Hunted By The Others (8 page)

I hid a pang of worry. Did this mean I’d have to keep quiet about the items, or could I tell Sara? I decided to leave that problem until later.

“Anyway, that’s not all. This belt was a lucky find, I thought we’d given the last one away a decade ago. The stakes will always return to the belt after use. Oh, and remember, don’t wear it until you’re ready to use it.”

My elation suddenly dried up into something nearing terror. “What? No, no stakes. I don’t do exterminations. I told Veronica that when we met on Thursday.”

“Trust me, you’ll want these.” Arnold wasn’t ruffled by the panic in my voice. We’d reached the double doors leading into his office, and I couldn’t help but be further alarmed noticing that the walk took a lot less time, and we hadn’t passed the star and candles this time around. “Maybe not right away, but they’ll come in handy.”

He thrust the bundled-up belt at me, ignoring my protests. Reluctantly, I picked it up, surprised at how heavy the silly thing was. I hadn’t seen the three solid metal stakes attached to it since he’d had them pressed up against his chest. Peachy keen.

Sourly, I gestured at the book, papers, and stick he was still holding. “What about those?”

He shook his head and dumped them unceremoniously on top of the papers on his desk. “These are for me. You’ve got Veronica’s e-mail, right? If you need anything else, just have her give me a little forewarning and I’ll have it all ready for you. It’ll save you the walk next time.”

I sighed. “Okay. Thanks Arnold, you’ve been a big help. This was way more than I was expecting.”

“Don’t sweat it.” He grinned again, his gaze shifting down to the dice on his desk. He picked up a few and rolled them absently against the desktop. I noted the bright little bits of plastic came to rest with the 20-side, the 10-side, and the 1-side up. His voice was faint, and probably would have gone unheard if I hadn’t been so on edge, taking note of every detail. “And they say divination is a dead art.”

The look he turned to me was speculative, intrigued, and something else I just couldn’t read. Clearing his throat, he walked me over to the blank wall we’d entered through earlier.

“Let me know if this job gives you trouble. You can just call our main number and ask for me.”

I walked through, looking back at him over my shoulder. “Thank you very mu—”

My last words were cut off abruptly as I stepped through the wall and into the main lobby, right next to the receptionist’s desk. She was still typing, and didn’t look up at the sound of my voice. I reached up a hand to lightly run a finger over the huge Impressionist mural on the wall that I’d stepped through. Solid.

With a slight shudder, I rearranged the stuff in my arms, stuck the necklace and vials in my purse, and wrapped the belt up into a loop made awkward by the stakes. As I headed toward the exit, the girl looked up.

“Have a nice day!”

I was so edgy that the sound of her voice cutting through the silence made me jump. She smirked, then focused back on her screen, content to pretend I didn’t exist.

What a day this was turning out to be. I cringed when I realized it had barely started; now I had to face Royce.

Chapter 11

When I left the building, I saw Veronica standing off to one side near a planter, talking to another woman I didn’t recognize. Both of them were wearing chic business suits, and it looked like the other lady’s charcoal gray pantsuit was even more expensive and well tailored than Veronica’s navy blue skirt and jacket. The two of them had cigarettes in hand and were in a heated discussion. Veronica did not look pleased.

I started to approach but she saw me out of the corner of her eye and shook her head at me, mouthing “later” and turning back to the other woman. The woman turned to me, her startlingly bright green eyes staring at me from a lined, frowning face. Her graying hair was pulled tightly back on her skull into a severe bun, making it impossible to miss the disapproval in her gaze, like the teacher that just caught you playing hooky.

If I’d done something wrong, I might have felt uncomfortable. As it was, I just shrugged and kept walking. Maybe she didn’t like my clothes. Yeah, that was it. I’d just call or e-mail Veronica later.

Thinking better of showing up to meet with Royce with stakes on my person, I returned to my car, parked a couple of blocks away, and hid the belt under the front passenger seat. I wanted it out of my hands as quickly as possible. Next I poured a few drops of the perfume onto a finger and dabbed at my throat and wrists, finding the cinnamon-and-cloves scent curiously pleasant. I could get to like this alchemy stuff.

Rather than carry those delicate-looking crystal vials in my purse, I put them in the glove compartment, figuring they were less likely to get jostled around that way. Digging the necklace out from the depths of my purse, I put it on and locked the car up again, hefting the bag over my shoulder. Royce’s downtown office wasn’t too far from The Circle’s high-rise. I’d hop on the subway and be there in no time.

The ride was quick, but I had time to send a text message to Sara to let her know what was up and give her a brief description of the loot Arnold had given me. When I stepped back out onto the street, the sun was still just barely hanging in the sky. I figured I might as well grab a bite to eat before dealing with the vamp. I wanted to be as clearheaded as possible.

I found a café half a block from my destination. By the time I finished my overpriced sandwich and coffee, it was fully dark and I was feeling that familiar gut-wrenching fear settling into my bones. The food hung heavy in my stomach as I pushed through the revolving doors and stepped into Royce’s office building.

There was no snide receptionist in this place, only a guard in a sharp-looking suit who got up to greet me from behind the security desk. “Can I help you, miss?”

I dug into my purse and pulled out Royce’s card. “I have an appointment with Mr. Royce.”

He gave the card a cursory examination before handing it back with a nod and a smile, pointing to a bank of elevators. “Eighth floor and to your right. You can’t miss it.”

“Thanks,” I said, and meant it. Praise all for good service.

The eighth floor wasn’t terribly exciting. When I stepped out of the elevator, there was a pair of double doors to my left, and a similar pair to my right. A little plaque on the ones on the right read A. D. ROYCE INDUSTRIES. Guess I found the place.

There was a sticky note stuck to one of the doors. I peeled it off, figuring it was probably for me.

Ms. Waynest:

Please come in. My office is in the back.

—Alec

Well, that was nice, going from “Mr. Royce” to “Alec” in the space of one meeting and an e-mail exchange. I guess he wanted a more casual business relationship than his last e-mail implied.

The front office looked deserted but I could hear voices coming from the back. Following the voices, I recognized Royce’s in short order. I soon found myself standing in the doorway to his office, peering in.

“…will work just fine, and I’ll bring the paperwork with me. Thanks, Jim, I’ll see you Wednesday.”

“You got it, Alec. Take care.”

He had his feet propped up on his desk, and he gestured for me to come in as he tossed the pen he’d been toying with on top of the papers scattered there and reached to turn off the speakerphone. This office looked a little more like somebody worked in it, phone and computer included this time. The furnishings and view were still nice, but not as impressive as the one over The Underground. I noted the low bookshelf in the corner had a curious mix of cookbooks and classic literature. Guess he was a fan of cheesecake and Shakespeare. Who knew?

There was no conference table here, no couches or wet bar. The walls were hung with corkboards covered in papers and Post-it notes instead of paintings. From the look of it, he didn’t get visitors here very often. This was obviously where the real work got done.

I noted with a touch of amusement that he was just as casual today as he’d been in the club. This time he wore blue jeans and a plain white T-shirt instead of leather pants and a netted shirt, but he still looked good to me. Damnably so. Undead, blood-sucking fiend, Shiarra. Remember that.

He rose and moved around to pull out a chair for me, a warm smile curving his lips. I felt pretty overdone in my makeup, pantsuit, and heels, but a second later my fashion worries were overtaken by a surge of unreasoning fear at his approach.

“Ms. Waynest, thank you for coming.”

I took a seat, relaxing slightly when he slid back around to sit at his desk. I kept my purse clutched in my lap, however.

He leaned back comfortably in the chair and regarded me with heavily lidded eyes. I wasn’t fooled. He looked more like a waiting python than a relaxed businessman to my eyes.

“Have you eaten? Can I get you anything?”

“No, thank you, Mr. Royce.”

What was with the formality and looking after my happiness and well-being? Was he trying to put me off balance with his solicitousness on purpose?

“Did you get any news about the missing boy or the girl he was with?” I asked.

“Yes, actually. The girl’s name isn’t Tara, it’s Anastasia Alderov.”

I nodded, impressed despite myself. His people must move fast to get that kind of information on such short notice.

“She’s the progeny of one of my competitors in Chicago. I imagine she was here to scout the area when she met the Borowsky boy.”

Yeesh, he was doing me out of a job. “That still means that she’s…” The words died in my mouth. I just couldn’t say it.

He seemed to sense my discomfort and his tone turned serious. “Yes. It’s still grounds for disposal. She has no guest permit to hunt in this state.”

Good God. He made it seem like he was talking about deer season. I swallowed hard, trying to calm the sudden racing of my heart.

“Unfortunately, we have not pinpointed her resting place yet. She’ll turn up, and so will the boy.”

I nodded, not quite trusting my voice just yet. He sighed, spreading his hands in a helpless, frustrated gesture. He looked so human and convincing, for a moment I forgot my fear.

“What is it about me that frightens you so? I am not about to leap over the desk and go for your jugular, Shiarra.”

Now that was embarrassing. I must have been exuding nervousness more than I thought for him to be remarking on it. Turning my eyes away, I forced myself to relax a little, leaning forward to put my purse down between my feet to show that I wasn’t about to make a run for it.

“It’s not you exactly, Mr. Royce.” How could I explain my fear without sounding like an unenlightened racist idiot?

“There is no need for the formality; call me Alec. Has someone at The Circle been filling your head with stories about me?”

I started. He smirked. Damn it, he knew, he already knew what I’d gotten myself into and was just toying with me now. I started to rise, but he held out a staying hand.

“Please, sit. I know you’re doing something for them, and I know it has something to do with me. I’m prepared for that. What I don’t understand is why it is you. You’re obviously terrified to be here, yet here you are. What hold do they have on you? Perhaps we can come to an arrangement.”

An arrangement. Would he be able to keep The Circle
and
the White Hats off my back? Doubts immediately assailed me. I didn’t have much to offer a vampire like Royce. He had more money than God, owned a good chunk of prime real estate in several states, and had more flunkies and fawning donors than one would think he’d know what to do with. I didn’t have anything to give him that he didn’t already have, except maybe a line into The Circle.

Not to mention he’d probably be pissed once he knew what I was really after. Plus, I was contracted. There were all kinds of confidentiality clauses tied into that contract, and I could lose my license if The Circle didn’t just splatter me out of existence for turning on them. Oh, and let us not forget that this was a vampire I was dealing with. Judging by our previous encounter, he’d probably try to charm me into revealing what I was really after. The devil was a sweet talker, too.

Thoughts racing almost as fast as my pounding heart, I chose my words very, very carefully. “With all due respect, Mr. Royce, I can’t divulge my other clients’ information without their blessing. I wouldn’t last long in this line of work if I did that.”

He leaned forward on the desk, folding his hands and propping his chin on his knuckles. Those black eyes narrowed as he took in my words, weighing what I did and didn’t say.

“I would hate to see you come to some harm on my account.”

Oh great. That was comforting.

“My resources are considerable, Ms. Waynest. I’m not withdrawing the offer of protection, even if you choose to continue this farce and work against me. I take care of my own.”