Witching Hour: A Wild Hunt Novel, Book 7 Page 8

  “Yutani, what’s up?” I forced a neutral tone into my voice. I knew that the timbre of my voice came off as sultry and while there wasn’t much I could do about that, I could try to keep any suggestion of coyness from creeping in.

  “I thought you might like to see a movie tonight?” He sounded guarded, like he had the first few times he had called. “I know you said you weren’t ready to date, but I promise, this is just a friendship call.”

  His words might say “friend,” but I could feel the energy behind them and that read entirely different.

  “I’m sorry, I’m busy this weekend. Today and tomorrow are booked solid. But thank you for the offer. I appreciate it. Bye now.” I was ready to hang up as he spoke again.

  “Wait—what about the day? We could take a walk through the farmers market? Get coffee?” He sounded almost desperate. It made me want to smack him.

  “No, but thank you again. I’ve got to go, so good-bye.” I hung up before he could say anything else. Glancing down at Raj, I shook my head. “Some people just don’t know how to take ‘no’ for an answer.”

  “Rmmph?” Raj made the noise he always did when he didn’t know what to say.

  By bringing Raj into my life, I had learned quite a lot about gargoyles. Like the fact that they lived in a different reality than we did. Or rather, they interacted on a whole different spectrum. They weren’t stupid, but their focus tended to be less social, more internal. They were thoughtful creatures in the very sense of the word, but they were also self-absorbed. Raj and I had a unique relationship, and the fact that he worried about me was unusual. The fact that he and I had actually bonded was a rare and precious thing.

  “Never mind, Raj. Does my Doodlebug want breakfast?”

  He nodded happily. “Breakfast. Yes.”

  He held up his hand to me and I walked him into the kitchen where I made our breakfast. While he was happily scarfing down a plate of pancakes, I thought about the rest of the day. If I really wanted to tackle Lana’s problem, despite what Tag had said, I had better pull in one of the best PIs I knew. And that meant going into the Catacombs, where the vampires made their home.

  Vampires weren’t exactly my favorite brand of people, but neither were they the worst of the lot. They could be reasoned with, and that alone was a point in their favor.

  I knew where all the entrances to the Catacombs were. Once called “Underground Seattle,” the tunnels running beneath the city of Seattle had been taken over the Vampire Nation, who ran a thriving sub-community down there.

  Vampires couldn’t walk abroad during daylight, but neither were they required to sleep and so they conducted business belowground during the daylight hours. The original tunnels that ran below the city had been the result of a major fire. When Seattle was first built, it was built far lower than the street level was at now. But a great fire rampaged through the city, destroying over thirty blocks of buildings. The water pressure had plummeted due to so many firefighters on duty at once, and as a result, building after building burned to the ground.

  But during rebuilding, the city decided to raise the street level a little above sea level to prevent flooding because of the proximity to Elliott Bay and the wash of water that often flooded the area during high tide.

  Eventually, Underground Seattle was abandoned and became home to the homeless, as well as underground nightclubs.

  Then the vampires moved in, breaking through from the Catacombs, which had been around since long before Seattle had been established. They incorporated the underground tunnels into their network, as well as excavating deeper into the earth. They managed to avoid digging too close to the bay, and had shored up the Catacombs with sealants and restraining walls.

  Seattle was now riddled with the Catacombs. Those looking to flirt with the undead or those having dealings with the vampires could visit, but it wasn’t a place to go if you couldn’t take care of yourself.

  I checked my makeup and dabbed on a little lip gloss, then picked up my purse. “Raj, I have to go out.”

  “Raj come?”

  There was no way in hell I’d take Raj into the Catacombs. That’s where I had first found him. While I had managed to wipe Raj’s memory about his early life, I didn’t want my Doodlebug remembering anything from those days. Not the pain, not the loss of his wings, not the demon who had treated him so callously. After I’d won Raj away from him, I’d talked Benny—the vampire running the poker game—into kicking the demon out.

  “No, Raj. You can’t come. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay home. I’m going to feed the ferrets before I go out. Tell you what, before Ember and Angel come over tonight, I’ll take you to the park this afternoon and we’ll have a nice walk. You good with that?”

  Raj nodded, then trundled off to watch television. It amused him and I didn’t care, as long as he didn’t end up watching anything too violent. Sex didn’t matter. Gargoyle intimacy was pretty much a negligible thing and their sex lives were a quick drop-the-semen-and-go thing. They paired off for mating, but the females raised the young and generally chose different mates each time in order to keep the species from interbreeding too much. Raj was the equivalent of a young boy, or a puppy, in the gargoyle world. He wouldn’t have any interest in mating for at least a couple hundred years and I’d deal with that when it came.

  I checked myself for silver and took off the necklace I was wearing. While silver was a good vampire deterrent, wearing it into the Catacombs was akin to offering an insult up front. I did, however, slide a sharp stake into my tote bag. That wasn’t good form either, but they wouldn’t know unless a situation arose where I needed to use it. And if it came to that, all etiquette went out the window.

  I glanced on my tablet, searching through the list of shops in the Catacombs. There it was: Chance Recovery. Wager Chance was half–Dark Fae, half–magic born. He’d been ostracized by the Fae Community, as per their usual MO, and had taken up with a vampire, who had eventually left him. But by then, Wager was firmly ensconced in the vampire community and, while they didn’t accept him as one of their own, they made room for him and took him under their wing.

  I pulled out my phone and called him. He answered on the third ring.

  “Chance Recovery. We can find anyone you’re looking for, or your money back.”

  He could afford the guarantee. He was that good.

  “Chance, it’s Raven. I need some help.”

  A pause, then he said, “Raven, it’s been awhile. How are you?”

  Wager had always had a thing for me, but he never pushed and didn’t obsess. When he met Ulstair, he had been good about standing back and respecting that I was spoken for and that I wasn’t into playing the field. I realized that he probably hadn’t heard about Ulstair.

  “Widowed before I had a chance to get married,” I said. “I might be a bit bitter about that.” It wasn’t that I was so gung-ho on marriage, but Ulstair and I had planned a life together and all those promises had been ripped away.

  There was a noticeable silence on the other end. Then, Wager, being Wager, said exactly the right thing. “I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard that must be. What can I do?”

  I smiled. “Just asking helps. But I need some help on a haunting I’m working on. Can I come talk to you?”

  He cleared his throat. “I’ve got an appointment at one-thirty, but if you can make it before then, I have the morning open. How about eleven?”

  “Eleven it is. You still in the same building?”

  “Yep. Level Two, Sector Five, Number 223. I’ll see you at eleven. You want to do lunch? I can order sandwiches and soup.”

  Again, I smiled. “That sounds lovely. Thank you. I’ll see you at eleven.”

  Down by the pier, the Viaduct Market was thriving. It had evolved over the years into a massive complex, several blocks long and wide. Hundreds of vendors rented space for their foods or their wares. The entrances to the Catacombs, however, were harder to find. They were secret, usually, and the ones th
at weren’t, were heavily guarded.

  The bouncers weren’t there to keep everybody out, just the unwary and the underaged. The vampires had come to an agreement with the city that they wouldn’t allow minors into the Catacombs unless they were accompanied by a parent or guardian, and the city had backed off on paying attention to what went on down there. It took work to get into the Catacombs, and so whatever happened, unofficial city policy was that you must have asked for it.

  I passed through the market, amidst the sights and sounds that made up the thriving community of vendors. The air was heavy with the scents of cinnamon and pumpkin and apple, given we were deep into autumn, and my stomach rumbled even though I wasn’t really hungry. Although Wager had promised lunch, I stopped at a coffee stand and ordered two pumpkin spice lattes and a couple of cinnamon buns. At the next stall—a flower vendor—I added a big armful of orange mums. Juggling the food and flowers, I made my way through the crowds, managing to reach my destination without bumping into anybody.

  I stood in front of the art studio and then, taking a deep breath, I entered. There were a couple of main entrances to the Catacombs in downtown Seattle, but in the Viaduct Market, they were all hidden. I moved through the studio’s tables toward the back. While it looked set up for students, few ever showed up, and most of those who did were paid to act the part.

  “Raven, long time no see.” The woman behind the counter gave me a fierce smile. Vivian wasn’t a vampire, but one of the magic-born, paid to guard the entrance behind the curtains in the studio. And I knew her just well enough to know that she could blast anybody out of the water who tried to get in without permission.

  “I know. Life’s been…eventful.” I let out a sigh, not wanting to discuss my personal life with a relative stranger. “I need entrance.”

  “Reason?”

  “Business. I have an appointment with Wager Chance.” I set my food and flowers on the counter and held out my keycard, aligned to my personal magical signature. It was my ticket into the Catacombs when I didn’t feel like going all the way down to stand in line with the thrill seekers looking to catch a glimpse of a “real vampire.” Most of them had probably met vampires already but didn’t realize it.

  “Scan here, and then go on back. The elevators are working today.” Vivian held out a hand-held scanner and clicked it over the bar code on my keycard. A green light flashed. “Go ahead.”

  I hung my keycard around my neck and then picked up the food and flowers again, and passed through the curtained entrance to the back. There was a door leading to a stairwell, and an elevator. I decided to be lazy and take the elevator. As the doors closed, I pressed “S2” for sub-level two, and the clunky old behemoth began to descend. By the grinding noises it made, I half-expected to go plummeting to my death, but the elevator was a monster. It was tough as nails and though it sounded as though it were on its deathbed, it chugged along without a hitch.

  A moment later, the doors opened and I stepped out into the Catacombs. I glanced at the sign on the wall: Sector 6. Another sign on the wall read Sector 5, Sector 7. Turning left, I started along the hall.

  The Catacombs were almost impossible to navigate without careful use of the signs and, even then, it was terribly easy to get lost. I wasn’t sure how many levels there were, though I knew there were at least four levels belowground, and each had numerous sectors. A person could get lost for days trying to find their way out.

  I passed a group of teen vamps who were lounging in the hall. They glanced over at me, and one made a hissing noise. As I slowly turned to stare at her, one of her companions grabbed her arm and gave her a shake of the head.

  “Sorry,” the girl said. “We didn’t realize you’re Ante-Fae.”

  The others tensed as she spoke.

  I held her gaze. “Well, now you do.”

  Before they could speak again, I passed by them, ignoring them. One thing about being Ante-Fae, they couldn’t turn me if they tried. Even with their superior strengths, the fact was they had no clue what I could do to them. The fact that I was Ante-Fae was enough to keep them from harassing me.

  I swept past the dives and the restaurants that littered the level. The shops on the first level were fairly mundane—mostly for the human tourists who wanted to get within arm’s reach of a vampire and live to tell the story.

  On the second level, where I was, the shops were oriented more toward business professionals. Accountants, bank branches, and various oddballs like Wager.

  It was only in the lower levels that the opioid pits and the brothels and the bloodwhore dens were located. Humans very seldom made it that far into the Catacombs, unless they were already a slave to the vampires. I had been down there a couple of times, but even I found it uncomfortable to watch the vampires acting true to their natural state.

  I came to Sector 5 and a few moments later, I was standing in front of shop number 223—Wager’s shop. I opened the door and slipped inside, closing it softly behind me.

  The PI’s shop was tastefully decorated, in muted shades of cream and sage. The suite contained three rooms. I was in the reception area, and there was a restroom, and the other room was Wager’s office proper.

  There was a bell on the receptionist’s desk and a note asking clients to please ring when they entered. I tapped the top of the bell, startled when the chime reverberated through the office rather than just making a little clinking noise.

  A moment later, Wager stuck his head out the door. “Raven! Come in. Lock the door there, will you?” Wager was a handsome man, average height, but with jet black hair and green eyes, and skin as golden as a warm sandy beach.

  I flipped the deadbolt on the door and followed him into his office.

  Wager took the coffee and buns from me, and I glanced around.

  “Do you have a vase? I brought flowers.”

  “For me?” He looked surprised, but gratified.

  “Yeah. Autumn bouquet and all of that.” I handed him the blooms and he found a vase and filled it at the bathroom sink, then handed it to me. I arranged the flowers as he answered the buzzer at the door. When he returned, he was carrying lunch. He set out the soup—a rich buttery chicken noodle—and sandwiches—ham and swiss on sourdough.

  I handed him one of the cinnamon rolls and a latte, and settled in on the other side of his desk. We ate in comfortable silence for a moment, then I settled back.

  “So,” he said, wiping his lips on a napkin. “Here we are.”

  “So it seems.” I held his gaze for a moment. He didn’t blink, or try to look away.

  “Do you want to tell me what happened, or should I just let it drop for now?”

  I bit my lip. I hadn’t talked much about Ulstair except to Ember, Angel, and my friend Apollo, and I wasn’t sure I wanted to. But before I knew it, the story came tumbling out. “Ulstair was murdered by a psychotic priest of the Morrígan. He was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and looked too much like another man.”

  Wager let out a soft sigh. “Catch the killer?”

  I nodded. “And I killed him. I blew him up with his own bomb.”

  Wager paused, but didn’t look surprised. “Good. He can’t hurt anybody else. How are you holding up?”

  “Some days I’m good. Other days, not so much. I cut the cords, though, and set Ulstair’s spirit free to move on. I miss him, but in reality—life continues, and so do we. He was with me for a long time, longer than a lifetime for some mortals. I’ll always have those memories.” It was my turn to pause. I finally shrugged. “Ulstair was my mate, but…”

  “But you kept him waiting a long time. Why do you think?” Wager was far more astute than I had given him credit for.

  I sighed. “You’re right.”

  I had been with Ulstair close to fifty years. He had proposed after twenty, but I had put him off till ten years ago, and even then, I’d been reluctant to name a date for the wedding. It wasn’t that I didn’t love him, but… I finally took a deep breath and answered the quest
ion.

  “Ulstair was my mate, but he wasn’t my match. I think I knew it inside, and I didn’t want to commit fully. I don’t know what I expected to happen. Maybe that we’d find our rhythm as time went on. In the meanwhile, we were happy with things as they were, and he had his own commitment issues, as well. Now, of course, that’s all moot.”

  It was the first time I had voiced the thought aloud, but when I said it, I realized how true it was. I didn’t know if I’d ever find someone my match, and I didn’t feel the need to look, but when—if—I married, it would be on equal terms. In some ways, Ulstair had been too gentle for me, and I was afraid I’d break him as time went on.

  “How’s the soup?”

  I blinked at the sudden change of subject, but stirred the soup in the cardboard container. “Delicious. Thank you. So’s the sandwich.”

  “What brings you here today?” Wager glanced at the clock. It was eleven-fifteen.

  “Here’s the deal. I have a rather unusual case and I think I need some outside help.”

  I told him about Lana and the house, and what the ghost had done to me.

  “I don’t think that thing is a ghost, but Tag effectively kicked me out so I can’t find out what we are dealing with. I don’t like the thought of leaving Lana there, so I was wondering if you could take a look into the history of the house and see if there’s anything back there that might account for it. Any mass murders, any suicides, any chaos magicians who might have summoned a demon. Whatever you can find.”

  Wager scribbled some notes on a pad, then frowned. “Why do you think he kicked you out? Is he human? Into the Human Liberation Army, perhaps?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think he’s affiliated with them. At least, I hope not. He’s human as far as I know. So’s Lana.”

  At that moment, my phone dinged. I glanced at it. “What do you know, a text from Lana.” I opened up my messages and scanned her text.