Weird Detectives: Recent Investigations

SEE ME Tanya Huff

“Mason, you want to move a bit to the right? We’re picking up that very un-Victorian parking sign.”

Huddling down inside Raymond Dark’s turn-of-the-nineteenth-century greatcoat, Mason Reed shuffled sideways and paused to sniff mournfully before asking, “Here?”

Adam took another look into the monitor. “There’s fine. Tony, where’s Everett?”

Tony Foster took two wide shots with the digital camera for continuity and said, “He’s in the trailer finishing Lee’s bruise.”

“Right. Okay . . . uh . . . ” Adam was obviously looking for Pam, their PA, but Pam had already been sent to the twenty-four-hour drugstore over on Granville to pick up medicine for Mason’s cold. He’d already sneezed his fangs out once, and no one wanted to go through that again. Tony grinned as Adam’s gaze skirted determinedly past him.

Although he’d been the First Assistant Director since the pilot, this was Adam’s first time directing an episode of Darkest Night—the most popular vampire/detective show in syndication—and he clearly intended to do everything by the book, including respecting Tony’s 2AD status. Or possibly respecting the fact that Tony was one of the world’s three practicing wizards. Even if he didn’t get a lot of chance to practice given the insane hours his job required.

CB Productions had never had the kind of staffing that allowed for respect.

“I’m done here, Adam. I’ll get him.”

“If you don’t mind . . . ”

Chris on camera one made an obscene gesture. “Dude, he’s with Lee.”

Tony flipped him off as he turned and headed for the trailer that housed makeup, hair, wardrobe, and, once, when the writers were being particularly challenging, three incontinent fruit bats.

Halfway there, he met Everett and Lee heading back.

Everett rolled his eyes and cut Tony off before he got started. “Let me guess, Mason’s nose needs powdering.”

“It’s a little ruddy for one of the bloodsucking undead.”

“My sister’s wedding is in four days,” Everett growled, hurrying toward the lights. “I’ve already rented a tux. If he gives me his cold, I’m putting itching powder in his coffin. And you can quote me on that.”

Tony fell into step beside Lee, who, unlike Mason, was dressed in contemporary clothing.

“I get that it’s artistic, the real world overlapping Mason’s angst-ridden flashback, but, after four seasons, I can safely say that our fans could care less about art and the only overlapping they want to see is James Taylor Grant,” he tapped Lee’s chest, “climbing into the coffin with Raymond Dark.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Jealous?”

Tony leaned close, bumping shoulders with the actor. “It’s basic geometry. Mason’s bigger than me and you and I barely fit.” At the time, they’d been pretty sure they weren’t coming back for another season and had wanted to go out with a bang. Tony still had trouble believing the show had hung on for four years. He had almost as much trouble believing he and Lee Nicholas had been together for over two years—not exactly out, although their relationship was an open secret in the Vancouver television community.

Their own crew had survived a dark wizard invading from another reality, a night trapped inside a haunted house trying to kill them, and the imminent end of the world by way of an immortal Demongate hired to do some stunt work. Relatively speaking, the 2AD sleeping with the show’s second lead wasn’t worth noting.

Tony handed Lee off to Adam and headed down the block to check out the alley they’d be using as a location later that night. Stepping off the sidewalk and turning into the space between an electronics store and a legal aid office, he switched over to the gaffers’ frequency with one hand as he waved the other in front of his face. “I think we’re going to need more lights than Sorge thought, Jason. There’s bugger all spill from the . . . ”

He paused. Frowned. The victim of the week was an impressive screamer. Pretty much simultaneously, he remembered she wouldn’t be arriving for another two hours and realized that the scream had come from in front of him, not behind him.

Had come from deeper within the alley.

“Tony?” Adam, in his earbud.

“I’m on it.” He was already running, muttering the night-sight spell under his breath. As it took effect, he saw someone standing, someone else lying down, and a broken light over a graffiti-covered door at the alley’s dead-end. Still running, he threw a wizard lamp up into it. People would assume electricity.

The someone standing was a woman, mid-twenties maybe, pretty although overly made-up and under-dressed. The someone on the ground was an elderly man and, even at a distance, Tony doubted he’d be getting up again.

“Tony?” Lee, leading the pack running into the alley behind him.

“Call nine-one-one,” Tony snapped without turning. He’d have done it himself, but these days it was best to first make sure the screaming was about something the police could handle. Like called to like, as he’d learned the hard way. Having Henry Fitzroy, bastard of Henry VIII, romance writer, and vampire based in Vancouver was enough to bring in the fine and freaky. Since Tony had started developing his powers, the freaky vastly outnumbered the fine.

Dropping to one knee beside the body, he checked for a pulse, found nothing, checked for visible wounds, found nothing. The victim wasn’t breathing, didn’t begin breathing when Tony blew in two lungfuls of air so Tony shifted position and started chest compressions.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

A smudge of scarlet lipstick bled into the creases around the old man’s mouth.

Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

A glance over his shoulder showed Lee comforting the woman, her face pressed into his chest, his arms around her visibly trembling body.

Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

The old man was very old, skin pleated into an infinite number of wrinkles, broken capillaries on both cheeks. He had all his hair but it was yellow/white and his teeth made Tony think of skulls.

Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Twenty.

His clothes belonged on a much younger man and, given what he’d been doing when he died—fly of his jeans gapping open, hooker young enough to be his granddaughter—he was clearly trying too hard.

Twenty-one. Twenty-two. Twenty-three. Twenty-four. Twenty-five.

Where the hell was the cavalry? There’d been a police cruiser at the location. How long did it take them to get out of the car and two blocks down the street?

A flash of navy in the corner of one eye and a competent voice said, “It’s okay. I’ve got him.”

Tony rolled up onto his feet as the constable took over, stepping back just in time to see Lee reluctantly allowing the other police officer to lead the woman away.

She was pretty, he could see that objectively, even if, unlike Lee, he’d never been interested in women on a visceral level. Long reddish brown hair around a heart-shaped face, big brown eyes heavily shadowed both by makeup and life, and a wide mouth made slightly lopsided by smudged scarlet gloss. Tears had trailed lines of mascara down both cheeks. Below the neck, the blue mini-dress barely covered enough to be legal and he wondered how she could even walk in the strappy black high heels. She wasn’t trying as hard as the old man had been but Tony could see a sad similarity between them.

“She’s terrified she’s going to be charged with murder.” Lee murmured as Tony joined him.

“Death by hand job?”

“Not funny. You don’t know that she . . . ” When Tony raised an eyebrow, Lee flushed. “Yeah, okay. But it’s still not funny. She really is terrified.”

“Sorry.” Tony moved until they were touching, shoulder to wrist.

The police seemed a lot less sympathetic than Lee had been.

“I’m going to see if she needs help,” he said suddenly, striding away before Tony could reply.

“This is not a reason to stop working,” Adam called from the sidewalk at the end of the alley.

“Does anyone care that I’m fucking dying over here?” Mason moaned beside him.

Standing at the craft services table, drinking a green tea, and trying very hard to remember that the camera really did put on at least ten pounds, Lee attempted to ignore the jar of licorice rope. The memory of the woman in the blue dress had kept him on edge for two days and he kept reaching for comfort food.

Movement on the sidewalk out beyond the video village caught his eye and, desperate for distraction, Lee gave it his full attention. He’d have liked to have been able to tell Tony later that he was surprised to see the woman in the blue dress again, but he honestly wasn’t. Grabbing a muffin and sliding a juice box into his jacket pocket, he picked his way through the cables toward her.

“These are for you.” When she looked down at the muffin in her hand, a little confused, Lee added, “The other night, you felt . . . looked like you weren’t getting enough to eat.”

She had on the same blue dress with a tight black cardigan over it. The extra layer did nothing to mask her body but, he supposed, given her job, that made sense.

“So, the other night, did the police ever charge you?”

“No.”

Something in her tone suggested he not ask for details. “Were they able to identify the old man?”

“No.” Her hair swept across her shoulders as she shook her head. “I don’t think so. They wouldn’t tell me anyway, would they?”

“I guess not.” He heard a hundred unpleasant encounters with the police in that sentence and he found himself hating the way she seemed to accept it. “I never got your name.”

“Valerie.”

“I’m Lee.”

“I know.” She smiled as she gestured behind him at the barely organized chaos of a night shoot.

The smile changed her appearance from attractive to beautiful. Desirable. Lee opened and closed his mouth a few times before managing a slightly choked, “Right. Of course.” He glanced down, unable to meet her gaze any longer, noticed her legs were both bare and rising in goose bumps from the cold, looked up to find her watching him, and frowned. “Are you warm enough?”

Expectation changed to confusion and she was merely attractive again. “I’m fine.”

“You sure? Because I could . . . ”

“Lee!” Pam trotted up, breathing heavily, one hand clamped to her com-tech to keep it from bouncing free. “They’re ready for you.”

Tony watched Lee take his leave of a familiar hooker and follow Pam onto the section of street standing in for Victorian Vancouver. Tony met him just before he reached his mark and leaned in, one hand resting lightly against the other man’s chest. “You okay?”

“I’m fine. I was just talking to . . . ”

“I saw.”

“Her name’s Valerie.”

“I know. Police let it drop when they questioned me about finding the body. They didn’t charge her.”

“Yeah, she said.”

“Apparently you don’t scream if you’ve just killed someone and there was still five hundred and twenty-seven dollars in the guy’s wallet.” Tony frowned “They said there was no ID, though.”

Lee frowned as well, a slight dip of dark brows. Not quite enough to wrinkle his forehead. “They said a lot.”

Tony shrugged. Past experience had taught him that a lot of cops weren’t too concerned about maintaining a hooker’s privacy, but he had no intention of getting into that with Lee. “She say why she came by? Are we on her stretch of turf?”

“No.” Lee shook his head, careful not to knock James Taylor Grant’s hair out of place. “Well, maybe. But I don’t think that’s why she came by.”

“Get a room, you two!” Adam’s shout moved them apart. “And Tony, unless you’ve been cast as Grant’s new girlfriend . . . ”

“And the Internet goes wild,” someone muttered.

“ . . . get your ass out of my shot.”

Lee handed Tony his green tea, and visibly settled into his character as Tony moved back beside the camera. When he looked for Valerie, she was right where Lee’d left her, cradling the muffin in both hands. Suddenly becoming conscious of Tony’s regard, she turned her head slightly and their eyes met.

Tony almost recognized her expression.

“Upon reflection,” he said softly to himself, hands wrapped around the warmth of the paper cup, “I don’t think that’s why she came around either.”

“You don’t have to come in now, you know.” Eyes half closed, Tony stared blearily across the elevator at Lee. Early mornings were not his best time. “Cast call isn’t for another hour.”

Lee waved it off. “Five thirty, six thirty—they both suck. But my car’s back in the shop, it’s too early to haul one of the drivers out when you’re going in anyway, and once I’m there, I can always grab some shut-eye on the couch.”

“I don’t know.” He sagged against the elevator wall, the stainless steel cold even through three layers of clothing. “We’ve been seen a lot together lately, and that roommates thing only goes so far.”

“Tony, it’s five o’clock in the morning, even the paparazzi are still asleep. What’s up with you?”

“I’ve just been thinking about it, that’s all. About the choice you’re making for . . . ” He waggled his coffee between them. “ . . . us. And I want you to know that I appreciate it.”

“What the fuck brought that on?”

Lee’s eyes started to narrow, as if he could read the world Valerie in the space between them so Tony hurriedly muttered, “I don’t know. Lack of sleep.”

After a moment, Lee leaned in, gently bumped the sides of their heads together—a manly embrace for the security cameras—and stepped away as the elevator reached the parking garage. “You’re an idiot.”

Unlike Lee’s expensive hybrid, Tony’s elderly car seldom broke down, and Tony gave thanks that his ancient brakes worked as well as they did when he pulled out of the underground garage and nearly ran down a brown-haired woman in a short blue dress.

“Is that . . . ?”

“Yeah, I think it is.” Lee twisted in his seat as she disappeared behind a panel van in the small parking lot. “Pull over.”

“What?”

“I should talk to her.”

“About what?”

“I don’t . . . ” Sighing, he faced front again. “Doesn’t matter. She’s gone. Maybe it’s the way we met, maybe it’s just that she’s so vulnerable in spite of . . . everything. I think she needs a friend.” When Tony glanced over, Lee was frowning slightly. “There’s just something about her, you know?”

“Yeah.” Tony could feel her watching from wherever she’d tucked herself and worked very hard at unclenching his jaw. “I know.”

Finished at 4:30—almost like a person with a real job—and back home by six, thanks to traffic, Lee sagged against the minivan’s seatbelt and muttered, “I should never have gotten rid of the bike.”

Richard, CB Productions’ senior driver, shrugged as he pulled into the condo’s driveway. “Well, you got domestic.”

“Jesus, Tony had nothing to do with it.” Lee wondered which of them Richard thought had lost their balls. “CB suggested the insurance wouldn’t cover me if I kept riding.”

Richard shrugged again. “Yeah, that’s a good reason too. You going to need a ride in tomorrow?”

“No, my car’ll be ready in the morning; I’ll drive. I’ve got a late call, it’s all Mason and the . . . ”

Girl. Woman. She was standing on the other side of the street. Watching him through the breaks in the rush hour traffic. Smiling. Looking good. Looking beautiful. Looking even better than he remembered, actually. The black sweater had fallen open and soft curves filled out the drape of the dress.

“Lee?”

Lee was already out of the car. “Thanks for the ride, Richard.”

By the time the traffic cleared and he had a chance to get across the road, she’d disappeared. He crossed anyway, although he had no idea which way she’d gone or what he’d do if he caught up to her. He knew better. He was on a syndicated vampire show, for crying out loud, he’d had crazy stalking fans before. Not as many as Mason, but then, Lee wasn’t the one actually wearing the fangs.

He wondered if she was homeless. The unchanging wardrobe suggested as much. There really wasn’t much he could do, except give her money, but he found he wanted to do something. Be the hero.

He didn’t get much chance to do that these days.

It had been another fifteen-hour day, and all Tony wanted was a chance to spend some time with Lee before falling into bed and starting the whole grind all over again in the morning. The flashing lights on the patrol cars and other emergency vehicles, not to mention the bored looking police officer approaching his car, suggested otherwise.

“Sorry, only residents are allowed into the building right now.”

“I live here.”

Her gaze flicked down to his car. When it flicked back up, she didn’t even pretend to hide her disbelief. “Driver’s license, please.”

Tony handed it over and stared past her as she checked his name against a list. Two EMTs were rolling an elderly man wearing sweatpants and a UNBC T-shirt out of the building on a stretcher.

Tony knew dead.

He knew freshly dead.

He knew long dead and decaying.

He knew undead.

This guy, he was dead.

“Who is he?” he asked, as a man in a rumpled trench coat zipped up the body bag.

The officer glanced over her shoulder. “No idea, no identification. Custodian found him in the mechanical room.” She handed Tony back his license. “ME says natural causes. You’re good to go, Mr. Foster.”

Lee was distracted that night but hey, dead guy in the mechanical room so Tony figured he had cause.

Hoped that was the cause.

Next morning, when Tony pulled into the studio parking lot, he found himself parking next to Constable Jack Elson’s red pickup. Jack had started coming around when a bit player had died under suspicious circumstances, had hung in there when the circumstances had changed from suspicious to really fucking strange, and continued to come around because he was dating the production company’s recently promoted office manager. Leaning on the tailgate, he was obviously waiting for Tony.

“Go easy in there,” he said, as Tony joined him. “Amy’s . . . ”

“In a mood?”

“That’ll do.” Jack rubbed his hand over his head, ruffling his hair up into pale blond spikes. “I had to cancel on her again. I’m working a missing person case and unless he magically appears in the next twenty minutes there’s no way I’ll be free for lunch.” Blue eyes narrowed. “He’s not likely to magically appear in the next twenty minutes, is he?”

Tony rolled his eyes. The RCMP constable had been a part of what Amy liked to call “CB Productions and the Attack of the Big Red Demon Thing” where all cards had been laid on the table—and then incinerated—and was remarkably open-minded for a cop, while still managing to maintain his profession’s suspicious nature. “Not as far as I know. Why?”

“He was seen four days ago in Gastown. You were in Gastown four days ago. Know a twenty-seven-year-old named Casey Yuen?”

“Name doesn’t sound familiar.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “You know they . . . well, we found a body in an alley down the street from our shoot?”

“The John Doe? I heard you found him. And I checked him out, but he’s about seventy years too old.”

“They found another elderly John Doe in the mechanical room at Lee’s condo last night.”

“I heard. You weren’t there when it happened.”

“You checked?”

Jack shrugged. “Things happen around you. But I also heard it was natural causes both times. And that the first guy’s heart had a good reason to give out.”

Valerie. Who he’d seen outside their building the morning of the day the old man had died. It hadn’t even occurred to him to tie her to the second death until Jack’s innuendo.

“The death occurred in the early evening,” Jack pointed out after Tony filled him in, “and I think I’d have heard if it was a second death by hand job. That’d make it a pattern and we watch for those.”

“Neither man had ID.”

“That’s not as uncommon as you might think.” Jack studied him shrewdly. “I’ll check to see if the second body gave any indication of recent sexual activity but I suspect there’s another reason your working girl is hanging around. Lee was playing white knight at the scene and she showed up at the shoot later.”

“How . . . ” Tony cut himself off. “Amy.”

Jack shrugged. “All I’m saying is that if the girl was outside your building, odds are good she was there for Lee not because she’s been helping absent minded old men die happy.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Did I say you were?” But he was thinking it. Tony didn’t need to be a wizard to see that on his face. “Look, Tony, old men die. It happens. Sometimes they get confused and wander off without identification. Before he went into the nursing home, we got my granddad an ID bracelet, just in case. But, right now, I’m more concerned about that missing twenty-seven-year-old.”

“I could . . . ”

“No.” Jack held up a hand. “I don’t want you out there playing at Sam Spade with a wand. I just wanted to know if you knew him.” If you were involved said the subtext. “If I run into any weird shit, trust me, I’ll call you.”

Tony didn’t have an office. He had a corner of a table in one end of the soundstage near the carpentry shop where craft services occasionally set out the substantials rather than have cast and crew tromp through the truck. Barricaded in behind a thermos of coffee and a bagel, he alternated between working on a list of what he needed to do before they started the day’s shooting and thinking about the woman in the blue dress.

Sure, Lee seemed taken by her, but Tony wasn’t jealous.

He was suspicious. Not the same thing.

The old guy in the alley had five hundred and twenty-seven dollars in his wallet and was dressed to score. Tony remembered his initial impression of trying too hard and anyone trying that hard—not a lot of eighty-year-olds would shoehorn themselves into a pair of tight, low-slung jeans—hadn’t been wandering around randomly.

When he called lunch, Tony reminded everyone to be back in an hour, then told Adam he might be late. That there was something he had to investigate downtown. If Adam believed the investigation was necessary to protect the world from a magical attack, well, Tony wasn’t responsible for Adam’s misconceptions.

Jack Elson could go fuck himself. Tony wasn’t playing at anything. Two men were dead, Valerie had a connection to them both, and she was hanging around Lee.

And he didn’t have a fucking wand.

The drive into Vancouver from Burnaby wasn’t fun, traffic seemed to be insane at any time of the day lately, but Tony wanted the car with him, just in case. In case of what, he had no idea. Stuck behind an accident on McGill Street, he pulled out his phone and realized that of the three people he could call for advice, two of them would be dead to the world—literally—until sunset. His third option, Detective Sergeant Mike Celluci, would likely tell him the same thing Jack had. Stay out of it.

Lee was in it.

So was he.

As the car in front of him started to move, he pocketed his phone and hit the gas.

Gastown was a historic district as well as an area the city was fighting to reclaim and, in the middle of the day in late fall, the only people out and about were a few office workers hurrying back from lunch, a couple of bored working girls hoping to pick up some noon trade, and a man wearing a burgundy fake fur coat passed out in a doorway. The alley didn’t look any better by daylight.

Tony walked slowly past the graffiti and the dumpster and the other debris he hadn’t noticed that night. He walked until he stood on the spot where the old man’s body had lain, checked to make sure no one was watching, and held out his left hand. The scar he’d picked up as a souvenir of the night in Caulfield House was red against the paler skin of his palm. The call wasn’t specific; he had no idea of where the old man’s identification was or even what it was exactly, he just knew it had to exist.

That would have to be enough.

Come to me.

It took Tony a few minutes to realize what he was seeing—that the fine, gray powder covering his palm was ash. He traced the silver line back to a crack where the lid of the dumpster didn’t quite fit. Watched it sifting out and into his hand. There was quite a little stack of it by the time it finished. Mixed in with the ash were tiny flecks of crumbling plastic and what might have been flecks of rust.

The old man had ID with him. Someone had burned it then dusted it over the garbage in the dumpster. Even if they’d looked, the police would never have found it.

Tony flicked his hand and watched the ash scatter on the breeze.

Most modern identification was made of plastic.

It would take more than a cheap lighter to destroy it so thoroughly.

Lee wasn’t exactly surprised to see Valerie standing at the end of the driveway when he headed out to work. He pulled over and unlocked the passenger side door. She stared at him for a long moment through the glass—although, given the tinting, he doubted she could see much—and then, finally, got into the car.

Enclosed, she smelled faintly cinnamon. He loved the smell of cinnamon. Her lips were full and moist, the lower one slightly dimpled in the middle. Her eyes made promises as she said, “I know places we can go where we won’t be interrupted.”

“That’s not why I stopped.”

“That’s why everyone stops.” A deep breath strained the fabric of the dress. “I can give you what you need.”

“I have what I need.” As a line, it verged on major cheese, but it was true. “What do you need?”

“What do I . . . ?” She blinked and the promises were unmade. “No one’s ever asked me that before.”

“I’m sorry.”

She looked startled by the sympathy. He had a feeling no one had ever apologized to her before, either. Slender fingers tugged at the hem of her dress. “I . . . I could use a ride downtown.”

“Okay.” Lee pulled into traffic. “That’s a start.”

Amber snapped her gum and pushed stringy hair back off her face. “So you’re not a cop?”

“No.”

“Or some kind of private dick?”

Tony spread his hands. “I don’t even play one on TV.”

“Then why are you askin’?” She sagged back against the building and yawned. “You don’t look like some kind of religious nutter. What’d this girl do for you that was so fucking great you need to find her?”

“It’s not what she did for me . . . ”

“Ah.” Amber cut him off. “I get it. Jealous boyfriend.” She laughed at Tony’s expression. “Honey, you haven’t looked at my tits once, and even the nutters check the merchandise. And—” her voice picked up a bitter edge “—you turn, just a little, when a car goes by. Enough that a driver could check us both. You’ve got a history. Afraid he’s going to find out about it?”

“He knows.”

“Uh huh.”

Tony had no idea how this had suddenly become about him. “Look, I just need to find Valerie. Reddish brown hair, short blue dress.”

“Black heels? Black sweater, kind of cropped? She just got out of one of them expensive penis-mobiles on the other side of the street,” Amber added when he nodded. “At least someone’s making the rent today.”

Tony turned just in time to see Lee’s car disappear around the corner and Valerie walk into a sandwich shop. He shoved the fifty he’d been holding into Amber’s hand and ran across Cordova, flipping off the driver of a Mini Cooper who’d hit the horn.

The sandwich shop was empty except for the pock-marked, middle-aged man behind the counter.

“The woman who just came in here, where did she go?”

The man smiled, looking dazed. “I didn’t see a woman.”

“She just came in here.”

His smile broadened. “I didn’t see a woman.”

The guy was so stoned he wouldn’t have seen a parade go through. The only other door was behind the counter. When Tony moved toward it, he found himself blocked.

“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Counter guy didn’t look stoned now, he looked pissed.

“Look, I need to find that woman.”

And the smile returned. “I didn’t see a woman.”

It wasn’t magic, at least not magic Tony recognized, but it wasn’t right.

“I gave her a ride, Tony, what’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing’s wrong with it.” Tony paced the length of Lee’s dressing room and back again, wishing he had another ten or twenty meters to cover. “It’s just . . . she wants something from you.”

Lee rolled his eyes. “No shit. But I’m not going to give it to her. I feel sorry for her. She’s in a bad situation.” He caught Tony’s wrist as he passed and dragged him to a stop. “You should know about that.”

Except this still wasn’t about him. “I think she had something to do with those two deaths.”

“Then why did she scream that night in the alley? Why did she scream and attract attention to herself if she had something to do with the guy’s death?”

“She screamed because I was already on my way into the alley. She knew she was going to be discovered and screaming would shift suspicion away.”

“You have any evidence to support this theory?”

“I found the old man’s ID . . . ”

“Tell Jack.”

“It’s been destroyed. I’m guessing that between the time he died and the time she screamed—and he was still warm so that wasn’t long—something reduced his ID to a fine ash.” Tony twisted out of Lee’s grip. “Your average hooker couldn’t do that.”

“You could.” From the look on his face, Lee knew exactly how that had sounded. “Look, you have no proof Valerie’s involved in anything but bad timing. You’re not a detective . . . ”

“And you only play one on TV.”

“Is this about me? Because I’m paying attention to her? For fuck’s sake Tony.”

“I saw how she looked at you.”

“I’m an actor. Lots of people look at me.”

Tony meant to say, I think you’re in danger, but when he opened his mouth, what came out was, “I saw how you looked at her.”

Before Lee could respond, Pam rapped on the dressing room door and called, “They’re ready for you on set, Lee.”

Lee took a deep breath and shrugged into the overlay of James Taylor Grant. “We’re done talking about this,” he growled, opened the door, pushed past Pam, and slammed the door so hard two framed photos fell off the wall.

“I think you’re in danger,” Tony said, staring at the broken glass.

“Lee . . . ”

“I’ve got that promo thing tonight.” Lee shrugged out of Grant’s leather jacket. “With the American affiliates. There’s going to be a lot of liquor, so I’ll probably get a room at the hotel.”

Not the sort of hotel a basic streetwalker could score an entry to. “Okay.” Tony held out the next day’s sides. “You’ve got a ten a.m. call tomorrow.”

Lee looked down at the paper, up at Tony, closed his eyes for a moment and sighed. “She’s very beautiful and I’m not dead but I would never . . . ”

“I know.” And ninety percent of the time, he did.

If he wanted to talk to a hooker, Tony had to go back to where the hookers were. Back in Gastown, he wrapped himself in a notice-me-not and wandered along the sidewalks, searching for Valerie among the men and women who had nothing left to sell but themselves.

A little voice in the back of his head had started trying to tell him that she was with Lee when he spotted her outside the Gastown Hotel on Water Street. Same blue dress. She was standing by a car. A classic Chevy Malibu. Mid-sixties probably, jet black. Tony couldn’t see much of the driver except for the full tribal sleeve tattoo on the arm half through the open window.

He was a block away on the wrong side of the street so he started to run. Stopped when she half-turned and looked right at him.

Her eyes widened and he had no doubt she could see him clearly.

As clearly as he could see her. Surrounded by traffic and people, she was entirely alone. Her need to be seen hit him so hard it nearly brought him to his knees.

Then she shook her head, got into the car, and by the time he reached the curb in front of the hotel, Tony couldn’t tell which set of taillights he needed to follow.

Nine-thirty the next morning, Tony was out in the studio parking lot waiting for Lee, pretending he wasn’t. He stepped back as Jack’s truck pulled in and then stepped forward again when the constable stopped a mere meter away. “Listen, Tony, can you do me a favor. Tell Amy . . . ”

“No.”

“I’m just going to be late, that’s all. I’ve got another missing person and my time is fucked.”

Tony closed his hand over the edge of the open window. “This missing person, does he own a classic car?”

He got his answer from the look on Jack’s face when he pushed up his sunglasses. “Tony?”

“Check around. See if an old John Doe with a tribal sleeve turned up. Left arm.”

Jack glanced down at the paperwork on the seat beside him. “My missing person has a tribal sleeve. Left arm.” When he looked up, his eyes had narrowed to the point where they were nearly cliché. “What do you know?”

“I spooked her and she got careless.” He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “And this isn’t a police case.”

Jack stared at him for a long moment and finally nodded. “You want me to call you when this old John Doe turns up?”

“You can.”

“But I don’t need to.”

Tony shrugged.

“So while I’m dealing with this case that isn’t a police case, what are you going to be doing.”

“Research.”

“Where do you research this kind of shit?”

“I work on a vampire/detective show, Jack.” Backing away from the truck, Tony spread his hands. “I’m going to talk to the writers.”

Lee half expected Tony to be waiting for him in the parking lot. They were used to spending nights apart—hell, they’d spent five weeks apart during hiatus while he was in South Africa shooting a movie—but this . . . He couldn’t fucking believe they were fighting over a woman. Wasn’t that what straight guys did?

When Tony finally appeared forty minutes later, Lee stepped toward him only to be yanked back into place by the stunt coordinator.

“Trying to keep you from breaking bones,” Daniel growled. “Pay attention.”

They moved directly from set-up to rehearsing the fight scene to shooting the fight scene.

By the time Lee was free and the crew had scattered for lunch, Tony was behind closed doors in CB’s office.

“How long’s he going to be?”

“Jesus, Lee, how should I know.” Amy reached under a fall of matte-black hair to adjust her headset. “Stupid PA quit and it’s not like I don’t have the whole office to . . . ” She rolled her eyes as the phone ran. “CB Productions, can I help you?”

His scene later in the day was all weird, esoteric dialogue, the vampire/detective version of techno babble. He should go to his dressing room and run lines but all Lee could think of was brown eyes and chestnut hair and a blue dress. “I’m done until three. Tell Tony I’ve gone into downtown.”

Amy nodded, rolled her eyes at whatever was being said on the other end of the phone, and waved him toward the door.

Valerie was waiting on the corner of West Cordova and Homer Streets. Well, not waiting for him but since he was the one who drove up beside her, Lee figured she might as well have been. “Hey!”

Her smile made him feel immortal.

“You hungry?”

“Hungry?”

Her confusion made him feel like pounding the men who’d all asked her a different question. “You do eat, don’t you? Come eat with me,” he continued, not waiting for an answer. “You and me. Just food. I promise.”

“Just food?” She pushed her hair back off her face.

“Lunch.” It felt like they were speaking two different languages. “I’ll pay for your time, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“He went where?”

“Downtown.”

“Son of a bitch!”

“Hey!” Amy lunged up from behind her desk, grabbed Tony’s wrist and hung on. “You want to explain yourself!”

Faster to explain than fight. “Lee’s hooker is something like a succubus.”

“She’s a demon? Tony, do not tell me we’re starting that demon shit up again because we barely survived the last time they came visiting!”

“No, I’d know if she was a demon.” After Leah and the Demongate, if there was one thing Tony could recognize, it was a demon. “I said she was something like a succubus. All her victims are men, probably men sexually attracted to her but . . . ” He waved a hand. He didn’t have a lot of actual fact although the show’s writers had come up with a lot of theories. “Anyway, she’s definitely sucking the life out of them and she wants Lee.”

“Who doesn’t,” Amy muttered, using her grip to fling him toward the door. “Don’t just stand here talking, move!”

The sandwich shop was not the place Lee would have chosen, but Valerie seemed comfortable there, so he tried not to think about health code violations.

“Why don’t you want me?”

The upper curve of her breasts was creamy white.

“I do want you.”

She gave him a twisted smile and stood. “Then why don’t we . . . ”

Lee reached out and pulled her back down into her chair, trying not to think about the feel of her skin. “Look, I want to help you. You can get out of this life. I know people . . . a person . . . who has.”

It wasn’t until she glanced down at the bracelet his fingers made around her wrist that he realized he was still holding on. When he let go, she frowned.

“Why are you doing this?”

He shrugged and went with the truth. “I can’t stop thinking about you.”

She licked her lips and he couldn’t look away from the glistening moisture her tongue left on the pink flesh. “We should deal with that.”

He gave her back a twisted smile. “I’m trying to.”

Her laugh stroked him. “Not what I meant.”

“I know. Why are you doing this?”

Suddenly, she was only Valerie again. “What?”

“You asked me, I’m asking you.”

She stared at him for a long moment, and, just as suddenly, she wasn’t Valerie, she wasn’t anything he knew. To begin with, she was one hell of a lot older than mid-twenties and when she spoke, her voice sounded as though it came from very far away as well as from inside his head. “I take them into me but it never lasts and I’m alone again.”

Over the last few years, Lee had seen a lot of things that terrified him. This wasn’t one of them. “ . . . maybe it’s just that she’s so vulnerable, in spite of . . . everything.” What he’d said to Tony still stood. A word like everything covered a lot of ground.

“You don’t have to be alone.” And he was back in the sandwich shop again, sitting across a grimy, laminate table from an attractive woman in a blue dress. “I think you could use a friend.”

“A friend?” This expression, the staring like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing, he recognized although he was usually the one wearing it. “You don’t know . . . ”

“I have a pretty good idea.” He shrugged. “I’m the second lead in a vampire/detective show. I read some weird shit. Not to mention, my life has gotten interesting lately.”

“And you still think we could be friends?” She stared at him like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. All things considered, Lee found that kind of funny. “I’m a . . . ”

“Hooker.” He grinned when the corner of her mouth twitched. “Yeah. I know people who’ve got out of . . . that.”

“That?”

“Something very like that. My partner’s ex is kind of . . . ” It was as if thinking of Tony magically made him appear. There he was, suddenly standing on the other side of West Cordova and even through the sandwich shop’s filthy windows, he looked . . .

Terrified.

“There’s something wrong.” Lee shoved his chair back and tossed his card onto the table. “That’s got my cell number on it. You can call any time. We’ll work this out. But I’ve got to . . . ”

“Go.”

“Yeah.” He gripped her shoulder as he passed, and ran out the door. “Tony!”

Tony’d found the car but he couldn’t find Lee and his hand was shaking too much to use his phone and . . .

“Tony!”

He turned in time to see Lee start across the road toward him.

To see the SUV come out of nowhere.

To hear the impact.

To see Lee flung into the air. To see him land crumpled by the curb in a position the living could never hold.

Tony knew dead.

He froze. His heart shattered like Lee had been shattered. Then he took one step. And another.

She reached the body first. Stood there for a moment, searching Tony’s face. Then she dropped her knees, gathered Lee up onto her lap and pressed her mouth to his.

“Oh my God! I didn’t see him.”

Panicked hands grabbed Tony’s arms, fingers digging painfully deep in a grip he couldn’t break.

“He was just there.”

All Tony could see was a red face and wide eyes and a mouth that wouldn’t stop moving.

“I swear I didn’t see him. I wasn’t going that fast. He didn’t look. He was just there!”

Then other hands grabbed and other voices started to yell out words that stopped making sense and Tony finally managed to break free.

He found Lee sitting on the edge of road, his jeans were torn and there was blood on the denim, blood on his shirt, and a smear of scarlet lipstick on the corner of his mouth.

His heart starting to beat again, Tony bent and picked the blue dress up off the pavement.

Together, they watched a cloud of fine silver ash blow away on the breeze.

Tanya Huff lives in rural Ontario and loves country life. A prolific author, her work includes many short stories, five fantasy series, and a science fiction series. One of these, her Blood Books series, featuring detective Vicki Nelson, was adapted for television under the title Blood Ties. A follow-up to the Blood Books, the three Smoke Books, featured Tony Foster as the main character. Her degree in Radio and Television Arts proved handy since Tony works on a show about a vampire detective. Her most recent novel, The Silvered, was published in fall 2012. When not writing, she practices her guitar and spends too much time on line. Her blog is: andpuff.livejournal.com.