Page 133 of Nocturne

“What’s so funny?” Lena asks, noticing my expression.

“Just thinking about how quickly life changes,” I admit. “How normal this all feels now.”

She smiles, leaning over to press a kiss to my cheek. “Normal is what we make it. Speaking of, how are your parents? You were still talking to your father last night when I fell asleep.”

Ever since I learned about my true heritage, I’ve had a need to reach out to my parents. They still live alone in Chicago, though it seems they might need some extra care soon. I don’t want to put them in a retirement home, so I’m hoping to get them a nurse. At the very least, I plan to see them sometime this year. Dmitri has made me appreciate my parents more than ever before, and I should have stayed in touch with them more often than I have.

“They’re good. My mom found a new recipe and my dad will depressed until baseball begins.”

Just then Abe enters the kitchen, dressed in his usual immaculate fashion despite the early hour. “Good morning,lovebirds,” he greets, heading straight for the coffee. “House hunting again, I see.”

“You trying to get rid of us, Doc?” I ask, only half-joking.

He waves a dismissive hand. “My home is your home for as long as you need it. But I know how young couples value their privacy.” The twinkle in his eye suggests he’s heard more than enough of our nocturnal activities over the past weeks.

“Any news on Cohen?” Lena asks, mercifully changing the subject.

Abe’s expression grows more serious. “Nothing concrete. He’s keeping a low profile since the warehouse fire made the papers. Naturally it belonged to him. The official story about a gang dispute seems to have satisfied the authorities, but Mickey’s not taking chances.”

“Is he still looking for us?” I ask.

“For you two specifically? I doubt it.” Abe pours himself coffee, leaning against the counter. “He knows Marco isn’t coming back. But my sources say he’s afraid, though he’d never admit it. Too many of his men have disappeared. Too many questions without answers.”

“Good,” Lena says with quiet intensity. “Let him be afraid.”

I squeeze her hand, understanding the sentiment. Cohen had been complicit in the Ivanovs’ plans, whether he fully understood them or not. His organization had provided cover for their activities, facilitated their rituals, helped procure their victims. Elizabeth Short would likely still be alive if not for that unholy alliance.

“He’ll slip up eventually,” I say. “Men like Cohen always do.”

“And we’ll be waiting when he does,” Lena adds, her expression hardening momentarily before softening as she looks at me. “But first, we have a life to build.”

The simple declaration warms me in ways I’m still learning to accept. A life. Together. It seems impossible, yet here we are,planning for a future neither of us could have imagined months ago.

“Speaking of building,” Abe interjects, refilling his cup, “have you given any thought to your professional situation?”

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “The PI business is viable, though clients are scarce at the moment. Coleman’s kept my name out of official reports, but rumors spread in this town. Besides, according to the public, the Black Dahlia killer is still at large. I look like a bum who can’t solve anything.”

“And I’m not exactly rushing back to singing at mob clubs,” Lena adds dryly.

“Perhaps a change of direction for both of you,” Abe suggests, his tone deliberately casual. “Your combined skills could be quite valuable in certain circles.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Vampire detective agency? Solving supernatural crimes?”

Abe chuckles. “Not quite so dramatic, though not entirely off base. Our kind sometimes requires…discreet intervention in human affairs. Traces that need erasing, situations that need managing.”

“Vampire fixers,” Lena translates, a hint of amusement in her voice.

“If you like,” Abe concedes with a shrug. “It’s work that requires your investigative experience, Callahan, and Lena’s connections in the entertainment world. Plus the unique abilities you both possess.”

The proposition is intriguing. After decades of investigating human crimes, the prospect of applying those same skills to vampire concerns offers a certain poetic symmetry. And working alongside Lena rather than worrying about her safety at Cohen’s club appeals on multiple levels.

“We’ll think about it,” I tell him, exchanging a look with Lena that confirms her interest as well.

Our conversation is interrupted by a sharp knock at the front door. We all freeze, immediately alert. Abe’s colony is warded against uninvited visitors, its location known to only a handful of trusted vampires.

“Expecting company?” I ask quietly, already moving to position myself between the door and Lena.

Abe shakes his head, setting down his coffee cup. “Stay here,” he instructs, moving with preternatural grace toward the front of the house.

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