Blood Cross (Jane Yellowrock 02)

"Cute," I said of the numbers.

 

"Yeah, cop humor. We keep the weird-shit cases and the woo-woo files in here." He sounded like his old self again, lighthearted and carefree, no trace of that night in his voice. He opened the door and preceded me in. And I heard a metal drawer slide open. Over Rick's shoulder I saw Jodi Richoux. She was sliding a slim red folder into a metal file cabinet and the look she shot me was full of meaning, if I'd only been smart enough to know what the meaning was. But whatever it was, Jodi wasn't surprised to see me here. In fact, I had a feeling she had been expecting me, had seen me arrive, and beaten me to the room. I sniffed the air, smelling her apprehension as she closed and locked the cabinet drawer.

 

I'd had beers with Jodi before Mol arrived. We weren't exactly bosom buddies, but we had ended up on the dance floor, half drunk and whooping it up. It had been nice having a gal pal of sorts, as I had been kinda lonely until Molly came. "LaFleur, Yellowrock," she said.

 

"Richoux," we both said back, in offbeat unison. She nodded and left the room, giving me that look again, and glanced back to the drawer she had opened. And then she was gone.

 

The room was walled in metal file cabinets painted gray and military green, surrounding a long table and six metal folding chairs. No windows. Just two bare bulbs lighting the room in a harsh blaze. Rick patted the file drawer that Jodi had just closed, saying, "Everything we've gathered on the vamps since they came out of the closet is right here." He jingled a ring of keys, selected one, and unlocked the file cabinet.

 

Everything was a two-drawer file cabinet labeled 666-0V. On top of the cabinet were stacked three cardboard boxes. I opened a cabinet drawer to find folders divided into sections with little tabs--Clans, History, Miscellaneous, that kind of thing. My fingers itched with impatience, and I pulled a thick one on history and opened it. Loose pages shifted with a dry, raspy sound like snakes slithering on rock. On top was a police report from 1978.

 

"Ahhh," I said, not looking up from the folder, excitement rising. "I may be a while."

 

"I'm locking you in."

 

"What? No." I wasn't crazy about being stuck in a locked room anywhere and Beast didn't like it at all. I felt her staring out of my sockets, a growl low in her throat that I caught before it erupted out of mine.

 

"This hallway is full of sensitive information on paranormal investigations, a lot of it old files that are still only in hard copy format. If I had time to babysit you or had a uniform to put down here, it'd be different. For now, the lock has to do. Call my desk when you're done."

 

I looked back at the file in my hand, knowing I needed to stay. Okay, yeah. I could do this.

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER 5

 

 

I was living in a former whorehouse

 

According to police records, vamps hadn't been totally in the closet in certain cities across the globe, even before the famous staking of Marilyn Monroe by the Secret Service in the Oval Office while she was trying to turn President Kennedy. That event had revealed the existence of vampires, and shortly thereafter, witches, to the public, but prior to that, vamps had an undeniable--if shadowed and veiled--presence in such cities as Paris, London, Mumbai, Tokyo, and New Orleans. In and around the French Quarter they had attained a clandestine notoriety in the early nineteen hundreds living in Storyville, the section of the city once set aside for houses of ill repute, saloons, gambling houses, honky-tonks, music halls, and similar such places catering to the baser side of human desires.

 

Vamps had owned and managed at least three houses of prostitution in the district set aside by Sidney Story from 1897 to 1917, houses licensed and operated within the law. According to the Blue Book, which listed the names, descriptions, and addresses of more than seven hundred prostitutes, the vamp houses had been dedicated to "lusty lasses, a bit of blood, and the nick of a delicate whip," as well as "the finest professors in the land," professors being the musicians who played in the houses. The names of the three vamp houses were kind of corny: Countess Simone's Pleasure House, Le Salon du Tigre, and Katie's Ladies. That last one I knew well.

 

I looked up to see the empty room, scanned the corners for cameras or listening devices, saw that it was clean, and blew out a relieved breath. I hadn't realized how tense I was until I let my shoulders slump. Beast might be provocative, but I was a wimp when it came to cops. I blew out another breath and forced myself to relax fully.