Dead-Tective Box Set

  I raised an eyebrow. "Going to bed already? Shouldn't we plan our strategy for tomorrow night?"

  He stepped into the coffin, took off his glasses and shrugged. "You will infiltrate the group and find out where the boy is staying. We find him and return him to his mother."

  I rolled my eyes. "You make it sound so easy that I don't know what could possibly go wrong," I quipped.

  "Yes, it's the perfect plan provided my puppet performs perfectly," he snarked. I opened my mouth, but he lay down and shut the lid before I could tell him what I thought of him, so instead I rapped my fist on the top of the lid and shouted it through the wood.

  "I hate you!" I yelled.

  "Duly noted, now leave me alone," he replied.

  I glared at the wood hoping it would burst into flames, but half-vampire people apparently didn't have that ability. However, now that Count Dracula was catching up on his much-needed beauty sleep, I could catch up on mine. That is, after I got these uncomfortable clothes and makeup off. There really weren't any mirrors in the apartment except in the hand-held one in the makeup kit and probably the bathroom I couldn't get into because the door was shut tight. It would take someone with super strength to get that thing-wait a second. I had super strength now! There was only one obstacle to overcome, and right then it lay in bed in front of me.

  I jumped up from my spot on the couch and lightly knocked my feet against the side of the coffin. Nobody answered my knock. I lowered my voice to a faint whisper. "Vince, you in there?" I knew calling him by that name would at least elicit a growl. I didn't get so much as a grumble. "I'm going to open the bathroom. Is that all right?" No answer.

  With my imaginary permission slip in hand I tiptoed over to the bathroom door and tried the old handle. It jiggled, but that's only because it's screws needed tightening. The door didn't open. It was still locked. I glanced over my shoulder at the closed box, but heard nothing. "Vince?" I whispered. No reply. "Vincent, I'm going to open the bathroom, you sure it's okay?" Again there was silence. If Vincent didn't have any further objections to stopping me then I might as well go for it.

  I took the handle firmly in hand and gave it a good wrenching. I ended up with the broken door knob in hand, and the door still shut. There was now a hole where the knob had sat, and I grabbed that and pulled the door open. The heavy metal bolt that locked the door and had been attached to the broken knob clattered noisily to the floor. I froze, and I whipped my head over to the coffin. Still nothing. That guy slept like the dead.

  Now the door was open to me, and I peeked inside. I imagined a room full of cobwebs, spiders, rats dead and alive, and a toilet that made public restrooms look like a royal palace. Expecting all that, I was pretty surprised to find the place was dusty but otherwise clean. There was a sink atop a small cupboard with a toilet and bathtub beyond them. Over the sink connected to the wall was a small medicine cabinet, and I noticed there were faint fingerprints on the edge showing somebody opened it within the last century.

  I strode over and cautiously opened it, fearful it hid the same delightful surprise as the books Ruthven peddled. I found only empty, dusty shelves except for the center one, and that held only a small glass vial of something. I couldn't see through a faint mist that fogged up the interior of the glass. I reached out for the container with shaking fingers, and the moment I touched the glass I felt a jolt of emotion run through me that sent me tottering back into the wall behind me. At the same moment there was a scream from the living room. It was full of agony and despair, and sounded like it came from Vincent's box.

  I darted out of the bathroom in time to see the lid tossed off and Vincent shakily raise himself to a seated position. He hung over the edge of the coffin like a man weakened by hunger and drink, and his eyes were wide and wild. Vincent noticed me come out of the room, and those terrifying eyes turned to anger. "What were you doing in there?" he yelled at me.

  "Just cleaning up, but what the hell happened? I thought I heard you scream," I replied. Rather than answering Vincent tried to stand, but his legs collapsed beneath him. I rushed over and caught him beneath his arms before he made a hard landing back into his box. I lowered him back into the bed. "Easy there. I don't think your legs agree with what the rest of you wants to do."

  He growled and pushed me away. "What the hell did you do?" he growled.

  I shook my head. "I didn't do anything but open the bathroom and touch some vial in-" Vincent's hand shot out and he grasped me by the throat.

  He pulled me close to him so our noses almost brushed against each other. My fingers wrapped around his hand to free myself, but I didn't have as much superhuman strength as he. "Did you break the seal?" he asked me.

  I shook my head. "All I did was touch it," I choked out. Relief passed over his face, and he let me go. I rubbed my neck and glared at him. "Mind telling me what that strangling was for? You act like I touched your favorite teddy bear without asking." He sighed, looked away, and grumbled an answer that I couldn't hear. "Come again?" I asked him.

  "That was my. . ." The final word trailed off.

  "A little louder," I loudly requested.

  He growled and whipped his head toward me. "That was my soul."

  I blinked at him for a long moment, and a smile crept onto my lips. "Seriously? That's the best lie you can come up with?" He stared unblinking and unflinchingly at me with his lips tightly pursed together. My humor died like my previous life. "You're not joking, are you?"

  "No."

  "Then that misty stuff in the bottle is your soul?"

  "Yes."

  I climbed onto the couch and tilted my head. "I've heard of spirits in a bottle but this is a little ridiculous. If you don't mind my asking, why is your soul in a bottle?"

  "I do mind." He grimaced and lifted himself out of his coffin. I stood and grabbed his arm before he played Humpty Dumpty and had a great fall.

  "Easy there, Mr. Secrets. You're not exactly feeling well after me getting all intimate with your soul," I teased him.

  I expected at least a glare from him, but all I got was a tired wince. "Set me down on the couch," he ordered. I did as he asked and sat myself down on the arm next to him.

  "You know, it's not healthy keeping secrets from your partner," I scolded him.

  He closed his eyes and pursed his lips. "My soul is in a bottle to survive my immortality."

  I blinked. "Come again?"

  He opened his eyes and glared at me in annoyance. "I am a very old creature. My human emotions are unable to handle the full weight of these long years, so I separated my soul from my physical being and placed it in that container."

  I tilted my head to the other side. "You can do that?"

  "With alchemy magic, yes."

  "So you really are a soulless bastard?"

  "On the first count, yes."

  An evil thought slipped into my mind, and an equally evil grin slipped onto my lips. "So can I go touch it again?"

  "I would rather you not," he replied.

  "Why not? What did my touching it do to you?"

  "It reconnected me with my emotions."

  I furrowed my brow and scratched my head. "I don't follow."

  Vincent rolled his eyes and grabbed my left hand. He held up the finger with the ring. "This connects us on a basic spiritual level. That is how we're able to communicate via telepathy, and why it's dangerous for you to touch the vial with my soul inside."

  I pulled my hand from his grasp and thought about what he said. "So because this ring connects us, and I connected my finger to the vial, that means you were connect to your soul?"

  "Precisely."

  "So can I go touch it again?"

  "Are you even listening to me?"

  "Maybe."

  "Then do not touch the vial."

  "Not even a little bit? What if I rubbed it? Would that make you ticklish?"

  "No."

  I frowned and crossed my arms. "Maybe you'd be less of a grump if you had more emotion in you,"
I commented.

  "I am not willing to try that experiment," he refused.

  I raised an eyebrow. "Why not? What would happen if your soul got sucked into your body?"

  "I'm not sure, and I'm not willing to find out." He stood from the couch and slid into his coffee-stained coffin. "And I'll have to ask that you not touch the vial again."

  "You didn't exactly tell me what it did to you. If you don't tell me I might get curious and try it again," I warned him.

  He sighed and pinched the bridge of his thin nose. His voice was strained, almost sad and definitely full of regret. "I felt an overwhelming surge of emotion that brought up far too many memories connected to those emotions. Satisfied?" I nodded, and he lay down and closed the lid of his bed.

  I waited a few minutes before I slipped into the bathroom. The vial still sat on its shelf, and I stared into the misty contents. The thick white air inside slowly floated around in its confines, and I wondered if it would drive Vincent mad for it to be let free. Like him I wasn't willing to try, especially since I'd be attached to him when he went nuts, so I closed the mirror door and went about my face cleaning, all the time wondering about What Ifs.

  Chapter 13

  When I came out of the bathroom the sun shone brightly through the windows, and I opted for a light nap in the bedroom. That stretched into most of the day, and at sunset I was rudely bounced up and down on the old mattress. I frowned, buried my head deeper into the pillow, and batted away the hands. "Just five more hours," I grumbled.

  "It's four-thirty. Your meeting with Boyd is in less than an hour," Vincent announced.

  I pulled my head out from beneath my pillow and glared at him. "Even though we're now officially partners, I still officially hate you."

  He grinned. "I wouldn't tolerate any other treatment."

  I sat up and ran my hand through my wild hair. "Good, now get me something pretty to wear and put on my mask," I mumbled.

  Vincent frowned. "I am your partner, not your stylist."

  I shrugged, and a wicked glint slipped into my eyes. "All right, I'll just dress and makeup myself."

  Vincent pursed his lips and sighed. "Find the dress and I will attend to the makeup," he offered.

  With our powers combined I was dressed and masked in half an hour, and Vincent drove us to the restaurant. We reached the meeting spot with ten minutes to spare, but I saw that Boyd already stood outside the entrance. I sighed and steadied myself. There won't be any danger today Vincent told me.

  I whipped my head to the vampire at my side and raised an eyebrow. "You sure about that? What if I'm set up as a sacrifice?"

  He shook his head. "Highly unlikely. Cults are particular about who and what they sacrifice."

  "So they might wait until the second date?" I quipped.

  "Possibly."

  "You're just full of hope and cheer, you know that?" I wondered.

  Vincent nodded at Boyd. "Go to him and I'll follow in the car."

  I frowned and hopped out. "Just don't go at your usual speed or you'll pass by us enough times for him to notice you," I warned him. He frowned, but didn't reply. I shut the car door and strolled over to my date with a big, fake smile plastered to my sweet. "Good evening, darling," I greeted him.

  He heard me, and his face lit up when he spotted me in the crowd. "Myra! Good evening to you!" Thank god he said my alias because I'd forgotten what I'd given him.

  Myra Banks Vincent told me.

  Thanks I sincerely replied. One of us was paying attention to my prattle, and I was surprised it was him.

  Boyd walked up to me and wrapped one of his heavy arms around my thin shoulders. "We're going to have a wonderful time. I've told Sins you're coming and he can't wait to meet you."

  My smile widened to the point of cracking. "That's great. I can't wait to meet him and all the other-um, cultists."

  "Great. Let's get a tax. The meeting starts in twenty minutes."

  Boyd hailed a taxi and we slipped into the back seat. I nervously glanced over my shoulder and was relieved when Vincent pulled onto the street behind us. The address Boyd gave the taxi was for the downtown business district. We drove past dimly-lit skyscrapers and mostly-empty parking garages. The cars in the streets and the people on the sidewalks thinned. Nobody wanted to be around a place of work at night.

  The taxi stopped in front of one of the shorter and more silvery buildings. The dark, empty windows glared down at us as we exited the vehicle and it drove off. Vincent drove by, but he didn't even slow down and last I saw of him he turned the corner at the end of the block.

  You'd better not leave me I warned him.

  Wouldn't think of it he replied.

  "Doesn't look like much, does it?" Boyd commented.

  I tilted my head back for a view of the ten-floor skyscraper. It was a wide, squat, rectangular building made of steel. At the base and through four glass doors I glimpsed a lobby, and at the back were some elevators. One of the elevators stood to the far left closer to the wall of the building than its brethren. To the right in the lobby sat the desk, and a guard sat behind it with his feet on top of the desk.

  "It certainly doesn't scream 'cult,'" I mused.

  Boyd laughed. "No, but what until you get to the top floor." He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me inside. At our entrance the guard looked up from the comic he'd been reading. He tipped his hat at Boyd, who nodded in return. "I'm a regular here," he explained with pride.

  A regular ham I thought to myself. I expected a reply from Vincent, and my heart rate increased when nothing came. You still there? Again there was nothing but silence in my head. Even my warning voices had fled. I was on my own.

  Boyd led me to the elevators, the one that stood off from the others, and clicked the button. The light above the doors ticked down and dinged before they opened to reveal the inside of the elevator. At the helm of the buttons was what I could only describe as a woman in need of a chiropractor. Starting at her waist her spine curved forward and forced her entire upper half to bend a half foot beyond the end of her toes. Her hands were clawed talons that she hung in front of her, and her eyebrows were bushy enough to need a weed whacker to tame them. She snarled at us and showed off a fine set of dentures that had more decay than Detroit.

  The hunchbacked Neanderthal was hunched over the buttons in such a fashion that I suspected any attempt to press them myself would have meant losing a finger or two. Her eyes were narrowed, and they darted between us and her preciouses the buttons.

  Boyd pulled me into the elevator and the doors shut. "Top floor," he ordered her.

  She pressed the button and up we went. Boyd nudged me in the side and nodded at the-er, woman. "I bet you don't see something like that everyday."

  My eyes darted between his blunt comment and the hunchback. "Like what? The elevator buttons?" I guessed.

  He laughed and shook his head. "She's deaf, so we're fine. Master Sins picked her up in some remote city in Eastern Europe and she's the only one allowed to man the elevator."

  I slapped a fake grin on my face and chuckled. "What a-um, kind thing for him to do."

  Boyd nodded his head. "Yes, Master Sins takes care of his own. We're like his children." He leaned down and winked. "I guess you could say the spouses are committing incest."

  He belted out a guffaw that echoed in the small space, and the vibrations caught the attention of our operator. She turned and sneered at us. I cringed backwards and waved. This was the elevator ride from hell with a detour upstairs before the final trip down. The trip was blessedly short and in a minute I felt the contraption stop and the doors swung open. They revealed a long corridor drenched in black paint with tiles speckled with silver glitter. On either side of the hall were thick wooden doors with arcane symbols on them. The end of the hall lay in the far distance and was another dark door.

  "Here's our stop," Boyd announced. He led me onto the floor and the elevator doors nearly shut on my rear. We strode forward and our heels clacked o
n the linoleum floor. "What do you think of the decor? Quite mystical, isn't it? I guess the silver in the floor really is silver."

  "Um, yeah, mystical," I agreed. It creeped the hell out of me and actually made me long for Vincent to interrupt the silence in my head with a snarky comment.

  Boyd waved his hand at the walls and the doors. "The black paint is meant to convey the demon world, and the doors are inscribed with symbols to represent portals to the darkness," he explained.

  "So what's really in them?" I asked him.

  He shrugged. "I don't really know. Master Sins is probably the only one who's been inside them."

  "Lucky him," I commented.

  "Isn't he?" Boyd agreed, wholly unaware of the sarcasm in my voice.

  We strode past the black doors and to the end of the hallway. There was a small impressed square in the center, and when our clacking heels stopped before the portal it slid to the side. A pair of bright white eyes glared back at us.

  "What's the password?"

  Boyd chuckled. "It's me, Fred, Boyd, and my guest," he replied.

  "What's the password?" Fred insisted.

  Boyd sighed and he muttered the password, "Asteroid."

  The small square slid closed and in another moment the door was flung open. Fred revealed himself as a giant of a man who needed to stoop to see through the square peephole. His shoulders were nearly as broad as I was tall, and thin wisps of unruly black hair hardly covered the top of his head. He stepped off to the side and sneered at us. The help in this building were such wonderful people.

  Chapter 14

  Boyd guided me inside the large square room. The area was darkly lit by torches that hung from the walls. They cast shadows over the two dozen occupants, half of whom were clothed in crimson and black robes. The other half were dressed as casually as Boyd and I. I looked for my target, but Eric Hargrove was nowhere in sight.

  The people congregated around columns that were evenly spaced at intervals on either side of a long, rug-draped walkway. The tops of the columns were carved into curved arches that ended in horrible faces with their tongues stuck out at the people. At the back of the room was a short stage, and at the rear of the stage was a tall wooden chair with thick arms and a wide seat that even Fred would find comfortable.

  There was nowhere for anyone else to sit, but Boyd led me over to a group of four people, two dressed in robes and the other two as we were attired. The two in robes also wore hoods over their faces that covered everything but the tips of their chins. He smiled at the others, but none smiled back. "Good evening, fellow occultists," he greeted them.