Bite Me: Big Easy Nights Read online

  “Okey dokey.” He pulled out a digital voice recorder, turned it on. “If I say stop, you’ll listen?” I nodded and he turned to Emerson. “Please continue, Lieutenant.”

  Emerson gave up on the glare, turned back to me. “You headed upstairs. How did you know which room?”

  “From the office computer. Someone started shooting before I got there, and there were two vamps in the hall. I didn’t see whoever killed the clerk.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Neither of them was covered in blood.”

  “Okay. Then?”

  “I started shooting.”

  “Rather intemperate, don’t you think? Who were they?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Did they have guns? You couldn’t have said ‘Stop or I’ll shoot?’ I only want to know why you jumped from seeing two vampires to Game On.” Darren held up a finger, looked at me while I thought about it.

  Crap. I didn’t want Emerson thinking there was some kind of Vampire War going on—especially since there was.

  “They were attacking Mr. Dupree,” I said finally.

  “Did you see them fighting?”

  “No.”

  “And you don’t know them.”

  “Objection, Lieutenant,” Darren said. “Asked and answered.”

  “So you started shooting. Then?”

  “I got one bad enough that he bugged out. The other one tried for me; I stopped him.”

  Emerson smiled for the first time, not a pretty smile but an honest one. “And thank you for that. It’s damn hard to arrest a resisting vampire without peeling him out of his crypt—if we can find it.”

  I didn’t bother asking if they knew how to keep a vamp. So he owed me a favor now, in the unofficial way that policemen could. Hopefully I didn’t have to cash it now.

  “And then?”

  I shrugged. “Not much. Mr. Dupree came out, I stepped inside, I calmed Marco down, and then you guys came through the door.”

  “You calmed him down.”

  And there went the favor. Darren looked carefully blank. Emerson could arrest me on assault for feeding from a donor without expressed consent, and though there wasn’t a specific law against stealing someone’s memories, they could fold it into the assault charge too.

  “Will he be a reliable witness?” was all Emerson said.

  “Mr. Dupree will be more useful.”

  He drummed his fingers on the table. I wasn’t asking about the third vamp who’d been in the room when I started shooting. The one who really liked blood. Emerson had to have already talked to Dupree so he’d know what to ask me, but he was a cop and cops don’t share.

  “Dupree’s attacker was white, average height. Any ideas?”

  Okay, he was sharing now. Not looking at Darren, I reluctantly shook my head. Emerson sighed.

  “Sign a statement detailing what you just told me and we’ll release your stuff.”

  “That’s it?”

  “We’ve got you on 9-1-1, got Mr. Dupree’s testimony, the only thing we can seriously hold you on is Marco—and we’re back to no jury ever convicting. I should charge you and lock you up just so you’ll stay out of my way, but with your man Darren that would only buy me a day. But Jacky?” He ignored Darren, locking eyes with me in a way people who know us just won’t do with a vamp.

  “Hmm?”

  “Stay out of my way.”

  * * *

  I got back to the safe house as blue sky began switching off the stars.

  Darren had confirmed my shopping list—with a few hints that knowing what it was for would be helpful. I’d shut him down, hinting back that the less he knew the less he’d have to lie about, and left him outside the precinct. I was beginning to think that the best idea might be to just call in the DSA and let them do what they did best: flood the ground with agents, detain, question, test everybody in sight, and sweep up the mess.

  Punching in the security code, I let the system know I was supposed to be here and did a quick review of all monitor alerts. Nobody had been here since I locked it down. I locked myself in, still chewing on the problem.

  The problem was the DSA couldn’t do all that quietly. As much as I disliked my kind on general principle, Paul was right—few of them deserved the public shit storm a full DSA containment operation would bring. And the public hysteria aside, like I’d told Paul, the fact that vampires didn’t know about the whole potential master vampire thing was one of the best protections against one discovering what he was.

  Which meant I had to get ahead of Emerson’s investigation fast—hard to do when I didn’t know where it was going. If Emerson managed to roll the vamp they had in custody he might get a lot more than he was looking for. Why had they gone after Dupree? None of it made any sense. On the off-chance, I pulled out my epad and looked at the report pictures on the overdose victims Paul had sent me eons ago. I didn’t recognize them, from Angels or anywhere else.

  I did a walk-through of the building, even the upstairs, before going back to the security room and resetting the alarms.

  There were three possibilities: Dupree knew something dangerous, he might do something dangerous, or killing him was a message. But he’d already talked to the police, now that he was a known threat he couldn’t be much of one, and what message? That the hypothetical master vamp was crazy? At least Emerson had ruled out two suspects; he would have recognized either Leroy or MC from Dupree’s description, even under a hood and Mardi Gras mask.

  I unrolled my blanket and lay back. There was still only one string I could see to pull on, and it would be dangerous as hell. My reason for seeking out Dupree hadn’t changed; I’d need—

  I finally realized what I was looking at. Sometime between when Paul had shown me the place and I’d got back, somebody had written GET OUT on the security room wall. With a shaky hand, using… motor oil?

  “Seriously? Seriously?”

  I called Darren on my burner phone and left a message adding two more items to my shopping list, used my cell to text a request to Paul asking who had died in my “safe house” then went to sleep.

  The Lone Ranger woke me just before sunset.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Abduction is such an ugly word; I prefer “forceful relocation.”

  Jacky Bouchard, The Artemis Files.

  * * *

  Casper the Unfriendly Ghost hadn’t written anything new on the wall. Paul’s answering text told me there were no public records of any recent deaths on the property—but given the previous occupants, anyone who died here probably went into the sewer. I called to check on Grams, said no to coming home.

  The next few hours passed tediously. My emergency gear included a bug sweeper and I went over the place inch by inch, even checking the integrity of the security system to make sure Emerson wasn’t being clever. I belatedly did the same for the Cadi. Then I haunted the outside, hovering as mist, patiently looking for watchers. Either Emerson trusted me more than I thought or his people were better at surveillance than I was.

  Yeah, right.

  I called Darren an hour after sunset and gave the drop location—three blocks away behind a closed storefront—and got there on time to watch him arrive and unpack the gear from his car. I waited fifteen minutes after he left before dropping down and tying it all up, and swept it for bugs and transmitters before bringing it home. Then I took my first shower in too many days and got dressed. Overdressed.

  Coming back downstairs, I noticed Casper had managed to add an exclamation point and smiled. The exercise was probably good for him, but it would take forever to move beyond the clichés so I unpacked the extras I’d asked for: one toy Ouija board, one digital movie camera, and a tripod. I set both up, leaving the slider in the middle of the board, then packed up the rest of the gear and reset the alarms.

  “Okay,” I said to the air before turning out the lights. “Express yourself.”

  * * *

  A good abduction requires two elements: a suc
cessful, unnoticed grab, and an untraceable and secure location. The first is important because it buys you time to get to your secure location before interested parties start searching for your victim, the second because again, you don’t want to be found.

  My situation complicated both elements; my target was already a Person of Interest with the police, which made the first element more difficult, and I didn’t have time to arrange a location that was both secure and untraceable. If the police started looking and they thought I was involved, they’d find us—which meant I needed for them to be looking away from me long enough for me to get the job done.

  For that I needed a specific accomplice and some luck.

  Calling Dupree, I asked what his car looked like and told him he’d meet me alone in the parking lot of the Hotel De La Monnaie if he wanted to help his sister. Getting there first, I parked and left the Cadi to roost on the hotel roof.

  I didn’t trust anyone, but I’d bet on family.

  And it looked like I’d bet on the right family; Dupree’s truck turned into the parking lot twenty minutes later, circled, and stopped in the dark corner near the service entrance. More minutes of watching failed to turn up any tails, no cars stopping for no reason or passengers just sitting. If he still had watchers, they were staying well back, and with his silver tinted windows nobody would see us talk if we kept the cabin light off.

  I floated down, alert to the slightest change in the air. Dupree had cracked his windows in the muggy night, I was sitting beside him before he realized—and found myself facing a very big gun.

  “Silver loads,” he said. “Blessed by the Church.”

  I watched the gun, not blinking. Damn it—forget about the blessed silver, he’d obviously been learning the lore; he’d know how to finish me. “You thought about last night. Is that a .45?”

  “Yep. Tell me why I shouldn’t use it.”

  “Because the police can’t help your sister.”

  “And why can’t I?”

  “Because however many vamps you kill for good, you can’t free her unless you find and kill her master. Maybe not even then.”

  “And you can?”

  “I can try.”

  “Why?” His aim wavered fractionally; the heavy pistol had to be fatiguing his merely human arm in its cramped position, but that didn’t reassure me.

  “Honestly? I just want her master.” I raised my eyes from the barrel. “And I’ve been where she is.”

  “You look it.”

  I looked down at the black satin, lace-trimmed corset top I wore under my jacket. I had to admire his restraint; most guys would be staring at my chest, or at my legs—so pale they practically glowed in the dark beneath the matching microskirt. His eyes didn’t leave my face.

  “Ha, ha. Everyone criticizes my wardrobe choices. Do I pick them for me? No. This is what your sister wears, you idiot, and I have a wig to match.”

  “A wig to— What?” Now his gun dropped as he tried to figure out what the hell that was supposed to mean. I could try taking it away, or try a little influence, now that he wasn’t tight as a wire.

  Not a good idea. I’d been his original target, and if he was paranoid enough he might wonder if I was behind last night’s attack—my arrival had been awfully convenient. He’d be wondering what kind of game I was running, and if it might be smart to simplify things by burying me.

  “Emerson is investigating V-Juice distribution,” I said. “He knows Angels is a source and vampires are involved. He’s got to be watching Acacia—Stephanie—and he may be right. But even if she’s involved she’ll never turn on her master unless someone breaks her enthrallment. And Emerson doesn’t think vampires can be enthralled.”

  “Why?”

  “Because we can’t, not normally, not permanently. But we can if we’re enthralled before we’re turned, before we become vampires.”

  A crunch outside the window—Dupree twitched, I flinched, and light played over us as the car that hit the pothole turned at the end of the row and drove by us, exiting the lot. The normal insect-chorus of spring returned and he relaxed. If I’d been alive I’d have broken into a sweat. Dying hurt, and this might be the last time.

  I should have called Hope.

  Dupree’s eyes changed and he lowered the gun, released the trigger. Oh good. Nobody was going to die.

  He safetied the gun. “Where did you kill?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Last night. You’ve seen death before, bodies. Just now…you’re a cold one. You’ve been on the battlefield.”

  “So have you.”

  “Four years Army infantry. Asia, Middle East. You?”

  “South Side Chicago, LA. Side of the angels.”

  He thought about that, nodded. “I’ll give you that, after what you did for Marco. Screaming nightmares of your own?”

  “Vampires don’t dream.” Thank God for that.

  “So, what’s the plan?”

  * * *

  Dupree hated the plan, but it had the virtue of flexibility and we could cut out any time up ‘til the last step. The best plans let you live to try again.

  He left to start his end of it. I stayed to make certain he wasn’t followed, then got back in the Cadi. A final call to Father Graff checked another box, and I drove carefully back through the Quarter and into the Garden District.

  Darren’s information had surprised me; Acacia-Stephanie lived in one of the neighborhood’s nicer homes. He’d sent pictures. On a long and narrow property, it had fancy ironwork, a deep front porch with floor to ceiling windows, even a carriage lamp hanging over the front door. Anyone standing on the second floor balcony could look across the street into Lafayette Cemetery, but it was hardly the trendy residence of a punky-goth vamp like “Acacia.” Was she living in someone’s real estate investment?

  Heavy trees cast the streets in deep shadow despite the sliver of moon, and I drove by without stopping or bothering to check for the watchers I assumed to be there.

  If they weren’t now, they would be.

  If Hope had told me two months ago that I’d be dodging cops again, I’d have believed her; as much as I valued her friendship, the Sentinels weren’t an easy fit. But stalking other vamps in the Big Easy and trying to do it without leaving a footprint when the cops already knew who I was...

  In Chicago, it had been easy to take down gangs that encroached on my “territory”—so many visible moving parts. Even street-level supervillains hadn’t been a problem. Half the time I wouldn’t even fight them directly; I’d just “question” gang-bangers who never remembered our conversations, get pictures, video, put together a package of information the police could use to get probable cause for warrants, and let the cops and the capes straighten them out. The detectives in my neighborhood precinct had gotten used to finding mysterious envelopes on their desks or car seats (and I almost certainly existed in a thick police file labeled Unknown Informant).

  But I’d still had to stay out of sight. As much as people liked us in the movies, in real life vigilantes were considered a Bad Thing by law enforcement. And I didn’t know Emerson well enough to know whether Stay out of my way meant Don’t let me catch you or Stay the hell away from my investigation. It certainly meant Mess up my investigation and I’ll bury you.

  Even so, this was my element.

  I parked on the other side of the block, cracked the window, grabbed my gear, and went to mist. Acacia’s driveway was around the corner from the front of her house, with an electric gate. She drove a black motorcycle, a tricked-out Harley nicer than Paul’s, and according to Darren she always left just after sunset to join Belladonna at the club. As inseparable as the two of them were in public, I wondered why she lived alone.

  I floated, alert, over backyard fences and driveways. TV sounds drifted through open windows, and one neighbor’s party spilled onto his back porch, cheerful and loud. A partier might have felt me, a drift of slightly damper air, but no conversations stumbled, nobody shivered and look
ed around. I found Acacia’s driveway and followed it to her darkened backyard.

  A few months into my vigilante career, I’d almost gotten seriously hosed in a mission gone bad. I’d been overconfident, screwed up the Breaking and Entering part, and a seriously pissed off pyrokinetic villain had nearly immolated me. After that I found a teacher (the best kind, a Shall Remain Nameless career thief who’d never been caught), and now I perched in a tree across the driveway and looked at Acacia’s property with professional eyes and equipment. A system of passive infrared detection and photo-electric beams protected her backyard. When the sensors picked up a heat source (like a human body), the photo-electric system would kick in to “map” the size of the source. Anything smaller than a large dog wouldn’t trigger the alarm. Probably.

  And it was wrong; the system was worthless against a vamp unless she’d overfed recently and actually had a detectible body temperature. A room-temperature vamp? Forget it. But long minutes of searching failed to turn up anything else. There could be stuff I wouldn’t see—but all those systems, like passive magnetic field detectors, would either be just as useless or generate too many false-positives in an outdoor environment to be useful.

  I finally repacked everything. Nothing to see here, moving on.

  Floating over the property wall and up to the house, I found the kitchen vent and went in. An hour later, I was still wondering what the hell was going on.

  I’d found and mapped Acacia’s security system, bypassed the stuff I couldn’t avoid, but it was all aimed at what Acacia and Belladonna called breathers. There were more heat sensor and motion detection systems. There were pressure-sensitive sensors in most doorways, break-glass detectors, photo-electric sensors in the armored walls of her bedroom-crypt—which was at least a proper safe room. If anybody broke in during the day they’d have a hell of a time getting to her before the paid security arrived.

  But it hadn’t stopped me at all. It wouldn’t have stopped any vampire, so why wasn’t she—