Kissed by Darkness (5 page)

“Yep. Pretty much.” I wasn’t totally thrilled with the idea of turning myself into bait, but it was the best plan I had at the moment.

He rolled his eyes. “Great. Just great. You must be positively suicidal.”

“Cordelia’s contact — really interesting guy, by the way — seems to think it’s the only way to draw him out.”

“Yeah, I’m sure he does. He’s not the one who’s been appointed cannon fodder,” Inigo growled. I didn’t like it when Inigo growled. Or, rather, I liked it a little too much. It did things to me. I barely refrained from clenching my legs together. I seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. I really needed to find a boyfriend.

I cleared my throat. “Anyway, we’ve got to find the best place to start spreading the word. You know a good mystic bar or something?”

“Graveyard.”

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Graveyard. You’d be amazed at who you can find in a graveyard.”

“Is this one of your clairvoyant things?” He was always coming up with weird ideas which he conveniently blamed on his abilities.

“No, this is one of my common sense things. Best way to get word out to your Sunwalker is to hit the supernatural grapevine, and the most gossipy members of the grapevine have a bizarre tendency to hang out in cemeteries.”

Common sense. Right. The day Inigo exceeded me in common sense was the day hell froze over. Then again, with the way things were going, that wasn’t as unlikely as it might seem. “Fine. Graveyard, it is. And he’s not my Sunwalker.”

“Sure, if you say so.” His wolfish grin told me he wasn’t buying.

I started the car and pulled out into traffic, heading toward the oldest cemetery I knew. If you’re going to go creepy, you might as well make sure it was really old creepy. Too bad we weren’t still in London. They knew how to do creepy old graveyards properly in London.

***

As you can probably imagine, Portland has several old cemeteries, some dating back to the days of the pioneers. Nothing nearly as old as in London, of course, but old enough to ramp up the creepy factor.

This particular cemetery was certainly plenty creepy. Moonlight bounced off white marble headstones giving the place an eerie glow as we got out of the car. Despite the warmth of the evening, there were tendrils of mist swimming about the bases of trees and swarming over graves. The whole thing was incredibly, incredibly eerie. Did I mention it was seriously giving me the creeps?

“All right,” I said to Inigo, placing my hand on the grip of my UV gun, not that it would do any good unless the creepies were vampires. “Now what?”

Inigo shrugged. “I dunno. This is your gig.”

“You’re the one who insisted we go to a graveyard,” I pointed out with flawless logic.

“Gods, would you two stop arguing, you’re giving me a headache.” We both started as a dark shape rose from behind one of the stones.

I yanked my gun out of the holster and pointed it at the shape. I would never admit it, but I very nearly yelped. The shape barked out a laugh. “Are you nuts? A UV won’t do diddly squat against anything but a vamp.”

“Well, I know that,” I snapped back. “But since I can’t see you, you might just be a vamp.”

The shape stepped into the moonlight and became a man. A very tall man with silvery hair pulled back in a ponytail and an honest-to-gods black cape. Not a vamp. Necromancer probably. Or just some weirdo who liked hanging out in cemeteries dressed up like a bad Dracula standin. I shoved the gun back into the holster.

“Sorry. Habit.” I gave him what I hoped was an apologetic smile, but felt a lot like a grimace and flashed my ID. “Morgan Bailey. P.I.” Gods that sounded dopey. Who’d I think I was? Magnum?

“No problem. So, what’s a cute couple like you doing hanging out in a cemetery on a lovely night like this?” He reached into a pocket in his cape and yanked out a bag of caramel popcorn, which he proceeded to munch. Not that caramel popcorn was weird. I love caramel popcorn. It’s just that eating it in a cemetery in the middle of the night seemed a little, well, strange. Especially when dressed in a black cape.

I would have loved to say so many things, but I settled for, “We’re looking for a Sunwalker.”

He blinked. “At night?”

“Well, maybe he’s trying to blend,” I shrugged.

He raised a brow. A lot of people were raising brows at me these days. “With what? Corpses? Ghosts, maybe?” Was that sarcasm?

I shrugged. “Well, you never know.”

“Right,” he gave me a look not unlike one you might give a mad woman.

“Inigo,” I hissed, “back me up here.”

Inigo cleared his throat. “We were thinking that, quite possibly, he might be — ah — living here. In a crypt. Like a vampire. Maybe. You know, so no one suspects he’s
not
a vampire.” Way to go Inigo. Though I was starting to think he’d been spending too much time with me.

“Ah ha.” The guy didn’t buy it. That was obvious. “Well, no Sunwalkers here. I would know. I have an affinity for the dead. And the undead.” His smile creeped me out a little.

Well, that settled it. Necromancer. Maybe even a Necromage. I always wondered how much truth there was to the stories about Necromancers raising the dead or Necromages powering their magic with the energy of ghosts, but it seemed rude to ask. He certainly seemed convinced of his own abilities though I wasn’t sure he was right about the whole Sunwalker being undead thing.

The book had only said they were
like
a vampire, not that they
were
a vampire. They weren’t necessarily undead, just pretty much immortal though I still wasn’t ruling out undeath entirely.

“Well, thanks for your help.” I gave him a little wave as Inigo and I backed up and headed quickly for the car. The necromancer or whatever he was continued to munch on his popcorn. I swore some days I was surrounded by weirdness.

As I pointed the car back down the hill toward the sparkling lights of the city, I glared at Inigo. “Well, a fat lot of good that did.”

Inigo gave me an enigmatic smile. “Oh, that did exactly what we needed it to do.”

It took me a minute. I could be a little slow sometimes. Then it hit me. A guy who hung out in graveyards munching popcorn was probably the type of guy who had friends in strange places, friends who he’d be sure to tell all about the cute couple in the cemetery looking for Sunwalkers. “Well, damn.”

***

The rest of the week passed slowly. No Sunwalkers popped up on the radar, but I dusted four more low level vampires and helped Kabita seal a hell hole. Not bad for a few days’ work.

Friday night I had a date. I hadn’t had a date in quite a while, so I admit to being a bit nervous. OK a lot nervous. Despite the fact that deep down I’d really love to be in a relationship, dates were so not my thing. I didn’t do well on dates. I mean, small talk was bad enough to begin with, but how on earth do you answer questions like “What do you do for a living?”

My mother dug this one up. A guy she met at a charity function. My mother was always trying to pawn me off on some guy or other. At least this one did something involving charity, so he couldn’t be all bad. I’d said yes more to shut her up than anything. Apparently she thought we’d make a “cute couple.”

Sure, until the first time I killed a vampire in front of him. Gods save me from my mother and her matchmaking. I hadn’t realized my hands were shaking until I tried to put on my lipstick and nearly smeared it across half my face. Like I said, I didn’t do so well with dates.

This was ridiculous! I killed vampires without breaking a sweat. Or at least not much of one. How could one stupid date turn me into such an incredible mass of nerves? I didn’t even know the guy, for crying out loud!

I took a deep breath, found my center, and tried again. The lipstick went on OK this time, but I was still a bit shaky. The mascara was a little trickier, but I got it on eventually without poking out an eye or ending up with a black streak on my cheek. Go, me.

I gave myself a critical look in the mirror. The neck wound had healed nicely, leaving only the faintest trace of a pinkish scar. No half-decent guy would comment on such a thing. The green dress I’d purchased for the occasion was simple and a good color and cut for me. Showed off the curves, one of my few vanities.

Well, this was as good as it was going to get. I grabbed my black bag off the dresser and headed for the door, ignoring the fancy beaded evening bag Kabita had given me. There was no way I was going out unarmed, and evening bags just weren’t built for carrying UV guns or silver tipped knives. So I wouldn’t exactly be stylish, nothing new there.

I was ten minutes early to the restaurant. I hated being late to things. It always seemed so rude. By the time I walked through the doors, I felt sick to my stomach. I
really
hated dating.

The restaurant was one of those soothing and somewhat posh places you find downtown with low, cushy booths, dim lights, and an open fire in the middle of the room. There was even a real live pianist plinking out something hauntingly romantic by Bach. I knew it was supposed to be calming, but it just made me even more nervous. I hoped the glasses weren’t real crystal.

“I’m sorry, Madame, but your date has not arrived yet,” the maitre d’ said with an affected British accent. That almost got my mind off my stomach. Almost. After living for a few years in London, I knew the real thing when I heard it. His was most definitely
not
the real thing. “Would Madame like to sit in the bar and have a drink?”

“Oh, yes, Madame most certainly would.” I think the sarcasm went completely over his head as he gave me a vacuous smile and waved me down the hall toward the bar.

The bar was even cozier than the restaurant, all dark wood and rich auburn carpet, heavy drapes on the windows and old school jazz on the sound system. A group of businessmen had their jackets slung on the back of their chairs and were laughing over their bottles of micro brew. The couple in the corner was too busy making eyes at each other to drink their cocktails. This was a little better.

Half an hour and two glasses of wine later, my date finally showed up. I was already feeling a bit irritated by his lateness, but that was nothing compared to how I felt after he gave me a very obvious once-over. A once-over that left it very clear to anyone with a brain that he considered me
far
beneath his usual standard of women. I wasn’t sure why he found me so inferior, but I refused to be intimidated by rudeness.

He offered me a hand, albeit rather reluctantly. His handshake was limp as a dead fish and his palm rather moist. Ew. You could tell a lot about a man by his handshake. He gave me what I assumed was supposed to be a smile but was a lot closer to a grimace. “Hello, you must be Miss Bailey. Edmond Winters.”

I honestly didn’t know at that point which was worse: his handshake or the fact he called me “Miss Bailey.” Dear gods, why did I let my mother do this to me?

I gave his hand a good, hard shake and flashed my pearly whites. “Morgan.”
Please, let a vampire attack us. Please let a vampire attack us
. It wasn’t that he was ugly or anything, even if he did have his light brown hair slicked back against his skull so he looked like a drowned rat. It was just, well, I hated going on dates, especially with men who thought they were superior.

Fifteen minutes later, I was praying for a hell hole to open up and swallow me. Or preferably him. I hadn’t been able to get a word in edgewise. He’d been droning on about his work as an accountant. An accountant! I was sure it was all very fascinating stuff, but honestly, I killed the undead for a living. The vagaries of number crunching somehow just didn’t interest me all that much.

My eyes were just about glazed over by the time the waiter finally came for our order. “We’ll take two of the veal,” Edmond ordered. Oh, no, he didn’t. No he didn’t.

“Excuse me,” I said in my most saccharine sweet voice. “
We
will not take the veal.
I
will have the eggplant parmesan.” Now, I was not a vegetarian, but I found perverse pleasure in ordering vegetables in front of self-obsessed people like Edmond Winters. Especially ones who ordered veal. Even more so for ones who ordered veal for me like I was some helpless, brainless twit.

I gave Edmond another fake smile and took a sip of wine for fortification. I had a feeling I was going to need a lot of fortification before this date was over.

He did not smile back. In fact he looked extremely put out. Fine. Let him get his panties in a bunch. Nobody treated Morgan Bailey like a second-class citizen. Especially some jerk that thought he was superior to everyone else, including his date. What was my mother thinking?

The meal dragged on with Edmond yammering nonstop about his job, his car, his health club, his money. Frankly, I tuned him out after the first two minutes. The only reason I didn’t get up and walk out was my mother. My mother would be heartbroken if I didn’t give this one a chance. She was convinced I would die an old maid. I really didn’t see what was so terrible about that, but as far as she was concerned, it was a fate worse than death. As far as I was concerned, the only bad thing about being single was the lack of sex.

“So, what do you do for a living?”

“Huh?” Had he actually asked a question? About me?

“Your job. What do you do?” It was obvious he didn’t think I did anything interesting and that he really didn’t care. His eyes were scanning the dining room while he fiddled with his lapel.

I didn’t mean to do it. It just sort of came out. “I kill vampires.”

He blinked and shoved his glasses up his nose. “Excuse me?”

I took a big gulp of wine. Shit. “Vampires. You know … the blood sucking undead. I kill them. For a living. Demons, too.”

For the first time that evening he looked unsure. Maybe even a little scared. I could just imagine the tales he’d have for the office come Monday.

“You kill vampires.”

“That’s what I said.” I smiled sweetly and took another quick gulp of wine.

He looked frantically around the room, probably for our waiter. Or maybe a straight jacket. The general public was not in the know when it came to things like vampires. People like me were well aware of the existence of such creatures, as were the members of certain government agencies and a few conspiracy freaks. People like Edmond Winters were not. “Um, right. OK. That’s great. And how is that working out for you?”