Blacker than Black (12 page)

Noire. So Jhez and I were right. And this is going to dredge up some ugly. I can feel it in my bones.

No, no, and no.

A herd of chills race up my spine, and it takes every ounce of effort to tamp down the questions multiplying and bubbling up inside me. “What other physical evidence is there to be collected here? Whose room is this?”

“The blue-eyed gentleman that just departed, Monsieur Fillun. It seems apparent he didn’t return here during the early morning hours. He’s already been moved elsewhere.” Garthelle’s gaze flicks over the suite again. “I will, of course, have one of my staff dust for fingerprints.” He walks toward the mirrored vanity in the far corner. “And Fillun will need to ascertain if any possessions are missing or out of place.”

I can’t help but snort. “I doubt you’ll find theft. They may have left something though. Besides—” I choke, clear my throat, and continue speaking carefully. “Besides the
lyche
on the bed there.” Something, anything, to suggest the reason for Soiphe’s presence. “Does Fillun have any connection to the madame?”

Garthelle remains focused on the vanity. “I cannot say for certain. That’s something we’ll need to determine.” His yellow gaze finds mine in the mirror and his eyes narrow. He turns to face me. “Why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“I’m standing in a room with a dead woman. A dead vampire, no less. The first one I’ve seen of your ilk.”

Fuck him. I walk out into the hall. The room hadn’t smelt of death, but the air outside feels fresher and carries the noticeable tint of life. Here, I don’t feel the past closing in on me, don’t feel trapped by a reawakened awareness I don’t want to think about.

I don’t see how it could possibly be any of his concern that the dead
lyche
just so happens to share a surname with my father.

I don’t know
Dragulhaven
. Not even enough to find my way back to Garthelle’s quarters, which would be nice. I wander down the empty hall and take the next turn, strolling aimlessly. A place to curl up and nap in a spot of sunlight would be just the thing right about now. It takes a bit of walking to locate a sunroom devoid of voices carrying from nearby rooms. Strong daylight pours into the space, and cozily crowded greenery fills the air with the rich, heady scent of earth and nature.

I curl up in a chair and don’t care if I’m invading some place in Garthelle’s domain that he would prefer I avoid. Heat and peace relax me back into sleep.

“Black.” The sound of my name in a husky whisper rouses me from my nap. Jhez crouches beside me, one forearm propped on the side of the chair.

“Hey. Thought you would’ve been here sooner.” I uncurl and chafe the sleep from my eyes with the heels of my hands. They feel glued shut.

“Been here a while.”

“He brought you up to speed, then?” I can feel his presence, the faint resonance of energy in my veins, like calling to like. I glance past her, gaze drawn by a shift in the shadows at the entryway of the solar. He’s standing there, shoulder against the doorframe.

“Yeah.” She grimaces. “I’ve been sifting through some information. He said you were taking a nap. Didn’t tell me you were balled up in a knot on a chair, though.”

I lace my fingers and stretch my arms, then roll my head to loosen the kinks from my muscles. “Never make assumptions.”

Jhez smirks at the sarcastic edge in my voice as she straightens. “Come on. I want you to see a few things before we start interviewing
lyche
later this afternoon.” She glances at the Monsieur of York as she drawls the unfamiliar term. I get the impression they’ve been going rounds with each other. It gives me a little surge of pleasure.

“Interviewing?” I follow in her wake and arch a brow at him. “Do they know why we’re going to be talking to them, then?”

He pushes away from the entry, hands slid casually into his pockets, and turns to lead the way down the hall. “I expect so. Not a
lyche
present could have failed to notice the taint once it began radiating out from the crime scene. Most of them are anxious to depart as swiftly as I give them leave to.”

Right. Doesn’t sound like any of them care much for meting out justice. Self-serving gutter trawlers. “I can’t see that gives them any motivation to respond honestly to anything we ask.”

“I highly doubt that will be a hindrance for you two.”

I glance at Jhez and roll my eyes. She bumps her shoulder into mine. “Are you going to sit in on these little interviews?” The lack of restraint I’ve witnessed thus far isn’t at all reassuring.
Lyche
don’t seem to possess the capacity to keep their hands, or auras, to themselves.

There’s a distinct pause before Garthelle answers. “I’ll be with you.” He stops walking, pivots to face us. “Unattended, you two would probably start a war of some kind.”

Well.
That’s
a relief. “We appreciate your thoughtfulness.” Mighty considerate of the big bad vamp to think of the poor little humans. Jhez can tell I’m stuck in between biting my tongue and choking on it. She clears her throat, drawing Garthelle’s attention.

She nods down the hallway. “There’s a good bit I want him to look at before then, though. Not to mention we’d both like a chance to go home for a short while before jumping into the interrogation thing.”

Definitely. I need to get a hold of Blue. I’m in desperate need of a chi-booster. I normally wouldn’t bother; I just stay off the streets when I’m in this condition. Avoidance isn’t an option now, though, and my Bruise Brother is the only street dealer I’ll buy from.

I doubt Jhez will like it, but I’ve little choice in the matter if I want to be of any assistance. And I refuse to kick back and let her do all the grunt-work herself. Not this time. This isn’t the street.

“What is there for me to look at?”  I keep my voice keyed lowed, but even with Garthelle resuming his pace down the hall, the vampire angles his head to watch us over his shoulder. I have no desire to perform an autopsy on our deceased aunt. “Was
Le Gross
not helpful? I found him most insightful.”

Yeah, he’s danger incarnate. It’s not that I’m
not
aware of that. I have a bare spot just above my nape to remind me, but I’m quickly realizing that, for whatever reason, Jhez and I are more valuable to him alive. And as a result, I’m finding the backbone to let him know just what I think of his manipulation. Granted, the odds are good we would’ve refused if he simply came and requested our services. A vampire, desperate? It doesn’t compute in my brain. How does the benefit of our assistance, our temporary employ, outweigh our years of crimes? How does he quantify that?

Jhez studies me, her expression carefully blank. I sigh. “Right. What have you learned so far?”

“According to Garthelle, the brother of the deceased is a prominent member of
lyche
government, has been since the vamp disclosure decades ago. Fillun’s one of his staunchest supporters. It feels like a warning.”

“Yes, a warning . . . of an unclear nature from a source we’ve yet to identify.” Garthelle throws that contribution over his shoulder, then pushes open a door along the left side of the hall and stands aside.

“Cryptic communication. Lovely. If a man has supporters, he has detractors. Enemies in equal—if not greater—numbers.” Jhez bumps her shoulder into mine again, and then moves ahead of me through the doorway, her stride charged with eagerness. I stop short of the door and study Garthelle. “Although,” I continue, narrowing my gaze. And hesitate. The vamp has his aura pulled so close it barely registers past the edge of his suit, brushed silk that shimmers a gunmetal gray. “I know very little of
lyche
, so it’s possible I’ve got it completely wrong.”

His expression is entirely unreadable. The still surface of some puddle of caustic acid. “Surely you don’t think that.”

No, I don’t. But just a few days ago, I didn’t think a vampire was capable of doing the things Garthelle did. No use saying that, though. I just arch a brow, quirk the corner of my mouth, and move past him into the room. Its panels of blonde wood radiate an aura of light and spaciousness without the glare of excessive illumination. The theme of washed-out hues, though, feels lifeless. Muted.

“Who are the man’s enemies, then? Any with connections to Fillun?”

The response comes from behind me, not from Jhez. “Nothing so simple as a straight line, but it’s a place to start.”

No doubt the mighty monsieur could’ve thought of that without our assistance. I stop and turn back, studying him more closely. There’s something going on here, and it’s got my hackles up. “What of the security measures on the grounds?”

The vamp’s lips tense into a thin line as he returns my gaze in silence. “There are devices monitoring energy signatures.”

“And . . .?”

“They were deactivated before the first guests arrived. About forty-eight hours ago.”

Of course they were. It would be too easy otherwise. I fold my arms, cock my hip, and wait for the rest of it.

Garthelle arches a brow, but the expression melts away just as quickly. The reins of self-control are tight today, for whatever reason. “It is improper to blatantly monitor the movements of one’s guests in a situation such as this.”

 “Obviously the situation you’re referencing doesn’t include the death of a prominent vampire.”

His eyes narrow, and I hear the unspoken retort resonating from every inch of his tense posture.
There is no such thing as a vampire who
isn’t
prominent
. “
Lyche
, you mean. That is what we call ourselves.” His hand flicks in a curt gesture of dismissal. “That other, that is a term you humans coined.”

Jhez remains impassive, one hip propped on the side of the couch and hands folded loosely on her thigh, gaze flickering between us. When I glare at her, she simply shrugs and turns to stare at the wall in a feint of innocence and deafness. No help from her. Great. Garthelle slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks and widens his stance. Casual passive aggression.

“So this investigation is crippled before it even begins.” In other words, you bloody prat, you functionally cut yourself off at the knees. “And I’m having difficulty figuring out just what you think the two of us can do about that.”

“It turns out you were right. There were physical traces at the scene.” He jerks his head in the direction of the coffee table, a few feet away. “Red and I catalogued what there was. She thought you might offer some insight.”

I want to scream. “Fingerprints, by any chance?” I ask instead, clearing my throat at the convulsing tickle.

“No, none at all.”

“Not even Fillun’s?”

Garthelle’s steadfast control falters. He looks back at me, brows arching. “No. Astute observation. The room was thoroughly scourged.”

“With energy, I take it.”

“Indeed.”

But of course. Far be it from a
lyche
to trouble doing something by hand when it can be resolved with a thought and a flick of the wrist. “A task of that magnitude would create a noticeable pulse?”

Garthelle hums softly and moves toward the coffee table. A handful of evidence collection bags populate the amber-tinted glass. “One would think. I’ve yet to speak with those individuals in the adjoining suites, however.” Couches, upholstered in leather the same hue as the paneling, flank the table. As I take in the space, open my awareness to it, my hackles rise. Judging by the tense and uncomfortable vibe, Garthelle interrogated someone in here not long ago. And it wasn’t a pleasant experience, either. Not surprising; even his idea of subtle hostility is acutely palpable.

With a grimace of distaste for the residue, I perch on the edge of the couch and study the clear plastic bags. Whoever left these items wanted them to be found. Given the murderer’s thoroughness, there’s no other logical conclusion.

A slip of thick sepia paper with writing scrawled on it in flowing, red script. As if the writing utensil were dipped in blood. A medallion much like the one that hung from Garthelle’s neck last night. A book, a thin volume, the spine and cover unmarked.

I push the items aside, moving them with jabs of my fingertips, to uncover the contents of the final bag. A small capsule easily recognizable as a drug cartridge from a hypno-hit injector.

“The money shot.” It’s difficult to contain the edge of excitement as I dangle the bag between thumb and forefinger.

Jhez grins. “Yes, I thought you’d like that.” Garthelle, occupied at the desk in the far corner of the room, glances up and grunts in distaste.

Like hell he’s going to get out of it that easily. “Is it a generally accepted practice for vampires to indulge in such . . . recreational activities?”

Garthelle hesitates, hands stilling on the surface of his desk, splayed fingers pale against the yellow wood grain. He leans his weight onto his locked arms, then lifts his head to meet my gaze. “While it’s not entirely unheard of, it’s not common practice. Ordinarily we
lyche
,” he continues, stressing the word with a slight drawl, “acquire such substances from secondary sources, as you witnessed yesterday evening.” His shoulders hunch with tension as he lowers his gaze back to the papers scattered on the desk.