“But what if it’s no longer the only truth?”
“It’s the only truth that matters. In the end, he has his world, and I have mine, and as the saying goes, never the twain shall meet.”
“Maybe you need to trust fate a little bit more. Or maybe you just need to enjoy what you currently have and not worry about the future.”
How could I not worry about the future when the reality was I might not have one? “Fate is the one that got us into this mess, Ilianna. I’m not trusting her to get us out of it.” I waved a hand. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
With that, I went to bed and—surprisingly, given how much sleep I’d already had that day—slept.
A death march tone woke me. I groaned and rolled over onto my back, rubbing the sleep from my eyes and cursing the idiot on the phone for waking me. Then it twigged that the idiot was Hunter, and I lunged to answer it. But I hit the VOICE ONLY button—I had a feeling she wouldn’t appreciate learning that I was still in bed.
“I haven’t received the crime-scene report yet,” I said, glancing at the clock. It was nine in the morning—no wonder my stomach was grumbling. What little I’d eaten yesterday, I’d thrown up last night. “So I really haven’t got much more to report than what I’ve already said.”
“I have no intention of discussing either your report or the Directorate’s,” she replied, voice snappish. Definitely not in a happy mood this morning.
But then, was she ever?
“So you’re ringing me because . . . ?”
“Because another card was found in the pocket of the second victim—this one for the Blue Angels.”
Which Rhoan would have no doubt already checked out. And I couldn’t see the point in me doubling his work, especially given if he had found anything worthwhile, it would have been in his report. And she, subsequently, would now be hunting down the bitch behind the kills. All of which I wanted to say, but wisely refrained. “Is there any connection between the two clubs?”
“There is, actually. They both hired last-minute replacements from the same booking agency.”
“I gather the Directorate has talked to the agency involved?”
“Yes.” She hesitated. “And so have I.”
Poor them. “And . . . ?”
“I told the agency owner to inform me of all last-minute requests for musicians,” she snapped. “And he just did.”
Hence the reason for the call. Wonderful. I scrubbed a hand across my eyes and flicked the blankets off me. “I’m guessing you’re not sending the Directorate to check her out.”
“Rhoan hasn’t your reaper, nor your ability to sense dark spirits.”
The Directorate witches had the latter, if not the former. But again, I held the comment back. She didn’t want the Directorate to find this killer—she wanted me to, so that she could then get her revenge. And what Hunter wanted, Hunter usually got.
Unfortunately.
I walked into the bathroom. Having a pee while talking on the phone wasn’t something I usually did, but it was oddly appropriate when it came to Hunter—if only because I wished I could so easily flush her from my life.
“So where is the stand-in going to be playing tonight?”
“She’ll be at the Hallowed Ground from midday today.”
Which at least explained why Hunter wasn’t going to interview the woman herself. She might be an extremely old vampire—and therefore able to stand far more sunshine than most—but the lunchtime hours were still as deadly to her as sunlight was to any of them. “Isn’t it a little unusual for nightclubs to be open during the day?”
“Hallowed Ground has been around for a long time.” She hesitated. “It is a haunt for those who might otherwise be alone during daylight restrictions.”
Dread filled me. “Does that mean it’s another blood whore club?” And if it was, why were they bothering to provide musical entertainment? It wasn’t like the addicted vampires would care about anything other than getting their next fix.
“No,” she said, voice cool but still holding an edge that sent chills down my spine. “Although it wouldn’t matter if it was. You would still be going.”
There was never any doubt about that. “I’ll report back the minute I talk to her.”
“If she is the one—report sooner.”