Angel: Private Eye Book One

  Chapter 4

  I sat there, still shaking. Though they’d given me something for the blood loss and shock, it wasn’t working.

  I was in the cells now, pressed right up as far as I could get along one of the rickety metal seats. The cell was filled with other perps who’d been dragged in that night. Real criminals, if my innocent little mind was any judge. One looked like a body witch – a sorceress who could spell herself into looking like anyone or anything for your pleasure. Or torture – depending on who paid her.

  My skin crawled the way she looked at me. As if she was sizing up my measurements, remembering them in case anyone was stupid enough to ever ask for a 5’3 mouse with blond stringy hair and a figure like a toothpick.

  There was a sullen warlock pacing from one end of the room to the other, his arms clasped tightly around his well-built, muscular body. There were flecks of what looked like either dried blood or blood red paint under his nails. Or both. Unlike the vampires, it would be harder for the warlocks to source the material they needed for their spells. I’d always heard that certain enchantments that required pure blood could be thinned down with red pigment. Though the results were rarely the same, unless you were brewing spells for someone with the nous and balls to complain to a warlock, that didn’t matter. It was a little like powerful drug lords cutting down their cocaine with powdered sugar.

  There were two other inhabitants of the cell. But I couldn’t even begin to guess what they were, let alone what crime had dragged them in here.

  They huddled together standing up in one corner, their backs pressed against the wall. They were both wearing dark hoods that covered everything apart from their sallow yellow skinned hands.

  At first glance, they looked terrified – just as I was – of everyone else in here.

  At second glance, if you locked your attention on the faint shapes of their necks and shoulders, you could see the points of bone beneath the fabric. Demon spellers, if I was any judge. And let’s face it – I wasn’t. A vampire had died of an overdose after biting me, and I had no idea what had happened.

  Just as my stomach began to tie itself into a painfully tight knot of fear, I heard footsteps. Low, determined, heading our way. They echoed out with the unmistakable squeak and shudder of leather over cracked concrete.

  Almost as one, everyone in the cell turned to face the bars as someone walked into view. I imagined we all hoped it would be our ticket out of here.

  As I was pressed up against the corner of the wall, I couldn’t quite see past the pacing warlock and the body witch. I could see enough, however, to note their exact expressions as someone finally stopped in front of the bars. If they’d looked hopeful before, now they looked crushed. It was as if somebody had kicked in their faces until the only expression they would ever show again was total and complete fear.

  Though it was probably smarter to stay exactly where I was, curiosity got the better of me.

  I pushed to my feet and arched my neck to the left, just as a man purposefully took a step to the left to stare at me.

  With one hand pressed casually into his pocket and an even-tempered, polite expression smoothed across his extremely handsome face, it didn’t take me long to recognize him. He was an otherworlder, sure, but he just happened to be the most famous otherworlder in the city.

  William Benson III. He was one of the only otherworlders to sit on the Council, he was also one of the few permitted to employ humans. And, most importantly, he was purported to be the richest man in the city. He owned an integrated investment firm with fingers in almost every company in the state.

  And now he was looking right at me, piercing eyes roving over my body from head to foot.

  There was one other fact about Benson that was important right now. One other fact that locked me to the spot.

  He was a vampire. From one of the oldest families in Europe. His clan had lived through centuries upon centuries of fighting, of wars, even the dark ages hadn’t killed them. And now humanity had finally woken up to find real monsters under the bed, and knew everything about the otherworlders, they’d had the sense to embrace men like William Benson. Not only would it be financially impossible to ignore him, but one look in those crystalline blue eyes, and you wouldn’t be able to.

  Plus, from all reports, he kept most of the vampires in Hope City in check.

  And me? I’d just killed one of his vampires.

  With his hand still casually locked in his pocket, he nodded at me. “Come with me,” he said as he took a step forward and casually waved his free hand to the side.

  Immediately, the magical locks holding the cell door in place disengaged with a resounding click.

  The door swung open.

  Benson was standing on his own. There were no other officers around him, no backup.

  The warlock looked powerful, and the two aspiring demons in the corner didn’t appear to be pushovers, either. Theoretically, if they combined their skills, they’d be able to force their way past Benson and make a run for it.

  Theoretically.

  Nobody tried it. Nobody dared.

  I didn’t move.

  I stood there in complete shock as I stared at him.

  “Come with me,” he said in a clearer tone this time as he waved me forward with another languid flick of his hands, as if he were doing nothing more than brushing an unwanted speck of dirt from his pristine jacket.

  “I… I didn’t… mean to kill the vampire,” the words exploded from my lips as fear took to my gut like a wildfire through dry scrub.

  “Come with me,” he said once more, his tone rippling with a note of finality.

  Christ, this was it.

  I wasn’t just going to get charged for killing a vampire in self-defense, but William Benson III himself was going to bleed me dry.

  There was nothing that could stop me from shivering as I finally took several shaky steps out of the cell. William didn’t move backward, and instead stood straight as he stared at me from head to foot.

  I nervously took several steps backward, locking my sweaty hands behind my back. It felt as if I’d dipped my hands in the sea or had swapped my fingers for the cloying digits of a water pixie.

  “Follow me,” he said as he turned sharply on his expensive Italian loafers and walked forward.

  Perfectly balanced. Perfectly poised. Despite the fact he was in an expensive cashmere wool suit that looked as if it had been allotted divine proportions by Pythagoras himself, you could still see the predator under all that tailoring.

  It was in every precise shift of his large, well-proportioned shoulders. In the way he struck the floor with the balls of his feet.

  Me? I shivered with every step. I knew the rules – don’t show fear in front of a vampire. They like that. Get a kick out of it. It reminds them they’re the ones in charge.

  Show enough fear, and you’ll pique their curiosity until that curiosity turns into bloodlust.

  Theoretically, vampires as prestigious and well-adapted to the human environment as William Benson III didn’t have bloodlust anymore.

  As he shifted his head slightly and looked at me out of the corner of his eye, I doubted that.

  This was when I should fall down onto one knee and babble that I was too young to die. Apparently, if you could catch a vampire before their lust for your blood burned out their reasoning, you could make a deal with them. They’d spare you if you gave them some favor. Maybe they’d save you for later, but it would buy you a few more measly years.

  That’s how most humans back in the day had become indebted to those monsters. They’d screamed for their lives, foolishly telling the vampire they’d do anything – just anything – if only they’d be allowed to live.

  Anything – just anything – was a seriously open contract. And vampires were some of the most ruthless and exploitative businessmen this side of Lucifer.

  My one saving grace – my one small, feeble hope – was that we were still in the police station. And te
chnically, this was a house of law. Though humans pretty much hated all otherworlders, there were still laws in place to protect us. Even from ourselves.

  As we finally made it out of the cellblock and into a bustling hallway jam-packed with harried-looking cops, I sliced my gaze to the nearest one in hope.

  A diminutive female detective in a mismatched pinstripe pencil suit, she didn’t even make eye contact as she jostled past. She did, however, tip her head low and give an almost suggestive smile to William.

  Yes, he was drop-dead gorgeous. But you had to appreciate the drop-dead part of that equation. The charms, perfect jaw, and strapping build came with a hell of a cost. One the devil had cooked up himself. Eternal, bloodied damnation.

  If you willingly hooked up with a vampire – despite the otherworldly pleasure they were meant to give you – you deserved your fate.

  At a time like this, I should probably reach for some kind of religious symbol. A cross, Star of David, a crescent moon. Hell, a snapped-off incense stick and a meditation pad would probably do. Anything or anyone to pray to. Any last ditch attempt to call on the good graces of the universe to save me.

  Back in the past, I had worn a cross around my neck. One my great-grandmother had given me before she’d passed. It was gold with a tiny diamond in the center of the cross. It was categorically the most expensive thing I owned. And knowing full well that most otherworlders were like magpies, and gleefully stole anything shiny, it was at home tucked in a strong box under my bed.

  That didn’t stop my hand from drawing up to my bedraggled, torn cotton collar in a feeble attempt to clutch the cross that wasn’t there.

  Immediately, William’s gaze sliced over to me. I could tell, because as soon as his eyes locked on my neck, a godawful shiver pulsed down my back.

  My wavering gaze locked on his until he slid his eyes up to mine then looked away.

  A flight of nervous tingles shot down my back with all the bombastic force of the Valkyrie.

  I locked my sweaty fingers over my collar, pushed a breath through my teeth, and kept looking around for some escape.

  Nothing. Every detective or uniformed officer we passed was too busy. They all had wads of paper in their hands, or half empty coffee cups clutched in their white-knuckled grips. And all wore the same expression of furrowed-brow stress.

  The part of my brain that wasn’t currently tripping out on fear appreciated where they were coming from.

  Ever since the otherworld work regulations came into place, crime had doubled.

  Of course it had.

  In one fell swoop, the government had pushed tens of thousands of people in Hope City out of work.

  And there was only so many jobs amongst the otherworlders to go around – as I’d experienced personally over the past two weeks.

  You push people to the edge – especially magical people – and they push back.

  Hard.

  I saw two officers stagger past, one sporting a massive magical rash down one side of his face, sparks discharging blue and white magic. Great big red angry welts covered his partner’s hands.

  Suffice to say, they both looked pissed.

  That being said, they didn’t take out an ounce of that aggression on the bona fides vampire leader/king who walked past. Instead, they nodded at William Benson with something even I couldn’t deny was respect.

  Me? They looked at me like I was scum. My jacket was torn, my blouse ripped at the throat. There were two puncture marks in my neck, and crusted blood was still splashed over my shoulder.

  I wasn’t an angry person. My flatmate told me I didn’t have the balls to understand where anger came from. I was the meek girl. Weak. The innocent one who was always too much of an airhead to appreciate what was going on.

  That being said, as I realized I’d find no help amongst the police, just judgment, a tiny spark of anger flared in my gut. It was almost immediately extinguished by an absolute cascade of fear when we reached a door.

  Again I felt Benson’s eyes on the back of my neck. They say a vampire’s gaze is like an appendage. Like a ghostly limb. If they look at you hard, you can feel their fingers caressing the line of your neck and dropping down to your collarbone.

  I’d never really experienced it before – at least not to this extent. One casual look from Benson, and it was like his hand was pressing down hard into my shoulder. One long, direct look, and it was like he was folding me into his arms.

  I shivered at that thought as he pushed forward, locked a large hand on the door handle, and opened it.

  We entered a bustling floor that at one glance seemed like a detective unit. There were a few uniformed officers flitting in and out, delivering criminals and taking away mountains of paperwork.

  The sound in here was calamitous. From shrieking banshees and wailing witches to angry detectives shouting over their perps. There was the grate of shoes on linoleum, the splash of coffee cups as they were slammed onto desks, and the general sound of stress filling the air like a crumpled spring.

  Benson led me through the various desks and workstations, shifting around the darting officers and criminals like a snake gliding through grass.

  We reached a desk, and I recognized the detective behind it.

  Cortez. The guy who’d brought me in.

  His expression was… different. Back in the alley, when he’d thought I’d killed the vampire, his face had been as hard as carved wood. Now his brow was slick with a tiny smattering of sweat, and his hard jaw was tucked up high in a neat frown.

  He also wasn’t blinking. He was surveying me with what felt like unusual interest, like I was some curiosity Benson had scraped from the floor of the cells.

  Both men appeared to share an important look before they turned their attention back to me.

  I didn’t so much feel like a specimen from a lab anymore – as I cowered under their gazes, I felt like one of those crabs you get crammed into those tiny fish tanks in expensive Chinese restaurants.

  If I’d had any claws, I might’ve brought them up in defense. Instead, I wrapped my arms around my middle and collapsed into the chair behind Cortez’s desk.

  Cortez slowly stood, locking a hand on his desk as he drew his other hand up, made a fist, and pushed it against his hip.

  He darted his gaze to the side, probably on the premise of checking some scrap of paper on his desk, but I wasn’t an idiot – he was still staring at me intently out of the corner of his eye.

  I couldn’t take it anymore.

  I broke down.

  “I didn’t know – I didn’t – I didn’t kill him on purpose. I—”

  “What race do you come from?” Benson asked in a smooth tone.

  And I do mean smooth. Heck, it felt like someone suddenly brushed satin over every inch of my body.

  I shivered.

  “Miss Luck, this is a serious case – please tell us what race you are,” Benson continued.

  “I…” I suddenly couldn’t take my eyes off him. My lips wobbled open.

  “Your race,” he prompted once more as he stared at me with all the force of a laser right between your eyes.

  “… I don’t know,” I heard myself answering.

  Cortez snorted. “Now is when you stop lying and start telling the truth. You do understand powerful vampires can tell if you’re lying, right? There is a precedent for using their testament as permissible evidence in court. If you’re—”

  “She’s not lying,” Benson said through the strangest tick of a smile as he tilted his head to the side.

  It would be impossible to deny the curiosity flaring in his gaze. It felt like a rapidly growing fire a few inches from my face.

  Cortez stiffened. “Are you sure?”

  Benson suddenly dropped to a knee, locked a hand on the desk beside me, and leaned in close.

  I squeaked in what was categorically the most pathetic noise ever made by anyone ever. “What are you doing?”

  “What race are you?” Benson asked. His v
oice wasn’t so much satin on skin anymore – it was warmth. Blessed pure warmth. It was like jumping into a hot bath after being chucked in a frozen lake.

  “I don’t know,” the words slipped out of my mouth with such ease it was like someone else was speaking them.

  Benson remained there – just a few centimeters from my face – for a few more seconds.

  Then he turned away. He straightened up, smoothed a large, strong hand down his shirt, and stretched his neck. “She doesn’t know. Plus, I got more than close enough to smell her – I don’t know what she is, either.”

  I cringed at the admission he’d smelt me.

  … But then a ray of hope hit my brain like a torch lighting up the dark.

  Benson had no idea what race I was.

  He also wasn’t looking at me like I’d murdered one of his vampires in cold blood.

  Oh, heck no – the only emotion flickering in his cold but nonetheless enthralling gaze was interest.

  Plain and simple.

  I kept a hand locked on my torn collar and tried not to squeak again.

  “So she’s not a witch?” Cortez questioned with a heavy breath.

  “Definitely not a witch.”

  “And she didn’t hex the victim’s blood?”

  “No.” Benson kept watching me out of the corner of his perfect eyes.

  “Then how the hell did he die?” Cortez huffed, annoyance clear.

  Benson paused. “There are certain races whose blood is, ah… unpalatable to vampires.”

  “Unpalatable? The guy exploded and turned to ash on the sidewalk. I call that real unpalatable. But that’s not what I’m getting at. I need to know if she,” Cortez extended a stiff finger toward me, “Knowingly, purposefully killed that vampire.”

  Benson paused.

  He looked at me.

  I looked at him.

  He now held my life in his hands.

  ….

  “No. I don’t believe she knowingly killed the victim. He unknowingly killed himself by partaking of something he shouldn’t have.” Benson swiveled his gaze back to Cortez, but not before letting it linger on the dried blood splashed over my collar.

  It took a second. A full second.

  Then it hit me.

  William Benson was on my side.

  I crumpled into my hands as I took a shaking, sobbing breath. “I didn’t kill him. I had no idea what was happening.”

  Cortez hardly looked happy as he blew a breath through his teeth. He was, however, softening. Imperceptibly at first, it was clear he was starting to re-evaluate how much of a brute he’d been to me.

  He wasn’t quick enough, though.

  Benson crossed his arms, turned, leaned against Cortez’s desk, and appeared to size me up. “That isn’t to say Miss Luck here didn’t commit a serious crime.”

  I sucked in a breath, locking it in my throat until I felt like I was going to choke. “What?”

  “How long have you known you are an otherworlder, Miss Luck?” Benson asked, that same smooth manipulative note behind his voice.

  Now I was starting to get used to it, it was easier to detect. Maybe in the future I’d even be able to find some defense for it, too.

  Not now. Because right now I doubted I had a future.

  My lips parted open of their own accord. “Nine months.”

  “Were you told – like others in your situation – to find out what race you belong to?” Benson asked.

  I nodded.

  It had been in the letter that had come back with the genetic test. I had a legal obligation, apparently, to discover just what kind of otherworlder I was. If I was a vampire, I needed to know that before I started sleep walking and snacking on the neighbor’s jugular.

  “Have you made any moves to find out what species you belong to?” Benson continued to question me.

  The simple answer was no. I’d stuck my head in the sand and tried real friggin’ hard to pretend nothing had happened.

  “You understand that’s a crime, don’t you, Miss Luck? There’s a reason you were obliged to discover what you are – so accidents like this didn’t happen,” Benson continued.

  Something managed to spark past my fear and guilt.

  Just a lick of rage.

  It ignited in my gaze before my better judgment could damp it out. “Accidents? He shoved me up against a wall and tried to bleed me dry,” I spat.

  I thought Benson would brush my pointed comment away. He didn’t. Instead, he dipped his head low in understanding, the beginnings of what almost looked like compassion smoothing his lips into a frown. “I’m not denying the vampire attacked you.”

  “Really?” Tears started to touch my eyes, that cold sensation you get when you’re about to cry spreading through my chest. “Because five seconds ago you wanted to book me for first-degree murder.”

  “As I’ve said, you didn’t kill that vampire. Knowingly. And should he have survived, considering his crime against you, he would have been punished accordingly. What matters now, though, is what you are. You have an obligation to find out. And, considering the severity of this situation, the impetus to start searching, rather than sticking your head in the sand.”

  I shifted away from him, not wanting to hear a word of this.

  “Like it or not, Miss Luck, some substance in your blood killed that vampire. While some would say he deserved his fate for attacking you, and I would personally agree with such a statement – it doesn’t change one fact. You have the ability to kill, and you don’t know why. I call that dangerous, don’t you? What if you had unwittingly donated blood to the hospital, only to kill a host of vampire children? Or one of the vampire paramedics working in the otherworld section of town could have attended to you, only to wind up dead for their efforts.”

  I cringed, sinking away from his words as I locked a hand over my eyes.

  “Again, Miss Luck – I feel nothing for the loss of that vampire. If he was so base and primal to have been unable to control his desires, then it is fitting that he ultimately succumbed to those same desires. You, however, are a different matter.” He arched his neck, staring down his nose imperiously at me. “Don’t you want to find out what you are? Or would you prefer to be controlled by the fear of finding out?” Something awfully strange happened when he said controlled. His voice became so quiet I shouldn’t have been able to discern it. But I could. Oh, mama, could I hear it. It shook up my legs and dove deep into my belly.

  I crammed a hand on my stomach and looked up at him with wide, shaking eyes.

  “I offer a truce.” Benson, still staring at me, reached a hand into his pocket and pulled something out.

  It was a parchment of paper. One that rightly shouldn’t have fit in his pocket, considering the rather tight and appealing way his pecs sat flush against the fabric.

  “W-what is that?” I asked, flashing my terrified gaze up to his.

  “A contract.” He smiled.

  “A what?”

  “I will agree not to press charges against you for failing to find out what race you belong to, if you agree to my terms.” He smiled. And oh boy oh boy was it one heck of a smile. Equally as charming and compelling as it was victorious.

  My gaze immediately flashed over to Cortez. Though the guy had been exactly zero help to me so far, deep down, I doubted he was bad. “Can he… can he do this?”

  Cortez shrugged. “Sure. He’s not just a representative for the vampires in Hope City, but all the otherworlders.”

  “You mean,” I brought a hesitant hand up and pointed at the contract as if it were going to jump down and bite me, “If I sign that, I won’t be in any trouble?”

  Benson still smiled. “I’ll ensure you aren’t charged. All you have to do is agree to the following: you will not willingly or knowingly give your blood to a vampire. You will also assist me in finding out what you are.”

  My stomach lurched so badly it practically swung a 360 around my spine. “What?” I choked around a dry mouth.


  “I have considerable skills, Miss Luck. With some investigation, it shouldn’t be hard to find out what you are.” Benson looked blank, finally controlling his smile until it was little more than a tiny curl at the edges of his lips.

  I swallowed. Real hard. If the roof had just flown off and a screaming rock band had descended from above, you would have still heard my gulp over the cacophony.

  I swiveled my gaze back to Cortez.

  Again he shrugged unhelpfully. “If it were me, I’d take the deal.”

  Really? He’d sign a contract with a vampire? Worse – a smiling vampire who was holding all the cards?

  I crammed a hand on my stomach and tried to think. It chose that exact moment to rumble.

  “Are you hungry, Miss Luck?” Benson asked perceptively.

  Goddamn, he was good, because on the word hungry, his gaze did not tick up to the open wound on my neck.

  “I haven’t eaten since this morning. I spent the whole day looking for work,” I muttered truthfully as I kept massaging my stomach in an attempt to make it shut the hell up.

  “You are in need of employment?” Benson asked smoothly. “I take it you were… affected by the recent changes to work law.” He picked his words carefully. He also picked his expression carefully, because I had to try real hard to see the well-hidden flare of anger as he talked about the changes to the law.

  I nodded.

  I was way past lying to this guy. Do that, and he’d only descend slowly to one knee and lean in until our noses almost touched.

  My gut tightened at the mere thought of it, then the treacherous thing gave another grumble.

  I pretty much folded myself like a contorted piece of origami as I tried to shut my rumbling gut up.

  “I can offer you a job,” Benson said out of the blue.

  My eyes widened. “What?” Hope and surprise caused my tone to jack up high like a toot on a kazoo.

  He smiled once more. Oh lordy lord, his smile could be used to sell anything. Toothpaste, cars, even death.

  I could imagine someone dreamily falling into that smile and agreeing to anything.

  “This, you must sign,” he pushed the contract onto the desk and slid it toward me, leaning to the side and plucking a black Parker pen from Cortez’s drawer. “And once you’ve signed it, we can talk about what work you’d like to do. I have many organizations, I’m sure we can find something in your current field of expertise. Which is?”

  “I’m a librarian,” I said as I reluctantly accepted the pen and stared from it to the contract.

  … I couldn’t not sign it. Not sign it, and I’d end up in an otherworlder jail.

  In other words, Hell.

  But would signing a contract indebting me to William Benson the III be just as impossible to escape as prison?

  He locked a finger on the edge of the contract and slid it closer until it was right under my nose.

  Closing my eyes, I signed it. In a messy squiggle that half fell off the page, but it was still a signature.

  As soon as I put my name to the paper, a charge of white sparks shot through it, a few escaping up the pen and biting into my fingers.

  I yowled, dropped the pen on the floor, and sunk back into my chair.

  Benson let out a soft chuckle as he leaned down, thoughtfully picked up the pen, and returned it neatly to Cortez’s desk. “Don’t worry about the sparks, Miss Luck – they are just binding you to the contract. They may leave a tickle for a few minutes, but it will subside.” Benson leaned down, plucked up the parchment, rolled it up into a neat tube, and tucked it into the pocket of his jacket.

  When he smoothed the jacket across his chest, it looked as if the bulky roll of paper had disappeared.

  I could only wish. In all likelihood, it would have been spirited away to some vampire vault somewhere, to live out eternity and bind me to this man for good.

  I brought up a hand and smashed it over my lips in a jerky move as I realized what I’d just done.

  Benson suddenly pulled back his jacket and tugged out another parchment of paper. Again he slid it toward me.

  “But I just signed—” I began.

  “A work agreement. Once you sign it, I promise to find you fitting, well-paid work in your current profession, or perhaps something more stimulating.”

  My mind really didn’t like the emphasis he used on the word stimulating. It was the verbal equivalent of running your hands down someone’s cheek.

  My stomach, however, did kind of like it, and gave a pleasant tingle.

  He tapped the contract with one finger. “Sign it, and I’ll even ensure you have lodgings and board.”

  It was a hell of an offer.

  “I’ll put you up in one of my apartment blocks in Morgana Street.”

  Holy crap, Morgana Street was in the center of town. There was only one apartment block on it, and it was categorically the chicest place to live in Hope City.

  Unless Benson planned on putting me up in the broom cupboard, then he was intending to put me up in a million-dollar apartment.

  Even Cortez looked impressed.

  Benson opened his mouth, possibly to sweeten the deal further by offering to buy me some diamond slippers, but what sounded like a fight broke out in the hall outside.

  Benson swiveled his gaze toward it, one side of his nostrils flaring.

  “What’s going on out there?” Cortez called across the room to a panicked uniformed officer who ducked their head in the door.

  “Vampire fight.”

  “I’ll deal with it.” Benson turned hard on his expensive loafer and nodded at Cortez. “I’ll deal with this.”

  They both hurried away.

  I wasn’t stupid enough to think I had an opportunity to escape. There was now nowhere in Hope City I could go.

  William bloody Benson III had his eye on me. And a man like that never lost sight of you.

  When they were out of sight, I turned my head down to stare at the contract.

  With a strange mash of exhilaration and fear mixing in my gut like explosives, I grabbed it and brought it toward me.

  Before I knew what was happening, someone darted over from my left and leaned in.

  From the ruddy complexion to the perfectly round pot belly, I recognized him at once.

  The PI from this morning. The one who’d kicked me out of his shop.

  “What?” I frowned at him as I kept hold of the contract.

  “Mr. Marvelous.” He ignored my question, leaned over, and offered me his hand.

  I didn’t shake it. Instead, I stared at him in suitable shock. “Ah, what are you doing here?”

  “I came in on a case – heard everything Benson just said. But that’s beside the point.” Mr. Marvelous leaned in, locked one of the pudgy fingers of his left hand on the contract, and yanked it away from me.

  I stared up, startled.

  He surreptitiously shifted over his shoulder, locking his wary gaze on Benson and Cortez. By now, both of them were already out of the room.

  “What are you doing?” I found my voice. I also found my sense, and leaned forward, trying to snatch the contract from Mr. Marvelous.

  That, right there, was my ticket out of this. Hell, it was my ticket not just to freedom, but back to normality.

  I needed a job. If I didn’t get one, I’d turn into all the desperate magical criminals around me.

  No matter how hard I tried to snatch at the contract, Mr. Marvelous kept it locked in his pudgy, round, red fingers.

  His lips pulled back in a sneer. “Get a head on you, girl. Who the hell signs a contract from a vampire king without reading it?”

  “I have read it,” I protested too quickly. “Okay, I haven’t read it – but he summarized what it says. Plus, this is the police station. They wouldn’t allow me to sign something illegal,” I stammered.

  I think I realized how stupid I sounded as I said it.

  Mr. Marvelous chucked his head back and laughed, though it wasn’t so ribald that he dr
ew the attention of everyone in the room.

  Somehow he was keeping the contract away from me, despite the fact he was the exact same height as I was.

  He leaned in and locked his calculating gaze on me.

  I swallowed and pushed back from the table, the legs of my chair grating across the lined and marked black-and-white linoleum.

  “You came into my office today looking for a job. I’ve got one for you.” Mr. Marvelous stuck a hand behind one of his suspenders. It was almost as if he was going to pick something out of his jacket pocket, but he wasn’t wearing a jacket.

  That didn’t matter. With a suitable twang and a vibration that ran down the length of his suspender, he pulled something out of thin air.

  A crisp, clean contract written in glistening black pen on a piece of unmarked office paper.

  He slammed it down in front of me, grabbed one of the pens from Cortez’s pen holder, and handed it to me.

  “What? I don’t understand—” I began.

  “Keep up, kid – I’m offering you a job. Sign on the dotted line, and you start as a magical PI right now. The benefits aren’t great – at least not the medical and dental. The security benefits, however, can’t be understated. As a full-time employee of Mr. Marvelous, you will be under my considerable wing,” he motioned to one of his scrawny arms that stuck out from the folds of his upturned sleeves, “You’ll be protected from the scum of this city. You’ll also be inducted into a wide-ranging and fascinating career. It pays a flat rate of $10 an hour, and you get to keep 40% of any bounties or direct contracts you manage to bring in and solve.”

  “$10 an hour?” I scrunched my nose up. Then I shook my head when I reminded myself it was completely irrelevant how many dollars an hour this job paid – I had no intention of accepting it.

  I made another play at snapping Benson’s contract out of Mr. Marvelous’ hand, but he just tugged it further from my reach. “Don’t be an idiot, kid. Don’t sell your soul to a vampire king. You want honest work that won’t leave you in damnation? Sign the contract.” As Mr. Marvelous spat out his garbled words, he always kept one wary eye locked on the door Benson had left through. It was obvious he wanted to get this over and done with before the city’s most powerful vampire could return.

  “I’m not going to work for you. You already ran me out of your office this morning. Now give me back my contract—” I practically bent double over the desk as I made a bold grab for it.

  Somehow Mr. Marvelous was a hell of a lot quicker on his feet than he looked. He was like a practiced boxer dodging a right hook as he shifted the contract just out of my grip.

  I was surprised we hadn’t drawn a crowd. Then again, with the twin screaming banshees at the back of the room, it would probably take an explosion and an impromptu dance to turn heads here.

  “Fine. $11 an hour, and I’ll let you bunk in the storage room at the shop. It’s got a window, good view,” he mentioned with some pride as if that sealed the deal.

  “A storage cupboard?” Again my nose scrunched up. Then, almost immediately, I shook my head as I reminded myself for the second time that he could take his window and hang.

  “Spare room,” he corrected smoothly. “Reliable heating, a great view,” he mentioned pointedly once more, “And above all else – safe. I’ve never had a break in, never even had any threatening mail. Nobody in their right mind would dare attack my fine establishment.” He brought his fingers up and stuck them through his suspenders, pulling them out as his lips pulled into an almost corny smile. I could bet it was the same smile he’d use on his TV advertisements or on his mirror after he brushed his teeth.

  It didn’t work on me. “Mr. Marvelous, I don’t need your job. Benson has offered—”

  “Benson wants you under his thumb,” Marvelous’ tone dropped, and the shadows along his face became deeper as he ducked his head down and looked at me directly. “You look smarter than that, kid. Do you really want to be under the thumb of a vampire? Haven’t you stopped to ask yourself why William Benson the bloody III is offering to solve your every problem if only you sign yourself away to him?”

  I snorted, though it was an unsure, kind of rattling noise. “I’m not selling myself to him,” I tried to say family. My voice was about as firm as unset jelly that had been left in the sun to melt.

  “You’ve had a rough night, kid. But you have to think clearly here. Don’t make the kind of mistake you’ll regret for the rest of your life, and your death,” he said pointedly.

  “I…” I trailed off. My eyes locked on the contract. “Maybe I should read it,” I muttered to myself. But what help could that make? You had to have a PhD in magical law to understand the complicated language vampires used in their contracts. They’d probably been work-shopping them for centuries, perfecting their circuitous, mind-boggling language until it felt like every sentence was a maze and every clause a noose around your neck.

  “There you go. I’ll read it for you,” Mr. Marvelous began as he tugged the contract down.

  He cleared his throat but didn’t get a chance to read the contract.

  Instead, someone smoothly snatched it out of his grip. Somebody who appeared at his side like an unwelcome apparition.

  Benson.

  I hadn’t seen him walk up.

  I had such a visceral reaction to his sudden appearance that I doubled back so hard in my chair, I almost fell off it. I had to scoot a hand out and latch it on the edge of the desk to steady myself.

  Mr. Marvelous slowly turned around, crumpled his arms over his pot belly, and tipped his head back to stare up into the cold blue eyes of William Benson III.

  “What are you doing?” Benson asked in a falsely patient tone.

  “Disposing of this unnecessary contract here. My new employee doesn’t require your services anymore, Councilman,” Mr. Marvelous said with a real note of irony shifting through his tone.

  It surprised me. Hell, it practically floored me like a haymaker to the jaw.

  No one – and I mean absolutely no one, from the heads of the werewolf clans to the strongest sorceresses in the city – talked to William Benson like that. It was like shoving your face against a hornet’s nest and opening your mouth wide.

  “Employee?” Benson sliced his gaze toward me. His look was direct, so direct that I swore I felt his hands against my neck.

  I immediately twisted my fingers through the collar of my torn blouse, closing it as tightly as I could.

  “That’s right,” Mr. Marvelous said in an almost chipper tone. “The Miss here now works for me.”

  “She does? Do you even know her name?” Benson challenged.

  “I don’t need to. I just need a signature. You know how the magical courts work, Councilman.” There it was again. That unmistakable note of sarcasm.

  Just who did Mr. Marvelous think he was that he could take on the strongest vampire in the city? Was it nothing more than a dangerous ploy of courage to get me on side? Or did Mr. Marvelous have some ace up his crumpled sleeve?

  Benson smoothly turned from Mr. Marvelous, as if the man were nothing more important than an irritating fly. Then Benson locked his full attention on me.

  If his direct gaze was like two hands on my neck. His full attention was like his fingers locking around my jaw and holding me tight.

  I couldn’t move.

  Not a centimeter. Not a millimeter.

  “Miss Luck, the sooner you sign this, the sooner I can solve all your problems,” he said in a smooth voice like old whiskey sloshed over ice.

  It even sent a suitable quiver tracing down my back. I sat straighter as a tightness gripped my firm stomach.

  The slightest prickle of a smile twisted the corners of his lips.

  And that smile – that tiny move – was enough to make the tightness in my gut explode into tingles like I’d swallowed a goddamn firecracker.

  Mr. Marvelous suddenly cleared his throat. He also jostled forward, apparently inadvertently striking Benson with the side o
f his shoulder as he bustled over the desk, grabbed the corner of his contract, and shoved it over to me. The paper was so new and shiny it slipped over the smooth desk and fell into my lap.

  I had no option but to catch it, and as soon as my fingers wrapped around the paper, I could feel the magic eating through every fiber.

  “Sign the contract, Miss Luck,” Mr. Marvelous switched his pointed gaze to Benson, “And I can guarantee all your troubles aren’t given your address and personal details.”

  Benson swallowed, the move hard as he locked his jaw stiffly. “Mr. Marvelous, don’t you feel you are overstepping your mark? Miss Luck here has had a run in with the vampire clan. As the official vampire spokesperson for Hope City, it is up to me to mediate a solution.”

  “Run in? Can I see the police report on that?” Mr. Marvelous made a show of looking over the clean desk. “Or did your lapdog detective forget to write one up again?”

  “Who are you calling a lapdog detective?” Cortez suddenly rumbled from behind Mr. Marvelous.

  To Mr. Marvelous’ credit, he turned smoothly and shrugged without a hint of embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “You, Cortez. Dutifully playing the role as Benson’s right hand again, are we?”

  It was almost as if I wasn’t there anymore. All three men stared at each other as if the world and all its assorted problems had been whittled down to just the three of them locking horns.

  I thought of dropping down to my knees and skulking quietly out of the station.

  I didn’t get the chance. Benson shifted forward, the contract still in his hand. Rather than reach over the desk and hand it to me, he walked around until he loomed over my seat.

  He was like a great big storm cloud blocking out the sunshine.

  No… that wasn’t quite right. A storm cloud blocking out the sunshine would block out its warmth, too. But as Benson looked right at me, I felt the gentle caress of his attention.

  “Miss Luck.” He placed his contract on my lap, careful not to actually touch me. Then he brought a hand up and plucked an expensive pen from the neat, ironed pocket of his shirt. He handed it to me slowly, reverently, keeping me in his full attention all the time.

  I was vaguely aware that my bottom lip had dropped open and was wobbling like the knees of a gal staring up into the gaze of her first crush.

  When I didn’t pluck the pen from his hand, he gave it to me.

  In a thoroughly strange way.

  He didn’t pluck up one of my hands and press the smooth metal shaft of the pen into my fingers. Instead, he hooked his hand around the corner of my sleeve and tugged it forward, tapping the top of the pen into my palm.

  Vampires had absolutely no problem touching you. They had the personal space of a puppy without any of the innocent cuteness. If a vampire wanted something from you, they certainly wouldn’t let something like plain old decency get in the way.

  And yet here William Benson was, apparently going out of his way not to touch me….

  I grabbed the pen, didn’t really have any option not to.

  Mr. Marvelous cleared his throat. He also shot Benson a crumpled-nosed, calculating look. He’d seen Benson’s strange reaction.

  For Benson’s part, the vampire straightened up, smoothed a strong, large hand down his pocket, pressed it closed, then offered me the kind of dignified nod that you always saw in those period dramas. Some old English Earl who’d been properly schooled in etiquette and charm. The angle to his head was perfect, the look in his eyes smoldering, and the promise along his lips unmistakable.

  That wasn’t anything to be said of his pen. It was heavy. Strangely heavy. Though it was obviously made out of metal, and probably gold considering the exact caliber of whom it came from – that didn’t account for its weight.

  It felt like I was holding an anvil. And if not an anvil, then a very heavy, very long length of chain.

  He nodded at me. “Go ahead and sign the contract, Miss Luck – and I will personally ensure you never have a problem again.”

  My flatmate adored vampires. She wouldn’t call herself a groupie – she was too dignified for that – but she, like a lot of the other women in Hope City, couldn’t go back to ordinary men.

  It wasn’t just a vampire’s magical charm and the ever-loving caress of their gaze – it was the fact they oozed seduction.

  My great-grandmother would turn in her grave if she knew I was squirming under the gaze of a vampire.

  Mr. Marvelous cleared his throat once more. Then he switched his attention to me. “Go ahead and sign the contract, Miss Luck. I may not be able to promise you that I’ll be able to solve all your troubles,” Mr. Marvelous switched his attention to the back of Benson’s head, “But I can sure as hell promise that I won’t become one of them.”

  This morning, I’d been out of work and out of luck. Now I had two men shoving contracts under my nose.

  And all it had taken was the murder of one vampire.

  That fact suddenly struck me again. For all my apparent problems – I’d killed a man tonight. Okay, not a man by the traditional sense – an undead otherworlder. But the fact of murder remained.

  Benson had given me a relatively simple explanation of what had happened, but as I dropped my attention from everyone and settled it on my wrists, I focused in on the most important thing in this case.

  My blood.

  Before I knew what I was doing, I returned Benson’s expensive pen to the desk, brought a hand up, and latched it on my neck. My nails snagged over the dried blood, catching a few scraps and sending them tumbling down my chest and over my torn collar.

  “… I don’t want to sign anything tonight.” I surprised myself by saying that as I pushed up from the chair so suddenly it clattered behind me.

  It teetered, threatening to fall over, but Cortez moved in quickly, caught it smoothly, and set it straight.

  Then he set his straight gaze on me, too. “You were involved in a serious crime tonight, Miss Luck—”

  “And that doesn’t mean she has to sign her life away to the vampire king,” Mr. Marvelous interrupted immediately. “You heard her – she wants some time to think.”

  Cortez shot Benson a questioning look.

  … It was pretty clear who worked for whom.

  Maybe my gut instinct about Cortez was wrong. Maybe he was the lackey Mr. Marvelous had accused him of being.

  And maybe, just maybe signing another contract with William Benson would be like booking the first direct flight down to Hell.

  Before I could even begin to make up my mind, there was a bang from the corridor.

  Before the uniformed officers around it could react, the door burst open.

  A vampire burst in. A vampire with an unmistakably ferocious look in his eyes.

  Even from here I could tell his pupils were nothing more than pinpricks.

  He was in a full bloodlust rage, fully evidence by the smattering of blood up his arms.

  I freaked out and jolted forward, heart pounding at a million miles an hour at the all-too-fresh memory of my attack.

  Benson swiveled on his foot and stalked toward the vampire.

  Despite the fact the guy was clearly driven berserk by some rage, the vampire still cowered.

  A few officers had pulled out their guns.

  They didn’t need them.

  Benson walked past a detective’s desk, plucked up a pair of magical handcuffs, and stalked right up to the vampire.

  In a smooth move, Benson grabbed the man’s blood-splattered arm, yanked hard until the vampire fell to his knees, then cuffed him.

  Immediately, the cuffs had a sedating effect on the vampire, and the guy’s previously pin-prick eyes rolled into the back of his head as he sunk down to his knees.

  “You can’t trust ‘em,” someone said by my ear.

  It was Mr. Marvelous.

  My heart was still thundering along like a herd of antelope desperately fleeing a pride of lions.

  Marvelous slipped his contract in fron
t of me and practically smacked me on the nose. “Sign it, Miss Luck, and I’ll keep Benson and his clan away from you.”

  Before I knew what I was doing, my shaking hand signed the contract.

  There was another charge of magic.

  Somehow – even though he was still on the other side of the room – Benson appeared to smell it.

  He swiveled and locked his disappointed gaze on me.

  The vampire was now well and truly sedated, and was pretty much a dribbling ball of putty on the floor.

  Benson walked away, leaving the guy in the custody of two armed officers.

  He walked back to me, pulling out his jacket and straightening it. The effect was like a demon suddenly unfurling and tucking its wings.

  Benson had undeniable presence as he loomed toward me. “You shouldn’t have signed that.”

  “Why not? She saw exactly what you vampires are like,” Mr. Marvelous challenged as he gestured toward the vampire who was now being dragged away, “And she came to a pretty smart decision. Trusting you guys is like booking a date with death.”

  Benson looked on the edge of anger but appeared to control himself just in time.

  He turned from Marvelous and faced me.

  “This doesn’t end our relationship with each other, Miss Luck,” Benson said in a clear tone, though his disappointment was obvious. “I will be in contact soon. You are now contractually obliged to help me find out what you are.”

  Relationship? Why the heck did he have to go and use a word like that?

  I gulped, and there wasn’t anything I could do to stop myself.

  He looked right at me for several more seconds before taking a deep breath that pushed his chest appreciably against his shirt.

  Then he turned and walked away.

  Mr. Marvelous chuckled. “Alrighty, then. Time to get you back to the shop. What’s your name, anyway?”

  “Ah, Lizzie.”

  “Okay, Lizzie. Let’s get out of here while the buses are still running.”

  “Bus?” I spluttered. Considering the night I’d had, I never wanted to look at public transport again, especially if it led into the otherworld section of town.

  “Yeah sorry, the car’s back at the shop.” Marvelous shrugged.

  “And your license has been torn up,” Cortez snorted. “Because you drive like a raging bull.”

  Marvelous shrugged. He appeared to be one of those unusual people who could pick whether he was insulted by something. Right now, he clearly wanted to ignore Cortez, so Marvelous pointed toward the door. “If that’s all, detective – and we both know you no longer have a legal right to keep Lizzie here – then we’ll be off.”

  I blinked. “Ah, can we really go?”

  Cortez snorted again. His arms were wrapped so tightly around his torso, his biceps rippled like waves. “Yes, you can go. But shouldn’t you be asking yourself where? You just signed a contract with this goon. You don’t even know who he is, do you?”

  If William Benson’s gaze was like two warm hands around your cheeks, Cortez’s eyes were like scalpels. Scalpels that dissected you and found you lacking every time.

  “I’m Hope City’s number one PI. I’ve solved more cases in my 40 years of operation than you ever will, detective. So now introductions are over, we’ll be leaving.” Marvelous motioned me forward.

  Stupidly, I made eye contact with Cortez as I walked past.

  He shot me an unmistakable look. It told me I was an idiot. A real idiot.

  Well, maybe he was right. But the decision was made, the contract was signed, and my life would never be the same again.