Lock & Key Page 9

  Liam parked his Cherokee on the third level of a garage heavily painted with graffiti; all Kat could smell was spray paint. He cut the engine, and then they waited. They’d come across two of A9’s white vans on the drive here, and Kat had been forced to duck down under the glove compartment and pray that whoever was at the wheel didn’t have a grasp of what Liam looked like. Marta would’ve told her goons about the man Kat escaped with, but it had been dark in that parking lot, and Marta did not have Liam’s name.

  Surprisingly, they’d made it to Patterson’s without a hitch. And after five minutes of sitting and waiting pensively, they figured they were in the clear. So they stepped out of the SUV and headed down the stairs to street level. Liam peeked out through the rusty exit door at the grungy neighborhood, scouting for people who might give them trouble, then signaled for Kat to follow close behind him.

  Before he stepped out the door, however, Kat grabbed his arm. “I’ve got something to ask you first.” It had been grating on her nerves since Liam had shown up at Yun’s café unexpectedly. “How did you track me down earlier? I thought the bracelet blocked those sorts of spells.” She shook her wrist for emphasis, jostling the little silver band.

  Liam gave her a sheepish grin. “Ah, well, you see, it blocks other people from tracking you with their magic. But it doesn’t stop me from homing in on my own magic. Since I made the bracelet, I can find it.”

  Kat said flatly, “So you gifted me a tracking device in the guise of an anti-tracking device.”

  He faked a cough. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “But you used it that way.”

  “You ran away,” he said, exasperated. “I was worried Marta would find you again, okay? I mean, jeez, she threw you into a car last time—and crushed the car.”

  Kat rolled her eyes. “Not the worst thing she’s done to me.”

  Liam frowned. “Oh?”

  She pushed him out the door. “Don’t worry about it.” You already worry enough for a guy who barely knows me. She knew Yun was right about her role in fighting A9, but she still felt bad for allowing more people to end up on the hit list of a powerful underground organization that had no qualms killing innocents. Even if Yun (who was a reincarnated god, apparently) and Liam (who could perform some handy magic) could defend themselves against the mooks and Marta, that didn’t mean they’d come out of this skirmish unscathed. And Kat would feel guilty about their every injury.

  Kat didn’t want people to get hurt trying to help her. But Liam and Yun would never let A9 go unchallenged. They both had that look back at the café, that righteous glint in their eyes that spoke of an intense desire to crush all things corrupt. Yun served all-day breakfast, and Liam snapped pictures of cheating spouses, but they were both the sort of warrior who strove for justice in the world. So she had no choice but to accept their involvement. If she tried to reject them, she’d probably just make the situation worse.

  My life was supposed to get easier when I reached Pennsylvania, she thought ruefully. Not harder.

  Following the ruffled Liam out the door, Kat kept her eyes peeled for any white vans or raging lunatic magicians. She walked as confidently as possible, pretending she belonged in this place, so as to not tip off any of the more paranoid residents of the area that she was someone to be scrutinized with a fine-tooth comb. The more attention she drew, the more likely that A9’s jaws would snap around her ankle again and try to drag her back to Georgia. Play it cool, Kat. Look nonchalant.

  It was easier said than done though. They’d stopped at Liam’s place again before driving here, and Kat had borrowed more of his ex’s clothing. Their feet weren’t the same size, and Kat’s shoes were too loose, which put her gait a tad off and made her look like she was trying too hard to walk normally. Kat’s chest was bigger than the other woman’s, and the top was too tight by about two sizes, and she felt very much like she was nearing streetwalker territory with the way her breasts were emphasized. And finally, the jeans. Oh, the jeans. They were loose in the waist but tight in the hips, and just looked odd on Kat’s frame.

  All in all, she appeared to have gotten her clothes from a charity drive—and really, that wasn’t far from the truth of the matter. Point was, it made her more noticeable than she wanted to be. But she compensated as best she could, walking a step behind Liam and pretending to be totally cool about a trip to a grime-covered brick-walled bar stuck in between two defunct department stores.

  Kat caught several pairs of eyes ogling her as they neared the bar. In particular, a four-man group clustered around a rotting bench refused to look away, even when she clearly turned her attention on them. There was something about the way they were watching her that made her uneasy—not because she was being objectified, but because she was being examined. As if the members of the group were making some important determination about her. She couldn’t quite put her finger on it, what they were thinking about, but she made a note to ask Liam about them when they finished talking to this vampire. Maybe he knew the men, knew if they were trouble.

  They passed the locked front entrance to the bar and grill and swung around to a side door, which was guarded by a buff man in a nice suit who didn’t seem friendly. He bristled when he spotted Liam and Kat approaching, and flashed a grimace that revealed two of his teeth were elongated. Fangs.

  A vampire. Acting as the bouncer for this shitty excuse for a restaurant?

  Guess that means the kid vampire lord is in the house.

  Liam marched up to the bouncer, unconcerned. He held out his hand and snapped two fingers, and one of his simple gold rings—he’d put on an assortment of them before they left his house to come here—began to softly glow. Then a small blue flame flickered to life above the tip of the corresponding finger. It lasted for about five seconds before burning out, leaving nothing but a faint gray puff of smoke.

  The bouncer drew his lips into a thin line, glancing from Liam to Kat with a thinly veiled air of suspicion. Liam said, “She’s with me,” and the bouncer rolled his shoulders back, deliberating for a second, before finally pushing the door open and ushering them inside.

  He slammed the door behind them.

  Kat stared at the heavy door. “I assume this place is supernaturals only?”

  “It is, but that’s not to say it’s ‘exclusive’ in the expensive sense.” Liam took her arm and coaxed her past the entryway, which was so dark it must’ve been hard for people with normal eyesight to navigate. Kat’s vision adjusted quickly, however, thanks to her magic, and the shadowy shapes in the main room ahead resolved into wooden tables and chairs, a long, heavily scarred bar, a pool table on its last leg, and a small number of daytime patrons sipping beers and playing cards.

  Kat spotted Auguste Vanderhall immediately. She didn’t need a description. In a large corner booth, surrounded by burly guards in suits, sat a lone young man with a bored expression who, judging by the number of empty glasses on the table, was at the end of a long bender. He was extremely handsome, with a soft, youthful face, piercing blue eyes, an expensive haircut, and long, dark lashes that would’ve driven a fashion photographer to splash his face across a dozen magazine covers. And yet, all those pretty features were utterly wrecked by the amount of alcohol Auguste had consumed. He was staring, glassy eyed, at a TV hung over the bar, and he could barely sit up straight.

  Kat pitied him. Which was a strange thing to feel, considering the current condition of her life. But then, it was clear that Auguste Vanderhall’s life hadn’t exactly been peachy keen since the death of his family. The expectations alone—being the sole heir to an ancient vampire house—must’ve been crushing for an eleven-year-old, and on the drive here, Liam had told Kat that Auguste had practically been vilified as an irresponsible lout by the other branches of the Dalca family who were eager to subsume New England territory. Vilified back when he was a freaking preteen.

  He wasn’t only rebellious because he was overly sheltered. He was rebellious because people expected him to
be. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy.

  Kat found that very sad. At least no one expected anything of her. No one knew her. In regular society, she could move anonymously. This poor guy who’d drunk himself into a stupor didn’t have that luxury. He was a public figure to the vampires. And being a public figure, Kat knew, made you an easy target.

  She suddenly felt guilty that they were going to take advantage of this kid. But even so, they couldn’t renege on the plan. They had to get A9 out of this city before disaster struck. And Auguste Vanderhall was their meal ticket.

  Liam and Kat meandered over to his booth so the guards didn’t jump on them too soon. But they had heightened senses like Kat, and their keen eyes, nearly glowing in the gloomy interior of the restaurant, latched on to the duo when they were only halfway across the room. Expectedly, the four men raised their hands to signal the pair to halt. Liam kept on going, however, and Kat followed, until they were close enough to the booth to speak to Auguste without being overheard by the handful of other patrons.

  “What’s your business?” said one of the guards.

  Liam ignored him and addressed Auguste directly, “Hey, Earth to Auguste. We need to have a private chat.”

  The four guards were shocked at Liam’s blatant disrespect. Kat didn’t know much about noble decorum, but she figured he should’ve addressed Auguste as “Lord Vanderhall” or “Your Grace” or something equally pretentious. Yet he’d come right out with the impertinence, and he didn’t look that nervous about the guards’ reactions either. He must’ve been confident that the guards wouldn’t harm him or make a show of throwing him out when they were in plain sight of other people who might gossip about such an incident. Gentry, Kat thought, wouldn’t like bad press more than any other celebrities.

  Auguste, for his part, was roused slightly by the use of his first name, and he blinked blearily at Liam for several seconds before recognition sparked in his watery blue eyes. “Hey,” he said, raising a shaky hand and pointing, “aren’t you that cop?”

  “I was.” Liam stuck his hands into his pockets, looking overly casual in the face of the towering vampire guards. “Just regular old Liam Crown now though.”

  Auguste licked his lips and grimaced, as if tasting something stale. Probably old beer. “If you’re not here on cop business, then what do you want?”

  Liam gave Auguste a hard look, waiting for the drunk vampire lord to spool his mind back into working order. It took almost a minute more, Auguste staring dumbly at Liam, and Liam staring accusingly at Auguste, until understanding finally bled into the younger man’s face. At which point he paled—which Kat thought was funny, given the stereotypes about vampires—and slid his half-finished beer off to the side, next to fifteen other empty glasses.

  “Oh, god,” the vampire lord muttered. “Why today, of all days? Can’t you take a rain check?”

  Liam shrugged. “Afraid not. It’s urgent, and you owe me. So let’s go talk upstairs and settle this.”

  The four guards gave each other confused looks, and the one who spoke earlier said to Auguste, “My lord, if these two humans are bothering you, we can easily escort them—”

  “Shut up, Clyde.” Auguste pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m not in the mood for another pathetic attempt to defend my honor. Just get out of my way.” He slid out of the booth, the guards making a hole for him, and gestured for Liam and Kat to follow him to a set of stairs partially hidden behind a black curtain on the far side of the room. Liam trailed behind him, Kat behind Liam, the confused guards making up the caboose of their little train. Up the stairs they went, to the second level of the restaurant, which appeared to be a series of admin offices for the higher-level staff. At the very end of the hall was a small break room.

  Auguste wandered into the lounge and sank onto a limp couch, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thud. After Liam and Kat stepped in the room, he held up his hand, signaling his guards to stop in the hall. “Stay out there. Guard the hallway or whatever. I need to have a private chat with Officer Friendly and his…” He dragged his drunken gaze to Kat. “Who are you again?”

  “Kat King.”

  “Right,” he drawled. “That sounds like a real name.”

  Well, she thought, he’s not wrong.

  “Anyway,” he continued, “Clyde, man the hall. Hopefully, this won’t take long.”

  Clyde frowned. “But, my lord, we don’t know—”

  “You’re my guard, Clyde, not my nanny. I can hold conversations with humans without getting assassinated.”

  Clyde looked like he wanted to keep arguing but thought better of it and pulled the door shut, closing Liam and Kat in with the sole heir to the New England sect of House Dalca. In some sense, his very existence was a fragile thing, and it made sense that Clyde, probably a servant of the family for many years, would be concerned about Auguste being left alone with any unknown element. At the same time, being surrounded by guards all hours of the day probably made Auguste feel claustrophobic. Kat knew that feeling all too well.

  “So,” said the vampire lord, “what do you want, Crown? Money? Power? I knew you’d come back to haunt me one day, after that stupid stunt with the Porsche. So what is it? An all-expenses-paid early retirement to Cancun with your girlfriend there?”

  Liam crossed his arms. “Well, for one thing, I’d like you to be sober for this conversation.”

  “Is that the favor?” Auguste asked.

  “Auguste,” Liam said sternly, “sober up.”

  The vampire lord rolled his eyes. “Fine.” He reached into his jacket pocket and removed a small glass bottle filled with dark red liquid, which Kat identified as blood. When he popped the top, the tangy smell of copper permeated the air. Auguste brought the bottle to his lips and downed the contents in three big gulps, then sighed in pleasure as the effects, whatever they were, spread through his system.

  He closed his eyes, breathed deeply a couple times, and then fluttered his eyelids open to reveal his irises had changed color. They were red now. The alcohol-induced glassiness had faded from his stare as well, along with the flush of his cheeks. He’d gone from hammered to stone-cold sober in about fifteen seconds.

  He screwed the lid back on the empty bottle and sat it on a side table next to the couch. “Okay, your first demand has been met, Crown. Now what is it you want, and why’d you have to kill my buzz to get it?”

  Liam glanced at the door.

  Auguste shook his head. “Don’t be paranoid. It’s soundproof. We always build soundproof.”

  Ah, Kat thought, Patterson’s is owned by the vampires. They built the place with soundproof walls and doors so you can’t overhear private conversations with vampire-level senses.

  “Just needed to be sure,” Liam said. “Because some of what I’m about to tell you can’t get out to the public. You start a gossip chain, this city will be a dumpster fire by the end of the week.”

  Auguste stiffened. “What are you trying to get me into, Crown?”

  “Something you should be involved in, as the leader of a local supernatural faction. You’re behind the curve, actually. Caoimhe’s already shown her face, and the shifters appear to know something’s up as well. Even Yun has thrown in lots. Things are moving, very fast, and only you have the resources—and the willingness—to stop the gears from turning before the pressure grows too immense and the pot boils over.”

  “What the hell are you on about?” Auguste replied. “Is this some kind of prank?”

  “No prank.”

  “Then what’s going on here?”

  Liam told him. He skipped over most of Kat’s involvement with A9, merely mentioning that she had been their captive for a period of time and had recently escaped. Kat was grateful for his discretion once again. While she had no problem acknowledging the ways Advent 9’s scientists had abused her, she still didn’t want every stranger in this city gossiping about her time as a guinea pig, or worse, badgering her with personal questions. So when Liam
wrapped up his explanation of the threat currently prowling around the streets of Salem’s Gate, and looked to Kat, she gave him a quick thumbs-up.

  Auguste was suitably disturbed. “We can’t have that kind of human activity in this city, magicians or not. It’ll throw off the balance between the vampires and the fae. I mean, Christ, we’re barely at peace as it is. Especially after last week’s ‘mysterious disappearance’ and the retaliatory house fire.”

  Kat didn’t know what he was talking about exactly, but she remembered Liam had said there were ongoing skirmishes between the two major supernatural powers in the city. And Caoimhe belonged to one of those powers. She shuddered at the thought. I really don’t want to know what that woman plans to do with me.

  Auguste went on. “Okay. So these well-connected brutes running around town. What exactly do you want me to do with them, Crown? I can’t approach them directly. It’ll violate too many laws, and innocent humans could get hurt, which would cause a scandal that my branch of House Dalca can’t weather. I want to help—and return your favor—but I’m not sure what you’re looking for here.”

  Liam said, “You don’t need to do anything so obvious. We already have a plan.” He explained the fake trail idea.

  Auguste considered. “You want me to use my financial resources to create some kind of ‘ghost trail’ for your girlfriend? And you think these Advent 9 people will fall for it?”

  “If you do it right,” Liam replied. “You own a few tech companies, don’t you? And you’ve got house members in various government offices. Get them all in it. Fudge some data. Make the trail look realistic.”

  Kat noticed Liam didn’t dispel the idea that she was his girlfriend. She wasn’t sure what to think about that. Was he just being level-headed, or was he being cheeky?

  “Hm, I get what you’re going for, I think.” Auguste glanced at Kat. “But this is a huge risk on my part, you know? I think it’s worth a whole lot more than the little mishap you swept under the rug for me.” He rapped his knuckles on his knee. “You got anything to sweeten the deal?”