henri dunn 01 - immortality cure (19 page)

Classic rock rolled up the stairs along with the low rumble of conversation and the tinkling of glasses. I headed down, careful because my knees and chest were still sore from when the werewolf had knocked me to the ground. I would probably have bruises all over my body tomorrow.

Underground was a small bar, styled like an old English pub except for the dim lighting and neon signs. The bar and tables were wood, the chairs were cheap and basic, the stools were covered in blue Naugahyde. A neon sign to the left of the bar said “Underground” in big, glowing letters. The bar had mirrors behind it and glass shelves made of black wood. Neon beer signs glowed in the mirrors and helped illuminate the space.

It was pretty crowded and I remembered it was a Friday night. There were a few empty seats at the bar and a table or two left unoccupied, but the small pub was doing steady business. I remembered standing behind the bar on nights like these, slinging vodka tonics and pints of beer to vampires, groupies, and ghost hunters, alongside the odd tourist who wandered in despite the plain entrance and general “not your best party spot” vibe. The vibe was fostered by keeping the music at a normal volume and helped along by a sign in big bold letters that said “No shots.” I’d pointed to it many a night, much to the chagrin of whatever punch-drunk college kid tried to order a round of slippery nipples. Nights like those, I’d wished there were magical wards that would keep mundane humans away, but unfortunately, magic usually works like a hammer or a scalpel and there’s no in between. Either a spell is attuned to one specific person or people via bodily fluids, or it works for (or in this case, against) everyone equally.

Tonight, I spotted a few regulars at the bar, including a mortal real estate agent who brokered deals for many immortals, and a couple of vampire groupies.

Rhonda was behind the bar. Figured.

I had no idea if she’d serve me or not, and I really did not want to get thrown out of the bar like common trash, but I also really needed a fucking drink.

I popped an Altoid to diffuse the heat in my mouth and found a seat on one of the empty barstools. Rhonda smiled in my direction, plastic customer service smile faltering when she realized who I was, and then brightening again out of sheer practice.

“Can I help you?” she asked, as if I were a total stranger.

Fuck it
, I thought. I wasn’t here for friendly conversation. “Gin and tonic,” I said. I put a twenty on the bar just so she knew I wasn’t there to play games or try to score freebies. She gave me my drink, rang me up, and set the change in front of me before moving down the bar.

It stung—being slapped in the face repeatedly by people who used to consider me worthy of their attention always would—but that’s what the alcohol was for.

The gin was strong and tasted of pine, the citrus tasting funny with the mint in my mouth. I sipped and pulled out my phone. I had a text from Neha. My heart hammered as I remembered Sean’s quick exit, but the text was just to tell me that she’d made it home. Like we were friends and I gave a damn.

I laughed out loud and the real estate guy looked up from his phone to sneer at my outburst. I ignored him. The irony wasn’t lost on me. Here I was, annoyed that people like Rhonda wished I’d crawl in a hole and die, while the one person I didn’t want anything to do with kept acting like she’d done me some great favor and we were BFFs.

And despite the bitterness that soured my veins, I
was
a little relieved Sean hadn’t broken her neck. At least, not yet.

God, was that human weakness or had I always been such a sucker? I thought of Kate and took a long swig of my drink. That pretty much answered my question.

It didn’t assuage my doubts about Jake, though. In the space of two hours, I’d convinced myself he was the culprit and put him on the chopping block. Neha, too, had had opportunity and motive. She hadn’t liked Ray’s project. They could have fought and she could have killed in him in a fit of rage or to protect her lab. And with him out of the way, maybe she’d gone to celebrate, run into a vampire, and stuck him with the Cure to see what happened, not realizing Ray had hidden his serum among her vials.

I sighed and drank more, and then my drink was empty. Rhonda refilled it without a word and did not touch the cash left on the bar. I didn’t touch it either. Drinks like these ran about six bucks, so she could ring it up later or keep the cash as a tip for free drinks. Whatever made her happy. I took my glass and slid off the barstool, a little unsteady but feeling good.

Feeling
great
, actually. One drink had vanquished the constant thrum of aches and pains and the overall exhaustion I’d felt since turning mortal, and I could understand immediately why so many vampire groupies drank heavily.

Alcohol buzzed in my head and veins and drowned out the noise of my running internal monologue. I glanced around the bar, looking for something. I didn’t even know what. It felt good not to be burdened with doubts or worries, and I wanted to prolong that feeling.

At a corner table, near the back of the bar, I saw Erin, the woman I’d met at Movement, standing at the side of a booth, waiting for the others in her group to let her back in. My breath caught. She was radiant, laughing at something one of her pals said, her curly hair floating freely around her face. She wore a bright red corset over black pants and a t-shirt, Renaissance Faire meets business casual.

The gin drowned all hesitation, and I marched straight up to her table, only realizing as I reached her what it meant that she was at
this
bar.

Her eyebrows rose when she saw me, and she turned away from the booth, gesturing for her friend to sit back down instead of letting her in.

Erin smiled, but it looked more plastic than her smile the other night. Or maybe that was the gin making me paranoid. Did gin do that? I couldn’t remember. “Henri,” she said.

“Hey,” I said. “You’re here.”

She gave me an odd look and then pulled me aside, away from her friends. “Didn’t think you came to Underground anymore,” she said.

I frowned and took a swig of my gin and tonic, setting the nearly empty glass on the bar. The alcohol warmed my stomach. “You recognized me from here?”

Erin’s smile dropped from her face, her expression turning carefully neutral. “Is that bad?” she asked.

I swore and rubbed my eyes. “You’re a witch.”

It wasn’t a question. She wasn’t a vampire groupie, as far as I could tell. Her outfit revealed plenty of skin, including her wrists and neck, and there were zero bite marks or bruises from marks that had faded. There were other places a vampire might draw blood, but most groupies had some kind of mark on their neck, like a perpetual hickey. Besides, she’d never spoken to me until after I’d stopped being a vampire. I didn’t recognize her at all, which meant she probably wasn’t the one in her group who ordered drinks when I’d been a bartender here. Vampire groupies will usually find any excuse to be close to a vampire, so avoiding the order line wouldn’t be in line with their modus operandi. It was unlikely her ragtag group of friends had stumbled in here by accident when there were brighter, louder clubs.

Which meant she was a psychic of some kind or a witch. I made a guess.

“So?” she asked, confirming it. She folded her arms over her chest. “All my friends are.”

I let out a breath, irritation sobering me up faster than coffee. “Goddamn it. You only wanted to gawk at me because I’m an ex-vampire or whatever.”

“Can you blame me?” Erin asked. I wished she’d denied it. That she’d said she thought I was pretty or sexy or funny or that she figured I could use some friends after my ordeal. But she didn’t. My heart sank into my stomach, splashing bile up my throat. It wasn’t like Erin was the love of my life and it was some great betrayal or anything, but it stung. And I was starting to feel like a wasp’s nest.

My expression must have made my thoughts clear, because hers softened. “There are stories of witches trying to reverse vampirism dating back hundreds of years. Someone finally did it. So sue me, I was curious.”

“Magic didn’t do this to me,” I said bitterly. “Science did.”

“There’s more overlap between science and magic than people think. And you’re fascinating, you know?” I perked up at that, still stupidly hopeful. “Most people would give anything to be magical, to have power like a vampire, but you gave it up.”

“I didn’t do this voluntarily,” I snapped. Erin flinched, like my words were acid in her face.

After a tense pause, she said, “See? That’s interesting. But a lot of vampires want to give it up, or think they do. It’s messed up. You get turned into something powerful and strong, and suddenly long for weakness.”

I thought of Jake. Of how shaky and desperate he’d been for a booster as Ray’s werewolf drug wore off. Had Jake wanted normalcy and killed Ray for it? But then why raid the fridge and take the stuff? No, it must have been a rage killing, maybe an accident. A disagreement of some kind. Why hadn’t I forced Jake to confess and explain his motives before handing him over to the vampires? I doubt they’d bother with that kind of nuance. Lark had made it clear she just wanted this whole thing over with.

And what the hell did I care? It was now officially Not My Problem.

And yet, something scratched at the back of my brain, a tiny rabid animal that would be not be ignored. Jake’s pleas of innocence resonated in my brain and while he had motive, I was no longer sure it made him guilty. If Jake could have killed Ray in a fight, so could Neha. And they both had reasons to jam a needle in a vampire’s arm. Except Neha had a history of that kind of thing.

Erin snapped her fingers in front of my face and I was jolted out of my thoughts. “Earth to Henri. Geez. How many of those have you had?” She nodded to my drink on the bar.

“Not enough,” I said. “I have to go.”

“Okay, well, if you ever want to get a drink—”

“And be studied like some school project? No, thanks.”

I turned on my heel and marched up the stairs, ignoring Erin’s protests. I didn’t need friends. I need my immortality back. But first, I needed to make sure I hadn’t just tossed some innocent guy to the wolves. Or the vampires.

T
HE
F
ACTORY WASN’T FAR
. My plan was simple: ask to see Jake one last time, assuming he was still alive and I could save him. Then I’d cut his arm, taste his blood, and settle the issue of his guilt once and for all. If he was guilty, I’d let him burn, figuratively speaking. It wasn’t my place to save him from a cruel end if he deserved it. If he was innocent, well, I’d have to figure out my next steps then. Lark had seemed surprisingly reasonable about the whole thing, and I doubted she wanted to kill him if he hadn’t hurt Thomas.

Of course, without another suspect, that left my neck in the guillotine, but I’d cross that bridge when I came to it.

I weaved through crowds of people waiting to get into clubs despite the fact that last call was quickly approaching, breathing a sigh of relief as I left the block of bars behind and ended up on a quieter street, the cacophony of voices and bass-heavy club music fading as I moved toward the Factory.

I knocked. The door opened immediately, and a familiar security guard waved me inside. Guess I wasn’t off the guest list just yet.

Inside, the Factory sounded a hell of a lot like one of the nightclubs. Music and voices filtered down the hall from the rooms further in, which I knew included the mortals’ hangouts and a ballroom where Cazimir held galas fit for a prince. I’d gone to one or two as an immortal, but never stayed long. Royal balls were before my time, and I found Cazimir’s version stuffy and strange.

“I need to see the prisoner,” I said. “If he’s not dead yet.”

The guard eyed me dubiously before pressing a button on the radio attached to his shirt pocket. “Status of the prisoner?” he asked.

A static-filled reply told us both that that information was “confidential.” The guard shrugged at me. “Guess you need to talk to the man in charge,” he said.

Of course. No way it could be that easy. I wished I’d stopped to take stock and really think before dragging Jake to the Factory. But his guilt had seemed obvious in the heat of the moment, when I was desperate to find a suspect.

“Where is Cazimir?” I demanded.

“Dunno,” the guard said and went back to his post near the door.

Cazimir was into parties where he could steal the show, not modern, floor-pounding dance-offs, but I headed in direction of the noise just in case. The party looked sadder than it sounded. Despite the thumping bass, only three people writhed on the dance floor and they weren’t exactly keeping a beat. Other mortals played wallflower, and the only two vampires I saw were sitting at the edge of the action, looking bored. One of them, a guy wearing leather with spiked hair and a spiked collar around his neck, was closest to the door. I stepped up to Count Gothula and said, “Hey.”

He ignored me. Vampires have pretty keen hearing, so I knew he was being a dick. I repeated myself. When that failed to elicit a reaction, I touched his shoulder. His head spun around so fast I thought his neck might break. He shot me an indignant glare, hissed with his fangs, and shoved my hand away. Maybe that terrorized the groupies, but it didn’t faze me. Much.