Chapter Thirty-Six
Generally speaking, the scent of human blood wasn't nearly as interesting as that of a lesser or a vampire. But it was equally recognizable, and something that you had to pay a little attention to.
As Xhex threw a leg over her Ducati, she sniffed the air again.
Definitely human, coming from west of the Iron Mask.
Checking her watch, she saw she had a little extra time before her meet-and-greet, and whereas in the normal course of business she wouldn't give any kind of mess involving humans even a drive-by, in light of current events in the black-market trade, she dismounted, took her key, and dematerialized in that direction.
Over the last three months, there had been a rash of killings downtown. Well. . . duh on that. But the ones she had been interested in were not the sloppy gang-related drive-bys, or the heat-of-passion trigger fingers, or the drunken hit-and-runs. Her group fell into the fourth big catchall - drug related.
Except not in your run-of-the-mill kind of way.
The deaths were all suicides.
Middlemen were capping themselves left and right - and really, what were the chances that so many of those motherfuckers would develop a conscience at the same time? Unless, of course, someone was putting a moral additive in the Caldwell water system. In which case Trez would be out of business on a couple of different levels - and he wasn't.
The human police were flummoxed. The news media had gone national. The politicians were all excited and getting up on their stumps.
She'd even tried to do some Nancy Drewing herself, but her timing had always been of the day/late, dollar/short variety.
Then again, she already knew the answer to a lot of those human questions: That Old Language symbol for death on those packets was the key. And gee whiz. . . the more guys who ate their own bullets, the more those stamps had appeared. They were even starting to show up on heroin and Ecstasy packaging now, not just cocaine.
The vampire in question, whoever he or she was, was gradually staking their claim. And after a busy summer season of influencing human filth to take themselves out of the gene pool, they'd managed to kill off an entire demographic in the drug trade: All that were left were street-corner retailers. . . and Benloise, the big-fish supplier.
As she took form behind a parked van, it was clear that she'd gotten to the scene right after it had all gone down: There were two guys making like mud puddles on the asphalt, lying faceup with unseeing eyes. Both had guns in their hands and holes in the fronts of their brains, and the car that the RIPs had come in was still going at an idle, its doors open, steam rising from its tailpipe.
None of that was what she cared about, however. What she was really interested in was the male vampire getting into a sleek Jaguar, his black hair flashing blue in the overhead light of an archway.
Guess her day/dollar ratio was on an upswing.
With a quick shift, she re-formed in front of his car, and thanks to the fact that he had no headlights on, she caught a good look at his face in the glow from the dashboard.
Well, well, well, she thought, as his head shot up to her.
The slow laugh that came out of the male belonged with the summer nights: deep, warm - and dangerous as coming lightning. "The fair Xhexania. "
"Assail. Welcome to the New World. "
"I had heard you were here. "
"Likewise. " She nodded at the bodies. "I understand that you've been performing a public service. "
The vampire assumed an evil expression, one she had to respect. "You give me credit where it may not be due. "
"Uh-huh. Right. "
"You can't tell me you care about these rats without tails?"
"I care that your product has been in my club. "
"Club?" Elegant brows peaked over those cold eyes. "You work with humans?"
"Keep them in line is more like it. "
"And you don't approve of chemicals. "
"The more they're under the influence, the more annoying they are. "