that.

The cabby dropped me off on the corner near the Last Drop, so I had to walk the rest
of it. I suffered his disapproving look as I paid him. Sure, the Arcane races were
out of the closet. Didn’t mean that most people had to like it.

I walked to the line and queued up. As I was waiting, I got a call from Matt. “Hey,
man what’s going on?” Matt said, greeting me as I answered.

“Oh, just, uh, running some errands tonight. Going to be busy all night. How’s it
going?”

“Pretty good. Heard about what happened at the bar last night. You all right, man?
I mean, a vampire, damn.”

“I…I’m all right. I guess.” Well, what the hell was I supposed to say? There’s some
unspoken rule of society that you always have to say that you’re fine whenever anyone
asks.

“All right, well, if you need anything, you give me a call.”

“Yea, sure man. Later.” I hung up, and went back to waiting silently. I was just one
of a few dozen waiting in line. I don’t do clubs for this reason. Give me a nice bar
any day. After about twenty minutes of waiting, I was ready to leave.

Then I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned around to face the source.

It was one of the bouncers, a heavy-set man of indeterminate age. He was shorter than
me, but he was definitely bigger. “You’re in.” He said in a gruff monotone.

“Excuse me?” I asked. Yes, that was what you were supposed to do. Look the gift horse
in the mouth, count its teeth, make sure it's not a vampire.

“You’re in.” He repeated, and started to walk towards the front. I followed, a little
surprised.

One person in line, a guy with a goth blond hanging off his arm, protested. “Hey,
why does he get to go in? We’ve been waiting out here forever!”

“He was invited,” said the bouncer.

The first thought that ran through my head was, succinctly, “oh, crap.” Who knew me
here? Why did I get to go in? Had I attracted attention? What if Darius was in there,
looking to finish the job that he’d tried to start last night? That would not be good,
in the understatement of the year.

The inside of the club was loud. A loud, rap number with heavy bass filled the dance
floor. Dozens of bodies were grinding and slamming against each other. Each dancer
seemed as lewd and careless as the next. People of various ethnicities, all dressed
to their nines of skimpy and alluring clothes. I felt out of place, in my t-shirt
and jeans. I hadn’t thought of looking like vampire bait tonight.

The Last Drop was bigger than it looked. I had taken a few stairs down to get to the
entrance to the club, which occupy to inhabit the entire two-story building. A large
dance floor inhabited the center of the club, with booths lining the walls. To the
right was a bar, easily twice the size of the one at McLellan’s, with two bartenders
working at breakneck speed. I wasn't too shabby when it came to making drinks, but
they were damn good.

I felt a little lost in the club. I’d been invited, but no one had come to see me
in besides the bouncer. That person was obviously interested in me, in some way, shape,
or form, and it would have been pretty rude to just go off without introducing myself.
Ah, the wonders of having a country upbringing.

But I couldn’t just stand in the doorway. So, I decided to venture out into the club.
I headed towards the bar and ordered a beer from a bartender with a face way too pale
to be alive.

I’d just found myself a stool to sit on when a woman approached me. She was dressed
in a black dress, exposing long dusky limbs. Her legs seemed to go on forever, and
it took me a moment to pull my eyes away. The rest of her was hardly horrific to look
at. Curves in just the right proportions filled her slinky dress. She had dark hair
that tumbled down to her shoulders, and big, dark eyes.

“You know,” She started, her voice a soft purr. “Pretty little morsels like yourself
should not just be left to wander around unattended.”

I felt a little uncomfortable at that moment. I hate being sized up like she was doing.
“I’m not food.”

“Oh, but the smell.” She said, and leaned closer to me. She inhaled from where I’d
been bit. “It’s fresh, but healed. Fascinating.”

“I wasn’t aware I was a lab rat to study.” I remarked, resisting the urge to roll
my eyes.

“Not a lab rat, but an anomaly, for sure.” She remarked. “You wonder how you got in,
right, with no connections here?” At my nod, she answered. “First-timers aren’t as
welcome here. You, however, you have spirit, and you’ve been bit before…” She moved
to trace a finger across my arm.

I grabbed her wrist, even if I knew I couldn’t out muscle her. “Not by choice.” I
said. “Hands off, Missy.”

“Missy?” She giggled. “I’m easily ten times your age, and you call me ‘Missy’? I think
I like you.” She made as if to power my arm off her wrist, but froze as her hand darted
to mine, mid air.

I watched her as she remained there with an inhuman stillness. She didn’t breathe,
didn’t move at all. “Uh, hello?” I waved my free hand. “Anyone home?”

Her eyes fluttered a moment, the first sing of movement. Then her big dark eyes locked
on mine. “Come with me, you’ve attracted his interest.”

She took a step back, and I let go of her wrist. “And just who is he?” I asked her.

“Why, the Count.” She said. “He has offered you his hospitality and wishes for you
to introduce yourself to him.”

She gestured in a direction, towards a corner where some stairs led up to the second
floor. I started off, with her at my side. “I’m Eric.” I said. “Can I at least have
the name of the woman who sniffed me up?”

“Teresa.” She said, her voice practically purring. “In my defense, you’re an interesting
smell, Eric.”

“Yea, so I’ve been told.” I guessed, from the way she moved, she was a vampire. But
what was that odd freezing thing? “So, uh, what’s the deal with you vampires and smells?
And weres for that matter too?”

We walked up the stairs, Teresa handling them very well despite the heels she wore.
“Both of us have need of it. It allows us to tell territory, to tell what things truly
are, to differentiate friend from foe, predator from prey.” She grinned when she said
the last word.

“And my smell told you what?”

“Your smell lied.” She smiled. “You smelt like prey, but your actions proved otherwise.”
A chuckle escaped her well-formed lips. “Tricky little thing, you are.”

The stairs brought us to a hallway. Teresa walked up to the first door on the left,
and opened it. I followed her.

The room proved to be a suite, looking over the main floor of the club. The room was
an interesting clash of opposites. It was well-furnished, but practical. I didn’t
know interior decorating, but I could tell when people paid a lot for their furniture.
Once upon a time, I had tried to move in those kinds of circles.

The opening out onto the floor of the club showed the main floor, with the horde of
bodies moving and writhing. To the side furthest from the door were several chairs.
Only one was inhabited at the moment, with a few people standing.

It was the man in the chair who caught my eye. He was definitely a vampire. I could
feel, already, the power that pulsed from him, the sheer dark energy that emanated
from him. His features were sharp. Strong jaw, angular features, and a widow’s peak
defined his face. The man wore black, with a silk poet’s shirt and pants that I was
sure cost as much as a month’s rent for me. It’s the little things that are the most
disheartening.

Teresa spoke, but what she said wasn’t English. High school French was nearly a decade
ago, but none of the words were familiar. It wasn’t a Romance language, I could tell
that much.

The man nodded, and spoke. “I think that, to earn the trust of this one, we should
switch to the tongue of the land, no?” His voice held an accent to it, one I couldn’t
even begin to identify. Accents are hard to place, a lot of the time, because teachers
and origins can seriously screw with our preconceptions of an accent. He wasn't from
this neck of the woods, though.

“Of course, Count.” Teresa nodded. “This one calls himself Eric.”

“Eric Carpenter, sir.” I answered. “Or, uh, Count.”

“Ishmael.” The man introduced himself. He gave me an inquisitive look, catching something
on my face. “Something amuses you?”

“Ever read Herman Melville?” I asked him. At his nod, I said. “I have a Master’s in
English Literature. I can make the jokes, but I won’t.”

“I commend your self-control. Much more foolish men have made jests at me, and I don’t
enjoy being the brunt of a joke.” He rose, his movements slower than Teresa’s had
been. But he moved with a slow, easy grace, as if he expended no effort at all in
standing. “I am Count Ishmael, ruler of the district of the California Bay Area, and
all vampires who dwell in it.”

“It’s a pleasure, Count Ishmael.” I said. “Thank you for your offer of hospitality.”

Ishmael laughed, and started to walk towards me. “Well, you have courtesy, Eric Carpenter.
That’s a rare thing in this day and age.” He extended a hand to me.

I shook it, and as I did, tingles flew up my spine. What the hell was that? I struggled
to say something for a moment, before stumbling out with. “Well, what can I say? My
grandma raised me with just a drop of respect.”

He let go of my hand, and turned to sit back down. “And was it from your grandmother
that you got your power?”

I froze. Damn, this man had my number. It was a bit scary, to be honest. I was at
a disadvantage, plain and simple. “My power?” I asked.

“My, is there an echo in here, Teresa?” Ishmael asked as he seated himself back in
the chair.

Teresa smiled. “Why, I think there is, sir.”

I bristled, feeling very much like the prey Teresa said I smelled like. Ishmael shrugged,
and held a hand up, as if to placate me. “Sorry, Mister Carpenter. I couldn’t resist.
You are a witch, yes?”