Berna snorted, held out a hand, waggled her fingers. I put my hand in hers, thinking she meant to check me for a ring, proof of Ethan’s promise. Instead she flipped my hand over, traced a cracked and calloused thumb over my palm as she inspected it like a jeweler checking for flaws.
“Good line of life. Good line of love. There is no problem here.” She turned my hand over again, patted it with affection. “You are good girl. Skinny, but good girl.”
“She was a dancer, you know.”
Berna looked over at Ethan, her eyebrows arching so high they nearly disappeared into her hair. “Oh?”
“She danced ballet for many years.”
Berna looked me up and down, seemed to reach a new kind of acceptance of my frame. Not that I needed Berna’s approval—my body was my body—but at least I wouldn’t have to hear about it anymore.
“Ah,” she said with a nod. “You know Bronislava Nijinska?”
I smiled. “I do. I’ve seen video of her dancing. She was very beautiful.”
“She is epitome of beauty. That is the word? Epitome?”
“That’s the word,” I agreed with a smile.
“Good. She is this.” Her measuring stick reconfigured, she looked me up and down. “You still dance.”
“Informally,” I said. “I train, and sometimes that means dancing.”
“Mmm-hmm. I know teacher.”
“I don’t need a teacher.”
She just lifted her sketched-on eyebrows. Berna wasn’t a woman who took no for an answer.
“Vampires don’t have time for ballet,” I insisted.
“Vampires immortal. Vampires have time for all things, including dance.”
She’s got you there, Ethan said. I’d love to watch you dance again.
There is not enough money in the world to get me into toe shoes, I decided. I’d tortured my feet enough. Not that taking bullets was much of an improvement.
Clearly disappointed, Berna pointed to the padded leather door that led to the bar’s back room. “Gabriel in back. You can go,” she said, without so much as an offer of cabbage rolls or stewed meats.
I didn’t want Berna angry at me. “I could probably practice more,” I said, a peace offering.
She nodded. “Good. You practice, and we will talk.”
That would have to do for now.
? ? ?
Little Red’s back room was small but surprisingly cheery. There was a retro table that seated four, mismatched chairs on top of more warped linoleum, and old movie posters on the walls. Gabriel sat at the table with Fallon and a couple of male shifters I hadn’t seen before. One had sunburned skin, bleached hair. The other had dark skin and straight, dark hair that was slicked back on top, shaved on the sides.
Gabriel looked at us, nodded. The other shifters must have taken that as their cue to exit, as they rose and disappeared into the bar.
“What’s in the bag?” Gabriel asked.
Ethan slipped out the bottle, passed it over.
“GlenDronach,” Gabe said, in what sounded to my ear like a pretty good Gaelic accent.
Ethan nodded. “A token in sympathy of Caleb Franklin’s death.”
“Thank you. We’ll toast him with this.”
Ethan inclined his head.
“You two hungry?”
Ethan glanced at me.
“Oh, that’s a joke that never gets old,” I said. In fact, my metabolism was a diesel engine; it rarely stopped running. But even I didn’t think it was wise to pile rich Eastern European fare atop spicy Thai.
“No, thank you.”
Gabriel’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Well. Not an answer I’d have ever expected from you.” He wiggled the bottle. “In that unusual case, how about a drink?”
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Ethan said.
“Me, neither,” I said.
Gabriel nodded, rose. There was a small refrigerator in a corner of the room beside a skinny rattan cabinet. Gabriel pulled out three glasses and brought them back, then poured a finger of GlenDronach for each of us.
“You find Franklin’s house?” Gabe asked.
“We did,” Ethan said, accepting the glass with a nod. “No one was there, and there weren’t many personal effects as far as we could tell. A few pieces of furniture, probably came with the house, a few articles of clothing. No vehicle, no paper. Plenty of food in the fridge and freezer, so he was definitely staying there. We didn’t find anything that indicated why he’d ended up dead.”
All that was entirely correct, if not the entire truth. Ethan didn’t mention the cashbox we’d found or the key. He must have had a reason for the omission, even if he hadn’t shared it with me.
I took a sip, let whiskey burn down my throat. It was strong, but smoky and smooth.
Gabriel nodded his head back and forth, back and forth, as if considering the information, debating whether we told the entire truth. Or maybe that was just my conscience talking.
“Have you learned anything?” Ethan asked.
“Not really. There are a couple of shifters he’s stayed in contact with, but they haven’t seen him in several weeks.”
Because he was involved in something big, I suspected.
“I managed to get the address, and that’s it. They knew it by sight, but neither had been in. Caleb kept to himself.”
Ethan nodded. “You mentioned Franklin’s neighborhood was at the edge of Hellriver. La Douleur has relocated there. We paid it a visit.”