The Eldritch Conspiracy

11

“One more time, if you would, Ms. Graves. I understand that you called out as the car was pulling up to the curb and shoved your cousin behind you. No one else had noticed anything wrong with the limo. How did you know there was a problem?”

I sighed and tried to stay calm. It had been a very long, stressful day. I needed to eat. I’d been at the police station for a number of hours by now and, while I can go longer between feedings than I used to, my control isn’t perfect by a long shot. Especially when I’ve been busy trying to save lives.

My stomach growled impatiently. I tried to ignore it, forced myself not to look at the pulse beating so temptingly in the detective’s throat.

Deep breath. The man’s just doing his job. Stay calm. “Most of the others were probably at bad angles, and the windows were tinted. Adriana and I were the last to leave the store, so we had a different point of view, through the windshield.”

“Ah. And what did you see that tipped you off?”

I’d had time to think about it and had finally realized what had been bugging me. “It wasn’t the same driver we’d had earlier in the morning. The first guy’s hair was really short; the second guy’s hair brushed his ears and collar. It also seemed to me that the car was moving too fast. I mean, yeah, the driver might’ve been the kind to slam on the brakes at the curb, but most pros aren’t like that, especially when they’re driving royalty.”

“Detective Rawlins,” my attorney, Roberto Santos, said in his honey-smooth voice, “my client has been extremely cooperative. She has given a full statement.” He was sitting next to me, which was the usual for me when I was being interviewed by the police, at least in this country—even when I was just a witness. He hadn’t had a lot to do thus far, because there were all kinds of witnesses saying that I’d basically saved the day and helped foil an assassination attempt.

Self-defense and defense of the life of another notwithstanding, I’d put three bullets into a guy’s neck. He was dead and I’d killed him. It was all clearly visible on the store’s security feed.

Roberto continued, sounding perfectly reasonable, “Ms. Graves has worked with your sketch artist and given a description of the man who escaped. But she has a serious medical condition that is made worse by stress. I really must insist that we take a break at least long enough for her to use the facilities and to eat so that nothing … unfortunate happens.”

Okay, maybe that was pushing it a little. Of course, Roberto couldn’t know how much progress I’d made in controlling my condition.

“Mr. Santos.” The detective’s lips moved up in a semblance of a smile, but his eyes were cold, hard pebbles set in an equally stony face. “A man is dead. Your client killed him. She shot him, deliberately and repeatedly. She will sit here answering questions for as long as I feel it’s necessary.”

I didn’t sigh. I didn’t fidget. I just closed my eyes and counted to twenty. Perhaps Detective Rawlins was just a good, old-fashioned, hard-headed detective. Then again, it was possible he was one of the members of my “fan club,” the group of officers who’ve decided I’m a monster and are willing to go to almost any lengths to prove it. They want me locked behind bars or put down like a rabid dog. Either way, he was pushing my buttons. That was a very bad thing.

There was a tap at the door. Rawlins made a low, grumbling noise, then rose and left the room, closing the door behind him. I’m sure they didn’t think I could hear them through a closed door, especially since they were speaking softly. But my vampire nature was very close to the surface now, and that made eavesdropping easy.

“You have to let her go,” said a man’s voice, not one I recognized.

“The hell you say! She’s a freaking killer. She’s admitted it.” That was Detective Rawlins.

“Doesn’t matter. It was a righteous shoot. Even if it wasn’t, she’s got diplomatic immunity from two countries. She’s also a freaking celebrity, and she just foiled an assassination attempt on members of a royal family. We’ve got press screaming for blood, politicos riding our ass, and no good reason to keep her. We can bring her back in if we need to. For now, cut her loose.”

“Have you looked at her? She has fangs. She should be staked or put in a fucking cage. Even her attorney admits that she could lose control if she doesn’t eat.”

“So let her eat, and let her go.”

“Is that an order?”

A pause and then the voice lowered to a growl. “Does it need to be?”

There was a long silence. I could hear Rawlins breathing harshly. “We’ll wind up regretting this. When that time comes…”

“If that time comes, there’ll be a note in your file.” The voice made it a threat.

“Good,” Rawlins spat. “Glad to hear it.”

When they cut me loose, the first thing I did was grab my cell phone and dial Adriana’s number. The call went straight to voice mail. Annoying, but not unexpected. Roberto had told me that Lopaka and the others had been taken to the secure ward of a local hospital, but he didn’t know which one. If Adriana was there with her mother, it was likely that no call could reach her. So I dug out the card Baker had given me and keyed the number into my phone. The line rang only once.

“Princess.” Ah, caller ID, gotta love it.

“Special Agent Albright.”

She sounded both amused and exhausted. “Am I to assume the police have finally tired of interrogating you?”

“They have. How is the queen? Where are Adriana and the others?”

“Her Royal Majesty is in intensive care at St. Anthony’s Hospital. Princess Adriana is with her.”

Intensive care? It was that bad? I couldn’t help but worry. Despite only knowing her for a short time, I really liked Lopaka.

“What about Olga and Natasha?”

“They’re secure at the Ruslandic Embassy.”

“As soon as I can get some weapons, I’ll head over to the hospital.”

“Don’t bother. We’ve got it covered for now. Get some rest. Check in again in the morning.” She hung up before I could argue. No surprise. She had a lot on her plate.

My aunt, the queen of queens, the most powerful siren in the world, was in intensive care. Crap.

It took a minute for that to fully sink in, which told me just how distracted I was. Sirens are hard to kill. Very, very hard to kill. I’d seen one get shot to pieces and she had kept breathing, her damaged heart still beating. It isn’t public knowledge, but I had it on good authority that the only things that can actually kill a pure-blooded siren are weapons wielded in jealousy—an emotion that is a poison to us—or certain specially made magical artifacts.

The shooters in the car hadn’t been women, so jealousy wasn’t a factor. That told me two things. First, someone in the know had leaked exactly where we were going and when we’d be there. Second, the attackers had arranged for literally dozens of bullets to be spelled—because that was the only way to try to kill royal sirens. Even a thousand standard rounds wouldn’t be enough. The cost to prepare this attack, in both time and money, had to have been outrageous. So we were looking at a well-funded group with inside information and access to some of the top-tier mages in the world. Artifacts take a long time to produce, which meant that these had been created long before Adriana and Dahlmar’s engagement was announced. The wedding was just an excuse.

That was very interesting.

I couldn’t help Lopaka at the hospital. My job was to protect her daughter. I wouldn’t be able to do that properly without rest. I wanted to do that someplace safe. I also wanted to go over the intel Baker had given me, and see if there was a clue that would tell me who the traitor was.

Because there was a traitor. Someone allowed that limo to get close enough to kill.