“You will continue to monitor her. She is your responsibility. ”
“She can be my responsibility somewhere else. Somewhere I am less likely to shoot her in her sleep. I got home and my shoes were everywhere. My power’s been shut off. ”
I was thankful I’d had the foresight to pay up my rent until the end of the summer, especially now that I knew the newbie vampire hadn’t spared much thought for the little things, like bills.
“Shoes,” Sig said with a laugh. I don’t know if I
’d ever heard Sig laugh, and it made my pulse trip. “Very well, Secret. I will have Ingrid make arrangements for Miss Stewart. And I will make a call about your power. ” His tone told me he was less than thrilled about having to deal with such trifling issues. He hung up without any further comment.
The streets slid by slowly, and I watched as groups proceeded along the sidewalk to find their place in the Manhattan night. Girls in too-short sequined dresses and too-high heels moved in giggling packs. Men in cheap suits were leaving happy-hour pubs and advanced on to more promising nightspots. A red double-decker tour bus snaked past the cab, and groups of wide-eyed city virgins snapped endless photos of the glittery face of the city. New York was a shameless showgirl who never took off her makeup and always had a little too much leg showing. She was dazzling and unrepentant. I smiled, feeling like I was well and truly home.
We turned onto Christopher Street and followed it for a few moments until we arrived at Carmine, where the cab stopped in front of a short strip of brick buildings. I got out at a bakery called Sweet Jean’s and thrust some crumpled bills at the cabby. The air outside was cooler than it had been in the cab, and I enjoyed the slight turn of breeze that smelled like hot brick and the promise of a dirty night.
Beside the entrance to Sweet Jean’s was a small alley where a wrought-iron gate was the only indication something lay beyond. I squirmed down the pass and found the door buzzer next to the locked gate. After a short run of rings, a female voice asked, “Yes?”
“Cedes?” I knew it was her, if only because of the peevish, tired tone in her voice. Mercedes Castilla was a homicide detective with the NYPD. She knew I was a little wolfish, but that was about it. She was the only human I knew, aside from Keaty, who believed in monsters.
“Secret?” So many question marks, so few actual questions.
“The one and only. ”
“You wily little skank. Stay right there. ”
The buzzer fell silent, and I watched a couple walk by the mouth of the alley, laughing at a joke I had missed. I heard the fall of her footsteps raining down the inner stairwell, and then with a click of bolts being turned, she emerged on the other side of the gate, pushing it open to get a better look at me.
Her unruly, curly black hair was swept up into a bushy ponytail, and she wore a gray NYPD shirt that was one size too large over a pair of jean shorts. Her face, as usual, looked worn and tired, but her eyes were bright and her skin was fresh. I couldn’t help but smile at her as I said, “Hi. ”
“Hi?” She laughed at the statement and pulled me in for a tight hug. “I can’t believe you. Do you know how crazy people have been going about you?”
Mercedes and Keaty were the only people who knew where I’d gone. I figured it would be best to tell her outright rather than deal with the fallout if she launched a manhunt for me. I hugged her back, enjoying the sweet, fruity scent of her shampoo and the warmth coming from her small, muscular body.
“Come on,” she said as she locked the inner door and gate behind her. “We have some catching up to do. ”
We found ourselves at a small bar within walking distance called Fat Sam’s. The bartender was a slim, tall man who smiled at Mercedes in a way that suggested more than passing familiarity. Her color darkened the slightest bit, but she gave no other indication of how they knew each other.
“Evening, Detective,” he said warmly.
“Owen. ” She nodded and held up two fingers, then added, “And keep ’em coming. ”
We slid into a booth with cracked leather seats which sank beneath our individual weights so we were at an almost comically low height with the scarred wooden table. Owen came over carrying a tray and threw down two Newcastle Ale coasters, then put a pint glass down on each one of them. Next to the pints he gave us each a shot glass brimming over with strong, old-smelling whiskey. He eyed me the way bartenders often do when they suspect someone of being underage. Cedes touched his forearm and smiled sweetly, something I’d never seen her do before.
“She’s on the level, Owen, I promise. ”
“You’re the cop. ” He turned back to the bar where a group of college-aged man-boys in NYU sweatshirts were waiting. He ID’d them right away, and I felt a little guilty knowing it was me who’d set off his radar.
“Owen?” I asked, smirking at her.
“Shush. We’re here to talk about you. ”
“Are we?” I leaned back in the booth, trying to act as casual as possible. “What did you mean when you said people were going crazy about me?”
She was drinking from her pint, and I could smell how robust the stout was. She held up her pinky to silence me a moment while she continued to drink, and then licked the foam from her top lip before speaking again.
“People came to see me. At work. About you. ” She pulled the ponytail out of her hair and shook it loose, letting the dark curls settle around her face. I could see some of her hair was still damp, which explained the strong, lingering smell of her shampoo. My own hair was greasy, and the curls always looked extra heavy when that was the case. I also was increasingly aware of the fact my shirt was still covered in dry blood, and no one had commented on it yet.
Perhaps Brigit was too dense. Mercedes, on the other hand, must have assumed it belonged to someone else. I picked at the front of my shirt uneasily.
“I was gonna ask you about that. ” Her voice gave no sign of any worried edge. If I was in trouble, she knew I would tell her.