Blood Gamble (Disrupted Magic Book 2) Read online

  Damn. But I did notice that Wyatt said they agreed to welcome the Holmwoods, rather than we.

  “Did that include you and Ellen?” I asked, in case it was the other way around. Someone could have been targeting the people who were against the show.

  But Wyatt said, “I just wanted to stay out of the whole thing. Ellen . . . she was a little worried about the show’s exposure, but she did believe the Holmwoods might finally bring the Las Vegas vampires together. She wanted that so badly. Peace, I mean.”

  He paused, not meeting my eyes. “Ellen had mostly finished up in the week before the show opened. Then on opening night, Lucy and Arthur hosted a big reception. I didn’t want to go. Didn’t want to put on a suit and make nice with the vampire celebrities.” He said this last word with great distaste. “But Ellen said she had to. Lucy had gotten word that a vampire from LA was driving out to see the show, and she wanted Ellen to make her feel welcome.” He paused for a moment, and I realized that his eyes were wet. “That was the last I saw of her.”

  I gave him a moment before asking, “Do you know how Lucy found out about the LA vampire?” That part worried me. Dashiell had made it sound like Margaret was coming incognito, so how had the Holmwoods anticipated her?

  “That, I don’t know. I’m not even sure if Ellen made an appointment to meet with her, or if she was just supposed to keep an eye on her from a distance. Ellen had been working for the Holmwoods for a while by then without any issues, so I didn’t think to ask many questions.” His face darkened, and he looked at his empty hands. “And now she’s dead.”

  “No offense, but how can you be sure Ellen didn’t just . . . um . . .”

  “Leave town?”

  I nodded. It was still possible that the simplest explanation was the right one.

  Wyatt raised his head, looking me square in the eye, and said, “Ellen and me, we’ve been together for a hundred and twenty-six years. If she’d wanted to end it for any reason, she would have told me so. And I can’t think of a good reason for someone to capture vampires and imprison them somewhere long-term. Can you?”

  “No,” I admitted.

  He nodded, resigned. “So the skinners killed my Ellen. Probably this Margaret, too.”

  The skinners again. I was really starting to hate that term. “Look,” I said. “I really am sorry for your loss. But I’m not the one to help you with this. Does Las Vegas have a cardinal vampire? Laurel didn’t know.”

  “In a way,” he said, his reserved face twisting with sourness. “Before Arthur and Lucy Holmwood arrived, there were two vampires vying for control, Silvio and Minerva. They both wanted it bad, but the problem was that neither of them was really strong enough to hold a city like Vegas. Their little feud has been on autopilot for years, as though they were both just biding their time until one of them got more powerful with age.” He gave me a wry smile. “Or like they were waiting for a real contender to show up and take over.”

  “And then the Holmwoods arrived,” I mused. “When exactly did they get here?”

  “Mid-January. And Minerva disappeared only a few days later, along with a few other folks.”

  I shook my head. This was getting ridiculous. “Wait, you’re saying Minerva is one of these disappeared vampires?”

  “Yeah. Though I don’t rightly know if that was the skinners or the Holmwoods.”

  Huh. I sat back in my chair. I may have sucked at politics, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t follow his logic. “You think Silvio is working for Arthur and Lucy? That they’re the real cardinal vampires?” It wouldn’t be the first time someone in power installed a puppet to hide behind.

  “I’m not sure I’d go that far,” he admitted. “I don’t get the impression that the Holmwoods give a shit about being in charge of the city. They’re more interested in money and fame. But it was awfully suspicious that Minerva disappeared right after they arrived in town.” He shrugged. “If I had to guess, I’d say Silvio cut himself a deal. Let Arthur and Lucy do their thing, no questions asked, and he gets the rest of the city.”

  It was possible. Then again, the skinners who had likely killed Ellen and Margaret might have taken out Minerva, too.

  “What a mess,” I muttered. It sounded like three things had happened more or less at the same time: the Holmwoods opened their show, the skinners came to town, and Silvio rose to power. How could I figure out how these things were connected, if they even were?

  I told myself to focus on the problem at hand. Wyatt’s problem. Which was not, in fact, my problem. “Still, if Silvio is your cardinal vampire, can’t you go to him about the skinners and the missing vampires?”

  Wyatt snorted. “I tried. His people told me to come back on the first Sunday of the month, when he’ll be ‘holding court.’ I’ll have to wait my turn in line, of course,” he added sarcastically.

  I just had to ask. “Did they really use the phrase ‘holding court’?” Most of the vampires I knew didn’t bother with vainglorious speaking patterns. They needed to blend in with humans, not sound like a reenactment from a special on the History Channel.

  “Yep.” Wyatt rubbed his face again. “I don’t know if the man is just an imbecile, or if he doesn’t want to look into these disappearances because he promised the Holmwoods not to make any big moves. Could be both, I reckon.”

  Ugh. I couldn’t really blame Wyatt for being upset, or for wanting to find Ellen’s killer some other way. The Holmwoods had come to Las Vegas with their big, attention-grabbing act, and in the process they’d more or less undermined the power of their puppet cardinal vampire. The skinners could be using that gap in authority to come in and kill a bunch of vampires. It was actually a pretty slick idea, from their perspective.

  “What can you tell me about the skinners?” I asked Wyatt. It was like the third time I had asked that question today.

  “Nothing I can prove. There are rumors that they’re in town, that they’re here to kill as many vampires as they can. But no one has any descriptions or names, nothing like that.”

  “Are they after the Holmwoods?”

  He pursed his lips, his old-fashioned mustache pointing outward like bristles. “To kill them? I don’t know. But I suspect all the publicity drew them here.”

  That was kind of what I was thinking, too, but Wyatt wasn’t finished. “Miss Scarlett, you have to understand, vampires flock to Las Vegas because of the easy pickings. The tourist population, the homeless, the sad sacks who have lost all their money and are half-suicidal anyway. It’s a goddamned buffet for us. Point is, there already were lots of vampires, and now that the Holmwoods are here, more and more will be coming to visit. Which makes us easy pickings for the skinners.”

  Goose bumps broke out on my bare arms. Even Molly had talked about coming to see the Holmwoods, and she couldn’t be the only one. It certainly seemed possible that these skinners had followed the Holmwoods here, or been drawn by their extremely well-publicized vampire show. If your goal was to kill vampires, this was a great fish-in-a-barrel kind of setup.

  “In that case, they’d want the Holmwoods to stay alive. As bait,” I said, mostly to myself. Wyatt nodded.

  Then I got it. If you were a skinner and your goal in life was to kill vampires, what would be the best possible tool in your arsenal? A null. Jeez, no wonder Jameson had a bodyguard. And maybe that was why he’d said the Holmwoods would kill me if they saw me. Nulls are rare enough that they might assume any other null in Vegas had to be with the skinners. Dammit, this was getting too complicated. Not to mention way above my pay grade.

  “I’m sorry about your wife, Wyatt,” I said, meaning it. I’ve never been a fan of the “all vampires are evil” mentality, mostly because around me, they were just people again. Often arrogant, out-of-touch people, but still. After meeting Wyatt, I had to agree with Laurel’s assessment that he was a decent guy. “And I’ll tell the cardinal vampire of Los Angeles everything I’ve learned, so he can decide on further action. You have my word on that.” I st
ood up, hoping he would take the hint.

  But he didn’t move. “That’s not enough,” he said firmly. “I want you to find the skinners who killed Ellen. The Holmwoods won’t do it; they don’t give a shit as long as they’re making money. That means Silvio won’t waste resources on it either, and I’m guessing Minerva is as dead as the rest of ’em. We need you.”

  Wait, what? “I’m sorry, I think you have the wrong idea,” I said, sinking back into my seat and crossing my arms. “I’m not actually investigating this. I’m only here for the weekend.”

  “I made a few calls tonight, to friends in LA,” he said, with a new glint in his eye. “They all said that Scarlett Bernard has a tendency to make things move. And that you’ve gotten involved in this kind of business before.”

  “In my town, on my turf, and with my own allies,” I countered. “This is a very different situation.”

  But Wyatt went on like he hadn’t heard me. “You also do jobs for hire. Freelance jobs.”

  I shook my head. This was getting away from me. “That’s not why I’m here.” Okay, it was exactly why I was here, but this guy didn’t need to know that.

  Wyatt frowned at me, and then he reached into both his coat pockets. I felt my fingers automatically stray toward the knife in my pocket, but he just pulled out two flat stacks of cash, each one maybe an inch thick. He slammed the stacks on the coffee table between us, hard enough to make me jump.

  “That’s a hundred thousand dollars,” he said flatly. “That’s our emergency money. I want you to use it to find Ellen’s killer.”

  I sat there for several seconds with my mouth opening and closing like a hungry goldfish. Wyatt waited, looking resigned to my incredulity.

  My head suddenly felt full of helium. The money on the table would pay off pretty much all of Jack and Juliet’s hospital debts. Of course, that was assuming I could figure out how to launder it, which I knew nothing about. And then I’d have to turn it into an anonymous donation to Logan. Or maybe I could tell Juliet and Jack I’d won big at poker? No, Jack knew how bad I was at cards. An inheritance from a dead client? Then they were going to think I’d done a lot more for him than clean the floors.

  Slow down, I told myself. Yeah, daydreaming about sudden riches was fun, but at the end of the day, it was just money. And all the money in the world wouldn’t buy me any investigative competence in a city I didn’t know. I was just a twentysomething from LA who could barely dress herself. I was not the person to handle this disaster of a situation. I took a deep breath in and let it out slowly. The money Dashiell was giving me for coming this far would clear up a chunk of Jack and Juliet’s debt, too, and I’d keep saving.

  “I’m not looking for more work,” I said at last, tearing my eyes away from the cash. “But like I said, I will talk to Dashiell for you. He feels some responsibility for Las Vegas; I’m sure he’ll help.”

  Wyatt sighed and added, “Look, I hear good things about this Dashiell, but he has his own interests, not to mention his own city to worry about, hundreds of miles away. He’s not going to be able to move around in the daytime like you can. Plus, he won’t be able to ask questions and poke around without risking a vampire war. You’re a third party; you’re not bound by our rules.”

  I had to admit, that was sort of true. If I was here on a freelance job, then my actions wouldn’t reflect back on Dashiell or the LA Old World. At the same time, no one who knew about me would be anxious to hurt me, considering my day job was for the cardinal vampire of Los Angeles.

  But that was assuming everyone would know my whole employment situation before they decided to try to kill me, which was a pretty big leap. And what about Juliet? If I gave up on the bachelorette party ruse, and someone learned that I had family in town, they could hurt her to get to me. It was an old, tired cliché, but only because it was so effective.

  I shook my head. “Wyatt . . . I can’t. And, honestly, even if I could, that’s way too much money. I don’t . . . that’s way too much. I don’t know who gave you null freelance rates, but he and I do not play in the same league.”

  Wyatt looked tired all of a sudden. He’d probably been in his early thirties when he was turned, but suddenly I could make out the cracks and fine lines in his face, a weariness born of too many years and too many unwanted experiences. He picked up his hat again, turning it over and over.

  “This isn’t just a freelance rate,” he said, his voice catching a little. “Like I said, this was our emergency savings. After I kill whoever took Ellen away from me, I won’t need it anymore. If you think it’s too much, you can give it away, gamble it, save it, whatever. I don’t give two shits what you do with it after I find Ellen’s killer.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because,” he said, looking me square in the eye, “when this is over, I want you to kill me too.”

  Chapter 15

  When you consider it objectively, it might seem like a pretty common request for a null—helping a vampire or werewolf commit suicide. But no one had ever asked me this before. I’d never even thought about it, and if I had, I would have assumed the request would come from one of the werewolves, who are constantly struggling against the ill-fitting magic that tears them into two shapes. Vampires have it good: super strength, speed, advanced healing, eternal youth, and the ability to control human minds. The only cost is being nocturnal and taking a blood donation every night or two. And unlike the werewolves, vampires almost always choose that existence, for one reason or another. Turning someone into a vampire is too much work for it to happen by accident very often.

  “I’ve never met a suicidal vampire,” I blurted. “Isn’t that kind of at odds with your whole . . . everything?”

  “I would appreciate if you did not make light of my situation,” he said stiffly. “Ellen was my soul mate, Miss Bernard. I have no interest in spending eternity in a world without her.”

  “I apologize,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to mock you, I promise.”

  Wyatt went on as if I hadn’t even spoken. “It’s only been a few days, really, and I already feel like someone cut off one side of my body and left me to die. I’m not complete anymore. Ellen was . . . she was everything.” I glanced down at his hands, which had been worrying at his hat again. It was practically a new shape by now.

  Suddenly the idea of a cowboy vampire didn’t seem like such a joke. For the first time, I looked past the vampire and his clothes and saw a man in serious pain. “Wyatt . . . I’m so sorry.”

  “Then help me,” he said doggedly. “All I can think about is finding out who did this and killing them myself. After that, I want to be with my Ellen again.”

  “Even so, why would you need me to kill you?” I blurted. “Can’t you just . . . like . . .”

  “Wait for the dawn?” He looked amused. “I can, if it comes down to it. But I’ve no desire to burn. I’d rather eat a bullet. It’s cleaner and simpler.” Seeing my horrified expression, he added in a softer tone, “You wouldn’t have to pull the trigger, Miss Scarlett. I just need you to be there.” He gazed at me, his eyes pleading. “Please.”

  “I gotta think,” I said abruptly. I stood up and paced over to the window, resting my forehead against the cool glass. My room had come with a partial view of the Strip, and it was instantly mesmerizing. Lights didn’t just shine in Las Vegas; they glittered and flashed and blinked in an always-moving, almost violent display of opulence and recklessness. Environment be damned! We’ve got neon!

  Stop distracting yourself, Scarlett.

  I usually prided myself on being more or less dead inside, but dammit, Wyatt had gotten to me. And it wasn’t just because I’d recently broken up with Eli. That was too easy. Even if I wasn’t in a romantic relationship, there were plenty of people I cared about: Jack and his family, and Molly, and Jesse too. I wasn’t alone, not like Wyatt.

  Or was I? Just a little while ago I’d been thinking about how being a null came with its own isolation. In a way, you were always alone, always
different, whether you were in a group of humans or a group of supernaturals. Wyatt had had one person in all of time and space who got him, and for that, I envied him. And now that that person had been taken away . . . well, yeah. I could relate to not having anyone who truly saw you. Hell, I understood that a lot better than I understood healthy relationships.

  Despite my better instincts, I wanted to help him. But how would I even start? I wasn’t actually an investigator; that was Jesse’s job. And I couldn’t just ask him to come help me, because I needed him to be on call in LA. And to keep an eye on Corry and Shadow for me.

  I thought about the little I knew about what was happening: the Holmwoods, Demeter, the missing vampires, Jameson, the skinners. It all seemed so big, like a huge piece of wallpaper plastered to a wall, and I couldn’t figure out where to begin trying to scrape it off. There was no obvious loose corner I could get my fingernails under.

  Yes there is, insisted my inner voice. Which sounded suspiciously like Jesse’s.

  It was the victim pool.

  I turned around to face Wyatt again. “I would need to check with some people before I could agree to help you. Can you give me an hour or two?”

  He nodded eagerly. “Anything you need.”

  “Okay. Meanwhile, if I were to help find Ellen’s killer, I would need to know exactly who’s gone missing. And,” I added before he could speak, “not just who, but when, and from where. If we can figure out what they have in common, or how they’re being chosen, we’ll be a lot closer to stopping it.”

  Wyatt jumped to his feet, looking as excited as a laconic cowboy vampire probably gets. “I can get you a list,” he said, his eyes bright. “I’ll get started right now.”

  Wyatt left the room to make some calls of his own. I didn’t know where he’d go to do that, but it didn’t matter. As soon as he was through the door and out of my radius, I went back to my phone and called Dashiell.

  The phone barely got through a single ring; he had been expecting my call. As quickly as I could, I explained what I’d learned that night: the missing vampires, the show, the Holmwoods’ people-eating after-party. He listened in silence for most of it, although I could swear I heard him actually hiss when I described the rebuilding of the Demeter. And then I told him about Wyatt’s offer of a freelance job.