Page 23 of Death is Familiar

When vamp members paid to move up a level, they received access to more rights and privileges. More parties. More respect. More access to services, though I couldn’t remember all of the services offered. The ultimate step, of course, was getting fangs. Real fangs. A permanent extension to their upper canines by a vamp-approved dentist.

The fangs were only attainable by the ultra-rich. Or ultra-committed.

I shook the thought away as I drove us along the alleyway that ran from 15th to 7th Street, Todd observing our surroundings. Intently. Quietly. Without backseat driving. Which was a relief, and I didn’t want to press my luck by commenting, so I too kept quiet.

The silence also helped cover the fact that I couldn’t remember the exact location of the vamp headquarters or its entrance. I drove us slow hoping my memory would catch up with me, letting me know when we passed the right door. I’d only been there twice, and one of those times my memory was rather… untrustworthy.

Ah! There.

Just when I was starting to question my mental map, I saw it. The old and misused door covered in spray paint and graffiti. The surrounding brick coated in peeling paint of old business logos and notices above the door marking it for Deliveries Only. No windows. No nothing. It looked like an emergency exit at the back of a warehouse.

Technically, it had been an emergency exit at the back of a warehouse.

Todd huffed as he got out of the car, but said nothing. He knew better than to question whether I brought us to the right place.

I admired the misleading spray paint over the buzzer, as we stood in front of the black and teal door. My brows raised in a question to Todd—was he ready?

He looked up at the warehouse, then down both sides of the alley, assessing. “I’ll follow your lead. But if you’re wrong, this is breaking and entering.”

Just to prove him wrong, I pressed the buzzer. There was an immediate and distinct thunk! As the deadbolt unlocked.

“Well, looks like they are letting us in, so it appears we are just entering.” I smiled as I slipped through the door, Todd following close behind. “Even if they won’t be happy that we are here.”

†

The stairs trailed down, down, at least a story underground into a dimly lit foyer. An ornate and gilded box office was built into the far wall, with two velvet upholstered doors on either side. Everything looked expensive, refined, and completely at odds with the unmarked exterior.

Definitely the right place. I just hoped the right people were working.

From the corner of the room, a rather large dog, a wolfhound, padded up to us, its tail wagging. It nosed my hand and I gave it a few absentminded pats on the head, before scratching its chin. A very very good sign.

“Well, well, well… look what the dog dragged in.” A slickly polished woman appeared in the box office. Her voice was warm, even if her words were not.

I matched her tone, still petting the dog, as I approached the box. “Still working your way up to full vamp, Jezzy?”

I sensed Todd’s confusion.

Jezebel smiled, ignoring my question, her eyes flickered up to the ceiling. A silent message that we were being watched.

“What business brings you here?” She gave an over-the-top, lingering, assessment of Todd, before biting her crimson-stained bottom lip. I had the sudden urge to step in front of him. This carnal appraisal of Todd was just one of the reasons I should have come alone.

“We’ve come to talk to Lenore. Is she in?”

“Lenore is unavailable, but I’m sure I’m more than capable of… handling your request.”

Todd huffed gruffly at Jezzy’s response. I promptly elbowed him somewhere in the abdomen. Since we both couldn’t play bad cop, I needed him to play nice. “We’ve come to ask a few questions. Are you aware of anyone from your membership going missing?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Todd took up residence beside me. Jezzy sucked in a breath, admiring more than just his height. That is until Todd flashed his FBI credentials against the glass. Jezzy’s face dropped, swinging her dagger-sharp gaze to me, before recovering her persona.

“FBI?” She tucked a coil of dark hair behind her ear, feigning innocence. “Now, why would the FBI be interested in our little club?”

Before I could take the lead, Todd’s hands were in motion, so I translated on behalf. “Five people, with ties to your club, are the focus of an active investigation. Your members may have been the last people they were in contact with.”

During my role as translator, I made note of how Todd handled the reply. No pointing fingers, he was vague enough on the details that his response was open to interpretation.

“I’m not aware of one person going missing, let alone five.”