The Darkest Kiss

Chapter 6

I sensed him a heartbeat before he attacked, but that was enough time to move. I was very fast, and even though I didn’t move all that far, it still saved my life.

The steel pipe that had been aimed at my head hit my shoulder instead. Pain exploded—a red-hot agony that reverberated up through my brain and right down my arm. My fingers went numb almost instantly, and the laser fell to the floor with a clatter.

Air stirred again.

I swore vehemently and dropped, scooping the weapon with my left hand and firing blindly behind me. Blue light flashed and plaster exploded, sending a cloud of white dust through the air. Then the boards creaked, and though I heard no footsteps, I sensed the vamp was moving away.

I swung around and ran after him. The room was totally empty, and even switching to infrared didn’t help. Dammit, he was here somewhere, so why couldn’t I see him? Hell, I couldn’t even see the pipe he was using, and that was just plain weird.

His scent got stronger as I neared the door that led out into the hallway. I skidded to a halt and fired, using a sweeping motion from left to right. Wood fiber joined the plaster dust and the stench of burned hair suddenly tainted the air. Several grimy, greasy tufts plopped to the floor just beyond the doorway. He swore, then moved, skittering away like a spider on all four legs—something I sensed rather than actually saw.

I edged out the door, my nostrils flaring as I tried to capture the elusive scent of him. Dammit, how could the feel of him—the smell of him—have been so strong last night and yet so faint now, no matter how close I got? For that matter, how the hell could he be invisible when he’d been perfectly visible last night?

And if he had this sort of power, why hadn’t he used it last night rather than running?

It wasn’t a psychic trick—not only hadn’t I felt any attempts at psychic intrusion, but I wasn’t exactly prone to falling for any sort of vampire wiles or tricks anyway. Not in the “now you see me, now you don’t” sense that humans did.

It was almost as if he didn’t exist.

Like he was a ghost.

Except no ghost that I knew of could grab a metal pipe and attempt to brain you with it.

I crept down the hallway, my back against the wall and my shoulder protesting every little movement. I ignored it, concentrating on the tingling sense that was Young’s presence, wishing I could pin down his location. He was close. That was all I could tell. Which was a fat lot of good if he decided to come at me with the pipe again.

Another board squeaked in the kitchen—and this time, the sound seemed to be moving away. The bastard was trying to get around me again.

Or he was trying to make me think that he was.

Given I wasn’t sure, I stayed where I was, my left hand clenched firmly around the laser and my right shoulder aching like hell. Whether this was Young or not, the minute I sensed or scented him, the bastard was dead. Invisible vampires with a murderous bent didn’t get second chances—especially not when they’d already tried to kill me.

My, my, an inner voice snarked, haven’t you changed your tune since becoming a guardian?

Maybe I had—at least when it came to murdering psychos. But I’d still like to think the trigger-pulling impulse was generally more restrained in me than in my brother. That I wasn’t the shoot-first, think-later guardian that Jack wanted me to become.

For several minutes, nothing happened. Sweat began trickling down my spine and I gripped the gun so tightly my hand was beginning to cramp. Not a good thing when holding a laser with the power of this one.

I flexed my fingers in an effort to ease some of the tension. In that moment, air stirred. I glanced to my right, caught a glimpse of a pipe whirring straight at my face, and threw myself down and forward.

I hit the wall opposite with a bone-jarring crunch and, for a moment, saw red as the pain in my shoulder caused a wave of agony that had my head spinning and my stomach twisting. The now-visible pipe hit the wall behind me and clattered to the floor.

I sucked in a breath that did little to ease the blinding ache and, in the process, tasted the foulness of vampire.

A foulness that was getting stronger with every second.

He was coming straight at me.

I dropped low and spun, lashing out with a foot. Saw a blur of washed-out color leap over it, then he was on me, hitting like a ton of bricks, the sheer weight of his attack forcing me backward. I hit a doorframe hard, and the pain in my shoulder intensified. Sweat broke out across my forehead and all I wanted to do was throw up. I swore and kicked out as hard as I could instead. My foot hit something solid, and there was a sharp crack.

“Bitch!”

The word stung the air, filled with venom. Then his weight left me, and suddenly his scent was fading again.

I pulled the laser’s trigger. The bright beam shot out, slicing the air in front of me and continuing on, through another doorway before shattering yet more plaster and wood.

I didn’t hit Young, but just for an instant, I caught a glimpse of a gaunt, ghostly face, thin lips stretched back into a snarl and yellowed canines glistening. I fired again.

Missed again.

Then he was gone, and the sense of wrongness retreated.

I was losing him.

I swore and pushed off the doorway, but the sudden movement had pain burning through every nerve ending and sent the room spinning around me. I grabbed at the wall to steady myself and took several slow, deep breaths. God, it felt like my whole damn shoulder had just gone into a spasm and it fucking hurt.

But I couldn’t just stand here. I had to move, had to go after Young, no matter how much agony I was in. I couldn’t let him get away.

I carefully shifted my sore arm and cradled it with my left, giving it some support as I walked forward. Young’s scent was already drifting, dispersing on the air. What the hell was going on? How could a young vampire—and I still had no doubt that he was young—move around in sunlit rooms so easily?

And how the fuck could he be invisible?

That wasn’t any vampire power I’d heard of. But then, I wasn’t exactly up on vampire law and history. There could be a dozen different types of suckers, for all I knew. The emos had certainly been a surprise.

I followed the tenuous scent forward. It led straight out the door and into the sunshine. Any normal vampire would have burned right there and then, but not Young. I followed his trail out the gate and down the street, until the rising wind tore the trail apart and left me with nothing.

I’d lost him.

God, this day was not going well.

I sat down on a brick fence and carefully let go of my arm so I could press the com-link in my ear.

“Hello, anyone out there?”

There was a pause, then a deep voice said, “Liaison Benson here, Riley. You okay? You’re sounding a little off.”

“That’s because I am a little off. Is Jack around?”

“Not in the immediate vicinity, no.”

Damn. “Tell him I checked that address Vinny gave me, and it was our vamp’s lair, but the bastard got away. Ask him what sort of vampire is immune to sunlight and invisible.”

“Invisible?” I could hear the doubt in Benson’s voice. “I know there’s day-walkers, but they tend to be humans—”

“Yeah, I know all that,” I snapped. “Just ask him.”

“Okay. Anything else?”

The sudden lack of warmth in his tone suggested I’d offended him, and I sighed. A common problem with new liaisons was the fact they expected civility—and while I was generally more than happy to provide it, now was not one of those times.

Still, I’d been new once, too. So I said, “Benson, not only am I pissed off about losing my target, but I’m also sitting here with a busted shoulder. If I sound a little snappish, I’m sorry.”

“You want medical assistance?”

“Just send someone to take me to the hospital. I can’t drive like this, and shifting shape won’t help.” The bones would still be out, regardless of what shape I took. What hurt in one form was going to hurt in another.

“Janny’s on her way home and is currently close to your location. I’ll get her to detour and drive you to hospital.”

“Janny? Where’s she from?”

“She’s part of Mel’s cleanup team. You would have seen her yesterday. She’s tall and thin.”

Ah, the woman who had reminded me of an insect. “That would be great. Thanks, Benson.”

“No problem.”

He signed off. I switched the com-link to receive only, so that they wouldn’t hear me swearing when the pain flared, and waited for my ride to arrive.

It turned out my shoulder wasn’t busted, but rather dislocated. Which meant that once everything was put back into place, the pain would vanish and I’d only be left with soreness.

The bad news, of course, was that I had to get the shoulder put back into place to achieve this result.

It was a process that hurt more than the actual injury did, and the wolf within came roaring to the surface in retaliation. It was a real battle to curb my instinctive need to batter the cause of all this pain away from me.

Once the doctor had gotten the ball back into the socket, the pain stopped almost instantly. An ache remained, but that I could handle.

“You should wear a sling for a day or two,” he commented, stepping back warily as I jumped off the table. “And ice it regularly to help with the swelling.”

“I’m a werewolf, Doc.” I grabbed my sweater and my gun from the nearby chair. “And the Directorate doesn’t give time off for minor injuries like this.”

“That’s against the labor laws—”

I snorted softly. “Like either the Directorate or the bad guys give two hoots about the labor laws.” Hell, I couldn’t even see many humans being overly worried about the noncompliance of the laws at the Directorate. Not when it was being done to protect their butts. “Thanks for patching me up, though.”

He nodded, and I got out of there as quickly as possible. Hospitals were high on my list of unfavorite places—mainly because, like cemeteries, they held far too many ghosts. And I’d had more than enough of those today.

I found Liander waiting at the bottom of the hospital’s front steps. He was dressed in dark jeans and an aqua shirt, and his silver hair was streaked with a blue that matched his shirt. His scent spun around me, rich and warm. Much like the man himself. I smiled a greeting.

“Hey, makeup man, what are you doing here?” I gave him a kiss on the cheek, then linked my good arm through his. “And don’t you look smashing.”

He grinned, silver eyes twinkling. “I just came from a series of interviews about the special effects. Drumming up interest in the new movie and all that.”

“So why are you here? Not that I’m complaining, mind.”

“Rhoan rang and said you might need a lift. I wanted to talk to you anyway, so here I am.” He glanced down at my arm. “How’s the busted shoulder?”

Someone at the Directorate had obviously contacted Rhoan. Jack might be the only one who knew we were brother and sister, but everyone knew we were from the same pack, and living together. And they knew better than to keep injury information from Rhoan—even if he generally knew if I was hurt before they did. “It wasn’t busted, just dislocated.”

“Ow.” He screwed up his nose. “I think that’s more painful than a break.”

Having had a few breaks in my time, I’d have to disagree. Dislocation might be fucking painful, but so was a busted limb.

“So what do you want to talk about?” I said, as he guided me to the right. “Not that useless brother of mine again, I hope. You know I have little influence over him.”

Liander smiled. “Your useless brother has been rather well behaved of late. No complaints, either in or out of the bedroom.”

For which I was glad. The last couple of years had been pretty rough for Liander when it came to the relationship between him and my brother, and he deserved some good times for a change. “So what’s the problem?”

He unlocked the door of his old Ford, then said, “You remember that name you mentioned? The one I said sounded familiar?”

“Aron Young?”

“Yeah. I remembered where I knew it from.” He motioned me to sit, so I did. He slammed the door shut, then ran around to the driver’s side and climbed in. After starting up the car, he added, “I’ve got pictures at home, if you’d like to see if it’s the same man.”

“I would, but I need to pick up my car from Glenroy, first.” I gave him the street name, then shifted in the seat so that I was facing him and said, “So tell me all.”

“He was briefly in the same school as me.” He glanced in the rearview mirror, then pulled out into the traffic. “Tenth grade, at Beechworth Secondary College.”

I raised my eyebrows. “You went to a state school?”

He nodded. “The Moore pack was a small one, and we certainly couldn’t afford to set up our own private school. The cost of building and hiring teachers was just too much.”

“And the local community didn’t mind?” While wolves and other supernaturals might have become an accepted—even if sometimes not liked—part of city living, there were still pockets in country areas that preferred to keep their towns as free as possible from the nonhuman “taint.”

A task that was harder in the alpine areas, simply because there were so many wolf packs up there. Mountains were a good place to run free and wild.

“Unlike some of the packs around, the Moores were well integrated into the local community.” He shrugged. “We did community stuff, Dad coached the local football team, and Mom was heavily involved in church fetes. People forgot what we were, to a great extent.”

“Sounds like it was a nice place to grow up.” Better than what Rhoan and I had, anyway. But then, that wouldn’t have been hard.

“It was.” He gave me a quick smile, then added, “Anyway, Young transferred into our school at the start of tenth grade. He was there long enough for the school photos, but disappeared a month or so before the end of the year.”

“Was he pulled out or suspended?”

“Neither. He actually disappeared.” He pulled to a halt at a red light and glanced at me. “There were rumors, of course. He got mixed up with some pretty bad elements, and there was talk he’d been involved in some sort of initiation gone wrong.”

“Was he human?”

“Shifter. Some sort of bird.” He shrugged. “I never had much to do with him, so I really couldn’t say for sure.”

At least that explained how he’d disappeared on me the night I’d chased him from Vinny’s. When a nonhuman became a vampire, they took whatever shifting skill they had into unlife. But if he could shift shape, why didn’t he simply fly from the building from the very start? Hell, if he could disappear, why hadn’t he simply done that rather than run? “Did the police investigate the disappearance?”

“Yeah. No charges were ever brought, and a body was never found. If something did happen, it was well covered up by everyone involved.”

“What about his parents?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What about them?”

“How did they react to their son going missing?”

“From what I remember, furiously. But about a month after the disappearance, they picked up stakes and left town. We never saw them again.”

“And there were no whispers around town about why they might have left?”

“Not that I can remember. But I was a kid, so I’d probably lost interest in the whole situation by then.”

Which was one major difference between him, and me and my brother. We would have investigated. I had a nose for trouble, and I hadn’t been afraid to use it—as the many scars that scattered my body would attest.

“Has the school photo got names attached?”

“Yep.” He looked at me. “You think your Aron Young’s recent spate of murders has something to do with this Aron Young’s disappearance all those years ago?”

“I have no idea what to think. I don’t even know if I have the right Aron Young. Right now, I’m just grabbing at straws.”

“If it is him, it’s a long time to hold a grudge.”

“Maybe he needed time to build up courage.” Or strength, perhaps. It couldn’t be easy for a ghost to pick up solid objects. “Is there anyone up in Beechworth who might remember more about the case? Who was the cop on the case?”

“Old Jerry Mayberry was the local cop. He’s retired, but still living up there, as far as I know.” He gave me a half-smile. “Haven’t been back up there for a while now.”

I shifted in my seat and looked at him. “How did your pack react when they realized you were gay?”

“I got more grief from the local kids than I did from the pack.” He shrugged. “I think it was a disappointment to my mom, more than anything, because she wanted grandkids. But my sister has had five in the last seven years, so that’s one problem solved.”

A little bit of envy swirled through me. Having a whole pack of kids had once been my dream, too. But that was gone forever—well, mostly. I still had viable eggs frozen, but I would never be the one to carry them. “Your sister has five kids? How come we’ve never met them?”

He laughed. “She comes down here to escape the kids, not show them off.”

“But I’d love to meet them sometime.”

He gave me an amused look. “Spend an hour with that lot, and the whole idea of being a mom will suddenly not seem so alluring. Trust me, they’re a handful.”

“Kids are. Hell, I was.”

“Imagine you and Rhoan multiplied by about ten. That’s how bad they are.”

I grinned. “No one can be that bad.”

“Okay, so maybe I exaggerate a little.” The amusement in his expression and the twinkle in his eyes did little to deny the statement. It also showed just how much he loved those kids. “Seeing you’re coming back to my place after you pick up your car, you want to stop for some lunch?”

“If you’re going to cook it, I’ll definitely eat it.” My cell phone decided to ring at that precise point, so I added as I reached for it, “At least, I hope I can, if this isn’t Jack with another problem.”

Unfortunately, it was.

“Riley?” Jack said, as soon as I pressed the receive button. “We’ve got another one.”

“Man or woman?”

“Woman. Another one of the names in James’s Rolodex.”

“You know, our murderess seems to be targeting those women as much as the men.”

“Which is why I’ve sent Kade on to the murder scene, and I want you to go talk to Dia. Maybe she can shed some light on what is going on.”

It was a big maybe. I liked Dia—a lot—but the information she saw generally tended to be vague, at best. She was far more accurate when it came to personal stuff—which is why I tended to avoid too much hand-to-hand contact whenever we went to coffee or lunch. My life so far had not gone the way I’d planned, and I didn’t want to know that the future would go to shit, as well. Not knowing meant I could still hope. Still dream.

But even if she couldn’t give us any direct psychic help, she was a part of the Toorak set, so she could at least give me information about the Trollops, as James’s secretary had so charmingly called them.

“I’ve already rung her,” Jack continued. “She’s not home, but she said she’d meet you at the usual place in half an hour.”

The usual place was an out-of-the-way nook in Brunswick that had some of the best coffee I’d ever tasted, and that didn’t mind kids running around making noise. Which meant Dia had her daughter, Risa, with her. “I’ll drive over as soon as I pick up my car. Did Benson pass on my question about invisible vampires?”

“Yeah, but I haven’t had time to research the database yet. Personally, I never heard of that particular skill in vamps, but it’s not like I’ve been around long enough to meet all the different types.”

“But you’ve been around long enough to be fairly high up the vampire ladder.” And considering he’d been a vamp for over eight hundred years, you’d think he would have heard something in that time.

“Yeah, but that ladder is composed mainly of blood vamps, with a few emos scattered here and there. We generally don’t get other types of vamps joining.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Joining? I was under the impression the hierarchy system was a natural part of being turned.” Meaning, young suckers started at the bottom of the ladder, and rose through the ranks as they got older and stronger.

“It is for blood vamps. And it was—is—a good method of keeping track of all blood vamps, and ensuring there is no war between the different bloodlines.”

I wondered what bloodline Jack had come from—and whether he’d ever created his own fledglings.

Wondered whether Quinn ever had.

He didn’t seem the type, but then, what did I really know about either him or his history?

“I still can’t see how that works, you know. Vamps are just as hungry for power as everyone else.” Probably more so. “What’s to stop someone down the ladder bumping off those ahead?”

“The threat that his or her whole line would be erased.”

“So it’s not so much a matter of honor and respect, as Quinn said, but rather fear?”

“It often works better than respect.” Jack shrugged. “Anyway, there’s a database kept of our history—a record, if you like, of the vamps who have lived and died since the hierarchy came into place. I’ll check it for any mention of a line of vamps immune to sunlight. But don’t hold out too much hope. I’d imagine such immunity would have been greatly studied had it existed.”

Or kept very secret indeed. After all, they wouldn’t want humanity knowing there were some branches of vampires who could move around in daylight. Humans had enough trouble dealing with the nighttime versions.

“Once I talk to Dia, I might head over to Vinny’s and see what she can tell me.” After all, she’d kissed the sucker. Maybe she’d tasted what he was.

“Be careful,” Jack said, and hung up.

“Bad news?” Liander asked.

“Yeah, looks like I’m going to miss lunch.” I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “If you see Rhoan tonight, could you give him the photos? I want to check if there are any other links to that school and Young’s disappearance.”

“Will do.” He paused, turning right into traffic, then said, “So, how badly are Collingwood going to defeat Carlton in this week’s match?”

I snorted softly, and we got into yet another argument about the pros and cons of our favorite football teams. It filled the time.

He dropped me off at my car then continued on. I got my keys out of my pocket, but didn’t immediately climb into my car. I walked back down the street and checked whether Young had crept home.

He hadn’t—at least, not that I could smell, anyway. Which mightn’t have meant anything considering how little I’d caught his scent the first time.

Brunswick was only a ten-minute drive from Glenroy, but by the time I found parking and got to the restaurant, I was a good twenty minutes late. I couldn’t see Dia sitting in her usual spot on one of the outside tables, but as I neared the door, little Risa came bounding out of the restaurant and flung herself at my legs.

“’iley!” she yelled, wrapping her tiny arms around my left leg and hanging on with the grip of a boa. “Coke!”

I laughed and picked her up, ignoring the twinge in my shoulder as I spun her around lightly before holding her close. She smelled of soap and powder and warmth, and made me wish again for a child of my own.

“Hey, monkey,” I said. “What does your mommy say about you getting Coke?”

Her amazingly bright, violet eyes twinkled with mischief. “Mommy said yes!”

I grinned as I entered the café. Dia was in the far corner, sitting in a booth near the large play area the owners had provided for the kids. She was, as usual, both immaculate and stunning. Her hair was a pure whitish-silver that shone with an almost unnatural brilliance, and when combined with the luminous blue of her eyes and the white business suit she wore, she was hard to miss.

Of course, the blue of her eyes wasn’t natural, same as her silver hair. Her true hair color was a mix of silver and brown, and her eyes were also naturally brown, ringed by blue.

Dia wasn’t only a psychic, but a clone with Helki shapeshifting genes who was able to subtly alter her appearance as easily as I could become a wolf. The silver and blue suited her psychic business better—and enabled her to use her true form when she didn’t want to be noticed. Little Risa had obviously picked up her father’s coloring, although Dia never talked about him nor was there mention of him on Risa’s birth certificate.

Few would have guessed Dia was blind. The sight she did have came through the presence of a creature known as a Fravardin—an unseen guardian spirit who’d been assigned protection duties by her clone brother, Misha. They’d failed in their duty to protect him, but only after a bloody battle that had taken many of their lives. After his death, they’d honored his wishes and continued to protect Dia. When she was outside the house, one of the Fravardin kept close—and by linking lightly to the creature’s mind, Dia was able to move with a serenity and grace that denied her handicap. I had no idea where the creature was right now, but given she was looking directly at me, it had to be somewhere close.

“Mommy didn’t say yes,” she said dryly. “But Riley rarely takes notice of a no, anyway.”

“It’s only once a week.” I slid into the U-shaped booth then placed Risa on the seat beside me. The little girl clambered to her feet and ran around the booth, white pigtails flying as she threw her arms around Dia’s neck.

“Love Mommy,” she said.

“That child has the world worked out already,” I said, swallowing a laugh. “She’s going to do just fine when she grows up.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dia picked her daughter up and swung her over the table. “Go play until the drinks get here.”

Risa ran off happily. Dia shook her head, amusement and love evident in her expression. “I’ve already ordered the coffee and cake. What’s the problem?”

“I need to know about the Toorak Trollops.”

She lifted a pale eyebrow. “How have the Trollops come under Directorate scrutiny? They’re basically harmless.”

“Yeah, but someone is bumping them off and stealing their identities to kill their lovers.”

The amusement fell from her features. “God, there’s been nothing along the gossip lines suggesting anything like that.”

“We’ve managed to keep the press relatively quiet.” They were still concentrating on the dead politician, and I think Jack was hoping to keep it that way. “What can you tell me about them?”

She wrinkled her nose. “They’re actually not very nice people.”

“Not nice how?”

“It’s their attitude. Not only do they treat men as dumb playthings, but they go into relationships simply to see how much they can get out of it. It’s become something of a game between them.”

I smiled a thanks at the waitress as she brought over three plates of thick banana cake, then said, “I take it you mean gifts and money?”

“But also position. They try to outdo each other when it comes to bed partners.”

“So a politician would be prized more than a shoe store owner?”

“Depends on who the politician and the shoe store owner are, but yes.” She paused, looking at me steadily for a moment. “So the murder of Gerard James was not political, as the press have been saying?”

“Nope. Bad choice of a bed partner, we think.”

She picked up a spoon and scooped up a piece of banana cake, munching on it for several seconds before saying, “I know both Cherry Barnes and Alana Burns were going out with him. Can’t say I’d be sorry to see either of them dead and gone.”

I raised my eyebrows. “And here I was thinking you got along with everybody.”

She snorted softly. “In my line of work, I have to try. Doesn’t mean I always succeed. Though if Alana has been murdered, it’s odd that I didn’t see her death coming.”

“So she was a client?”

Dia nodded. “So was Cherry. Neither of them were pleasant customers, so I was thankful the others stayed away.”

“What do they come to you for?”

She shrugged. “Usual shit. Am I going to find wealth and happiness in my life, that sort of stuff.”

The waitress brought over our coffees and a small glass of Coke. A squeal of happiness erupted from the play area, and a white-headed blur was suddenly scrambling over her mother to get to the soda.

“See what you’ve done?” Dia said, shaking her head in amusement. “She’ll be hyper for hours now.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” I grinned as the little girl grabbed the straw and began drinking, a look of pure bliss on her face.

“It is when I have several clients to look after this afternoon.” She shook her head. “I saw Alana two weeks ago. She seemed her normal, aggravating self then.”

I hadn’t yet read the cleanup team report, but the state of decay suggested Alana had been dead for at least a week—meaning Dia had probably seen her just before she’d died. “So you didn’t sense anything odd about her?”

“No.” She frowned. “Though with Alana, it was difficult to tell. The self-centered are often hard to read.”

“Do you know of anyone who might want to kill her?”

She smiled. “She was certainly never on Cherry’s Christmas list.”

Dia’s tone was dry, and I raised my eyebrows. “So the two of them didn’t get along?”

“Cherry was more a wannabe Trollop than an official member. I’m afraid Alana delighted in proving to Cherry that she would never be one of them, simply because she wasn’t good enough to keep her men.”

“Meaning Alana deliberately seduced Gerard James just to prove a point to Cherry?”

“Oh, Alana wasn’t the only Trollop to seduce away Cherry’s conquests. It’s something of a game for them all.”

“Then why would Cherry want to be one of them?”

“Because they were the ‘in’ crowd, and Cherry is desperate to be seen with the right people.”

“Even if she hates them?”

“Even if.” Dia shrugged. “She is attracted to the power she thinks they hold. She wants that, even if the personal cost is high.”

And that personal cost might just give her a motive for murder. “I don’t suppose Cherry is a shifter?”

“No, as human as they come.”

Damn. Though I should have known better than to hope things would fall into place that neatly. “Have you seen Cherry recently?”

“No, not for at least a month.” She frowned. “In fact, she left in something of a hurry after our last meeting. She smelled frightened.”

“What did you say to her?”

“That an event from her past was not as buried as she thought, and that she needed to be careful about who she let in her door.”

I smiled. “That’s a warning as clear as mud. As usual.”

She shrugged. “Cherry was never very open when it came to readings. It makes it hard to get details.”

I raised my eyebrows. “I’m not very open, either, and yet you’ve been able to read me.”

“That’s because you’re not unresponsive to psychic intrusion. You’re just very well shielded against it.”

“Oh.”

She smiled and waved her spoon at my hand. “You want me to do a reading today?”

I snatched my hand out of her way. “No, thanks. I’ve had enough bad news to last me a lifetime.”

She laughed softly. “One of these days I’m going to do another reading, and you’re going to love me forever.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Only if you see true love and kids in my future.”

“And what did I say last time? You will gain what you want, Riley. It just won’t be in the form you have dreamed of.”

I rolled my eyes. “How can babies not be in the form I dream of?”

She grinned. “No one said the future was easy to understand.”

“And you make a living out of this mumbo jumbo?”

“A very good living,” she said solemnly, then chuckled. “I’m just glad most of my clients aren’t as skeptical as you.”

“I’m not skeptical of your talent—just what it’s saying about my future.” I took a sip of coffee, and licked away the froth from my lips. “Besides Alana, was there any other Trollop who might be on Cherry’s hit list?”

Dia frowned. “For all Cherry’s faults, she doesn’t seem like the murdering kind.”

“Many serial killers don’t.”

She acknowledged the point with a nod, but added, “Cherry wanted to be a part of their group. Destruction wasn’t in her agenda.”

“Well, it’s in someone’s agenda, and right now, she seems the most likely. Who else did she hate?”

She hesitated. “Enna Free would probably be next on any hate list.”

I wondered if the body Kade had gone to check out today was Enna Free. If it wasn’t—and she was still alive—then someone had to get to her before the killer cat did. I grabbed my phone and sent Jack a quick message, asking him to haul in both Enna and Cherry, then pulled a piece of banana cake toward me and scooped up a spoonful. It was, as usual, delicious. This had to be the one place in Melbourne where I’d choose banana over chocolate any day. “Don’t suppose you’d know where Enna is today?”

“No, but there’s an invitation-only charity fund-raiser happening over at Sparkies this evening, and I know some of the Trollops are attending that. Apparently, there’s going to be some good man-meat there. Alana’s words, not mine.”

I snorted softly. “You know, if a man said that about a woman, there’d be an uproar.”

“The world is warped,” she agreed, then waved her spoon at me. “You want to get into that shindig?”

“If you can get me in, yes.”

“Risa, can you get Mommy’s phone out of her bag, please?”

The little girl leaned sideways, dug into the patent leather handbag sitting beside her, pulled out the phone, and handed it across. Then she gave me a cheeky grin and said, “Cake, please.”

“Come here then, monster.”

She scooted around, and I fed her cake while Dia made her call.

“Done,” she said, after a few minutes. “And that’s enough cake for you, little one.”

Risa’s pout lasted for all of two seconds, then she scooted back around the table again to finish off her Coke.

“The ticket will be waiting at the door. The cost is five hundred.”

I just about choked. “God, I’m glad the Directorate will be paying for it.”

“You’re just lucky it’s one of the cheap functions. Some of the others can be a grand or two.”

Thankfully, tonight’s event wasn’t one of those, because Jack’s reaction would not have been pretty. “Have you got Cherry’s address?”

“Not on me, but I can phone it through once I get home.” She paused, and sipped her coffee. “Would you like a list of all the Trollops?”

“That would be great.”

I dug into my bag, then handed over a small notebook and pen. She scrawled in fourteen names, then handed both the pan and book back. “Anything else?”

“What does Enna look like?”

Dia smiled. “I thought you might have guessed that.”

I raised my eyebrow. “Blond hair, blue eyes, and rake thin?”

“Yep. It’s their calling card—even when they are naturally dark.”

“Men do seem to like their blondes.”

She snorted softly. “Like redheads have any reason to complain. Except when they’re on a self-imposed diet, that is.”

“I’ve got a feeling the diet might be ending.”

“Really? Do tell.”

So I told her about Ben and the case we were involved in, and we filled the next hour chatting away like old friends rather than new—something I’d once thought would never happen.

Of course, as much as I would have liked to stay there all day, I couldn’t—Jack would have a pink fit—so I eventually headed back to the Directorate.

Jack wasn’t in the day-shift office when I arrived, but Kade was sitting at his desk. I tossed my bag on my desk, then walked over to the coffee machine. We finally had mugs rather than those horrible plastic cups, but it didn’t make the coffee taste any better. Jack had promised a machine upgrade, but after months of hearing a similar promise when it came to our office area, I had no expectations of it actually happening any time soon.

I slopped some milk into both cups, pressed the coffee button, and shoved the first cup underneath, then glanced over at Kade. “So who was murdered this time?”

He grimaced and leaned back in his chair. “One Cherry Barnes. Thirty-four-year-old divorcée who’s been dead for three weeks.”

Well, so much for my thoughts about Cherry having all the right motives for murder. “And no one noticed the smell?”

“Apparently not. No one reported her missing, either. Her mom and sister thought she was off on a cruise with some man.”

“So who found her?”

“Pest control. They’d been called in because of a sudden influx of rats in the other apartments.”

I screwed up my nose and switched mugs. “Don’t tell me—”

“Yep, they’ve been chowing on the body. I don’t think the pest controller will be eating for the next week.”

“I’m glad I wasn’t the one called in.” I plonked my butt on the edge of his desk and handed him a mug. “I guess the body was too badly decomposed to tell whether she’d been mutilated or not?”

“She was, but according to Cole, it wasn’t our cat. The slashes to her back and stomach are different.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Different how?”

Kade shrugged. “He wouldn’t be pinned down. I guess we have to wait for the report.”

“What about Alana Burns?”

“She’d been slashed on the neck, and there was bruising. She wasn’t as cut up or eaten as our second female victim, but both did happen.”

“So the violence is definitely escalating.” I paused and drank some coffee. It was bitterer than usual, but maybe that was a direct result of drinking the silky smooth stuff at the café. “So if Cherry died three weeks ago, we might have another male body out there waiting to be discovered.”

“Could be. I’m currently going through the cops’ unsolved murder files, just to see if I can find anything.” He reached forward, grabbed a folder, and handed it to me. “Forensic reports for Gerard James and the shoe seller. The DNA found at both scenes matches.”

“What about Alana Burns? Any DNA found on her?”

“No. But Cole suspects they’ll find plenty on the body of the second woman. She was bitten a lot.”

I opened the folder and skipped the photos, going directly to the reports. At first glance, there didn’t seem to be anything I hadn’t already guessed. “So has Cole got any idea of what we might be dealing with?”

“He thinks it could be a bakeneko.”

“A what?”

Kade grinned. “My reaction, too.”

“So what is it?”

“Apparently, it’s a cat with supernatural abilities.”

“A cat? So we’re not dealing with a human shifter, but an actual cat who can take human shape?”

Which certainly went a long way to explain the arrogance the woman had shown by waving to the witness. Cats had a huge sense of their own superiority.

“Makes trying to catch this bitch a whole lot harder, doesn’t it? I mean, she really isn’t going to be thinking like a regular person.” He shook his head, then took a sip of his coffee. His expression crinkled up in much the same manner as mine had. “God, that’s awful.”

“Won’t stop either of us from drinking it, though.”

“Hell, no.” He raised his cup in salute, brown eyes twinkling. “I did an Internet search, and the only thing I could come up with was a couple of Japanese legends.”

“I’m guessing they didn’t say how to kill this thing.” Japanese myths rarely did, for some odd reason.

“No. But they did say that a bakeneko can change its shape into that of a human, and has been known to eat parts of its own mistress in order to shapeshift and take her place.”

“Well, some of that criteria certainly fits.”

“Yes. But why is it going after these men? Why would a cat—a real cat—want to destroy these people?”

“I don’t know, but something has obviously set her off. We just have to try and find out what.” I took a sip of coffee and studied the file for a moment. “I wonder if she actually belonged to any of the dead women?”

“Hard to say. She obviously knew the layout of that house pretty well—she ran straight to the open window when she was escaping us.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t see any cat trays or food bowls, which suggests she didn’t actually belong there.”

“You think she’s a stray the women picked up?”

I smiled. “From what Dia said, the only thing these women pick up is men.”

“So why the curiosity over who the cat belongs to?”

“I don’t know. It’s just a niggle.”

He studied me for a moment, then said, “You know, there were food bowls in Cherry Barnes’s kitchen.”

“Then it might be worth chasing up with the neighbors to see if she had a black cat. Cherry Barnes had good reason to hate her fellow Trollops, so if it’s her cat, maybe its seeking revenge on behalf of its dead mistress.”

“Yeah, but Cherry wasn’t killed by the cat, which means we have yet another murderer to deal with.”

“It keeps the day from getting boring,” I said lightly, and tossed the file back onto the desk. “Some of the Trollops are going to be at a fancy fund-raising shindig tonight. I’m going to head there and see what I can sniff out.”

“You want company?”

“At five hundred dollars a ticket, she can go alone,” Jack said, as he came into the room. His bald head positively gleamed under the light of the fluorescents. It looked for all the world like he’d been polishing it. “Besides, you’re going to help to round up the other Trollops.”

“I get all the fun jobs,” Kade muttered.

“Dia gave me a list of their names,” I said helpfully, and swallowed my smile as he gave me a dark look. I glanced at Jack and added, “And she assures me the fund-raiser is one of the cheaper ones, boss.”

“Dia runs a multimillion-dollar empire. We scratch by on government funds. How’s the shoulder?”

“Survivable.”

“Good.” He handed me a folder. “The report on Vinny Castillo. Thought you might like to see it.”

I didn’t, because I really wanted to have as little to do with her as possible. But that wasn’t an option in my job—I dealt with vampires on a daily basis, and I had a feeling Vinny was going to feature in my life for a while yet.

And God, how I hated those little “feelings” of mine. Especially when they refused to provide any further information.

“We keeping an eye on her?”

“Yep. She’s empire-building, no doubt about it.” He poured himself a coffee and took a sip. Unlike Kade or me, he made no face. Maybe he preferred the nasty-tasting stuff. “Watch yourself around her. She has a taste for women, and I’m not entirely sure your shields will work against her sort of magnetism.”

If our first meeting was anything to go by, he could be right. “Did you find any information on invisible vampires?”

“Not yet, but it’s a big database, and unfortunately, not all the early stuff has been transcribed to computer.”

“What about the police report on the BDSM murder?”

“I went one better. I sent a forensic crew over to examine the body. The slashes on his body matched those Ivan Lang received before his death.”

“Did they say what type of weapon was involved?”

“Something sharp, but not a knife. They didn’t think it was animal claws, either.”

“Nothing else?”

“Not yet.” He glanced at Kade. “What’s the status on the murders?”

As Kade updated him, I walked over to my desk and sat down. After the eye scan and signing in, I checked the results of the Aron Young search. Two were still listed as missing, which was interesting. The third one was married, had three kids, and had been working steadily as a chef for the last thirty years. Somehow, I doubted he was our guy, but I flagged his file anyway. Someone could go out and talk to him, just in case I was wrong. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.

I tapped my fingers on the desk for a moment, then pulled up the birth certificates for the two others.

One Aron Young was in his seventies and still listed as human, which meant he probably wasn’t our man. The Young I’d chased certainly hadn’t looked that old, though vampires did tend to retain whatever age it was when they’d undertaken the ceremony. Both Quinn and Jack had obviously been fairly old—for their times—when they’d undertaken it.

The other Young was in his forties, which put him in the right age bracket. Given he was listed as missing, I did a search instead on his parents.

His father, Jonathon Young, had died a month ago. According to the death certificate, the cause was a heart attack, so nothing obviously sinister there. Though why I was expecting something sinister I couldn’t actually say.

His mother was still alive, however, and living in Yuroke, a community of small farms on the northern edges of Melbourne. I glanced at my watch and decided there was plenty of time to get out there and back before I had to get ready for the function tonight. I wrote down her address, then signed out of the computer and stood up.

“I’m off to interview the mom of one of our Aron Youngs, boss.”

He glanced at me. “Be careful. Until we know what we’re dealing with, we don’t know how to kill it.”

“I doubt the mom is any danger. She’s nearly ninety, for heaven’s sake.”

“Old biddies are mean and dangerous,” Kade piped up. “Just let me introduce you to Sable’s mom sometime. That woman could freeze the balls off Satan himself.”

“I do so love the level of conversation I get with you two around,” Jack said dryly.

I grinned and got out of there before said conversation deteriorated any further.

It took nearly an hour to get to Yuroke, and another ten minutes to find the right side street and house number.

Mrs. Young lived in a little weatherboard cottage that was barely visible amidst all the gum trees. I drove down the long drive, avoiding as many potholes as I could, my gaze sweeping the old house and the run-down barn that stood to the left of it. The barn actually looked in worse condition than the house, the tin roof rusted and lifting in several places, and the rear corner of the building was broken open to the elements.

The only signs of life were the several chickens that scratched out the front of the barn, and the mangy-looking dog chained to a kennel.

I stopped the car and climbed out. The wind meandered through the trees, making the leaves whisper, and the soft clucking of the chickens added a brighter note to this chorus. There was little noise coming from either the house or the shed. Even the dog was silent, watching me with disinterested eyes.

It looked for the world like this place—and the dog—had been abandoned. Yet there were clothes on the line, and a car parked just inside the lean-to garage on the right side of the house.

I swept my gaze around the buildings once more, then reached back inside my car and collected my gun. I might be dealing with an old woman, but she was an old woman with a crazy son, and just because I couldn’t smell him didn’t mean he wasn’t here. Yuroke wasn’t that far out of town, he could easily be using it as a safe house.

I slammed the door closed then walked toward the house. If the old bird happened to be inside and watching, she was doing so extremely quietly. But I didn’t think she was. I couldn’t smell anyone. Only rubbish and age.

The wooden steps creaked and dipped as I stood on them, and the windows to my left rattled. The whole house was in a state of decay, the window frames rotting and the weatherboards barely holding any paint. Even the door didn’t look capable of withstanding much bad weather—it was warped and hanging on a slight angle, so that it didn’t look properly shut.

I pressed the doorbell, but didn’t hear an accompanying ringing inside the house, so I knocked instead. Even though I didn’t use much force, the whole thing rattled.

There was no response. I knocked again, then stepped back and peered through the front window. It looked into a living room and, again, decay was evident. There were newspapers scattered all over the floor, their edges yellowed and curling, and a thick dust lined the top of the patterned sofas and the dark wood of the sideboards. Several cups and plates dotted the coffee table, one with cake that looked rather green. Either Mrs. Young wasn’t a very good housekeeper, or the room hadn’t seen human occupation for at least a couple of weeks.

“Mrs. Young?” I called out. “Riley Jenson from the Directorate. I need to talk to you.”

My voice echoed through the emptiness. No answer came. Not even from the dog.

I grabbed the door handle and twisted it open. The door opened several inches then stuck fast, forcing me to lift it up and over a warped floorboard. Inside, the house smelled as bad as it looked. The air was stale and perfumed with the hint of rubbish and rot.

The floorboards creaked as I stepped inside. “Mrs. Young?”

Still no answer. Nor could I smell any life. I walked down the hallway, checking rooms as I passed each doorway. There were two bedrooms and a bathroom at the front of the house, both a good deal tidier than the living room—although the dust that was so thick in the front room had invaded these rooms as well.

The hall led to a kitchen, and it was obviously here that the old woman spent most of her time. The kitchen was small but tidy, with clean plates and cups sitting in the drainer. The little dining area consisted of a table and a couple of chairs pushed up against the wall, allowing room for a large, well-used sofa chair. A TV stood in the corner of the room.

There was a pile of newspapers at the far end of the counter. I walked over and had a look at the date. The latest was a month old—around the same date as Mr. Young had died. Maybe his wife had moved out rather than be alone, but why would she leave the poor old dog and the chickens here? It didn’t make any sense.

I swung around and saw another door. It probably led into nothing more exciting than the laundry, but I walked over to take a look anyway. My skin began to tingle several feet from the door. I frowned and stopped. Usually I only got that reaction when I was near silver—but why in hell would there be silver in this old house, especially if it housed a family of shifters?

I stepped forward and pressed my fingers against the door. The tingle grew stronger, burning my fingertips. For whatever reason, there was a whole lot of silver in the room beyond.

And really, there could be only one reason for that—someone wanted to restrain a shifter.

With some trepidation—and some effort—I pushed open the door. What I discovered was basically a prison. The netting started just beyond the door, and was spiderweb fine. It was made in several layers, so that the overall strength of the net was tripled. Not many shifters would have gotten through it—not without seriously injuring themselves. And even if they had, there was then the silver-coated walls to deal with. That’s what I’d been feeling—the back of the door had obviously received the same treatment.

Someone had wanted to make damn sure something—or someone—couldn’t get out.

The room itself had been set up like a bedroom. It had a bed, a small bathroom area, and a TV. There was also a desk and laptop in the corner opposite the bed. Books and magazines lay scattered about the floor, but not covering the small, stained rug.

My gaze went back to the nets. Was this the explanation for Young’s parents suddenly up and leaving Beechworth? Had they discovered that their supposedly dead son was alive, but something of a monster?

Given this room, it certainly seemed possible.

But given the fortifications, how had Young escaped? And why now, if he’d spent a good thirty or so years in captivity?

And where the hell was his mom?

I backed away from the silver room and swung around. There were glass sliding doors at the far end of the small dining area, and these led out into a little patio area.

I walked across, unlatched the door, and walked out. To the right, in a little lean-to at the back of the garage, was the laundry area. To the left were steps, and these led out past the clothesline. The various shirts and undies on the line were a mix of women’s and men’s, but they looked as if they’d been there for some time. Bird shit decorated the backs of some of the shirts, and fade lines had begun to appear.

I walked down the steps and followed the path, ducking under the clothes and walking toward a little vegetable patch. There were big, fat pumpkins looking ready for the picking, and potatoes and carrots gone wild.

Obviously, this garden had been abandoned long before Mr. Young had died.

The path continued on, and so did I. Trees lined either side, most bearing fruit in various degrees of ripeness. Unfortunately, the birds had gotten to most of it, leaving it half-eaten and rotten.

The path ended in a little sitting area. A large liquid amber tree provided shade, and under this sat a little table and two chairs. To one side, a rose bed that was a riot of color, filling the air with sweet summery scents.

To the other side, a grave.

I’d finally found Mrs. Young.