Chapter Eight
“PAUL!” The deafening rain stole the shrill edge of my voice as I clutched Paul’s shoulders and turned him to face me, fearing that he might fall to the ground any second.
Another gasp slipped past my lips when I saw the bullet he was holding in his hand.
“What – have you – oh my Gaea.” My gaze swung wildly to his chest, where there was a tiny telltale rip in his shirt, and relief warred with confusion.
“You were shot,” I said blankly, “and you’re not bleeding.”
“We should go.” Paul pocketed the bullet as he spoke, and after grabbing my hand, he had us running back to his SUV, his gaze all the while scanning our surroundings.
“The shooter?” I asked anxiously as soon as he joined me inside and slammed his door shut.
“Gone,” he said in a clipped tone.
Paul started the engine and drove away with such speed I was flung back against my seat. I looked out my window in tense silence, dreading and waiting for someone to start shooting at us again. “Do you think our Jane Doe did this?”
“My guts say no, but I’m not ruling anything out.” He cast a grim look at my direction. “Maybe Agent Gries was right.”
I shot up in my seat with a vehement shake of my head. “No.” If he had told me that an hour ago, I would have agreed without hesitation. But not now. Not over this. This was our case now, for better or for worse, and it wasn’t like I didn’t know of the risks associated with my job.
Paul shifted gears, driving well past the speed limits now, and I had to bite my lip hard to keep myself my instinctively from asking him to slow down. If he could survive a gunshot without bleeding, I was pretty sure he wouldn’t be stupid enough to let us get into a car accident.
“You look like you’re in shock.”
“Kinda.” I was in shock, but not because someone had shot at us. I stole a look at Paul’s shirt. Still no blood. Humans bled. Supernaturals – even the most powerful ones – bled, too.
Immortals, however...
Paul shot me a concerned look. “I think we should have you checked out—-”
I quickly shook my head. “I’m fine. Really.” And I truly was. I just needed more time to...process. I needed more time to accept...
Paul was an immortal.
My fingers fumbled as I clumsily took my phone out, and I tried to distract myself as I made the necessary calls to report the shooting. By the time we made it back to our place, my heartbeat had considerably slowed down, and I was able to think things through more clearly.
Paul was an immortal. Fine. What kind of immortal I could figure out later, but for now it should be enough to know that the detective I was working with might be an immortal. That could only mean good things for our case, and that was all I should care about.
Right?
“Do you want to come in?” I asked Paul when he insisted on walking me to the door.
“Only if you need me to.” His tone was grim. “Do you?”
“Just a little shaken up,” I admitted, “but it’s nothing I can’t get over.”
“If you need me for anything – you promise to call me?”
“I promise.” I bit my lip after, hesitating, and when Paul raised a brow, I said quietly, “I meant what I said earlier. I still want to help with the investigation, and I don’t want this to be a reason for you to sideline me out of concern or anything.”
Paul’s lips tightened, and my heart sank at the sight. I knew it. He was thinking of getting me off the case.
“I can still help,” I insisted. “I could start asking around—-”
“My agents will handle that,” Paul rejected. “Dion’s bars aren’t the kind of place you should venture to, and—-” His lips compressed in a straight line. “If it’s any consolation, both of us will be sitting this one out. It’s a long story, but I can’t show my face in any of his properties.”
I gnawed at my lip. That did change things.
Paul glanced up at the skies, and I asked nervously, “What is it?”
“Zeus’ mood is taking a turn for the worse.”
And did he know that, I wondered, because he was an immortal himself?
When the detective turned back to me, his face was grim. “I’m not giving you a choice this time. The skies will turn into a war zone tonight—-”
“I’m an agent in my own right,” I protested. “I can help—-”
“Not if you’re dead,” he said quietly. “One of the golden rules in this game is knowing how to pick your battles – and tonight isn’t your fight. I mean it, Blair. Stay here and don’t give me a reason to worry about you.”
ZEUS’ SO-CALLED MOOD swing continued to flay the town with whips of rain outside my window. Only an hour had passed since Paul left, and I was already going out of my mind doing nothing. I was CSI, for the love of Gaea. I had to do something. Didn’t I?
“Hey, She-Ra.”
“Good afternoon, Blair. What can I do for you?” She-Ra was the name I chose for the AI assistant I had installed in all of my devices.
The app-based assistant was also agency-issued, like my wand, and it could do everything Apple’s Siri did – and more, since it had also been developed to provide the necessary assistance for non-humans.
“Is there any bar owned by Dion that’s within walking distance?”
“Let me search that for you.”
Dion was the name the wine god used these days, and one that humans were very much familiar with.
These days, Dionysus had his fingers in just about everything, with his business interests ranging from construction companies to industrial factories and, yes, nightclubs as well.
Then again, this wasn’t much of a surprise since unlike the other Olympians Dionysus had always preferred to dwell among mortals.
If historic texts were to be believed, Dionysus even felt he had more in common with humans than other gods.
They were fallible and prone to excessive emotion. ..just like him.
I chewed on my lip as She-Ra gave me the location of the bar. Should I call Paul and tell him about my plans? But if I were to do that – wouldn’t that make it seem like I had to ask his permission to do my job?
At the end of the day, we were still strangers, and besides, he could be busy with work right now. I was only going to visit one bar. What trouble could I get into – right?
I switched the radio on and tuned in to Iris’ station while I paced the length of my living room, still undecided.
All agencies now on high alert, law enforcers to patrol 24/7 for stray thunderbolts—-
I switched the radio off, knowing I had no choice now. Stray thunderbolts were a sure sign that Zeus’ “mood swings” had gotten worse, and I had to do whatever I could to get myself closer to the truth.
Slippery roads and the need to avoid electrocution-prone areas turned what was supposed to be a twenty-minute walk into an hour-long trek. By the time I made it to my destination, I was tired, hungry, and my mood could only be described as dour at best and irritable at worst.
A neon signage had the words The Voice Factor flashing right above the metal doors, and I could only mentally shake my head while showing my ID to security.
Did pesky human issues like ‘copyright infringement’ mean nothing to the wine god?
And honestly, did he really have to infringe on - not one but two – voice competition TV shows to give his kitschy karaoke lounge a name?
Management cleared my CSI badge after a minute, and security escorted me to the back of the house, where the employees’ private quarters were located.
I had mentally prepared myself for lodgings that were anything from risqué to inhumane, but to my surprise the sirens’ suite of rooms was no different from other cozy homes of Silver Mist.
There were eight bedrooms in total, its doors arranged in a semi-circle around a common living space. A young woman I assumed was one of Dion’s employed sirens was seated alone at the couch, and she laughed upon catching sight of my astonished expression.
“Were you expecting something dingy?”
“Kinda,” I admitted. “Something like those awful drug dens busted on TV, actually.”
“Oh, hon. Drugs do nothing for immortals. The only kind of substance we dig is ambrosia, but one taste is enough. Any more and it would literally drive us insane.” Swinging her legs off the couch, the siren rose to her feet, saying wryly, “I’m the only one up right now, I’m afraid.
” She introduced herself as Monica and gestured to the doors surrounding us, adding, “I could wake them up for you, but for the record I want you to know doing so would be a bad idea. Sirens love their sleep, and the only reason I’m up right now is because I skipped work last night. ”
Since I didn’t actually have a formal order from my agency that allowed me to insist on questioning, I decided to take her word for it and handed her my card.
“I’m Agent Vavrin from CSI.” Unlike INTERPOL’s fancy, magical card, our agency’s was downright mundane.
I had actually asked if I could have my name printed using some nice serif font I was willing to pay out of pocket but nope.
It was Times New Roman or nothing, unfortunately.
“I was hoping I could ask you a few questions,” I began.
“Oh my Gaea.” Her head jerked up. “Did I read this right?” The siren gaped at me. “You’re a witch named Blair?”
As I waited for the siren to stop laughing, I comforted myself with the thought that my name would never fail as an effective icebreaker.
Questioning the siren took only a few minutes. Not only did Monica claim that she had no idea who my Jane Doe siren was, but she was also certain the siren I was looking for had never worked at TVF.
“I’ve been here since this place opened, and we’re one of the smaller ones in Dion’s empire. By the looks of her, I think she’s probably working for one of Dion’s flashier places—-”
“By the looks of her?” I couldn’t help echoing her words curiously.