Blood Gamble (Disrupted Magic Book 2) Page 4

  Shaken and lost, I had wanted to get out of town for a while, and to learn more about nulls who were not homicidal maniacs. To my surprise, Dashiell had agreed on both counts. He’d suggested I go to New York and stay with Jameson, who worked for a cardinal vampire named Malcolm. Partly, I think, he wanted to keep me out of Olivia’s reach, but at the time, I had also thought he wanted me to see what an ideal relationship between a null and a cardinal vampire looked like. Stupid, naive Scarlett.

  Dashiell arranged for a sort of null exchange visit, but when I arrived in New York I learned very quickly that Malcolm didn’t just employ Jameson, he controlled him, with a combination of threats, passive-aggressive demands, and fervent praise. He acted as a sort of father/minor deity to Jameson, who was aware of some of it, and manipulated by the rest. Malcolm didn’t take the manipulation as far as Olivia had, but in many ways he was worse than her. He was just better at hiding his tracks. I probably wouldn’t even have noticed how controlling he was if I hadn’t just been through a similar experience.

  Eventually, I realized that Malcolm’s twisted treatment of Jameson was what Dashiell wanted me to see. The point was to show me that as confused and lost as I felt, it could all be a hell of a lot worse. It was a very Dashiell-like demonstration . . . and a lesson I hadn’t forgotten.

  Despite all that, though, I had liked Jameson. We’d even had a little chemistry, although I was struggling with complicated relationships back home, and we never acted on it. Since my visit, Jameson and I had texted sporadically, usually when we were thinking of one of the movies we’d watched together. And one time he’d wanted to know how to get blood out of wool. My life is weird. Anyway, the last time I’d heard from him, a few months earlier, he was definitely still in New York.

  As I stared at the grainy photo of Jameson in Las Vegas, obviously deferring to Arthur Holmwood, my first reaction was to feel like an idiot. I should have figured out last week that the Holmwoods had a null. Arthur and Lucy were putting on an incredibly costly show at an incredibly costly casino property. Of course they would need to make appearances during the day, and for a vampire, that would only be possible with someone like me.

  But at the same time, I couldn’t believe that the null in question was Jameson.

  Well, actually, I couldn’t believe that Jameson had left New York. “This . . . it doesn’t make any sense,” I sputtered. “Jameson works for Malcolm the way I work for you. He always has.”

  Malcolm was the cardinal vampire of New York City, but unlike Dashiell, he didn’t believe in sharing power. Actually, as far as I could tell, he didn’t believe in sharing anything. I couldn’t see him letting his null go to Las Vegas to work for the Holmwoods.

  Unless he hadn’t? Had Malcolm sent Jameson to spy, the way Dashiell wanted to send me? If so, why? I doubted that Malcolm gave a shit about the Holmwoods risking exposure or hurting humans.

  Too much didn’t add up here.

  I handed the phone back to Dashiell. “Like I said,” I began in a calmer voice, “I’ll go to Vegas and look into the show for you. But call off the bachelorette party. I’m not risking Juliet.”

  “And we’re not risking you,” Beatrice replied, squeezing Dashiell’s shoulder. “You were right when you told Dashiell that showing up as his representative would look . . .” she searched for a word, and settled on, “aggressive. This gives you a nice cover story to explain why you’re in town. And all the reservations have been made in Juliet’s name, which is different from yours.” Juliet hadn’t taken my brother’s last name, at least not yet.

  “But Jameson knows me,” I argued. “He’s not going to believe me being there is a coincidence.”

  “He doesn’t have to,” Dashiell countered. “It just has to be plausible.”

  I rolled my eyes. Ah yes, Old World politics. You can’t attack someone with a perfectly acceptable story, even if you think they’re lying. It’s not like putting up a controversial Facebook post. Proof is the only thing that matters.

  “But what if they come after me?” I demanded. “What if these Holmwoods decide I’m a threat anyway? Juliet and her friends will be caught in the crossfire.”

  “That’s why we have arranged for one of Hayne’s men to serve as the party’s ‘driver,’” Beatrice explained. “He is ex-military, and spent years as a professional bodyguard in the Middle East. I have instructed him to focus specifically on Juliet and the other humans on this trip.” She gave me a wry little smile. “If it comes down to them or you, he will save them.”

  I had to doubt that. Besides, an ex-military bodyguard, around the clock? “Jesus, how much did that cost you?” I muttered under my breath. Dashiell and Beatrice both gave me a blank look. I sighed. Vampires. They genuinely didn’t understand how people worried about money.

  I was quickly losing ground in this argument. “What about my job here?” I said, a last-ditch attempt. “Who’s going to handle any messes that come up while I’m gone?” Yeah, things had been slow, but it wasn’t like we could schedule crises in advance. I never knew when I might be needed.

  Beatrice cut her eyes over to Dashiell, who gave me a smile that was just a little too classy to be called smug. “I spoke to Mr. Cruz on the phone a few minutes ago,” he informed me. “He has agreed to be on call for Old World emergencies in your place. All three leaders will assist him, along with Corry, who is able to take care of Shadow.”

  Dashiell had been busy. I was kind of surprised that Jesse had agreed to clean up crime scenes in my place, but then again, he’d changed a lot since getting divorced. He wasn’t seeing things as quite so black-and-white anymore.

  I got up from my visitor’s chair and paced the back of the room for a minute, a habit I’d picked up from my ex-boyfriend, Eli. I didn’t like this. I didn’t like anything about it. And I really, really didn’t want to go back to Las Vegas. But I couldn’t help but think of Margaret, the vampire who was presumed dead because she had gone to investigate in my place. And Jameson—was he okay? What the hell was he doing in Vegas? I swallowed, my mouth dry. Dammit, I wanted to know what was going on.

  But Juliet . . .

  “Scarlett,” Beatrice said softly, “if Juliet was allowed to know about the Old World, and you told her that this bachelorette weekend could be dangerous, but it could help keep you safe, do you think she’d still want to go?”

  My shoulders slumped. “Of course.”

  “Then why are we still talking about this?” she said in a reasonable tone. “I have planned a wonderful weekend for all of you. You’ll see a show, you’ll have fun, and you’ll come back on Monday with a full report about the Holmwoods. What is the problem?”

  Wait, what? There was a gleam in Beatrice’s eyes that I definitely didn’t like. It was the same look Molly got when she wanted to dress me up in fancy clothes just for fun.

  “Beatrice,” I said suspiciously, “when you say you’ve planned a great weekend, what exactly do you mean?”

  Her eyes brightened, like she’d been dying for me to ask. Well, so to speak. “I spoke at length to Juliet’s matron of honor, and we chose activities that were both personalized for Juliet and in line with common bachelorette activities in Las Vegas.”

  Beatrice and Bethany, teaming up? That was ominous. I had the sudden feeling that I was on a train careening downhill with no brakes. There was no way to jump off without causing an equal amount of death.

  Dropping the subject for the moment, I turned to Dashiell, squaring my shoulders. “The deal that we made,” I said in a low voice, “was for me to be an equal partner in this city, on the same level as Kirsten and Will. Are you backing out of it?”

  He gave me an insulted look. “Of course not. We have been most satisfied with your work, especially the way you handled the unfortunate incident with”—he waved a hand—“the deaths at USC.”

  I suppressed a snort. The deaths at USC. An insane, misogynistic vampire had framed Molly for the apparent murder of twelve college students, and tried to depos
e Dashiell himself, but the only way Dashiell could describe it was by the possible political ramifications.

  I reminded myself to stay on topic. “And would you pull this kind of shit on Will or Kirsten?” I demanded, crossing my arms over my chest. “Would you put Kirsten’s daughter in danger just to get some answers you wanted?”

  Dashiell’s dark eyes glittered at me. Before he could speak, Beatrice laid a hand on his forearm. “Scarlett,” she said softly, “it’s true that we resolve issues in a different way with the others, but that doesn’t mean we’re putting your family in danger. Hayne assures me that he’s sending his best man. And for more reasons than one, you’re the only person who can do this.”

  That brought me up short for a second. I studied Beatrice. Like all the vampires I’d met, she was an expert at keeping her thoughts off her face . . . as a vampire. Keeping your guard up is much harder when you’ve been suddenly thrust back into humanity. There was an edge of something in her eyes. Something desperate.

  “What do you suspect?” I said, dropping back onto the edge of the chair. My eyes slid over to Dashiell, but he spent more time around me than Beatrice did, and his poker face didn’t waver.

  “We’re not sure,” he said stiffly. “Rumors have followed the Holmwoods for decades. There’s something . . . off . . . about them. No one is willing to look into it, though, because they are always moving from one territory to another.”

  I sighed. Sometimes I forgot that Dashiell was sort of a maverick in supernatural society. Most vampires acquired power slowly as they aged, but every once in a while one of them was reborn with a great big chunk of it, and that was Dashiell. Hell, on paper, he was still too young to control any city, let alone one as big and diverse as LA had become.

  Because he was younger than most of the vampires in his position, Dashiell had a lot of funny ideas about things like sharing power and giving people second chances—and investigating Old World situations even if they didn’t directly affect him yet. It was amusing—and kind of scary—to remember that my authoritarian, rigid boss was a James Dean–level rebel among his peers. And I hadn’t forgotten about Carlos. Maybe Dashiell felt some personal responsibility for the current situation in Las Vegas, whatever it was.

  But he was right about one thing: if there was a problem in Las Vegas, no one else would interfere, even if the Holmwoods were killing humans.

  It was a blow to my pride, but I spat out the words anyway. “Fine. We’ll do it your way, including the stipend you promised. But if, God forbid, something happens to Juliet, you will personally be buying both those kids a first-class college education. Anywhere they want.” It sounded cold even as I said it, but Beatrice was right. Juliet would have agreed to the trip if she knew about the danger. At least this way I was securing the kids’ future. “I’m talking Ivy League, PhDs, whatever.”

  “Fine,” Dashiell said, his face unreadable.

  “And,” I went on, “I want your word that you will never again involve Jack or his family in your affairs without speaking to me first. Outside the purview of Jack’s mundane human job, of course.”

  Beatrice looked at her husband expectantly, but he just stared at me with the same opaque expression. I didn’t look away. I was the only sort-of human who could meet his eyes without fear, and I wasn’t above reminding him of that. The staring contest continued for what was probably one minute but felt like much longer. Finally, Beatrice laid a hand on Dashiell’s shoulder. “Consider it a gesture of trust,” she said softly.

  Dashiell paused for one more moment, then gave me a curt nod. “I give you my word.”

  Chapter 6

  Which was how, a few days later, I found myself arranging a ride to Vegas with a stranger named Cliff.

  Juliet and two of her other bridesmaids were going to fly, but I wanted to bring my throwing knives, and the bodyguard/driver that Dashiell was sending needed to bring God knew how many guns. A trip through airport security wasn’t really a viable option for us.

  Cliff was picking me up at seven in the morning—we were hoping to avoid the worst of the rush-hour traffic out of town—but Jesse came by at six thirty to say goodbye. He was also picking up my van, the White Whale, which was tricked out for handling Old World emergencies. Because he knows how I feel about mornings, he arrived with an enormous cup of coffee in hand.

  “Mmm,” I said by way of thank you, taking a big sniff of the coffee and opening the door wide. “Okay, you can come in.”

  Jesse stepped inside and immediately crouched down to pet Shadow, who was frantically waving her oddly clubbed-off tail. She liked Jesse nearly as much as she liked me. “Is Corry already here?” he asked, looking up at me. “I forgot to get her a coffee.”

  “Yeah, I got in last night,” came Corry’s voice from the direction of Molly’s room. My vampire roommate had gone up to San Francisco for a few days, although she would be back Saturday evening, at which point Corry would move over to my room. Corry wandered into the little entryway, yawning. She was pretty and wholesome-looking, and with her dark blonde hair mussed and a knee-length pajama shirt, she looked more like a fourteen-year-old than a college freshman. “Hey, Jesse.”

  “Hi, kid,” he said affectionately. He raised his arm and gave her a casual but affectionate side hug. Corry had been molested by a teacher four years earlier, and I’d noticed Jesse was always conscientious about how he touched her. He was good like that.

  “Are you sure you’re going to be okay here by yourself?” I asked her, trying to keep the concern off my face. “I mean, Molly will be back tomorrow night, but it might be late. You know, like, vampire-late.”

  “I’ll be fine.” Corry waved a hand. “We’ll have fun, right Shadow?” She looked down at the bargest, who seemed less than enthusiastic. Shadow was no idiot. I had never been away from her for more than twelve hours since we’d first met, but she was supernaturally intelligent. She knew what the suitcase on my bed meant.

  “Hmm, maybe I’ll take her to the dog beach,” Corry added playfully, and Shadow’s tail began wagging frantically. I winked at Corry, who, like me, suspected that Shadow’s big dream in life was to take down a shark. Corry smiled back and sniffed, eyeing my coffee.

  “You want some?” I asked, hoping she’d say no.

  “Nah.” She flapped a hand toward the kitchen and mumbled, “Imma go make some more.”

  When she was gone, Jesse stepped toward me, close enough for me to smell his aftershave. I fought the blush that threatened to creep up my neck. He and I are just friends, but Jesse happens to be the best-looking human person I’ve ever seen in my life, and sometimes my body just kind of chemically reacts to that. Especially in a small room. Especially when I hadn’t “been with” anyone in—

  “Are you sure you’re up for this?” Jesse said in a low voice. I just cocked an eyebrow at him. “I mean,” he amended, “how have you been feeling?”

  “Fine,” I said honestly. “No more vertigo or anything.”

  A few weeks earlier, I’d “cured” a close acquaintance of vampirism. This was the third time I’d permanently removed someone’s magic, and the first two times had been hard on me physically. But this time had been better. I didn’t know if it was because Hayne hadn’t been a vampire for very long or if my abilities were genuinely getting stronger, but instead of lapsing into a coma, I spent a few days in bed feeling weak and disoriented, like the way you feel when you’re just getting over a bad flu. After that, I was fine.

  I was anxious to do it again, with Molly’s friends who had been turned into vampires against their will. But Dashiell had put his foot down, insisting I wait at least three months in between “cures,” to make sure my health recovered. I also had to get a complete physical before each attempt, too, which was a pain in the ass. It would be another month before I could try again.

  Jesse must have decided I was telling the truth, because he finally nodded, accepting my answer. “What about protection?” he asked.

  “You mea
n like condoms?” I said brightly.

  Jesse rolled his eyes. “Do you have your knives?”

  “Duh. And my knife belt, for when I can’t wear the boots. I even threw in my bulletproof vest, just to make you, Jesse, personally happy.”

  “Good.” He gave me a speculative look. “Are you sure I can’t talk you into taking something with a little more firepower?”

  Jesse’s mission in life was to get me to carry a handgun. I could shoot—he’d made sure of that—but the thought of carrying a weapon like that out in the world scared the bejesus out of me. “For the hundredth time, no. I’m not bringing a gun.”

  We’d had this argument too many times for him to push me further. “I should let you get moving, then.” He held out his hand. “Keys?”

  I reached into my hoodie pocket for the van keys, but then I hesitated, suddenly nervous.

  “Scarlett,” he said in a gentle voice, “it’s gonna be fine. I’ll keep an eye on Corry and Shadow.”

  That wasn’t really what was bothering me. I knew Jesse could handle my job for a few days, and Corry and Shadow got along like gangbusters. But I couldn’t tell him that I was scared for myself, or that going on this little mission made me feel outclassed in at least three ways. You just don’t say that kind of thing out loud.

  So I nodded and dropped the keys into his hand.

  Jesse left, and Corry decided to turn on the Nature Channel for Shadow, who gave my face one last lick and settled on her Volkswagen-sized dog bed in the living room. I dragged my suitcase outside just as a big black SUV barreled into the driveway, right on time. The driver parked in front of the guest cottage door and climbed out.

  I think I was sort of expecting Cliff to be a stereotype: a big, extravagantly muscled guy who had to turn sideways to fit through doors, kind of like Hayne. But the man who stepped out of the SUV was maybe five ten, with an olive complexion that made his heritage a mystery. He was in his mid or late thirties, and probably did have muscle, but it was hidden under his cargo pants and denim jacket. As he closed the SUV door and moved toward the house, I could see that he moved gracefully, like a ballet dancer or a fencer. Interesting.