She Dies at the End (November Snow #1) (19 page)

It took a half an hour of blazing hot water before she felt really warm again.  She dressed quickly.  Her appearance was severe enough to match her mood: black turtleneck, black leggings, black boots, and a slicked-back ponytail of black hair.  She looked like a severely irritated beat poet.  All she needed was a pair of chunky black glasses to complete the look.

Clean and warm at last, she headed down to the kitchen, eating her dinner while reading a Harry Potter book she’d found in the library.  She still found it hilarious that all seven volumes of the series were present in a vampire’s elegant library, all in hardback first editions of the British version, of course.

“Snape kills Dumbledore, you know,” Ben said as he slipped into the kitchen, reaching into the refrigerator for some refreshment.  November flipped him off without even looking up.

“First, I’ve already read them all, like everyone else above the age of seven in this country.  Second, I’m psychic.  I always know how the story ends.  The end isn’t the point.  It’s how you get there.  Third, I’m in no damn mood.”

Ben slid into the adjacent stool after heating his snack briefly in the microwave.  “At least you didn’t have to spend an hour talking to some idiot cop about some maid you never even met.”

“No, I got to huddle in a dark and freezing room for three hours wondering what the hell was going on.”

“Yeah, that bites.  At least the cops seem satisfied.  They didn’t find anything, of course.  Fell all over themselves apologizing to our lord and master.”

“How did he explain the fridge?” she asked.  A fridge full of blood seemed like it would raise a few flags for law enforcement.

“Zinnia told them she’s a hemophiliac who requires frequent blood transfusions.  She’s a real strong enthraller.  She can make people believe anything.”  November’s stomach clenched at that.  She didn’t want to mistrust the closest thing to a real friend she'd ever had, but living in this state of tension was making her paranoid.

“Where is she?” November demanded. 

“In a pow-wow with his lordship.”  He paused.  “The cops spent a really long time with her.  They found a blue hair on the body,” he said more softly, looking around secretively. 

November felt ill.  “That doesn’t mean anything.  The woman cleaned her room the same day she died.  They come twice a week – once during the day to do the upstairs and once at night to do the basement.  They were here during the day on Halloween.  She could have picked up hair from any of us daywalkers,” November said with some heat.  “Zinnia could never kill anyone.  Not on purpose.”

“Of course not, of course not,” Ben agreed quickly. 

“How did the woman die?”

“Strangled, apparently.  With a scarf.  It was probably a boyfriend or something.  Humans are always killing each other for stupid reasons.”  He paused again, then spoke again as though having a revelation.  “Unless the maid found something incriminating in someone’s room that day.  The spy’s room, I mean.  I suppose that’s possible.  That would make the spy a fairy.”

November said, “Hmm,” noncommittally.  She had no intention of spilling any sensitive information in the course of this conversation, so the less she said, the better.  Luckily, she was rescued by Pine, who informed her that her presence was required in Lord William’s office.

The vampire governor of California was pacing like a caged animal, his hands clenching and releasing as he tried not to lose his temper and break any of the tasteful decorative items scattered around his domain.  Birch was somewhat calmer, but his messy coiffure testified to the level of his tension.  The stranger in the room was a policeman, obviously Lord William’s fairy connection on the Oakland force.  A folder was on the conference table, its contents scattered over the polished surface.

“Lt. Cyprus, this is my resident seer, November Snow,” William said, finally sitting down, coiled like a spring.

“Yes, I recognize her from the Amber Alert.  A pleasure to meet you,” he said, tipping his hat. 

“Likewise,” she replied with a nod.  “What is going on?” she asked.

Birch replied, “The cleaning woman was killed on Halloween, the same night you found the pendant she’d left in your room for you.  She was strangled with a scarf belonging to Zinnia.  Now, we know that she most likely did not have time to commit the murder that night, given that she was summoned back to the house only an hour after departing, and in that time, she was never out of my sight.  However, the police estimate of the time of death runs from 4 pm to midnight, so it is possible that Zinnia could have committed the crime during the day.  In addition, the police search turned up a disposable cell phone in her room that had been used to dial the victim’s phone number.”

November’s stomach turned.  “Where is Zinnia?”

“In the basement.  Waiting for Savita,” William answered quietly, his lips tight with anger.

“You don’t seriously believe she had anything to do with this?  There’s no way!” November cried.  It took all her self-control not to burst into tears.

“I don’t want to, but we have to consider the possibility.  If she is innocent, you can help us clear her,” Birch replied.  His ageless face was clouded with worry.

“This has gone on too long.  We wanted to keep our knowledge of a mole secret so as not to tip off the guilty party or to induce him to do something desperate.  It’s clear now that he is desperate or foolish enough to involve humans.  And it’s obvious to the whole household now that there is a rotten apple in the barrel.  It will soon be obvious to the entire Bay Area supernatural community, now that police have been inside my home.  There is no further need for pretending. We will find the cancer and cut it out.  Tonight.”

November had never seen William so angry.  He looked like he was moments from exploding in a fireball that would consume them all.  She decided that she would never want him to be this angry with her.  Everyone watched him warily, no one wanting to be the first to speak and risk drawing his ire.

“If we had something belonging to the victim, I might be able to see something.  Actually going to the crime scene would work better,” November ventured.  “If we can get hold of the phone or the scarf, that might tell me a lot.”

“I can’t get my hands on the physical evidence.  If you wait a few days, the crime scene would be doable.  Same with sneaking into her residence to swipe a personal object.  We’d need to wait a while so as not to get caught.  I was able to swipe a few pictures and a copy of the crime scene report.  Could you get something from the photos in the file?” Cyprus asked, gesturing toward the table.

“Probably not, but I could try,” she offered, sitting down to make the attempt.  The poor woman in the photos was on the floor of what looked like an abandoned warehouse.  She had one of Zinnia’s signature scarves wrapped tightly around her neck.  Close-ups showed hands roughened by years of hard work, but she didn’t see any indication of a fight.  “No signs of a struggle?” she asked the policeman.

“None.  She was probably enthralled, but it’s not like I can put that in the report.”

November closed her eyes and cast about for anything that might be of use.  After a few minutes, she sighed.  “Nothing,” she said wearily.  Lord William swore.  They sat in frustrated silence for a moment.

"No, hold up," November said.  “There is something that could help.  I just realized that it might be significant.  I had a vision, when I was in the chase.  I saw someone running, past the safe room, towards what I assume is an exit beyond the walls.”

“Describe,” his lordship commanded.

“Tall.  Probably a man, but not certain.”  Em closed her eyes, trying to remember.  It had been such a quick flash.  “Blond,” she said, suddenly sure.  “Definitely had light hair.”  She shivered, her thoughts turning immediately to the resident rebel vampire. 
Ben.  It could have been Ben.

“Rose or Benjamin or Pine, then, or someone else wearing a wig,” William said, as he cast his mental eye over his household.  Birch took pains to keep his expression impassive, but his fingers were practically making grooves in the mahogany armrests of his chair.

“Too tall to be Pine or Rose, I think,” November replied to Birch's relief.  “Too pale to be Pine.” 
Ben.  It's Ben,
her instincts silently screamed.

“When did this person sneak out?  Recently? Years ago?  Years in the future?”  Birch asked.  "It might not even be related."

“I’m not sure.  I’d have to go back down and look again.  Even then, there’s no guarantee I’d get a definite answer.”  She paused, thinking more about Benjamin.  “I feel I should tell you . . . Ben was acting a little weird in the kitchen just now.  He seemed to be trying to plant doubts in my mind about Zinnia.  He was talking about how the police found her hair on the victim, how she’s a really good enthraller.”  She almost felt bad about casting suspicion on him.  Almost.

“He is certainly stupid and ignorant enough to involve humans,” William replied.  “I can’t imagine any of the adults doing that under any circumstance.” He picked up his phone and called Pine.  “Guard the chase exit personally, with Greg.  I don’t want anyone getting out of here tonight.”  He hung up with no further explanation.

“What’s the plan?” Birch asked.

“Well, we’re not waiting for days until we can sneak November into the crime scene or steal the poor wretch’s favorite earrings,” William said with barely suppressed impatience. 

“You could have the human and Savita examine everyone in the house,” suggested Lt. Cyprus.

“That would also take days, I’m afraid,” November replied.

“We could start with examining Ben, as he’s now the prime suspect.”  Birch ran his hands once again through his hair, thinking before continuing, “That would tell us his guilt.  Unfortunately, humans can’t give evidence against vampires in court, so you’d need additional evidence to execute him.”

“Setting aside for a moment how incredibly offensive that is, wouldn’t Savita be able to give evidence?”  November asked.

“Yes, but telepathy is hit or miss.  There are ways to train the mind to avoid thinking about particular things while being examined.  If I were going to send in a spy, I’d make sure to teach him how to do that,” William explained.  The room went quiet while every mind ran in circles, looking for a way to bring the mole to light in a judicially acceptable fashion.

“I have an idea,” November said slowly.  “You’re not going to like it.”

***

When Ben next saw November, twenty minutes later, she was standing outside the linen closet down the hall from her room.  “What’s the story, morning glory?” he asked casually, leaning against the wall beside her.

November took a deep breath.  “Maybe you can help me.  See, when I was going down the passageway earlier, I had a brief vision of someone running down the hall.  I couldn’t tell who it was.  So I was thinking I should go back down there and check it out, but . . ."  She paused sheepishly before continuing, “I’m afraid to go down there by myself.  Could you come with me?” 
Is he really going to fall for this?

“Sure,” he said with a wide smile.  “Any excuse to hang out in the dark with my favorite human.”

Looking at his seemingly genuine smile, she wondered which way she was hoping this would turn out.  Was she rooting for guilt or for innocence?  As they descended, anxiety twisted her insides.  She had thought to wear a winter coat this time, so at least she was warm and snug beneath a designer black wool number. 
Why did I ever say this idea out loud?
 

As they walked down the long passage, he asked how she was doing.  “I mean, heartbreak wise,” he clarified.

“Okay, I guess,” she replied, trying desperately to sound normal.  “It was hard to be near William at first, but there’s so much else to worry about right now that I don’t have time to dwell on it.  Mostly I just feel stupid for falling for it.  It’s kind of humiliating.  I’ve never been the love-struck schoolgirl before.  I thought girls like that were silly and frivolous, like I had nothing in common with them.  Apparently, I should not have been so judgmental.”  It felt so strange, chatting with him as though she was sure of his friendship. She felt like she was talking too quickly.

“Happens to everyone sooner or later.”

The pair stopped a few dozen yards before the safe room.

“This is where I saw it,” she said, kneeling to put her hands to the smooth concrete.  She concentrated, seeking truth and fearing to find it.  She caught the sprinter, slowed his stride.  She found his face, found the scarf in his hand and the murder in his eyes.  Returning to the present, she stood to face him.  She took an involuntary step backward, which told the young vampire everything he needed to know.  He smiled again, coldly delighted to be found out.

“Don’t be frightened, November.  I’m not going to hurt you.  You’re too valuable for anyone to hurt you.  We’re just going to leave this place, and I’ll take you to your new home.  Thanks to you, we’re mere yards from a perfect escape.”  He reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, making her flinch.  She wanted to turn away, but she couldn’t stop watching his face in horror.  The relaxed visage of a slacker ski bum had been replaced by the wild eyes and euphoria of a desperate man— a hungry and desperate man.

“You’ll be much happier once Luka sets you free of the bondage of your human life.  And you’ll be part of building a wonderful new world.  You’ll be a hero to generations of our people.  You’re really very lucky.”  He touched her face, seeming not to notice her revulsion. Suddenly, his body pressed hers against the wall.  The cold fingers of one hand were pulling at the collar of her turtleneck, tearing the fabric like tissue paper, while the other hand squeezed her arm too tightly.