The Mermaid's Bubble Lounge, page 6
Shaking my head, I refilled the water bowl. “We gave you a comfortable, lightless place to stay. It’s my underground apartment. No one told you to come into our house during the day.”
Unlike yesterday, it was bright and sunny today. I opened the back door so Fergus could go out when he was done eating. The window in the dining room was across from the den, so I closed those curtains, making the den darker. Once Fergus came back in, I drew the curtains around the back door as well.
“The video is helpful,” Vlad said from his fortress of inky blackness.
Oh, that reminded me. I pulled up my texts and tapped the video Nerissa had sent me this morning of the killer. The cameras were good, but it was dark, the only light coming from distant streetlights. The man I saw this morning hoisted himself up on the side of the dumpster and was pulling open bags. Something flashed in front of the camera and then a man was standing behind the victim. I could only see his shoulder, the back of his head, an ear, and a bit of his jaw. He waited while the man ate something. The killer was completely still. Was he breathing?
When the man slid down from the dumpster, his knees buckled, but he clung to the side until he was standing on his own. The killer moved into the frame, spun the man around, grabbed him by the neck, and pulled him to his mouth.
Horrified, I watched as the poor man stared straight ahead, showing a disturbing lack of alarm. Had he been put in a trance? Faster than I would have thought possible, the now dead man was being dropped to the ground. The killer turned toward the camera before leaping up and out of the frame.
Heart racing, I backed up to watch it again. When the killer turned toward the camera, I froze it. Vlad.
TEN
Scars for the Win
“Why is your heart racing?” Vlad’s dark eyes peered out at me from the corner.
Darling? Are you all right?
Not sure. There was another killing. I just came from there and checked the video Nerissa sent of the murder. It’s Vlad.
Do you know where Vlad is right now?
Yep. He’s staring at me from the corner of the den.
I’m coming.
No, you’re not. I’m fine. I went back to the dining room and opened the curtains. Vlad hissed in the corner. I invited Clive into my mind, so he could see what I was seeing. His brain felt sluggish, but I knew he was intent on the video in my hand.
I played it again.
Ask him where he went last night after we parted.
“Clive wants to know where you went last night after you all split up.”
“Why? And what’s on your phone that has your heart racing and Clive listening in?”
“Don’t be a dick. Just answer the question.” I didn’t want to believe it. I thought of Vlad as a friend. This didn’t make sense.
I don’t think that’s him, darling. The height looks off and the hair isn’t quite right. Play it again, just from when the killer arrives.
“I searched the piers,” Vlad responded. “There were some faint vampire trails, but they seemed to be normal feeding patterns in crowded, tourist-filled areas. Nothing the Guild needs to concern itself with.”
“And then what?” I pushed while hitting play again.
The flash.
He dropped from the roof. When we were there, we all heard something up there. I even went up to investigate, but I didn’t see or sense anything unusual.
What’s usual for a roof, I wondered.
He was slow to respond. The burst of energy he had felt at my heartbeat was disappearing. Birds. Lots of cats down there.
Yeah. I saw a cat on the roof too.
Wait. “Have you answered me yet?” I asked Vlad.
“I didn’t want to interrupt you plotting with Clive. Now tell me what is on your damn phone?”
“We’re not plotting and how do you even know he’s talking to me?”
“Your facial expressions always give it away. You need to work on that,” he replied, though I’d mostly stopped listening. There was too much going on.
Look, Clive said in my head. The hair is wrong. Vlad wears his hair in a short tail. This one’s hair is a few inches longer.
Could that be the perspective from a camera above?
I don’t think so. And look at his size compared to the dumpster. I wasn’t really paying attention to it when I walked around back last night, which means the size felt appropriate for The Bubble Lounge. Go back. How easy was it for the homeless man to climb on it?
“What is going on?” Vlad demanded.
I waved my hand at him. “Shush. We’re busy over here.”
Darling, get your laptop so we can see the image bigger.
Good call, but my laptop is over where Vlad is.
The was a long pause and then Clive said, Show him the video. It’s not him and he might have more ideas. I don’t trust my brain right now to pick out the salient details.
Okay, good. That’s where I was leaning too. I closed the dining room curtains.
“Does this mean you’re no longer afraid of me?” he asked from the corner. He sounded bored, but I could hear the hurt.
“I need my laptop. It’s on the end table beside you.”
He held it out and I took it before sitting on the carpet beside his chair. Fergus dropped down, resting his big head in my lap.
“Kinda in my way,” I muttered, powering on the computer and pulling up my texts. “Nerissa, the owner of the Bubble Lounge, is the one who called me this morning about another dead body. She installed cameras around the periphery of her nightclub yesterday, so she has video of the killing.”
“And the killer looks like me,” he stated.
“How did you know?”
“Why else would you be panicking?” He crooked his finger. “Let me see it.”
I tapped on the video and then handed him back the laptop.
I wanted to see that, Clive said in my head.
We will. Vlad seemed hurt that we were suspecting him, so I wanted him to see why.
Clive was quiet, so I assumed he agreed with me, but then he said, You’re incredibly sweet. How did I get so lucky to find someone concerned with vampire feelings?
“Hmm.” Vlad leaned forward, staring at the screen.
“Did he just drop into the frame?”
Vlad nodded slowly, his eyes glued to the laptop screen. A moment later, he reared back as he tapped the trackpad. “Well,” he finally said. “I understand why your heart raced.” He glanced over at me in the dark. Werewolf night vision was handy when dealing with vampires.
Pointing at the screen he said, “This isn’t me. I can’t explain it, but this isn’t me. After I left Clive and Cadmael, I searched the piers and then ended up at a bar. I thought it was a biker bar, but I recognized pretty quickly it was a gay biker bar, which is only a problem because this mustache gets me hit on in a lot of gay spaces. Your dragon bartender was there, but it was the other bartender I was interested in. She’s not human. She’s—”
“Stheno,” I told him.
He stilled. “You know her?”
“She’s a good friend of mine. Tell me, though, are your intentions honorable?”
“Of course not,” he said, as though talking to a child.
“Perfect. Hers are never honorable either. I’ll be your wingman, but first we need to figure out the killer part.”
“Right.” He looked down at the screen and then turned to me again. “What is she? I didn’t recognize her scent, and it’s driving me crazy.”
Grinning, I said, “That’s for her to tell you. I keep my friends’ secrets.”
“Some wingman,” he muttered.
I held my hand out. “Can I move it to the coffee table? Clive wants to see it too.”
He handed it to me and I placed it on the low table beside me, thinking Vlad could see it easily from the chair. Instead, he sat on the rug beside me. I backed up the video and we started it again.
When the victim hoisted himself up on the side of the dumpster, I paused. “Clive thinks the killer is too tall to be you. He’s basing that on the height of this dumpster.”
Vlad pointed to The Bubble Lounge’s back door. “Standard doors in the US are just under seven feet.”
Six foot eight, Clive confirmed.
“That being the case, this dumpster is probably five and a half feet tall,” Vlad continued.
I thought about it. “That makes sense. The mermaids in their human form aren’t super tall. Nerissa is tall, but she wears high heels, and I doubt she’s the one dumping the garbage.”
I hit play again and we watched the killer drop into the frame.
“Clive also says his hair is too long.” I jumped up, annoying Fergus, and moved back so my perspective on Vlad matched the camera. I turned on the end table lamp, my gaze jumping between the screen and Vlad.
“He’s right,” I said. “The hair in the video is a little longer. Also, the shirt is wrong. His has a normal collar. Yours has a band collar. This is some fancy, designer shirt, isn’t it?”
Vlad looked down at what he was wearing. “My tailor made this for me sometime in the late nineteenth century.”
“And it still looks this good?”
“I take care of my things,” he said, still staring at the screen. “The ear is wrong.” He tapped the killer’s ear. “Mine has a scar.” He turned his head to the light. “I barely avoided a sword cutting my throat that day.”
There was a notch in the outer shell of his ear, a notch the killer didn’t have. We continued the video.
Wait, Clive said at the same time Vlad tapped the mousepad. “Did you see it?” Vlad asked me.
“No, but Clive did. You both saw whatever you saw at the same time.”
Some of us carry handkerchiefs to wipe dirty necks. Sweaty, unwashed skin taints the taste of blood, Clive explained.
“He moved his hand over the man’s neck, but he wasn’t holding anything.” Vlad ran it back for me. “See? Nothing in his hand, but the man’s neck is clean. You sent me a video of that clean spot earlier.”
Wicche? Clive suggested.
“Perhaps a sorcerer,” Vlad mused.
“I can ask Dave if he thinks it’s a demon. They can shape-shift,” I said.
I was sure there was something on the roof, Clive told me.
“Clive says he was positive there was something on the roof.”
Vlad nodded. “We all sensed something up there. Did he see anything at all?”
Clive thought a moment and said, Only a small black cat leaning against the HVAC unit for warmth. Perhaps the killer has a chameleon-like ability to blend his appearance and scent into his surroundings. I might have walked right past him. I could feel Clive’s frustration but wasn’t sure how to help. We were all grasping at straws.
I passed on what Clive said, and Vlad shook his head in annoyance before starting the video again.
When the victim was dropped on the ground and the killer turned toward the camera, Vlad stopped it again. “We can’t drain humans that fast.”
“Oh! The eyebrow’s wrong.” I leaned forward and pointed at the killer’s left eyebrow. “Yours has a break. Another scar. His is smooth and connected.”
When I arrived, Cadmael and Vlad were talking, Vlad’s right side was to the building. Perhaps the killer didn’t see him head on and so couldn’t recreate the scars he hadn’t seen.
I passed on Clive’s observation and Vlad stopped to think before nodding. “He’s right. My head was down when I was going over the spot where the first victim had been killed, looking for scents. Afterward, we moved away from the building to check the surroundings. I had my right side to the building. Cadmael, his left. When Clive arrived and investigated, Cadmael and I were still talking.”
“So, the next time he kills,” I began, “and we know there will be a next time, will he look like Vlad again or will it appear as though it’s Cadmael or Clive? He’s seen all three of you.” I texted Nerissa back, letting her know it wasn’t Vlad—key details were wrong—but it had to be someone who could glamour themselves to look like Vlad. I let her know we would keep investigating and asked for any information she might have on possible killers.
I had a news notification on my screen. I would have ignored it, but I saw the word vampire, so I clicked on it. “Uh-oh. The media has picked up the story and there’s an article in the Chronicle: Vampire Killer Strikes Again.” I turned to Vlad. “That can’t be good.”
Especially not when we have vampires from around the world ready to converge on us.
“We’re not going to be able to keep this quiet,” Vlad said. “Not with what’s left of the Guild arriving in two days.”
ELEVEN
Have You Met Me?
“I mean, technically, almost half of the Guild is already here investigating,” I reminded them. “You guys are on top of it.”
Vlad stayed on the floor with me but leaned back against the chair he’d been sitting in. “The problem is that it doesn’t make us look terribly competent. How is it there’s a vampire—or group of vampires—killing in this city but we have no clues?”
“Oh. You’re either dumb or in on it. Is that it?” I asked.
Vlad nodded.
Unfortunately, he’s right. We’ll need to discuss this with the rest of the Guild, but given what we know, we won’t come off well in the report.
“Okay, but Vlad said the same thing has been happening in a bunch of major cities and that other Counselors were involved in those investigations. They didn’t figure it out either. How does this make you guys look bad?”
“They did, though,” Vlad replied. “Remember? They said a contingent of vampires who want to come out to the world are staging these killings as a first step. So either this is a completely isolated incident that coincidentally bears a striking resemblance to other murders, or those other Counselors were wrong.”
“Geez, you guys aren’t infallible. Are they really going to get their knickers in a twist that their theory proved to be incorrect?” Vampires were ridiculous.
“Have you met us?” Vlad asked, his eyebrows raised. “My question is this: has the killer glamoured himself to look like me for all the killings or did he change his look tonight after we visited the first crime scene?”
“Oh.” I grimaced. “Have you pissed someone off recently?”
He gave me a long look. “Again, have you met me?”
“Okay, well, I have to go get ready for work. I think you guys need to stake out the Bubble Lounge tonight, though.” I paused. “Wait. Those killings in Romania that you investigated—did they all take place in the same spot?”
Vlad considered. “No. They were in the same neighborhood, though. There probably wasn’t more than a few blocks between them all.”
I nodded. “Like Jack the Ripper.” I got up and moved across the room. “They never identified that guy either. Maybe he’s still out there, killing people.”
“He was named the Ripper for a reason. He didn’t drain them of blood; he sliced them up and removed organs,” Vlad reminded me.
“Yeah, but the bodies were still drained of their blood. It ran out on the streets instead of being consumed. Maybe he’s got some kind of blood fetish,” I suggested.
“Now that does sound like us.” Vlad took my laptop and moved back to the chair.
I shrugged. “It’d just be cool to solve that one.”
“Clive knows. You should ask him.”
“What!” I ran across the house and up the stairs, Fergus on my heels. Bursting through the bedroom door, I dove on the bed and rolled into Clive.
Do you really know who Jack the Ripper was?
If I tell you, what will we have to talk about in twenty years?
I kissed his cheek. Come on. Please!
Clive chuckled in my head. Vlad was having you on. I was nowhere near Whitechapel in 1888. Sorry, darling.
Bummer. I took a shower and got ready. By the time I was headed back downstairs, Fergus shot out of his bed and raced past me. Vlad was no longer in the den. He must have gone back to the apartment through the folly. The dragons were almost done building it and they didn’t seem as angry as they initially were about working for a vampire.
They didn’t even seem to mind that Cadmael was living in the section of the folly that appeared to be a tropical island. Clive said Cadmael, a vampire who was over two thousand years old, spent all his time lounging under the stone ceiling that had been magicked to look like bright sunshine in a clear blue sky. Clive and Vlad also loved the folly for much the same reason: experiencing what felt like the sun after ages in the dark.
I wanted to finish processing the new books before we opened, but the mayhem of the morning meant I wasn’t as early as I’d intended. Still, I got a fair amount done before I heard Owen coming down the steps.
“Hey, boss.” He went to the book cart to peruse the new titles, looking well-rested and content.
“You look good,” I told him.
He glanced up, ready to make a joke, and then stopped himself. “Thanks. I’m really happy.” He reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Sometimes it feels unreal. I love him so much, Sam. I didn’t know I could have this. I just”—he shook his head in wonder—“how did we get so lucky?”
“Your parents must be proud. You snagged yourself a rich doctor.” I moved the stack of books I’d finished to the shelving cart. “I bet your mom brags about you every chance she gets.”
Owen laughed. “You know her well. My cousins tell me she often lets drop how spectacular our house is or some wonderful thing George did for me.”
His mate George was a very kind and extremely good-looking dragon shifter. There weren’t many dragons left in the world, but those still around were loaded. Dragons and their treasures. George was a veterinarian working with large exotic animals at the San Francisco Zoo. He bought a mansion for Owen and himself in Sea Cliff, an enclave of the extraordinarily wealthy. Their house was right on the water, with a view of the ocean and the Golden Gate Bridge.
