Dark Currents: Agent of Hel Page 5

  “I’m doing the dresses for Terri Sweddon’s wedding,” she said in response to my inquiring glance. “That’s what her mother was originally calling about this morning. You know she’s marrying the youngest Dalton boy?”

  “I heard.”

  Mom busied herself clearing a mass of tulle and pins from the old Formica dinette. “I began teaching myself to sew when Daisy was born,” she said brightly to Cody. “I had such a hard time finding onesies with enough room for her tail. Over the years, I’ve managed to turn it into a full-time job. Would you like a cup of coffee?”

  He choked out a cough. “Ah, no. No, thank you.”

  She dusted off a chair and went to fetch her cards from a drawer in the hutch. “Have a seat.”

  I winced a little at Cody’s expression when he saw the well-worn deck of cards, brightly colored and smaller than regulation size. “Aren’t those—”

  “Lotería cards,” I confirmed. “She’s had them since taking Spanish class in high school.”

  Cody blinked.

  Mom gave him a stern look, although her stern looks weren’t very stern, either. We look a lot alike, fair-skinned Scandinavian blondes, but unlike mine, Mom’s eyes are as blue as a cloudless sky, and they reflect her innately sunny disposition. “Symbolism is symbolism, and these cards have a rich historic tradition.”

  “Also, she couldn’t afford a tarot deck back in the day,” I added. “So she made up her own system with these.”

  “Which works very well,” Mom said.

  “Okay,” Cody said in a mild tone. “No offense intended.”

  All of us sat at the dinette, Mom and I facing each other. I picked up the familiar deck and fanned it to find my significator, El Diablito, the little devil, placing it faceup on the table. Then I shuffled the deck carefully, holding the image of Thad Vanderhei’s drowned face in my mind. When it felt right, I cut the deck three times and passed it back to my mom.

  She turned over the first card, laying it in what would be the center of the spread: La Calavera, the skull.

  “This is your victim.” Her gaze met mine. “I have a feeling this reading’s going to be pretty literal, sweetheart.”

  I nodded. “Anything you can tell us might help.”

  “The underlying influence.” Mom turned over the second card: La Botella, the bottle.

  In his chair, Cody stirred. “Did you talk to her about the case?” he asked me.

  “No!”

  “Is there a bottle involved?” Mom asked.

  Cody sighed. “I can’t comment on it.”

  “La Botella could refer to any kind of substance abuse,” she said pragmatically. “Under the circumstances, I’d interpret it as referring to the victim, not the questioner. But if there’s an actual bottle, it means this reading is uncommonly literal, and you should pay close attention to the symbols themselves.”

  He nodded. “Duly noted.”

  She turned over a third card: La Araña, the spider. “The deeper cause. Your victim was drawn into someone’s web.”

  I tried to recall whether there were any literal web spinners in the eldritch community. The myth of Ariadne came to mind, but wherever she lived, if she yet lived, it wasn’t anywhere near Pemkowet. I thought there might be some Native American myths about spiders, and made a mental note to visit the library or ask Mr. Leary about it. My old myth and lit teacher had retired a couple of years ago to dedicate himself to serious drinking, but he was still one of the best sources of arcane information I knew.

  “The destination.” Mom turned over the fourth card: Las Jaras, the arrows. She frowned at it for a moment, then shook her head. “The arrows generally represent a goal, a target or ambition. It doesn’t tell us much in this context.”

  “Unless the perp was a vampire,” Cody suggested, leaning over the table to study the cards, caught up despite himself. “You said to think literally, and an arrow’s pretty close to a wooden stake.” He flushed. “Ah . . . assuming, of course, that there is a perp. We’re a long way from making that conclusion.”

  Mom smiled at him. “Don’t worry. All readings are strictly confidential.” She turned over the final card. “The culmination.”

  It was La Sirena, the mermaid, but the card was upside down, or reversed, as actual tarot readers say.

  “An alluring woman,” Mom murmured. “But she’s in distress.”

  I touched the strand of freshwater pearls looped around my neck. “Could it be a naiad or an undine?”

  “It’s possible.” She looked worried. “There’s something bad going on; that’s for sure, Daisy, baby.” She gathered up the cards, shuffled, and squared them, setting them back on the table. “I’m willing to try, if you’d like me to do a reading for you, Officer Fairfax, but the cards usually only get vaguer when they’re questioned twice on the same issue.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll defer to the expert, but call me Cody.”

  “Cody.” A hint of a smile returned to her blue eyes. “I’d be happy to do a reading on a more personal matter.”

  He cut the deck and glanced at the uppermost card: La Luna, the moon. Of course, that would so totally be his significator. “Another time, maybe.”

  Her smile deepened. “Anytime.”

  Seven

  “Your mom’s not what I expected,” Cody commented on the drive back toward the town.

  “How so?”

  He gave me a sidelong glance, topaz eyes glinting. “Oh, I don’t know. She’s really . . . nice.”

  I yawned, slumping a little in my seat. “Meaning I’m not?”

  “Let me put it this way,” he said, not unkindly. “You’ve got a short fuse.”

  I gazed at his hands on the steering wheel. Cody had good hands, nicely shaped, with long fingers, strong and sinewy. Rather like the rest of him, from what I’d seen. “Tell me something I don’t know.”

  He concentrated on the road. “What we talked about earlier . . . You’re right about Jen Cassopolis. Her sister’s still out at Twilight Manor, right? I’d forgotten about some of the crap she went through. She deserves better.”

  I sat up straighter. “Hey, now! I didn’t say better.”

  Cody shrugged. “It’s what you meant, and you were right. It’s okay. I’ll call her. I’ll do the old ‘it’s not you; it’s me’ routine. After all, it’s true.”

  “Is it because of the whole mating-within-your-species thing?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  I let the silence ride a while, but I couldn’t help being bedeviled with curiosity. “Did you love her?”

  “Caroline?” His mouth twisted. “Honestly, I can’t say. Long-distance relationships are tough, and there’s a lot we never got a chance to find out. But I liked her a lot, Daisy. An awful lot.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said honestly.

  He gave me another glance, his expression softening. “I know. Thanks, Pixy Stix.”

  My tail twitched with indignation. “What’s that all about, anyway?” I grumbled. “Why the hell did Brent call me that?”

  Cody chuckled. “Hell if I know, but it’s funny.”

  We passed the turnoff to downtown Pemkowet and headed for the rural highway. I grimaced. “You’re taking us to the Wheelhouse?”

  “Yep. I told you.” Cody turned onto the highway. “It’s okay. You can stay in the patrol car if you’re scared.”

  “I’m not scared,” I protested. “I just don’t like ghouls.”

  “Who does?”

  “Skanks,” I said morosely.

  “One man’s skank is another man’s alluring woman in distress,” Cody said philosophically, pulling into the parking lot. “Since you value it so highly, I’m trying to pay attention to your mother’s advice. Are you coming or staying?”

  I unbuckled my seat belt. “Coming.”

  Okay, a word about ghouls. Yes, fine, I’ll admit it: They do actually scare me quite a bit. The thing is, with vampires, it’s a straightforward transaction. Vamps provide you wit
h hypnotic pleasure in exchange for sucking your blood. If they deem you worthy, in time, they might deign to change you and make you one of them. If they don’t, like Jen’s sister, Bethany, you’re a blood-slut until they get tired of you and either kill you, which fortunately hadn’t happened to anyone since I’d been working for the department, or cut you loose, at which point in time you’re like any hopeless addict.

  Ghouls are different.

  By and large, ghouls are as deathless as vampires, but they feed on their victims’ emotions, which is why they’re drawn to the most vulnerable, abused members of society. And that scared me, because in a deep, dark part of me, I could see the appeal of it. I struggled to control my emotions on a minute-to-minute basis. The thought of relinquishing that control . . . Well, there was something sinfully, mindlessly, blissfully appealing in it.

  Also terrifying. Because, for better or worse, my emotions defined me.

  I took a deep breath before I got out of the car. A handful of gleaming motorcycles were parked outside the bar, mostly Harleys. Because yes, as if ghouls weren’t intimidating enough in the first place, most of them belong to biker gangs.

  Although truth be told, the bikes themselves were works of art, gleaming and gorgeous. Fighting a perverse urge to try on the nearest for size, I sidled past them, shoving my hands in my pockets.

  Cody gave me an odd look. “What are you doing?”

  “Didn’t you ever see Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure?” I asked him, envisioning the row of bikes toppling like dominoes.

  “No.”

  I shrugged. “Never mind.”

  Inside the Wheelhouse, it was dark and seedy. There were a half dozen patrons: four rough-looking guys wearing black leather vests with Outcast motorcycle club patches, and a couple of . . . well, skanks. The sound of clanking pool balls and gruff banter gave way to dead silence as Cody and I entered the bar.

  The bartender exchanged a glance with the patrons, then ambled over toward us. He was a wiry guy with ornate tattoos peeking out beneath his rolled-up sleeves, and full muttonchops, a look he was definitely not rocking. “What can I do you for, Ossifer?”

  Cody opened the file. “I’d like you to look at a few photos, let me know if you recognize any of them.”

  Muttonchop gave him a tight smile. “Nope, not a one.”

  Cody’s brows rose. “You haven’t even looked at them.”

  Muttonchop glanced toward the back of the bar again. A fifth guy I hadn’t noticed before, seated in the shadows, nodded at him. He thumbed through the photos. “Nope, sorry. Can’t help you.”

  “No problem,” Cody said pleasantly, moving past the bartender. “I’ll just ask these ladies and gentlemen to have a look.”

  I stuck tight behind him. One of the pool players, a big guy with a walrus mustache, moved to intercept us.

  The bartender wasn’t a ghoul, but this guy was. Ghouls don’t have that underlying deathly white pallor that vampires do, maybe because they’re not prone to ignite in sunlight, but you can always tell that their skin tone is a few shades paler than it was when they were alive. And their pupils are always too dilated, their stares too intense. There’s something inhumanly avid about their eyes.

  Walrus Mustache blocked Cody’s path with a pool cue. “Mind telling us what this is about, Officer?”

  “Just need you to look at a few photos, tell me if you recognize anyone.”

  He gave the photos a dismissive glance. “Nah, these look like college boys. What are some college pussies doing in a place like this?”

  “You tell me,” Cody said in an even voice.

  “Lemme see.” One of the skanks pushed her way forward. She was twenty-something going on forty, haggard before her time. “I seen some college boys in here a couple of weeks ago.”

  Walrus Mustache rounded on her. “You do what you’re told, Loretta!”

  Fear flared in her eyes, then faded, replaced by a vacant contentment. “I’m sorry, Al. I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  A rich, molten tide of anger rose in me, driving out fear. The atmosphere tightened as I stepped out from behind Cody. Behind the bar, the bartender swore as the seal on one of his kegs burst.

  I raised my voice. “Let her look at the photos, you big fucking bully!”

  Al the Walrus turned that avid gaze on me, his pupils glittering as he licked his lips with a thick tongue. “Says who?” I felt my anger draining against my will, and a sheen of pleasure glazed his eyes. “Oh, you’re a tasty morsel!”

  A spike of terror jolted me. I willed it to feed my anger, loosing a barrage of fury I hadn’t indulged in since adolescence, and held up my rune-marked left hand. “Hel’s liaison, asshole!”

  Fear flickered in his eyes, and his pupils shrank.

  Cody plucked the pool cue deftly from the Walrus’s hand, a glint of phosphorescence in his own eyes. “Would that be an authority you’d respect?”

  From the back of the bar came a deep chuckle. The man sitting in the shadows rose and came toward us, moving with a practiced fighter’s loose-limbed ease. “Stand down, man.” He clapped one hand on the Walrus’s shoulder. “No feeding on the unwilling, remember? They’re just doing their jobs.”

  The man from the shadows had a hint of an accent I couldn’t place, something Eastern European, maybe, worn smooth by the patina of time. Definitely not a local. He was tall and broad shouldered, well built without being muscle-bound. Like the others, he wore a leather vest with an Outcast patch over a T-shirt and jeans, but somehow he made it look more of a fashion statement, less of a lifestyle choice. He had high, rugged cheekbones, black hair he wore a little too long, and pale ice-blue eyes, the kind you see on husky dogs sometimes.

  Okay, that’s a terrible comparison, but the point is, he was gorgeous.

  He was also a motherfucking ghoul.

  I swallowed against a surge of attraction and fear, altogether losing my grip on fury. Beside me, Cody bristled. I stood, braced in numb horror, expecting the man from the shadows to drink my emotions, but he only waited with an expression of patient amusement while I wrestled myself under control.

  That avid spark in his ice-blue eyes was there, no mistaking it, but this ghoul was no slave to his appetites. I had a feeling he was very, very old.

  “Better?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  He turned to Cody, looking him up and down. “Interesting. Very interesting. May I have a look at those photos, Officer?”

  Cody handed over the file. “Don’t think I’ve seen you before. You got a name, son?”

  “Son.” The ghoul laughed deep in his chest. “Yes, Officer. My name is Stefan. Stefan Ludovic. I haven’t been in Pemkowet long, but I hope to stay here.” He scrutinized the photos. “I’m sorry. I haven’t seen these boys.” He beckoned. “Loretta?”

  Loretta came forward with alacrity, peering at the photos. “Yeah, them’s the ones. Them two, anyway.” She pointed at Thad Vanderhei and Mike Huizenga. “They was asking for Ray D. I don’t remember the skinny little guy.”

  I whipped out my notepad, jotting notes.

  “Ray D.” Cody rubbed his chin. “Is he dealing meth again?”

  “Not in my territory.” Stefan the ghoul’s voice went flat, his pupils shrinking. “The nectar of chemically induced emotions is poisonous.”

  Cody gave him a speculative look. “So you’re new in town, but this is already your turf?”

  Stefan waved one negligent hand. “Does anyone dispute it?”

  No one did, although a couple of them, like Al the Walrus, didn’t look too happy about it.

  By the time Cody was through questioning Loretta, it was established that Thad and Mike had been in the bar looking for Ray D two weeks ago Saturday, but had failed to find him, because no one had seen Ray D for several months. No one knew where he was living or how to contact him, and no one knew why a couple of college kids were looking for him, or at least no one would admit to it. As far as they were concerned, no one even knew whether Ray D h
ad a last name.

  New-ghoul-in-town Stefan was adamant that Ray D wasn’t dealing on his turf, and the weird thing was, I thought he meant it. There’s a long-established connection among ghouls, biker gangs, and drug dealing, what with a lucrative illegal activity that sows misery being the perfect confluence of ghoulish interests, but Stefan appeared dead earnest about the whole poisonous-nectar business.

  Also weirdly, I found that sort of hot in a creepy way. I know. So wrong, but true.

  “Thanks for the cooperation,” Cody said to Stefan. “It’s appreciated.”

  The ghoul inclined his head. “Anytime, Officer.” His ice-blue gaze settled on me, his pupils dilating. “And it was a pleasure to meet you, Miss . . . ?”

  “Johanssen,” I said. “Daisy.”

  He gave his deep chuckle. “Daisy?”

  “Uh-huh.” The way he was looking at me made my insides squirm, not entirely unpleasantly.

  “Daisy,” Stefan repeated. “I hope our paths cross again.” He smiled. “For less unfortunate reasons, of course.”

  “I think we’re done here.” Cody’s tone was brusque. “We’ll be in touch if there’s anything further.”

  “Of course.”

  On the way out of the bar, I spied a fishbowl filled with matchbooks and grabbed one, figuring it couldn’t hurt to compare it to the matchbook found in Thad Vanderhei’s pocket. The muttonchopped bartender, busy mopping up a prodigious amount of spilled beer, startled and then glared at me. I guess my little temper tantrum caused more than one keg to blow its seal. I gave him a half-assed apologetic shrug and followed Cody out the door.

  No, I did not successfully fight the urge to look back and see if Stefan the hunky ghoul was watching me, and yes, he was.

  Eight

  “Okay, you were right; that was productive,” I said as we pulled out of the parking lot. “We’ve got an actual lead.”