West Coast Witch (9 page)

I figured he could probably smell it if I lied. So, reluctantly, I answered. “Yes.”

He nodded. “There are few vampires who are old enough to remember what a witch smelled
like.” He studied me, looking me over. “Not a line I know, but that’s no surprise.
It’s been two centuries since I’ve seen one of yours.”

“And what about it?” I asked.

“I’m unsure, as of yet. Your kind is known for being troublemakers and ones to tip
balances of power. But, that can be interesting.” He sniffed the air a moment. “Is
that silver I smell?”

Again, I knew better than to lie. “Yes, it is.”

“He’s clever.” Teresa remarked. “Our guard didn’t detect it.”

A noise of disapproval escaped Ishmael. “I’ll have to dock his pay for that one. Silver
shouldn’t be in here. We’ll let that one slide, though. You could see how we could
construe that as a threat, yes?” he said, and I nodded. “So, you were bitten last
night?”

“Yes, Count.” I nodded. “A vampire named Darius thought I had information he wanted,
and he tried to suck it out of me.”

“Darius.” He furrowed his brow, and then looked to Teresa. “That name is not familiar
to me. Teresa?”

“He is not one of your subjects, sir,” she supplied.

“In my territory, and he doesn’t declare himself.” A growling noise bubbled from his
throat, and his lips peeled back. He flashed his fangs for only a moment. “Would you
like justice, Mister Carpenter?”

“Yea, I would.” I nodded, though I admit I had a bit more growl in my voice than I
intended. Yea, I was pissed about it. “Since I got bit, all this shit’s happened to
me. I’m not complaining about the supernatural, but I was assaulted.”

“He would have to have been seen to, even if you did not seek justice.” Ishmael said.
“I would have hunted him. He drank of a witch, and that always causes...complications.”

“Complications?” I asked.

“When a vampire drinks of an Arcane’s blood, there is a small chance of gaining its
powers. Vampires who drink from weres can, over time, develop the ability to change
their form. From a Fae, some abilities of glamour. But a witch…this is interesting.”
He stroked the line of his jaw, pondering.

“Interesting? What do you mean?”

“Witch’s blood is strong. Once, many years ago, I tasted it. He may well develop powers.
That will make him dangerous. And he may come for more. If he drained you, oh…that
is a scary thought.” He smiled. “I suggest you find protection soon. Ally yourself
with one of the players in town. After you find your protection, you can safely move
in these circles.”

“Ally myself? How does that work?” I asked him.

“Well, it’s simple. You would approach one of the leaders. The Alpha of the were packs,
myself, or maybe one of the minor players in the city.
 
Any one of them would probably accept a witch like you. In return, you would serve
as a vassal to them. You would be a knight, your sword employed in return for political
protection.”

“You’re kidding.” I sighed. “That’s…that’s…really old-fashioned.”

“Indeed, but we Arcanes are old creatures. We hate to remove ourselves from trends
that, for us, are only a few generations past.”

“Well, I’ll think on it.” I said. I reminded myself that my reason for coming here
wasn’t to learn every minutiae of Arcane society. “But in the mean time, I have a
few questions I’d like to ask. Maybe someone already came by and asked them, an investigator
named Raymond Francis.”

Ishmael shook his head. “No, I know no such name.”

“Then how about a U.S. marshal, James Thomas?”

“Thomas, now him I remember.. He came asking some questions about our clientele. What
is this regarding?”

“A woman who came here, Sam Coolidge. She was a werefox, about twenty-four or so.”
I summoned my best memory of her. “Average height, short blond hair, very cheery disposition.”

“I know her. Your information, I will give, but at a price.” Ishmael said.

“A price?”

“All things have a price. The modern world worships the god of coin, but we trade
in something a little less tangible in our world, Mister Carpenter.”

“And what do you trade in, Ishmael?” I asked, already regretting it the moment I did.

“Favors. I will give you information you require, but in return, I wish for a favor.
I like you, Mister Carpenter. You’re interesting, and…sincere. I think we can work
together. I promise I will not ask anything to compromise your morals. Only that you
do a favor for me sometime in the future.”

“Sure.” Okay, remember when I said that walking into this club was a terrible idea?

Oh, I knew nothing.

“Let us begin.” Ishmael seemed to sink further in his chair, reclining. “Come, sit.”
He said. He gestured to one of the chairs next to him.

I moved to sit down, and noticed that Teresa had not moved at all since she had first
introduced me to Ishmael. My brain tried to piece together her role in all of this.
Was she in the power structure in some way?
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 

“So, Ishmael, what can you tell me about Sam?”

He tapped a finger against his chin. “She was a lively woman, even for a were. Full
of energy. She was an intelligent girl, bound to move on to bright opportunities.
She was also a regular here, and she associated with several of the vampires here.”
He licked his lips. “Were blood is quite energizing. She was a welcome patron here.”

“Were you involved with her, Count?”

“No, I was not.” He said. “My tastes don't lie towards things that bite back these
days.”

“Well, do you know why she might just disappear?” I asked.

“I do not. Teresa, might you be able to shed some light?”

Teresa pondered for a moment. “Not personally, but I can ask a few of her usual partners
here.”

“Please do so.” Ishmael said. His voice barely changed, but it wasn’t subtle enough
for me not to notice. He’d commanded her.

When Teresa left, I decided to inquire. “So, what’s Teresa’s deal with this?” I asked.

He smiled, and folded his hands across his lap. “You see much.”

“It’s my job to.” I said. “I have to be aware. I’m a bartender.”

“A bartender? The irony. Your talents must be wasted. Why don’t you come work for
me?”

“Because I’m not really the type to go accepting job offers from undead guys I just
met.” I remarked. “And you still haven’t answered my question about Teresa.”

Ishmael nodded. “Indeed. Teresa is my favorite daughter. I found her, two centuries
ago, and she’s served me since.”

“And by daughter, you mean…”

“I made her into what she is now. I’m her father, at least in the vampiric sense of
it. She has sired her own, one or two who now gallivant across the Old World, where
things are much less stringent than here.”

I knew that much. Here in America, the laws had been set down rather fast. You practically
needed a legal contract to bite a human, at least on paper. I imagined what happened
to me last night wasn’t an isolated incident, though. Why would a predator set aside
his nature for legality? So long as the incidents stayed unreported and few, I’m sure
some vampires enjoyed their occasional hunt. That thought was not comforting at all.

“So, do you uh, like, sense what she does?” I asked.

“Somewhat. When she smelled you, I did as well, and I had to invite you up.”

“And when did you figure out what I was?”

“Oh, but that would be telling, Eric Carpenter. Tut tut.” He wagged a finger, as if
scolding. “I can’t tell you all my secrets.”

 
“So you say you’ve met other witches. What were they like?”

“I have met two that I care to discuss. But let’s save that for another night, shall
we? You already owe me one favor.”

I bit my tongue. Curiosity kills cats, and apparently, indebts witches. I figured
to play it safe. “So, did Sam have any enemies here, anyone she pissed off? I mean,
she was a were.”

“Weres and vampires have their disagreements, but you can say that of any race, Mister
Carpenter. When you are here in the Last Drop, you are a guest here. It’s only if
you sully our hospitality that we strike. Never in anger, only in revenge.”

“Right.” Though, I wondered how much of that was just a sound byte to appear innocent.
Ishmael seemed to be of a more serious cut. He knew how to play his games.

Teresa returned after ten minutes. My bottle of beer was empty by that time. She had
with her another vampire, a bald man with a slim build. “Mister Carpenter,” She said.
“This is Robert. He knew Samantha Coolidge.”

“Robert.” I echoed. “Do any of you have surnames?”

“Surnames are something
 
most of us choose to discard when we leave the mortal coil, Mister Carpenter.” Robert
said. His accent was American in origin, though I guessed he was from the northeast.
New England, somewhere. “What do you want to know about Sam?”

“I want to know if there’s any reason she’s disappeared. Did anyone have a beef with
her?”

He nodded. “A week ago, the last time she came to the club. She ran into a man. I
did not see what happened, but I saw the aftermath. Sam had a black eye, and she was
crying. I’d never seen her cry before. I offered to drive her home, but she just said
she’d grab a cab.”

“And that was the last you saw of her?”

He nodded. “I saw her to the cab, and she was gone.” I bit my lip.

“And this was when?”

“Last Wednesday. Sam was here to unwind. She said she’d had a stressful day.”

“You guys talk about it at all?”

“No, the fight happened almost immediately after she got here.”

I thought on that. Maybe if I found who she was fighting with, I could figure out
the next clue here. If only. “Do you know if anyone saw the fight?” I asked Teresa.

“I found no reports of anything. Our patrons can sometimes get…physical in their desires,
Eric. I’m sure you can understand, with blood in the air.” Her pouting lips turned
up in a smile.

“Uh, yea, sure.” I said. “Well, okay, I think I’m done here. Robert, can I grab your
number, if anything else comes up?”

“Of course.” He said, and produced a business card instantly. He handed it to me.

Robert Stewart, Attorney at Law, Tate and Hart Law Firm, it read. “I thought you said
that vampires abandoned their surnames.”

“Vampires, perhaps. Lawyers can’t exactly show up into court with only one name.”
He smirked.

“I thought they were one and the same?” I couldn’t resist.

“Clever, clever.” He rolled his eyes. “Like I haven’t heard that one before.”

“Thank you for your time, Robert.” I stood up. “And thank you for your hospitality,
Ishmael. You’ve been very helpful, but I do need to be going.”

“Did you drive here, Mister Carpenter?” Teresa asked. “Or do you need us to call you
a cab?”

“Teresa,” Ishmael waved a hand towards me. “Why don’t you drive Mister Carpenter home?
I’m sure that he’d appreciate it.”

Teresa smiled. “Of course, my Count.” She bowed to Ishmael, and looked to me. “Very
well, Eric. If you’ll come with me.”

“I don’t want to be a bother.” I insisted.

“But you’re not,” Ishmael said. “It’s my hope you’ll be a friend of my court, Mister
Carpenter. Au Revoir.”

I followed Teresa out of the door. When we got to the hallway, I said. “Listen, I
really don’t want to be a bother. Just call me a cab.”

Teresa sent me a playful look. “Afraid of just a drive home? As nice as you look,
I promise I’ll be a perfect lady.”

She led me down the hallway in the opposite direction. We went down a flight of stairs,
and out a door that led out back. There was a small parking lot there, with a very
big clash of the different cars. Some were obviously staff cars, which were, while
not terrible, used and worn, while others were obviously the higher-class vampires.

The car that Teresa led me to was a black Mustang. It was old, probably twice as old
as I was, and lovingly cared for. “Wow,” I said, running my hand across the hood.
“This is a really nice car.”

“Indeed. Quite the looker, isn’t she?” She smiled. We got into the car, and I gave
her my address. “So, what did you think of the Count?”

“He’s an interesting guy. Not really what I was expecting when I was thinking of a
big shot vampire ruler.”

“Big shot ruler?” She laughed. “I’ve never heard him described quite like that. But,
I suppose it does fit. He’s rather old, even for one of us.”

“And just how old is he?”

“He does not openly talk about it. But he was around to watch the First Crusade. That
alone should tell you something.”