Literally.
I found old advertisements about his speeches, where people would gather to hear him talk about everything from religion to politics, and how only death could truly cure the ailments of mankind.
He convinced the believers of his cult he would give them eternal life if they were only willing to trust him and go to the temporary death that was necessary.
Whatever he said, he managed to convince a lot of poor, hungry, undereducated people he was practically a god, and could give them the lives they’d been praying for for so long.
Sometimes they were found dead, as he moved city to city, a traveling charlatan. Others went with him and were simply never seen or heard from again. Certainly some of them had become vampires—that was just the odds—but many of the girls who thought he was the best thing since before the Beatles wound up rotting in a ditch somewhere.
And many of the photos I found from the later body dump sites all showed that weird little seagull mark.
So now I knew that wasn’t a coincidence, the mark absolutely related to why those girls had died. Tyler had texted to let me know they were running it through the database, but there still hadn’t been any hits. Whatever it was, it was obscure or totally new.
I was hoping something in Davos’s history would give me a hint as to where he might be in the city. He clearly favored being around humans, and the girls had been members of a vampire fan club. Now that it was night again, that seemed like the best place to start hunting for him.
I’d called and left several messages for Ingrid, knowing if Sig was off in the wind, she would likely be with him, but she didn’t answer, and by the time I tried to leave the third voicemail, her box was full.
Once I was done with the fan club, I’d stop at the hotel where she lived to see if she might have left something behind that would point me in the right direction.
When I stood up from the desk, three wardens nearby jumped as if startled. I nodded at one near me, a guy who looked like he had probably once been a billboard model or something. He was too ripped and pretty to look directly at. It was almost a bit much. “Hey, you.”
“Y-yes?”
“What’s your name?”
“Walsh?” He said it like he wasn’t sure. I couldn’t decide if that was his first or last name, or if maybe he was just doing the Cher thing and rocking with one name only.
“Walsh, where do vampires go to find willing human feeds? Especially women?” I wasn’t really hip to that scene here anymore. The bars changed frequently to avoid protests from hate groups and potential attacks on the vampires and their fans. Bad for business to have picketers outside, so the establishments tended to roam.
“There’s a place on West 63rd and Columbus, near the ballet. It’s been there for ages, they don’t seem to mind the attention.”
I knew the area. It was close to Central Park and pretty close to my and Desmond’s apartment.
“Does this outfit work?” I asked, fanning my hand over the jeans and button-down Oxford I was wearing.
A bored-looking girl with sleek, dark hair and perfect smoky eyeshadow gave me a once-over and answered for Walsh. “I don’t know, is the vibe you’re hoping to give off, like, PTA mom meets HGTV house flipper? If so, you nailed it.”
I stared at her. “What’s your name?”
“Simone.”
“Great, you’re coming with me tonight, thanks for volunteering. Now, where can I find a dress in this joint?”
As luck would have it, the council was in the habit of providing clothing for wardens in need, and Simone was precisely the kind of woman who hid all the best designer label goods where no one could find them.
She swapped out my jeans and top for a black minidress with a plunging scoop at the back with affixed draping diamond chain that hung down my spine. Blessedly, she liked my boots and said I could wear them with the ensemble.
Simone was an interesting character. She acted totally disinterested in everything, but the second she was unleashed in a closet it was like her entire being lit up, and she became a different person. She had held up a half-dozen dress options to me before settling on the backless one.
I had to admit, I looked good. A hell of a lot better than just waltzing into the joint in jeans and demanding someone talk to me.
I bunched my curls into a messy bun on top of my head, but thankfully the ringlets had enough volume to make the whole thing look planned and intentional. Whatever woman
had invented the messy bun deserved to have her face put on money.
Simone and I took one of the council’s fleet of town cars to the club, and it let us off at the corner so our arrival wouldn’t attract any attention.
Of course, rolling into the club with someone who looked like Simone leading the way was bound to get you a few second glances no matter what. She had a body that was meant for designer clothes, all lean angles and sharp, bony edges. Her cheekbones could cut diamonds. She was ferocious.