The Cupid Caper, page 10
“I can’t do that.”
Not won’t. Can’t.
And Neil agreed, because he didn’t try to convince Michael to stay. Instead, he pulled him in for a quick, tight hug, and then wished him strength.
Strength. It was an odd thing to say.
13
Bradley’s My Hero?
Michael, Boone, and I arrived at the Grand Cherokee to find that Alex had unlocked it and already rearranged the back so that we had second-row seating.
There was still plenty of room for Boone, but now we could all ride together comfortably.
Poor Mandy would likely be tasked with getting his current vehicle back to the Society’s headquarters.
“Alex always drives,” I explained to Michael as I handed over my keys.
Michael didn’t seem to hear or care, he just climbed into the back, leaving shotgun for me.
Once Boone was loaded, we were off.
“Where are we headed?” I asked as I buckled my seat belt, with a worried glance behind me.
I thought Michael had bounced back from the initial shock of discovering the murderer was one of his own, but it seemed putting a name to our top suspect had stirred everything up for him.
He caught my glance and said, “Wherever it is, I’m going with you.”
“Home,” Alex replied. “We’re dropping off Boone before we head anywhere else. Bradley’s having difficulty tracking Clay’s phone, so he’s hacking his credit and bank cards for a location. That’s also giving him fits, so he said it would take a few more minutes. That gives us time to deliver Boone.”
Alex glanced in the rearview mirror. I knew what he was thinking, because I was too: we should drop Michael off at his car and be on our merry way.
Well, except for the merry part.
No one in this car was merry.
“Michael, brief me on Clay.” Alex kept his hands at ten and two and his eyes on the road. He also drove about fifteen miles above the speed limit.
I trusted him and his freakishly fast reflexes, but it still made me slightly uncomfortable. I think I might just be that rare person who felt that speeding was breaking the law. Which it was. No one acted like it was illegal, but it was.
At a stoplight, Alex reached over and briefly clasped my hand, but otherwise, his attention was on the road and Michael.
“I don’t know him that well,” Michael began. “We’re not close.”
An odd state of affairs for what had all the appearances of a tight-knit community.
“Maybe I should have made more of an effort to know him.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?” I twisted around so that I could better see him.
“The annual dinner that Neil mentioned. We meet every January. We haven’t spoken in person or even on the phone since then.” He rubbed his eyes. “He seemed…normal. Himself.”
Kind of hard to ask if his colleague might not have had a murderous glint in his eye as they’d shared a meal over three months ago.
I tried for a more a delicate approach. “Do you remember anything he talked about? Trouble? Hopes? Plans?”
“Ah,” Michael blew out a breath. “Retirement? But no more than several of the other guys.”
“What about his dating life?” Alex asked. “Do you know what sort of person he was typically interested in dating?”
A funny feeling in my gut made me realize this was an important question. I’d been poking at motive. Had something changed in Clay’s life to tip him over the edge?
Alex was looking at victimology.
Because Alex was worried for Clay’s next victim.
“He didn’t really date. We don’t date, per se. More like we look for our person and then test the waters to assure when we find them that they are indeed the one.”
I glanced at the time. It was three thirty in the afternoon. Much earlier than Clay had committed each of the three murders over the three previous nights.
Except…not the three previous nights. He’d been thwarted last night, most likely by the Society’s diligent efforts to protect the women active on the enhanced community dating app.
He’d struck three nights in a row and then, quite possibly, been denied his next planned kill. He’d be searching for his next victim and fast.
“Where do you have no luck meeting people in your real life?” I asked, except this one was a rhetorical question. “Online. Except he knows that he’s burned his ability to use the app to meet women. Would he try another online source? Go to a bar?”
Alex pulled into my driveway as I posed these questions.
When the car came to a stop, I said, “You two think on that and cross your fingers that Bradley puts on his computer superhero cape and cracks whatever evil mojo Clay has placed on his credit cards. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
I hopped out of the car without waiting for a response.
I had a dog to unload lickety-split. We had places to go…as soon as we figured out where those places were.
I might have been panicking a teeny-weenie bit at this point. How could I not?
As we dithered ineffectually over who the next victim might be—because we were pretty darn sure about who the killer was—Clay was out there trying to kill some poor witch with mediocre witching skills.
Mediocre witching skills.
A witch who sold magicless beads.
A witch who only subcontracted her magic, because she didn’t meet the Society’s (Cornelius’s) exacting standards.
And a witch who just barely met Society standards and was given frequent contracts, but only the smallest of jobs.
“I am a complete idiot,” I told Boone as I shooed him into the house. “But you are a brilliant and wonderful bloodhound. Wish us luck.”
His tail was wagging as I closed the door and dialed Star’s number.
When she picked up, I didn’t give her a chance to say she couldn’t help.
Screw Cornelius.
“I need a list of the most mediocre witches you can think of.”
14
A Deep Dive into the Dive Bar
I was still holding out hope that Bradley would give us an X marks the spot location for Clay, but just in case he didn’t…
“I’ve got the names of Austin’s seven most mediocre witches, four of whom are single.”
I announced this as I opened the passenger door. I had no idea what I’d interrupted, but this new information seemed to pique some interest, so I figured they hadn’t solved all our investigative woes while I’d let Boone inside.
“I’ll explain while you drive. There’s a dive bar frequented by some swinging single witches that we’re going to try. Star thinks some of the witches on the list might hang out there.”
She’d actually named several bars, but this was the one that set my spidey senses to tingling. We’d try the others if this one didn’t pan out and Bradley still hadn’t cracked Clay’s location.
When I gave Alex the name of the bar, I saw the slightest twitch of distaste before he masked it with his usual cool demeanor.
“You have a problem with Kitty Galore?” It was a terrible pun on the Bond character, but I suspected his dislike had more to do with the bar itself than the name. Alex wasn’t really a dive bar man.
Then again, what did I know? According to the vibes I was getting from the cupid crowd, he was an evil ogre incapable of love. Insert very hard eye roll here. The cupids might be good at matchmaking—Michael’s nudging of Ben and Star, for example—but they clearly didn’t know all the love things if they didn’t immediately realize that Alex and I were the perfect fairy book match, with all the hearts and rainbows and glitter that accompanied such fantabulous matches.
“You’re stewing,” Alex commented.
“And you’re annoying.” Because he wasn’t wrong, but he was also driving—one assumed in the general direction of Kitty Galore—so I wasn’t really complaining.
“Who are the seven witches?” Michael asked. “Maybe I can eliminate some of them? If they happen to be on a list.”
“A list?” Alex asked me.
I patted his leg. “It’s a cupid matchmaking thing. None of the victims made it on a list that we know of, so being on a cupid’s matchmaking list would be one way to narrow our potential victim pool.” Speaking over my shoulder, I told Michael, “Star should be sending us the names along with pictures any minute now. She’s also calling all of them. She’ll let anyone she reaches know not to leave the house or to let anyone outside of emergency response inside.”
Both my and Alex’s phones both pinged with a text at the same time, then Alex’s phone rang. I answered it, because it was Bradley, and Alex’s phone wasn’t wirelessly connected to my car. “This is Mallory.”
“I called Alex’s number.”
“This is Alex’s phone,” I agreed. “He’s driving.”
“Okay. I have a credit card charge at a Kitty Galore, a bar in central Austin. It looks like an open tab with just a token amount charged to verify the card is valid. When I realized that he might have created a credit history under an alias, I—”
I didn’t need the particulars. I needed a definitive location. “That’s awesome, Bradley. Thank you. Did you get a matching hit with his phone?”
“No, I think it’s powered off.”
“You are a hacking hero. A supersleuthing ninja. We’re on our way to Kitty Galore now.”
“Thank you. Mallory, uh, do you think it’s okay for me to use Michael’s email address?”
I glanced at Michael, but he was looking out the window. “Sure. I don’t see why not. But he’s in the car with me if you want to talk to him.”
“Thank you. Goodbye.”
Thank you. Goodbye?
Bradley was being weird. And not in a following-Mrs.-A’s-rules-too-closely way. He was behaving in an un-Bradley-like fashion.
I was not a fan.
But then, he told me he was OK, and Bradley didn’t lie.
“What did he say?” Michael asked.
Mental note: cupids did not have the ridiculously acute hearing of wizards. And assassins. And most vamps…all vamps, except me. Really, most enhanced people had pretty amazing hearing, except me and the cupids.
“He opened a tab at Kitty Galore, and his phone appears to be shut off.” I skipped the email question Bradley posed. Just in case that was somehow private.
Alex gave me some side-eye. “Star gave you a list of bars, didn’t she? You had a feeling about this one.”
I patted his knee. “But that would mean that precognition really exists, and you know it doesn’t.”
Michael snorted.
Alex met his gaze in the rearview mirror, and he really did try for that steely-eyed, inscrutable, I-might-zap-you wizard look.
Michael wasn’t buying it though.
I wanted to tell him “good boy” but since he was a cupid and not a dog, I kept my mouth shut. Wow, another score for that ever-improving filter of mine.
Thank goodness the dive bar wasn’t much further. I was getting a little punch-drunk with all this uncertainty. Or—oops—I hadn’t eaten enough today.
I checked the glove box for a stashed shake, but I must have drunk my glove box stash and not replaced it.
I tried the center console, and it was equally bereft of shake or juice goodness.
“Try under your seat,” Alex murmured.
I had to hunt past the bar that allowed the seats to be adjusted, but I could just feel one with the tips of my fingers. Michael snagged it for me and handed it over.
I grabbed Alex’s leg right above his knee and gave him a thankful squeeze.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat.
And now we were turning into Kitty Galore, and I’d accidentally given my boyfriend whom I hadn’t seen in several days an uncomfortable situation to deal with.
Not actually my intent at all.
Oops.
I chugged my shake and hoped that Michael didn’t notice my blush.
But Michael was otherwise occupied. He was scanning the parking lot and giving the bar a blank-eyed stare.
After a few seconds of scrutiny, he announced, “He’s not here.”
“Someone opened that tab.”
Alex was right. Someone had.
We headed inside to find out who.
And more importantly, if he’d left with a date.
The floor was sticky, the lighting dim, and the music circa nineteen ninety-two. But that was just a bar.
What made it a dive bar was the clientele. A handful of locals, because it was convenient and cheap. A handful of college kids, because it was cheap and Kitty Galore. And a handful of women, because… I honestly didn’t know.
They looked like they might be hanging out with each other, but maybe, if you were hot and the music was right, you’d be able to pick one of them up.
Dating was so confusing to me. If this could be considered dating.
Also dive bars, a little confusing to me.
Dive bars and dating weren’t things I’d done before I’d become a vamp.
Three phones all pinged with messages within seconds of each other.
“That should be our pictures.” I tipped my head at the bartender. “I’ll order a drink. Why don’t you two boys chat up the ladies.”
Michael and Alex looked deeply uncomfortable with that idea.
I shoved them both toward the maneaters. “Not really. Just talk to them. We’re in a hurry.”
Alex still had the same glamor problem he’d had since I’d met him. The man looked like every woman’s dream come to life. Still basically himself, but with a glossy overlay that mimicked his companions’ preferences.
Long story short, women thought Alex was hot.
He was. In real life. No glamor required.
But I was into tall, leanly muscled, slightly rumpled, scruffy, dark-headed men. For whatever reason, that was all I’d ever seen: the real Alex. His glamor hadn’t worked on me.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as I approached the bar. And there it was: the entire group of women pivoted when he approached.
But I was in a hurry, so I didn’t watch. I flagged the bartender down, and really hoped he wasn’t a jerk. “I have kind of an odd question for you. I’m wondering if one of these ladies was in here tonight.”
I pulled up the pics that Star had sent.
Before I could flash my phone, the bartender crossed his arms. “No.”
Kind of what I’d figured. “Look, we’re on a tight timeline here.”
He shrugged, arms still crossed.
I glanced at Alex and Michael, but they didn’t seem to be having much better luck.
I could threaten. Alex could be super scary and he wasn’t above a little intimidation, but I went the other route.
“Okay, listen up, man. If there was a woman in here earlier and she left with a guy who opened a tab under the name…” I checked the text from Bradley. “Phil Butler, that is bad.”
He looked uncomfortable, which was my answer.
I called out, “Alex, Michael!”
Was that woman touching my honey?
“Lady, are your eyes glowing?” His arms were no longer crossed, and he took a step back.
“They definitely were not,” Alex replied on my behalf as he arrived next to me.
“Phil Butler, aka Clay, was here, and I think he left with someone. But this guy won’t say who or when.” I turned to the bartender again. “Please help us.”
Michael pulled his phone from his pocket. “Please. She’s not safe. That man she was with wants to hurt her.”
I believed him. Like, really believed him.
That feeling you get when you listen to a song that is saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment, it speaks to you and you just know that the song is truth? That was Michael.
And that had to be some serious cupidry he was pulling.
The bartender approached the bar and leaned his elbows on it, the better to look at the pictures Michael was sharing.
I glanced at Alex, expecting to see some kind of disapproval. He had no tolerance for persuasion at all. For good reason, given his background.
But he didn’t look bothered by Michael’s cupidry in the slightest.
“That one.” The bartender was pointing at Michael’s phone.
Michael grasped the man’s forearm. “Thank you.”
Even from two feet away, I could feel the warm fuzzies. No telling what that guy felt.
And then I got it.
Michael wasn’t using persuasion. He was amplifying emotion. His own.
Talk about some cupidry.
A minute later and we were all in the Grand Cherokee headed for Lenore’s house. Lenore was single, one of seven witches considered imminently mediocre by Star, and Clay’s next potential victim. She was also a registered Society member whose address was thankfully on file.
That one-minute delay? Michael did one more thing before we left. He verified that Phil Butler was the man in another photo he had on his phone.
Not that we had any real doubt, because Bradley would have told us if there was room for error. But Michael had needed that final confirmation.
I hoped that however long it took us to get to Lenore’s house—and hopefully it wouldn’t be long—it was enough time for Michael to wrap his head around what he was about to encounter.
These cupid guys seemed awfully soft and squishy on the inside. Maybe that was what Michael’s friend Neil had meant. To be strong for what he would be witnessing.
When I got in the passenger seat, I buckled my seat belt, then I clutched the grab handle with a death grip.
We were about to break records getting to Lenore’s house.
I only hoped we were in time.
15
Naked in Battle
“He’ll know we’re coming,” Michael explained as we turned into Lenore’s neighborhood.
“Because you guys can sense each other,” I said.
“Well, yes, but also you two. He couldn’t miss…that.”
Not won’t. Can’t.
And Neil agreed, because he didn’t try to convince Michael to stay. Instead, he pulled him in for a quick, tight hug, and then wished him strength.
Strength. It was an odd thing to say.
13
Bradley’s My Hero?
Michael, Boone, and I arrived at the Grand Cherokee to find that Alex had unlocked it and already rearranged the back so that we had second-row seating.
There was still plenty of room for Boone, but now we could all ride together comfortably.
Poor Mandy would likely be tasked with getting his current vehicle back to the Society’s headquarters.
“Alex always drives,” I explained to Michael as I handed over my keys.
Michael didn’t seem to hear or care, he just climbed into the back, leaving shotgun for me.
Once Boone was loaded, we were off.
“Where are we headed?” I asked as I buckled my seat belt, with a worried glance behind me.
I thought Michael had bounced back from the initial shock of discovering the murderer was one of his own, but it seemed putting a name to our top suspect had stirred everything up for him.
He caught my glance and said, “Wherever it is, I’m going with you.”
“Home,” Alex replied. “We’re dropping off Boone before we head anywhere else. Bradley’s having difficulty tracking Clay’s phone, so he’s hacking his credit and bank cards for a location. That’s also giving him fits, so he said it would take a few more minutes. That gives us time to deliver Boone.”
Alex glanced in the rearview mirror. I knew what he was thinking, because I was too: we should drop Michael off at his car and be on our merry way.
Well, except for the merry part.
No one in this car was merry.
“Michael, brief me on Clay.” Alex kept his hands at ten and two and his eyes on the road. He also drove about fifteen miles above the speed limit.
I trusted him and his freakishly fast reflexes, but it still made me slightly uncomfortable. I think I might just be that rare person who felt that speeding was breaking the law. Which it was. No one acted like it was illegal, but it was.
At a stoplight, Alex reached over and briefly clasped my hand, but otherwise, his attention was on the road and Michael.
“I don’t know him that well,” Michael began. “We’re not close.”
An odd state of affairs for what had all the appearances of a tight-knit community.
“Maybe I should have made more of an effort to know him.”
“When was the last time you talked to him?” I twisted around so that I could better see him.
“The annual dinner that Neil mentioned. We meet every January. We haven’t spoken in person or even on the phone since then.” He rubbed his eyes. “He seemed…normal. Himself.”
Kind of hard to ask if his colleague might not have had a murderous glint in his eye as they’d shared a meal over three months ago.
I tried for a more a delicate approach. “Do you remember anything he talked about? Trouble? Hopes? Plans?”
“Ah,” Michael blew out a breath. “Retirement? But no more than several of the other guys.”
“What about his dating life?” Alex asked. “Do you know what sort of person he was typically interested in dating?”
A funny feeling in my gut made me realize this was an important question. I’d been poking at motive. Had something changed in Clay’s life to tip him over the edge?
Alex was looking at victimology.
Because Alex was worried for Clay’s next victim.
“He didn’t really date. We don’t date, per se. More like we look for our person and then test the waters to assure when we find them that they are indeed the one.”
I glanced at the time. It was three thirty in the afternoon. Much earlier than Clay had committed each of the three murders over the three previous nights.
Except…not the three previous nights. He’d been thwarted last night, most likely by the Society’s diligent efforts to protect the women active on the enhanced community dating app.
He’d struck three nights in a row and then, quite possibly, been denied his next planned kill. He’d be searching for his next victim and fast.
“Where do you have no luck meeting people in your real life?” I asked, except this one was a rhetorical question. “Online. Except he knows that he’s burned his ability to use the app to meet women. Would he try another online source? Go to a bar?”
Alex pulled into my driveway as I posed these questions.
When the car came to a stop, I said, “You two think on that and cross your fingers that Bradley puts on his computer superhero cape and cracks whatever evil mojo Clay has placed on his credit cards. I’ll be back in two minutes.”
I hopped out of the car without waiting for a response.
I had a dog to unload lickety-split. We had places to go…as soon as we figured out where those places were.
I might have been panicking a teeny-weenie bit at this point. How could I not?
As we dithered ineffectually over who the next victim might be—because we were pretty darn sure about who the killer was—Clay was out there trying to kill some poor witch with mediocre witching skills.
Mediocre witching skills.
A witch who sold magicless beads.
A witch who only subcontracted her magic, because she didn’t meet the Society’s (Cornelius’s) exacting standards.
And a witch who just barely met Society standards and was given frequent contracts, but only the smallest of jobs.
“I am a complete idiot,” I told Boone as I shooed him into the house. “But you are a brilliant and wonderful bloodhound. Wish us luck.”
His tail was wagging as I closed the door and dialed Star’s number.
When she picked up, I didn’t give her a chance to say she couldn’t help.
Screw Cornelius.
“I need a list of the most mediocre witches you can think of.”
14
A Deep Dive into the Dive Bar
I was still holding out hope that Bradley would give us an X marks the spot location for Clay, but just in case he didn’t…
“I’ve got the names of Austin’s seven most mediocre witches, four of whom are single.”
I announced this as I opened the passenger door. I had no idea what I’d interrupted, but this new information seemed to pique some interest, so I figured they hadn’t solved all our investigative woes while I’d let Boone inside.
“I’ll explain while you drive. There’s a dive bar frequented by some swinging single witches that we’re going to try. Star thinks some of the witches on the list might hang out there.”
She’d actually named several bars, but this was the one that set my spidey senses to tingling. We’d try the others if this one didn’t pan out and Bradley still hadn’t cracked Clay’s location.
When I gave Alex the name of the bar, I saw the slightest twitch of distaste before he masked it with his usual cool demeanor.
“You have a problem with Kitty Galore?” It was a terrible pun on the Bond character, but I suspected his dislike had more to do with the bar itself than the name. Alex wasn’t really a dive bar man.
Then again, what did I know? According to the vibes I was getting from the cupid crowd, he was an evil ogre incapable of love. Insert very hard eye roll here. The cupids might be good at matchmaking—Michael’s nudging of Ben and Star, for example—but they clearly didn’t know all the love things if they didn’t immediately realize that Alex and I were the perfect fairy book match, with all the hearts and rainbows and glitter that accompanied such fantabulous matches.
“You’re stewing,” Alex commented.
“And you’re annoying.” Because he wasn’t wrong, but he was also driving—one assumed in the general direction of Kitty Galore—so I wasn’t really complaining.
“Who are the seven witches?” Michael asked. “Maybe I can eliminate some of them? If they happen to be on a list.”
“A list?” Alex asked me.
I patted his leg. “It’s a cupid matchmaking thing. None of the victims made it on a list that we know of, so being on a cupid’s matchmaking list would be one way to narrow our potential victim pool.” Speaking over my shoulder, I told Michael, “Star should be sending us the names along with pictures any minute now. She’s also calling all of them. She’ll let anyone she reaches know not to leave the house or to let anyone outside of emergency response inside.”
Both my and Alex’s phones both pinged with a text at the same time, then Alex’s phone rang. I answered it, because it was Bradley, and Alex’s phone wasn’t wirelessly connected to my car. “This is Mallory.”
“I called Alex’s number.”
“This is Alex’s phone,” I agreed. “He’s driving.”
“Okay. I have a credit card charge at a Kitty Galore, a bar in central Austin. It looks like an open tab with just a token amount charged to verify the card is valid. When I realized that he might have created a credit history under an alias, I—”
I didn’t need the particulars. I needed a definitive location. “That’s awesome, Bradley. Thank you. Did you get a matching hit with his phone?”
“No, I think it’s powered off.”
“You are a hacking hero. A supersleuthing ninja. We’re on our way to Kitty Galore now.”
“Thank you. Mallory, uh, do you think it’s okay for me to use Michael’s email address?”
I glanced at Michael, but he was looking out the window. “Sure. I don’t see why not. But he’s in the car with me if you want to talk to him.”
“Thank you. Goodbye.”
Thank you. Goodbye?
Bradley was being weird. And not in a following-Mrs.-A’s-rules-too-closely way. He was behaving in an un-Bradley-like fashion.
I was not a fan.
But then, he told me he was OK, and Bradley didn’t lie.
“What did he say?” Michael asked.
Mental note: cupids did not have the ridiculously acute hearing of wizards. And assassins. And most vamps…all vamps, except me. Really, most enhanced people had pretty amazing hearing, except me and the cupids.
“He opened a tab at Kitty Galore, and his phone appears to be shut off.” I skipped the email question Bradley posed. Just in case that was somehow private.
Alex gave me some side-eye. “Star gave you a list of bars, didn’t she? You had a feeling about this one.”
I patted his knee. “But that would mean that precognition really exists, and you know it doesn’t.”
Michael snorted.
Alex met his gaze in the rearview mirror, and he really did try for that steely-eyed, inscrutable, I-might-zap-you wizard look.
Michael wasn’t buying it though.
I wanted to tell him “good boy” but since he was a cupid and not a dog, I kept my mouth shut. Wow, another score for that ever-improving filter of mine.
Thank goodness the dive bar wasn’t much further. I was getting a little punch-drunk with all this uncertainty. Or—oops—I hadn’t eaten enough today.
I checked the glove box for a stashed shake, but I must have drunk my glove box stash and not replaced it.
I tried the center console, and it was equally bereft of shake or juice goodness.
“Try under your seat,” Alex murmured.
I had to hunt past the bar that allowed the seats to be adjusted, but I could just feel one with the tips of my fingers. Michael snagged it for me and handed it over.
I grabbed Alex’s leg right above his knee and gave him a thankful squeeze.
He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat.
And now we were turning into Kitty Galore, and I’d accidentally given my boyfriend whom I hadn’t seen in several days an uncomfortable situation to deal with.
Not actually my intent at all.
Oops.
I chugged my shake and hoped that Michael didn’t notice my blush.
But Michael was otherwise occupied. He was scanning the parking lot and giving the bar a blank-eyed stare.
After a few seconds of scrutiny, he announced, “He’s not here.”
“Someone opened that tab.”
Alex was right. Someone had.
We headed inside to find out who.
And more importantly, if he’d left with a date.
The floor was sticky, the lighting dim, and the music circa nineteen ninety-two. But that was just a bar.
What made it a dive bar was the clientele. A handful of locals, because it was convenient and cheap. A handful of college kids, because it was cheap and Kitty Galore. And a handful of women, because… I honestly didn’t know.
They looked like they might be hanging out with each other, but maybe, if you were hot and the music was right, you’d be able to pick one of them up.
Dating was so confusing to me. If this could be considered dating.
Also dive bars, a little confusing to me.
Dive bars and dating weren’t things I’d done before I’d become a vamp.
Three phones all pinged with messages within seconds of each other.
“That should be our pictures.” I tipped my head at the bartender. “I’ll order a drink. Why don’t you two boys chat up the ladies.”
Michael and Alex looked deeply uncomfortable with that idea.
I shoved them both toward the maneaters. “Not really. Just talk to them. We’re in a hurry.”
Alex still had the same glamor problem he’d had since I’d met him. The man looked like every woman’s dream come to life. Still basically himself, but with a glossy overlay that mimicked his companions’ preferences.
Long story short, women thought Alex was hot.
He was. In real life. No glamor required.
But I was into tall, leanly muscled, slightly rumpled, scruffy, dark-headed men. For whatever reason, that was all I’d ever seen: the real Alex. His glamor hadn’t worked on me.
I watched out of the corner of my eye as I approached the bar. And there it was: the entire group of women pivoted when he approached.
But I was in a hurry, so I didn’t watch. I flagged the bartender down, and really hoped he wasn’t a jerk. “I have kind of an odd question for you. I’m wondering if one of these ladies was in here tonight.”
I pulled up the pics that Star had sent.
Before I could flash my phone, the bartender crossed his arms. “No.”
Kind of what I’d figured. “Look, we’re on a tight timeline here.”
He shrugged, arms still crossed.
I glanced at Alex and Michael, but they didn’t seem to be having much better luck.
I could threaten. Alex could be super scary and he wasn’t above a little intimidation, but I went the other route.
“Okay, listen up, man. If there was a woman in here earlier and she left with a guy who opened a tab under the name…” I checked the text from Bradley. “Phil Butler, that is bad.”
He looked uncomfortable, which was my answer.
I called out, “Alex, Michael!”
Was that woman touching my honey?
“Lady, are your eyes glowing?” His arms were no longer crossed, and he took a step back.
“They definitely were not,” Alex replied on my behalf as he arrived next to me.
“Phil Butler, aka Clay, was here, and I think he left with someone. But this guy won’t say who or when.” I turned to the bartender again. “Please help us.”
Michael pulled his phone from his pocket. “Please. She’s not safe. That man she was with wants to hurt her.”
I believed him. Like, really believed him.
That feeling you get when you listen to a song that is saying exactly the right thing at exactly the right moment, it speaks to you and you just know that the song is truth? That was Michael.
And that had to be some serious cupidry he was pulling.
The bartender approached the bar and leaned his elbows on it, the better to look at the pictures Michael was sharing.
I glanced at Alex, expecting to see some kind of disapproval. He had no tolerance for persuasion at all. For good reason, given his background.
But he didn’t look bothered by Michael’s cupidry in the slightest.
“That one.” The bartender was pointing at Michael’s phone.
Michael grasped the man’s forearm. “Thank you.”
Even from two feet away, I could feel the warm fuzzies. No telling what that guy felt.
And then I got it.
Michael wasn’t using persuasion. He was amplifying emotion. His own.
Talk about some cupidry.
A minute later and we were all in the Grand Cherokee headed for Lenore’s house. Lenore was single, one of seven witches considered imminently mediocre by Star, and Clay’s next potential victim. She was also a registered Society member whose address was thankfully on file.
That one-minute delay? Michael did one more thing before we left. He verified that Phil Butler was the man in another photo he had on his phone.
Not that we had any real doubt, because Bradley would have told us if there was room for error. But Michael had needed that final confirmation.
I hoped that however long it took us to get to Lenore’s house—and hopefully it wouldn’t be long—it was enough time for Michael to wrap his head around what he was about to encounter.
These cupid guys seemed awfully soft and squishy on the inside. Maybe that was what Michael’s friend Neil had meant. To be strong for what he would be witnessing.
When I got in the passenger seat, I buckled my seat belt, then I clutched the grab handle with a death grip.
We were about to break records getting to Lenore’s house.
I only hoped we were in time.
15
Naked in Battle
“He’ll know we’re coming,” Michael explained as we turned into Lenore’s neighborhood.
“Because you guys can sense each other,” I said.
“Well, yes, but also you two. He couldn’t miss…that.”
