“I don’t know what more you want from me.”
He scrubbed his hands over his face, then cupped my knee under his palm. “Forget it. Forget I said anything.”
Since being naturally argumentative was one of my uglier character traits, a wash of bile-sharpened words stung the back of my throat, but I managed to swallow them down. Just this once I would let him get away with saying something stupid and hurtful. He’d saved me from myself earlier, and I’d let him have this one.
The Rangers trampled the Devils seven-to-two, and Lucas dropped me off at my apartment with a promise to make up for our disastrous date by cooking me dinner the next night. It would have to be a hell of a meal, considering I didn’t eat human food for the most part, and he’d managed to make me feel about as big as a wood tick.
Maybe he’d let me bite him. That might help me feel better.
Where the hell did that thought come from? I don’t want to bite my boyfriend.
But I did. I couldn’t explain it, but the second Lucas was out of sight I was fantasizing about sinking my fangs into the trembling pulse of his throat and ripping the hot artery open.
I shuddered, and it was only half from repulsion.
Chapter Four
The ceiling in Francis Keats’s office was fascinating.
The dark red paint looked like blood, and it was also a great place to look when I didn’t want to meet the eyes of the private detective of all things paranormal who was sitting across the desk from me.
“Answer the question, Secret.”
“Sorry, I forgot what it was.”
“No, you didn’t.”
I buried my bare toes in the new plush rug under my chair, and my hands tightened on the leather armrests. Keaty hated to repeat himself almost as much as he hated to make guesses.
“Okay, yes. I’m having some control issues.”
“Define some.”
“Um… I almost lost it at Madison Square Garden last night. Only Lucas showing up kept me from getting all fangy.” I held my index fingers up to my mouth to mimic fangs, but I probably looked more like a pathetic, demented walrus.
Keaty didn’t look amused.
“This is serious, Secret,” he told me, as if his face hadn’t said as much already.
“It’s not like I bit anyone.”
“But you wanted to.”
“Yeah, but I mean, I want to kill lots of people sometimes. It doesn’t mean I do it.”
His frown deepened, which I hadn’t thought was possible. Keaty probably came out of the womb scowling. “There’s a big difference between wanting to hypothetically dismember a cabbie who almost runs you over, and trying to eat the still-beating hearts out of fifteen thousand hockey fans.”
I pshawed. “There’s no way I’d have gotten them all.”
“No, certainly someone would have killed you before then.”
Silence filled the space between us. He’d successfully made his point.
“You think it’s because of the Tribunal, don’t you?”
“Is that what you think?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He balled his fists together and leaned forward on his desk. “Have you discussed this with Sig?”
“Not yet.” I bit my lower lip. “I’m worried if I do, he’ll throw a ‘yay, you’re a vampire’ party for me. I’m not quite ready to accept that that’s what’s happening. In the meantime I want to talk to Calliope, see if she knows what it means. But I have an appointment with Genevieve Renard first.”
Keaty raised both brows. “What business do you have with Ms. Renard?”
“I don’t know. I’m doing it as a favor to Holden’s maker because of that nasty subway incident. I still don’t know what Genevieve wants.”
His jaw strained under the pressure of keeping his mouth shut.
“I know, Keaty. Never owe favors to vampires. Just like you never thank a fairy, and you always get cash upfront. Trust me, I remember the rules, but this is different.”
“How? How is it different?”
“I don’t know. It just is.”
There was a tentative knock at the door, and Nolan poked his head in. His chocolate-brown eyes were wide, and a flush brightened his cinnamon-colored cheeks. “There’s a Genevieve ‘ere to see Secret?” He phrased it like a question.
“Send her in,” Keaty and I said in unison.
Nolan held the door open, and when Genevieve walked in, I could have sworn the world went black and white and Keaty and I were transported into an old film noir. The ocelot queen was a knockout, no doubt, and that was high praise coming from me since I was personal friends with Marilyn Monroe.
She was wearing a classic Chanel day suit in a teal-blue blend that made her red hair look like it was ablaze and deepened the purple hue of her eyes. Her makeup was impeccable, but I could tell she’d been crying by the mascara smudges under her lashes. She’d pulled her hair up into a bun, and that, coupled with the five-inch Manolos she wore, made her look six or seven inches taller than she really was.
No matter her height, Genevieve always carried herself with a poise I could never hope to imitate. She was a real queen. I was a pretender to the throne.
“Secret,” she said, her voice a smoky purr, “thank you so much for seeing me on such short notice.”
I stood and shook her hand and indicated the chair next to me. “I hope you don’t mind if Mr. Keats sits in on our meeting. He’s my partner, and—”
“Hello, Francis,” Genevieve said.
I stiffened, waiting for him to correct her, but instead he squeezed her hand and said, “Genny, it’s a pleasure as always.” He dusted a kiss on her knuckles before sitting back down.
When Genevieve took her seat, she crossed her ankles and removed a handkerchief from her clutch, then heaved a fluttering sigh. She played the part of a noir femme fatale flawlessly.
“It’s my niece Lucy.”
“What’s happened?”
“She’s supposed to be under my supervision here while she goes to Columbia for her undergrad, but I’m afraid I’ve been a little lax. She’s a young woman, and I didn’t want to get in the way of her having a proper college experience, you understand?” Genevieve blotted under her eyes. “She checks in by phone every other day, but for the last few weeks she’s only called once, maybe twice. She hasn’t called at all this week, and when I tried her dorm, her roommate says she hasn’t seen Lucy in days.”
Keaty was instantly on point. “Does she have a boyfriend?”
“I don’t know if there was anyone special,” Genevieve admitted.
“We’ll look into it. If she was seeing someone, there’s a chance she might have run away for an impromptu vacation.” I explained the rationale behind Keaty’s question. “You know how flighty girls in love can be.”
The ocelot queen gave me a halfhearted smile. “There’s more.”
I nodded, inviting her to continue.
“You understand how few of my kind there are, yes?”
“You’ve mentioned it. About a dozen in the country, right?”
“Yes. Well I recently received an offer of marriage from the jaguar king.”
Why did that sound like a bad B-side from The Doors?
“I take it I’m not about to offer you my heartfelt congratulations?” I asked.
Genevieve snorted. “Certainly not. While I know perfectly well if and when I marry it will be for political protection and not love, there is no offer of power strong enough for me to willingly share my bed with Gregory Hamilton. He’s a revolting misogynist and would see all the females of my race pawned off to men equally repugnant. No, as a queen, I would never let that fate befall my people.”
Her nobility and devotion to her cats made me wonder if Lucas didn’t have a point when he said I wasn’t really part of the pack. Would I sacrifice love for the better good of the pack like Genevieve said she would someday do? She loved Rebecca, but she would marry a cat king to keep her ocelots safe. In many ways she was twice the woman I was.
“How did Gregory take your rejection of his proposal?” Keaty asked.
“How does any man take rejection, Francis?” She gave him a meaningful look.
Keaty and I were both quiet, waiting for Genevieve to continue. When she only stared at the window behind Keaty’s desk, I urged her on. “Do you think Gregory has something to do with Lucy’s…” I was hesitant to say disappearance. In all likelihood, Genevieve’s niece had run off with a boy her aunt didn’t know about. But Genevieve seemed certain that sinister jaguar forces were afoot, and what kind of investigators would we be if we didn’t listen to her theory? So I amended my statement and said, “…Lucy’s absence?”
Genevieve turned her head towards me, her eyes flashing with sudden ferocity. “If he has harmed so much as one hair on her head, I will disembowel him with my bare hands and make a hat out of his organs.”
That was what turned Keaty’s permanent frown into a smirk.
“Don’t worry, Genny.” He held his hand out palm up on the desk, and she took the offering. All of the vengeful fervor seeped out of her and left her limp and sad, clutching Keaty’s hand like it was an anchor keeping her from drifting out to sea. “We’ll find her.”
Easy for him to say. He wasn’t the one in the debt of a vampire elder.
“We’ll need some information from you about Lucy,” I told her. “Her class schedule, any places you know she hangs out, names of her friends. I have a friend on the force. I’ll ask her if…well, I’ll ask her if she knows anything that might be helpful.”
Genevieve gave a tight nod. Judging by the tense set of her features and the pain glazing her eyes, she wasn’t thinking about what she’d do when she saw Lucy alive again. No, the ocelot queen was thinking about her future hobby of intestinal millinery.
Chapter Five
