“Yeah,” the Kid said. “I haven’t had a chance to look at it.”
The security footage was just as blurred as the hotel footage. In fact, it looked so similar it had to be the same kind of spell, if not the same practitioner. “Okay. Run the hotel footage again.” The blurred footage ran: three forms in and four forms out, looking much like the footage sent by Angel Tit.
“Huh,” Alex said.
“Same magic worker?” I asked Evan.
“No way to tell,” he said. “All low-level magic would look like that on a digital camera unless you had a really good camera.”
“Oh.”
The Kid looked at me. Eli and Evan looked at me. I breathed out in resignation that sounded suspiciously like a long-suffering sigh. I hadn’t wanted to tell him this way, because the big guy had a temper to go with the red hair and the big magic, but I saw no option now. “Evan.” I stopped, not sure how I wanted to say this. There wasn’t an easy way that I could see. I heaved a breath and took the plunge. “I found out this morning that Shiloh is alive. Well, undead. She’s been turned.” At his blank look, I said, “Molly’s missing niece. Shiloh Everhart Stone, the one presumed dead? She’s a vamp. And I’m pretty sure Molly came here to rescue her.”
I saw gears shifting in Big Evan’s eyes and the silence stretched out. He propped his meaty fists on his hips, and his face darkened from red to slightly purple. I wasn’t sure he was breathing, and his heart was suddenly pounding so hard that I was afraid it would explode—things I notice when my Beast is close to the front of my brain. He took a slow, whistling breath, and there was compressed magic in that minor key note.
Musingly, thoughtfully, Evan said, “I wonder what Leo looks like without his head.” The words rattled around in my brain searching for meaning, but before I found it, he went on. “Because no way did that chief fanghead not know that Shiloh was alive and that Molly was with her. This is his city. Nothing happens here without the MOC knowing.”
Oh, crap. This was gonna be trouble. I just knew it.
“Yes, about that,” a scratchy voice said from the couch. Bruiser levered himself up on an arm, moving stiffly, his face twisted in pain. He coughed, the sound dry and harsh. “Since no one will allow an old man to get some sleep.” He looked at Evan, his brown eyes exhausted but clear. “Leo’s new primo called and spoke with me about your concerns and conclusions, and she suggested that you might believe Leo was involved. He had no idea,” Bruiser said. “None.”
Bruiser had gaunt cheeks and a yellowish pallor. He was shaking slightly, a fine tremor that spoke of dehydration and calorie loss.
“Wait,” I told him. I went to the kitchen and found a sixty-four-ounce bottle of blue Gatorade in the pantry area. I thought about bringing a funnel to get it into him faster, but figured I might accidentally choke him to death. I settled on a wide-gauge rubber straw currently in a water bottle Eli used to hydrate while he worked out, grabbed some energy bars and a bag of dried dates, and returned to the living room to see Eli tucking a blanket around Bruiser. Big Evan looked as if he might explode if not given all the info soon, but I opened the Gatorade and tucked one end of the long straw into it, the other into Bruiser’s mouth. “Drink.” He did, draining half the blue liquid in about sixty seconds.
Bruiser pushed the straw away, but accepted a handful of dates and tossed them into his mouth. I didn’t think he’d actually taken the time to chew them, and was sure he hadn’t when he went back to the Gatorade and struggled to swallow at first. He finished off the bottle and placed a hand over his mouth in what might have been a polite British burp, but I heard nothing. “Excuse me,” he said.
Impressed but not surprised, I went for another large bottle. By the time he’d taken in about a quart of the second gallon, he looked better and he had stopped shaking, but Bruiser’s voice was still rough when he said, “Leo took Shiloh in last summer.” My mouth dropped open, but Bruiser ignored it. “He didn’t know who she was, beyond her given name and her witch status. No history, no information at all. He didn’t know who any of the Damours’ scions were. He should have allowed her to be given the mercy stroke, given that she is a witch, and showed no indication of ever returning to sanity. But he asked Lincoln Shaddock to send Amy Lynn Brown to feed her.”