Broken Compass

“That doesn’t ring a bell. Anything else? What tats did I do for him?”

“A phoenix,” I say. “And a dragon.”

“A dragon. No fucking way. Are you sure?” Suddenly he sounds alert and interested. “When did I ink him?”

I glance at West who’s frowning. “At least four years ago?”

“Kasimir. I’ll have to check my records.”

“Okay. Thank you,” I say.

“We’d appreciate that,” West adds. “We’re worried. We’ve asked everyone we could think of, looked everywhere. It’s been weeks. Months.”

“I’ll call you back if I find something,” Zane says and hangs up.

“There’s something…”

“What?” West takes a swig from his beer and reaches for mine. “Want it or should I finish it for you?”

“Be my guest.” I feel light-headed. Booze might not be a good idea. “I was just thinking.”

“Careful. You don’t wanna strain anything.”

“Asshole.” I close my eyes, the steady throb behind them intensifying. Halos are jumping around the room, making me dizzy. That name, though. The name in the article… “Vasiliev.”

“What?”

“Vasiliev. The guy who is now ruling the underground Chicago ring, in the article you showed me.”

“What about him?”

“There was a story about him… from a couple years back. I’m sure it was him, but…” I type in his name, my hands shaking. Bright streaks go through the room. “Damn.”

“What’s the matter? Nate.”

My head. My fucking head is killing me. I try to breathe through the vise tightening around my skull. “A boy,” I whisper. What the fuck triggered this migraine? I was fine earlier. “There was a boy.”

“A boy? What are you talking about? Dammit, man, you don’t look so hot.”

“Migraine,” I grind out.

“Let’s get you to bed. Come on—”

“No.” I push the laptop toward him. “Search. Vasiliev.”

He pulls away from me and takes it, and there’s a beat of silence. And another.

I crack an eye open. “Do I need to beg?”

“Fuck you,” West mutters, but turns to the laptop and types into the search engine. “Here we go.”

“Thanks.”

“Is this stressing you?” He’s typing, the clacking on the keyboard setting my teeth on edge. “Looking for Kash?”

“Of course it’s stressing me. I keep thinking…” I swallow hard. “What if someone has him, right? And all this time Kash was hoping we’ll find him and rescue him, and we’re here, shooting the shit and going in circles, having beers and not seeing the clues staring us right in the face?”

He’s still typing. “I should get some painkillers in you before it gets too bad.”