Chapter 39
Downstairs the event preparations were well underway, the vamps set to arrive within the hour.
I toured every nook and cranny of the space, familiarizing myself with all of the building’s secrets.
Where someone up-to-no-good might hide. Where the security footage and the computers were stored.
Which doors were locked, those that led out, and those that opened into closed rooms—dead ends.
The mansion selected for the fang ceremony was large, gothic, and if I was an objective bystander—which I wasn’t—I would have found the setting to be the epitome of dark luxury.
But holy hell did it have a lot of doors. Many of which had antique key-holes, and lacking deadbolts, they required a key when the door was locked.
Beyond the main space, which was fairly open, backing onto a terrace overlooking the Tarrytown Reservoir, the underbelly of the mansion was filled with curved corridors, and small rooms. My door count was at sixty-six, and climbing.
The main floor felt like a breath of fresh air by comparison, the weather temperate enough to allow all the windows and doors to be open.
Every now and then candles would flicker on the gentle fall breeze.
The foliage set ablaze by the setting sun in fiery rust, chestnut, and copper, I walked the expansive cobblestone patio overlooking the reservoir to admire the view, just for minute, when I spotted the pool.
Who in their right mind had their pool open in October? In New York State?
Steam pooling in heated clouds above the surface, it must have been open at special request of the vamps because the lights under the surface stained the water a deep blood red. Haunting and immeasurably deep, mist clung to the top of the water, wafting off in slow curling waves.
Not going to lie, it kind of seemed like a health and safety hazard to have around the vamps, especially when drink was involved. But it did set the mood.
Once my scan of the property was complete, I set up to make myself useful.
Although I was no longer going to be on the receiving end of the vamp’s bite—Fawzy subbed in to take my place because protocol dictated my passenger-carrying status too risky to be in the potential line of fire—I still had a role to play.
And plans to make.
There were only three people who knew of the FBI’s involvement in the fang ceremony: Lenore, Jezebel, and the vamp selected as part of tonight’s fang ceremony.
“It’s a pity I won’t have the pleasure of biting you tonight.” Carmen sauntered over, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “But I can see things have changed, No-one-of-consequence.”
“What could you possibly be referring to?” Two could play at this game.
She observed Todd standing, surveilling the floor from the curved stairwell. “I wouldn’t mind calling him daddy…”
“Carmen.”
“What? Look at him, that is a man exuding responsibility and jealousy right there.”
“He’s not jealous.”
A crimson-stained smirk. “Keep telling yourself that.”
Todd wasn’t meant to be the focus of our discussion. Time for a change of subject. “Thank you again for helping. I know this isn’t the reason you joined Lenore’s little club.”
“Slights on Lenore’s ‘little club’ aside.” She circled me like a shark circling its prey. “I’ll have you know I am notorious for my generosity. Given my net worth, I run a number of philanthropic endeavors to keep myself busy.”
“Are you trying to impress me with how much money you have?”
“Was, clearly it’s not working.” She ran the backs of her fingers over the side of my arm, then cocked a brow. “Perhaps because I’m not a broody tattooed giant?”
“The broody tattooed giant is a friend.” Who was risking his career for me. “He’s not rich.”
“No, but he is.” Jack rounded the corner speaking to someone on the phone, the accuracy of her claim must’ve been plain on my face as she added, “Money can sense money, darling.”
I shut my emotions down. If Carmen sensed any tension or ties between me and Jack, trouble would ensue, and I was supposed to be prepping her for the mission.
Sighing, Carmen crossed her arms and cocked out her hip. “Half the fun of being a vamp is getting to flirt and speak my mind. The least you could do is flirt back.”
“Carmen.” Flirting was not in my repertoire, but I was good at reading people, so I leaned forward, grazing her folded bicep as I whispered, “we’ve got killers to catch. And I for one would be happy to know your head is in the game, and not on making people jealous.”
“Why can’t it be a little of both?”
“This isn’t like throwing knives at a gathering, this isn’t a game.” I must’ve spent far too much time with the agents. I was starting to sound like them. “Here lives are at risk, and whoever is behind this will be paying attention to you. Every move you make will be watched.”
“I know that darling, why else do you think I volunteered?”
?
The irony wasn’t lost on me that dealing with Carmen, telling her to be careful, gave me a taste of my own medicine.
Normally, I was the one the agents told to take care of myself and to not do anything reckless.
In fact, when the agents ran through the plans and the protocol before our arrival at the mansion, I was reminded several times to not put myself in any dangerous or precarious situations.
I was to observe and report back. Listen to orders as they were given.
And under absolutely no circumstances was I to follow, confront, restrain, kick, punch, slap, or otherwise engage with anyone I perceived to be a threat, unless in self-defense.
A sentiment which was repeated ad nauseum, along with a long laundry list of activities the FBI could and could not do as part of the evening’s sting operation.
Which is why I had to make some plans of my own. With Jezebel. Away from prying eyes and ears.
“Lenore will have a fit.” Jezebel was stationed at the entrance, ready to receive the guests, even though they weren’t set to arrive for the next thirty minutes.
She worried her bottom lip, shadowed-eyes darting to her boss who was mid-conversation with one of the event staff twenty yards away. “But I’ll make sure it’s done.”
“Thanks.” I kept an eye on Lenore’s conversation as we stood in the covered entryway, a couple of mockingbirds chirruping on the autumn air.
“I really hope we catch these guys, D.” She shifted, skirts ruffling. “It may be odd, but this is a place of belonging for so many. Aside from the…” Murders. “…things have really changed since we worked the Daemonica case. There’s so much less drama. There’s so much more…community.”
“I can see that.” All of rules of engagement established a way for people to consent or stop any unwanted behavior, which was steps above our first experience with the vamps. “In no small part because of you, I imagine.”
Jez smirked.
Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a flash of white—an envelope changing hands from Lenore to the man she was speaking with. “Does Lenore always pay in cash?”
“Only to Hank.” I made note of the man’s stocky, strong, figure and tight-knit brows, as Jezebel explained, “But it’s all above board. I check the bank account and statements against the invoices, they align.”
Of course, they aligned. Lenore’s books were clean, even the FBI saw to that. But I was more concerned with cash that had the habit of staying cash, and never made it onto the ledger. “But have you counted the cash in the envelopes?”
Jezebel’s expression dropped. “Not recently.”
“And what does Hank do?”
“Hank’s wife runs the apothecary in Huntington.
” Sensing we were getting into confidential territory, Jez lowered her voice to match mine.
“Lenore likes to get what she can from suppliers in Huntington, so they run all of the candles, soaps, crystals, salts, anything bulky or consumable that needs a vampy ‘vibe’. They help with set up and tear down.” In other words, they stayed the length of the event, would have had ample opportunity, and access to backrooms. Noted.
“How many event staff do they bring?”
“Four or five.”
“Any chance any of them are ex-familiars?”
“…all of them. They all are. Except for Hank.”
“And do they always drive a white paneled van?”
Jezebel’s gaze shot over my shoulder to where the apothecary van was parked. White panel vans were like villains 101. “You know, you are making all this seem incredibly shady.”
I let my expression do all the talking.
“The cash changing hands, the van, the fact that the apothecary team are at all our events, is super fishy, I’ll give you that, but why what would Lenore’s payments have to do with anything? And if she was involved, why would she pay the guy right in front of us?”
I raised my brows. She was going to figure it out in three… two…
“Her routine would have changed.” Equal parts horror and knowing, Jezebel sucked in a sudden lungful of air. “I would have sensed something was off. And then I’d tell you. And you’d tell the agents. But why would she be paying extra money under the table?”
“Nothing brings people together like having a common enemy.”
“Wait, you think Lenore is paying Hank to… kill people?”
“Oh god, no!” I whisper-yelled. “I think your boss is paying Hank and his team to undertake anti-vamp activity. To mail in garlic, set up crosses, to give the vamps something to fight against.”
Jezebel released her breath. “Oh.”
“And then they took the anti-vamp activity too far.”
She looked like she was going to be sick. I didn’t blame her. If I’d been in her place, and this was happening right under my nose, I would have been equally appalled. “With everything you and the FBI know, how sure are you?”
In all the digging between me and the agents, there was always one gaping hole in the middle. A piece missing to tie all of the loose ends together. Now in its place, one word came to mind.
Apothecary.
Who would know the location of all the vamp gatherings and fang ceremonies?
Who was responsible for the crosses at events?
Who did the, now deceased, familiars trust enough to leave with after the fang ceremonies?
Who would have access to the surveillance room, and know how to avoid being on camera?
Who would believe in vampire culture enough, or despise it enough, to actively kill familiars after fang ceremonies?
If I thought about it, an apothecary staffed by ex-familiars would be a good front for anti-vampers. And an apothecary was exactly the sort of place a wannabe vamp would be drawn to.
Hell, even the elfish woman, Selena Belle, had mentioned her love for the local apothecary.
And she was one of the mugging victims. If we dug into each of the mugging victim’s histories, I was confident we’d find some tie to the apothecary or the people that worked there.
And now, with Lenore’s purchase of event supplies, soaps, candles, and crystals in cash, and the likelihood of Hank and his team being paid for anti-vamp activity…
“Pretty fucking sure, but we are still going to need proof.” And I knew how to get it, preferably, before Fawzy got put in a position where ‘four or five’ people would try and take her hostage. “How are your lock picking skills, Jez?”
A sly smile spread across her face.
Operation Divide and Conquer was born.