Industrial Magic
Page 92

 Kelley Armstrong

  • Background:
  • Text Font:
  • Text Size:
  • Line Height:
  • Line Break Height:
  • Frame:
Fear glued me to that bed. Not fear of Cassandra herself, but fear of offending her. Ive never been very good at respecting my elders. Everyone deserves my basic respect, but to earn extra requires more than just having lots of candles on your birthday cake. My mother raised me to be Coven Leader, meaning I grew up knowing that my elders would someday be my subordinates. Yet theres a big difference between kowtowing to a seventy-year-old witch and showing respect to a three-hundred-year-old vampire. I couldnt just walk out there and say, Hey, Cass, I know you dont want to hear this, but youre dying, so get over it.
Something had to be done. It made my gut churn to admit that my mother may have made a mistake, but if she had, I couldnt perpetuate it simply to avoid disrespecting her memory. If Aaron wanted a place on the council, then he should have it. I wouldnt tell Cassandra that nowthat would be kicking her when she was down. But we did need to talk.
Cassandra stood in the living area, staring out the window. She didnt turn when I walked in. As I watched her, my resolve faltered. This could wait until morning.
Bathrooms all yours, I said. You can have the bedroom, too. Ill pull out the sofa.
She shook her head, still not turning. Take the bedroom. I dont sleep very much anymore.
Another sign of a dying vampire. I watched her stare out the window. She lookednot sad, really, but somehow smaller, dimmer; her presence was confined to that corner of the room instead of taking over the whole of it.
Can we talk, then? I said.
She nodded, and walked to the couch. I took the chair beside it.
If you want to speak to John again, Ill help you, she said. I will warn you, though, that hes likely to send us on a wild-goose chase. She paused. Not intentionally. He simply puts too much credence in gossip.
Well, maybe Aaron can help us sift through Johns bullshit. Aaron seems to have a good network of contacts.
Cassandra stiffened, almost imperceptibly, then nodded. Aaron was always very good at that, immersing himself in our world. Helping others. Keeping order. Its what he does best. A small smile. I remember, we were in London when Peel began recruiting his bobbies, and I told him, Aaron, finally, a career for you. Hed have been horrible at it, of course. If he caught a hungry child stealing a loaf of bread, he wouldnt have arrested him, hed have helped him steal more. Hes a good man. I She paused. So well talk to John again, then. Aaron should be able to get an address for us later today.
I can probably get it tonight. If he owns the Rampart with Brigid and Ronald, then one of them has to have their address in the public record system. Ill also call Lucas, tell him I wont be coming back to Miami just yet, see whether he wants to join us.
Finding Johns addresswas even simpler than Id hoped. It was in the phone book. Just to be sure, though, I hacked into public records and double-checked. It may seem that supernaturals, particularly vampires, would avoid leaving a paper trail and, in most cases, they do. Few supernaturals will list themselves in the local phone books, as John had. Yet when it comes to such highly regulated matters as the issuing of liquor licenses, its more dangerous to provide false information. Vampires carry valid drivers licenses and file their taxes like everyone else, though the name on their paperwork may or may not be their true birth name, depending on how they prefer to keep their identity current. Some pick a victim in their age range and take over his identity for a while. Others pay supernatural forgers to create fresh documents every decade or so. Like Cassandra, John apparently chose the latter route.
Next I called Lucas. As Id expectedand hopedhe did want to join us. We discussed whether Cassandra and I should wait for him before visiting John, but he didnt think his presence would help. Hed catch the next flight to New Orleans, and wed meet up after lunch.
By this point, it was after six, so sleep was out of the question. I fixed a fresh poultice for my stomach and cast a fresh healing spell. It helped. A few hours of sleep might have helped more, but I didnt have time for that. The painkillers might have helped, too, but Id left them back in Miami, and not by accident. This trip, I needed to be clearheaded.
At seven, we went to a bistro down the road, where I had beignets and caf au lait while Cassandra drank black coffee. After breakfast, Cassandra tried calling Aaron, but he wasnt answering his cell, so she left a message. Then we hailed a cab and headed out to interview the vampire again.
Embracing Ones Cultural Heritage
WE STOOD ON THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF JOHNS HOUSE. Cassandra looked up at it and sighed.
You werent really expecting a brick bungalow, were you? I said. At least its not as bad as the Rampart. I peered through the wrought-iron fence. Oh, I didnt see thator that. Is that what I thinkoooh. I pulled back. You may want to wait outside.
Cassandra sighed again, louder, deeper.
Now, I have nothing against Victorian architecture, having grown up in a wonderful little house from that very era, but Johns place was everything that gives the style a bad name, plus a good dose of southern Gothic. It looked like the quintessential haunted house, covered in ivy and peeling paint, windows darkened, spires rusting. On closer inspection, the disrepair was only cosmeticthe porch didnt sag, the wood wasnt rotting, even the crumbling walkway was crumbled artfully, the stones still solid enough that you wouldnt trip walking over them. The yard appeared overrun and neglected, yet even a novice gardener would recognize that most of the weeds were actually wild-looking perennials.