Hell's Bell (Lizzie Grace 2)

My statement was recorded and then printed. Once I’d checked and signed it, Tala slipped it into a folder, and then said, “Do you honestly believe we’re dealing with a soul eater?”

“Yes. And I think delaying calling in the RWA is a bad move.”

“Off the record, I tend to agree, but w

e are bound by the council’s ruling.”

There was an edge in her voice that had my eyebrows rising. “Did you know the victim?”

“We all knew the victim. He was, after all, the son of a pack alpha.” She rose. “Thank you for coming in so promptly. And if those psychic talents of yours happen to—”

“The talents you don’t believe in?” I cut in mildly.

“The same,” she replied, without even the hint of a wry smile. “If they do happen to send you on another midnight chase, it might be wise to call one of us in on the action beforehand.”

“Why? Bullets and teeth don’t work against spirits.”

“No, but having a ranger present to witness events means we have a greater chance of motivating the council into immediate action.”

Which again suggested they mightn’t ask for help if Ciara’s report came back inconclusive. “I’m actually hoping not to be visited by any more premonitions, but I will call if I am.”

“Good. Thanks.”

I was let out of the office area, but as I trotted down the steps and swung right, an odd sense of being watched stirred.

I paused and looked around, but couldn’t see anyone who appeared to be taking undue notice of me. I frowned and kept walking, but the sensation grew rather than eased. I flexed my fingers, trying to ease both the gathering tension and the urge to prepare another repelling spell.

Then, from out of the vague shadows that clustered around a small lane dividing an art supply shop from the nearby real estate agency, stepped a man.

A man who had pale skin, pale hair, and eyes that were a weird milky white. He wasn’t human and he wasn’t a werewolf. He was something else altogether.

Something that was—according to the books I’d been reading since our paths had crossed with not one vampire, but two—commonly known as either a thrall or a drudge. Basically, they were human ghouls—neither fully one nor the other—who both protected and ran errands for their masters during the daylight hours.

This particular thrall belonged to Maelle Defour, the vampire who owned the recently opened Émigré nightclub. And while the council was fully aware of her presence here in the reservation, Aiden and his rangers were not.

I stopped and eyed him warily. “Can I help you?”

“Yes.” His voice was cool, polite. “My mistress wishes to see you.”

And I so did not want to see her. Still, I suspected it would not be wise to refuse. “I can come around tomorrow, if she—”

“Tomorrow is not soon enough,” he cut in politely. “She wishes to see you immediately.”

“I’m afraid I—”

“And I’m afraid it would not be wise to delay,” he cut in again. “She is a very old vampire, and well used to getting what she wishes.”

One way or another.

He didn’t actually say that, but it nevertheless hovered in the air between us.

He smiled and stepped to one side. “Please,” he added, with a wave toward the lane.

I hesitated, but it seemed I had little other choice but to do as he—and Maelle—wished if I wanted to remain on pleasant terms with the local vampire.

I turned and headed down the lane. And hoped like hell whatever it was didn’t take too long, given I finally had a date to get ready for.

But even as that thought crossed my mind, another rather scary one rose.