This time, the answer seems to effect Cristobal, and he places a finger to his temple. “Have the humans discovered it?”
“No. We’ve had scouts on alert since the last time,” Marcellus replies.
“And yet, no one saw this happen.” Cristobal’s jaw clenches. “There’s something more here we’re missing, and we need to figure it out immediately. Lou, I want you in on this. Percival, Marcellus, I want you beside her at all times.”
“Can I at least change my shoes first? I have gym shoes in my trunk.”
“I’ll get them,” Ruby says, disappearing.
“You still keep a change of clothes in your car?” Amusement colors Cristobal’s words.
“Once an Esçhete, always an Esçhete.” I shrug.
Dressed in a floor-length ball gown and black tennis shoes, I’m riding shotgun in a Bentley full of vampires to track a killer.
Chapter Six
Seeing where we are, I can’t help but grimace. “Yeah, my horror movie survival instincts tell me we should not proceed.”
Miles snickers as the Bentley rolls to a stop in the dimly lit alleyway behind the storefront.
“Don’t tell me you’re afraid, witch. In case you’ve missed the memo, we’re the monsters in the night the humans fear,” Marcellus says.
“Nothing wrong with being cautious, and it’s not humans we’re worried about. Crazy baby vampire on the loose, remember?” I counter, giving him a ‘duh’ expression.
“She’s right. That the youngling has struck twice with no witnesses is worrisome,” Cristobal interjects.
“Serious understatement, Cristo,” I say obnoxiously. He hates bastardized versions of his name.
“Unless you’re performing an exorcism, I don’t think that word will help you,” Cristobal says smoothly.
Laughing, I gently push his knee, unwilling to pass up the opportunity to tease him. “Someone’s been watching Supernatural.”
“Or grew up speaking Latin,” he replies.
“Killjoy. I was trying to bring you into the modern world kicking and screaming, and all you want to do is remind me how ancient you are.”
“Yeah, good luck with that one,” Luz mutters, shaking her head in exasperation.
“I’ve been pondering how he could slaughter a woman in a public place, and no one was the wiser,” Cristobal says, ignoring our banter.
“It’s why you brought me, isn’t it?” I ask.
“Smart and beautiful.”
“Save the flattery, Cristo. I’ve already decided to help you.”
His jaw tenses and I smirk. Nice to know I can get under your skin as much as you get under mine.
“I must warn you, the body won’t be pretty,” Cristobal says.
“They never are,” I answer honestly.
We exit the car, and the sense of wrongness hits me. Suddenly, I’m grateful to be sandwiched between Percival and Marcellus. Goose pimples break out over my flesh. There’s an unnatural film that taints the air. It’s more than the residual negativity lingering from the murder. My anxiety spikes. A witch working with a vampire in search of power is never a good thing. My stomach plummets as I recall Mémé’s word. Is this the darkness she sensed?
We trail behind Luz and Cristobal on silent feet, stopping at a massive metal door. The door opens, and a slender, blond vampire with silver eyes steps back and allows us to enter. Instantly, the smell of meat hits me and I wrinkle my nose. I peer around the space, taking in the industrialized kitchen set up. Knives of all shapes and sizes hang from the wall. A butcher block countertop island takes up a good third of the room. I spot the assortment of questionable containers in the glass door fridge.
We’re in a butcher’s shop. You’ve got to be kidding me. It made sense in a disturbing way. It’d be the perfect front. While humans shopped blissfully unaware, vampires could come in and order a quick pint.