Wolf at the Door

chapter Thirty-three



“Ow.” Rachael started to sit up, then clutched the back of her head. “Ow!”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“That was scary. One second you were out, and the next you were sitting up. There’s, like, no fuzzy period for you guys, is there? You’re either dead to the world or ready to fight.”

“I’ve always been a light sleeper,” she muttered. “Ow!”

Cool hands on her, pressing her back. “You’d better lie still. Tina cracked you a pretty good one.”

“Remove your hand, zombie. Or I will.”

“Right. Got it.” He removed his hand. “But if you pass out, don’t come crying to me.”

“Don’t worry.” They’d stretched her out on a couch in a parlor somewhere. The peach floral print couch smelled like ancient fabric and mouse poop and dust. She sneezed three times. “What happ—never mind. I have to go.” She sneezed again. Wretched teeny turds!

“Not just yet, if you please.” A new voice. Deep and measured. Thoughtful?

She looked.

It was the vampire king, what was his . . . ? Sinclair. That was it. She’d only gotten a glimpse of the two of them when they’d been on the Cape, months ago, but she would never forget either of their faces.

Especially his. He had the face of a teenager, with stress lines bracketing his eyes and mouth . . . a very old teenager, to be sure! And dressed head to toe in black. In the dark, no one would see him. In the dark, she imagined he did exactly as he pleased.

“Stay a while,” he said, pretending it was a request. Not just in the dark, she realized. He does exactly as he pleases wherever he is. He’s like Michael! He doesn’t have power, he is power!

“Why?”

“So we can discuss your future.”

“What did you do to Edward?”

The vampire didn’t feint or affect to not know what she was talking about. She liked that. “I asked him to call a vampire slayer and invite her to visit.”

“That’s all?” She couldn’t smell Edward on him. But then, she couldn’t smell anything on these people. “You didn’t hurt him?”

“Don’t worry.”

“I never worry. But if you touched him, you should start. Immediately.”

“Yes, yes, right after you remove Marc’s zombie hands you’ll doubtless introduce a wooden stake to my nether regions, oh dear, oh dear, we tremble and obey.”

She could feel her face getting red, and she stood. The zombie flinched back, and she was glad. Too quick for humans to track, at least, even if the vampire doesn’t seem to mind. Arrogant condescending prick. “I’m leaving. Don’t bother seeing me out.”

“Oh, come on. Don’t go yet. He’s a huge pain in the ass, it’s true, but he sort of grows on you after a while. Like athlete’s foot.” The queen’s voice, from the doorway. “Look, I found you some shoes. Won’t you at least try them on before you do the storm-out?”

Shoes? What? Why the hell should she . . . ? Who were these people? She looked around the parlor, realizing that the carpet and wallpaper were also peach.

“I know,” the queen said, following her gaze, “isn’t it awful? Half of this place needs major updating, but somehow we never get around to it. But hang out a minute, okay? Sink Lair will dial back the jerkiness, I promise.”

“Yes, Her Majesty promises,” Sink Lair replied helpfully.

“Ah-ha! Thought so!” The queen had crossed the room and held one of the shoes—a pair of navy blue flats in a sort of lacy pattern . . . What did they call that? Peau de soie? Anyway, they were blue flats. And the queen was holding one of them beside Rachael’s left foot. “See? Perfect match.”

“How did you know they would fit?”

The queen looked guilty. “I, uh, measured your feet while you were out cold.”

This . . . is the most surreal thing that has ever happened to me. And I once worked in my uncle’s antique shop for a month. During tourist season.

Bemused, she let the queen slip the shoes on her feet, like an undead Macy’s saleswoman. “There!”

“Thank you.”

“I apologize for mocking you earlier,” the king said in clear response to the queen’s sizzling glare. “It was not . . . kind. Will you tell us why you came in the first place? Marc said something about murders.”

“Yeah, but if I’d known Tina was gonna clip her with the handle of one of the butcher knives, I might have held back.”

Clearly ruffled, Tina shot back, “Well, I couldn’t just let her walk out.”

“Yes!” The queen threw her arms in the air. “You could have! This is why we never have people over anymore, Tina!”

“Softly, my love,” the king said, looking at the queen with poorly restrained affection. It was as tender a moment as she could have hoped to see among the undead, and it gave her the strength to tell them what was on her mind.

“Somebody’s murdering humans. And the timing is odd. Michael Wyndham sent me out here to keep an eye on all of you—”

“All of us?” Tina asked sharply.

“The king and queen. And no sooner am I here than the body count starts. People who were supposed to be my new clients. I’m wondering if someone is doing it to cause trouble for the vampires and the Pack. Or maybe...”

“To cause trouble between the vampires and your Pack,” Sinclair mused. “Yes. I see it. Hmmm.”

“That’s why I came to warn you. It’s not me doing it. And if you’re not doing it . . . well. As I said. Odd timing.”

“It’s not us,” the zombie said. He glanced around the room. “Right? Guys?”

“Of course not.” But Tina said it with such flat affect, Rachael couldn’t tell if the woman was lying, or teasing, or neither.

The king had taken a seat beside his queen and was leaning forward, his hands on his knees. It was startling, the way he could go so still. When he moved, it was like seeing a statue move . . . unsettling and odd. Even a little frightening. “Can you get us information on the victims? Police reports, autopsies, anything?”

“Probably.” She’d have to find out. Did Cain have any Pack contacts with local law enforcement? Could Michael make a phone call? “I’ll have to make a few calls.”

“Do that, if you please. And then come back.”

“Of course.” Yes, I’ll rush right back into this rat’s nest, to be sure. And you might find it’ll be much harder to take me from behind next time. She was furious with herself for that. She might not be able to smell them, but she could hear them. She should have been three steps ahead, instead of getting sapped like a cub. Her concern for Edward had completely screwed up her—

Edward !

“I have to go.” She stood. The flats fit perfectly. For some reason, that pleased her, though the idea of a vampire queen measuring her feet while she was unconscious was creepy. “Right now.”

“Wait,” Tina said. “What is your name?”

“Oh.” Hadn’t she told them? Very distracted in her worry for Edward. “I’m Rachael Velvela. CPA,” she added helpfully.

Tina’s brows rose. “You’re an accountant?”

“Yes.”

“A werewolf and an accountant?”

“I have to make a living, don’t I? That is, since my kind stopped stealing babies by moonlight.”

“Ooooh, ouch, guess we had that one coming. Velvela?”

Tina was frowning. “Isn’t that Yiddish for wolf?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a Jewish werewolf accountant?”

“Yes.” What, exactly, was the problem here? “And I must go. Thank you for . . .” Coldcocking her? Mocking her? Giving her shoes? “I have to go.”

“Are you okay to drive?” the helpful zombie asked. “Maybe one of us should give you a ride.”

“If you’re the bad guys,” she told them, heading for the door, “you’re the most polite ones I’ve ever seen.”

The king grinned, showing a great many white, sharp teeth. “We try, dear. Run along now. Make your calls. Then return.”

She sketched a mock salute. I hear and obey, O Vampire King, except when I don’t. You’d better sleep with one eye open. I won’t be so easy next time. Nor so pleasant.

“Hey, those shoes are a loan, you know. Not a gift.” As Rachael left the room, the last thing she heard was the queen’s wail: “Get anything on them and you’ll wish you’d never come to our house and interrupted Smoothie Time!”

Too late.