Blood Hound

Chapter 5

The waiting room of Moskalysk, Volotsya and Goldstein enfolded my senses with cool, perfumed solace. I’d gone home after the meeting, tried and failed to sleep, and ended up throwing back three antacid pills with a cup of coffee and calling it a night. Mentioning Lev’s name got me a nine a.m. appointment, which left plenty of time to talk to Jana and hopefully get a proper day’s sleep.

The lawyers at Lev’s firm were rarely available to the public. He and the other two partners were constantly booked, with waiting lists that accepted no new clients. Their client list—Sergei, our bankers, and high-level American trustees—filled up their time with more than just court appearances.

Jana had a private consulting suite, and the door had a brass plate bearing her name and a shortened list of her degrees. Tetyana Volotsya. I read her full name over as I knocked, leather-covered knuckles thumping on wood. Six syllables that tripped nicely over the tongue.

“Let yourself in.” Her voice was faint through the walls.

Jana’s office was immediately, overwhelmingly white—white and cream and light beech wood. Poised, pale, and elegant, the attorney stood by a small beech-and-glass flower stand, dressing and arranging a bunch of fresh lilies, their waxen buds and petals still untouched by the heat of the day.

“Good morning, Mr. Sokolsky, a pleasure.” She turned her head and paused in what she was doing, smiling gracefully. Jana had a strangely proportioned, but not unattractive face, heart-shaped and strong-jawed, with green eyes a shade brighter than Lev’s. Her Russian was thick, a prominent American accent coloring her words. “Come in and take a seat. I won’t be long.”

I inclined my head stiffly and took the edge of a chair in front of her desk, cataloging the details of the room. It had the vaguely sterile feeling of a doctor’s office, with high shelves ironically laden with books on criminal law. Everything was built of light-colored wood; her desk was topped with a cream leather desk pad, and it was immaculate, no ink stains or pencil smears. Jana herself wore a pantsuit of the same eggshell color, with sharp shoulders and solid, low-heeled shoes. I found myself watching the back of her head while I waited for her to finish. Her flossy blonde hair was braided up in a coil like a girl’s, a tight halo around the back of her skull held firm with a tortoiseshell pin.

“There we go. Sorry… you caught me just as I had them out of the paper.” Jana took her seat in the other guest chair across from me like a counsellor, rather than behind her desk. The scent of the flower arrangement followed her passage, spreading the thick smell of lilies throughout the room. With her knees pressed together, her hands folded in her lap, she mirrored my pose. This piqued my interest immediately. I was dealing with someone who had trained in the art of manipulation for many, many years.

My gaze flickered down momentarily. A single ring—platinum—on the wrong ring finger. She had very clean nails, polished like the inside nacre of a seashell. “It is hardly a problem, Ms. Volotsya.”

“Lev called me early this morning.” Jana leaned forward a little and pressed her lips together, wetting them just a bit. Not too much—she wore her lipstick expertly, testimony of long practice. “He’s an old friend of mine, you must understand. I’m very concerned.”

If news of Semyon’s demise had filtered into the firm offices, no doubt she was concerned about the fate of ‘old friends’. Letting a guy she had arranged protection for slip through her fingers wasn’t good for her reputation, even if it wasn’t actually her fault. I pressed my tongue to the roof of my mouth to banish the odd sensation the scent of the flowers caused. It was associated with a fairly neutral shade of reddish pink, but my nose translated it into a sandy, slippery thing on the palate. The whole experience, taste and sensation, blended with the sound of Jana’s unfamiliar voice. “As are we. Tell me what happened in the days leading up to this.”

“Well, I’ll give you a little background. Vincent came across from his family a few years ago, seeking asylum with the Laguetta family over some private business.” The attorney sat back in her seat, her face a mask of concern. The chair was a starker white than her suit. “Something drove him out of the family very suddenly. Of course, he knows a lot about their business. I don’t know the details of what he does for us, of course, but given that he knows the Twins personally, you can imagine how valuable he’s been. Both for the Laguettas and for your people.”

Your people. She nursed the fantasy of clean hands. Discreetly, I let my vision slip, reaching out to sense for any kind of arcana out of idle curiosity. “I see. He’s worth his weight in gold, from what I hear.”

“Not quite gold.” Jana’s mouth curled at the corners. “But close. Since then, he’s been the boy wonder of the family. I can’t lie—part of the reason he’s been so consistently reliable is because George and Lev keep him in a very fancy cage. However, Vincent has his protection, and he has made an incredible amount of money for himself.”

“It is always best to bind allies with the cords of gifts that cannot possibly be repaid.” I bowed my head.

Jana’s eyes danced. She reached up to her collar and pulled a chain free from her jacket. It was plain, with a large silver teardrop pendant that she rubbed between her fingers as she thought. “I see why they put you on this. You’re a real detective.”

I dropped my gaze to glance at it. The pendant trapped dancing pinpoints of light, shimmering flecks which seemed to twist and bend under Jana’s fingers as they slipped across its surface. Despite that, it had no magical weight to it, other than the way it drew attention to her hands. She really did have good hands, dexterous and finely boned. “What does Vincent look like?”

“He’s a tiny little guy. Five foot five or so, thin build. He’s nervous and has big eyes, like a deer. Short beard, a lot of stubble.” Jana watched me watching her and dropped the pendant back to her chest. “Black hair, dark complexion. He always wore a Hornets baseball cap, whenever I saw him.”

“Did he or Yuri report to you?”

“None of the men report to me. I only arrange the legal side of the contracts. Identification, number plates, addresses, that sort of thing.” Jana pressed her lips together again. “Vincent came here and told the management he’d seen strange men hanging around his house, and he was concerned he was being scoped out. He wasn’t sure who and wanted third-party protection. Lev asked me to do brokerage. Yuri was assigned to stay with him three days ago at his house in Douglaston.”

I repressed a grimace. Douglaston. I was going to have to go there and look around, and that meant a big house with lots of security that would make getting in and out difficult. Not impossible, but difficult.

“I know, right? Typical Gold Coast Mafia.” Jana seemed to read my thoughts. She looked down, smiling uncomfortably. “I have to say, I’m a good judge of character, Mr. Sokolsky, and Vincent is a silly, nervous man. He’s got that tough guy front they all have, but you must understand that his facade is very superficial. I think he’s gone and done something stupid.”

“I have no doubt.” What I did wonder, though, was what Frank Nacari had to do with it, or if he had anything to do with it. “Was there anything else he was wrapped up in that I should know about?”

Jana sighed and looked at the wall past my head for a moment, then back to my face. “That’s about all I know. I’m sorry. But feel free to ask me any questions as they come up, and if you’d ever like to go with me and get a cup of coffee some time, you should definitely ask about that.”

I was suddenly awkward in my seat, struck by a nameless gnawing sensation in my stomach. Maybe it was her voice, sighing like a flute. It had a strange champagne quality when she spoke, smooth and sweet and bubbly. Not that I ever drank champagne. I found it difficult to look away from her wrists. Maybe it was that. Her wrists. They were long and graceful, the skin flexing over the sharp point of bone each time she moved her hands.

“Well, there’s nothing I can think of to ask, and I have places to be… Vincent’s residence, notably.” I gave the woman a quick, forced smile and rose on wooden feet. “Thank you for your time, ma’am. It was greatly appreciated.”

“Not a problem.” Jana stood without any of the same haste, her voice light and playful. “I’m glad I was able to fill you in, Mr. Sokolsky. I just wish I knew where the little rat has gotten to.”

“Alexi… is fine.” I nearly stuttered. “Just Alexi. And yes.”

Unlike the men of the Organizatsiya, Jana didn’t hesitate to meet my eyes. Hers were very green, and for a moment, I flashed back to the figure in my dream: the chalk-like skin, the fall of white hair as it—she?—turned to look at me in shock in the second before I blew apart.

Jana smiled, and her face came back into focus. “Well, Alexi, good hunting. And if you need anything, anything at all… you just let me know.”

My face only started to burn when I emerged from the office and hit the wall of heat outside. The odd heaviness that had clogged my throat vanished as soon as I was clear of the building and could draw a lungful of air that didn’t smell like lilies. Outside, I leaned against the doorway and rubbed my face. I was a magus, I reminded myself. A spook. A killer. Predator of man. But the dead generally don’t have attractive hands and clean nails or flirt with you, and they unsettled me far less than that woman had.

A throaty caw broke through the fugue of shame, and then another, long and languid. Across the lot, a glossy black raven drifted down to the ground and strutted across the concrete. It flashed me a brazen look, then fluttered and hopped up onto the hood of my car. I frowned and then scowled as the bird turned its head back and forth, before reaching down to pluck at the windshield wiper.

I stepped out from the doorway. “Hey!”

The wiper blade slipped from the raven’s beak and slapped back against the windshield, and the bird cawed at it and then at me. It was a huge animal, larger than a cat, with a vicious horny beak and white-gray eyes. They were so bright and so startling that, for a moment, its presence slapped me like a glass of cold water to the face. I felt like I was looking in a mirror: it was the exact same sensation I had felt when Binah had looked up at me from her mistress’s dead hand, but even more powerful.

My gut lurched. Without thinking, I pulled my wallet from my pocket, heavy with change, and threw it hard. It struck the hood and bounced. The bird cawed in alarm, but instead of flying away, it launched towards me with its talons outstretched. Throwing my hands up, I barely got out of its way as it shot past, ruffling the air near my face. I spun around to track it, only to see it caw and strike at a wiry stray dog cringing by the dumpster. The dog shrieked, a high yelping cry as the raven’s talons scored an ear. The cawing, hissing bird drove the mutt along the wall, and it backed into the gutter with a shrill, strangled sound before it fled from the alley and out onto the street. Victorious, the raven landed on one of the dustbin lids, flicking its wings across its back with arrogant finality.

I jerked my chin up, arms crossed. “Someone’s a prize fighter, aren’t they?”

The raven quorked low in its throat, and then launched itself up again with powerful wings. It landed on the eaves of the building next door, fluffed its head feathers, and rattled a laugh that sounded so human it made my skin crawl.

My eyes narrowed. “Who are you?”

The bird did not reply or even acknowledge my attention, preening under one wing. It stopped, fluffed itself, and launched off into the heat of the day.

Feeling somewhat foolish, I pulled my gloves up along my wrists and shivered. The perch the bird had occupied was vacant darkness, a yawning space of shadow that endured under the hot summer sun. Slowly, I went across and reached down to pick up my wallet from the ground. It had gone under the edge of my car, so I got down on my knees to reach for it. And there, on my knees and looking under the chassis, I glanced up and stopped. My ears started ringing.

A plain steel box, maybe five by ten inches, was bolted to the underside of my fuel tank.

Well, fancy that. Someone just tried to kill me.