Page 37 of Ophelia's Vampire

“Really? He’s agreed to talk? To go on record?”

“Not yet,” she says, undaunted. “But he will be. He’s young. In over his head. If my suspicions are right, he’s the weak link in all of this that made them back off their stupid fucking plan in the first place.”

“How can I help?”

Audra pauses for a moment, considering. “Surveil him? See if you can find out anything that might help us give him some… incentive to come clean.”

“Done.”

“And will it just be you on the case? Or should I know about another partner in the mix?”

The glint in her eyes lets me know it’s not an entirely innocent question. My stomach cramps a little knowing how small and tightly knit the paranormal community is even in a city as big as Boston.

Small enough, apparently, for news of Cas and me to have gotten around.

“I may have help.”

“Help from?”

“A friend,” I say, emphasizing the word.

“A friend with fangs, perhaps?”

Her eyes sparkle again, and I fight the urge to roll my own.

“A friend with connections that might help us get somewhere with all of this. And help me deal with the covens, if there are any issues.”

At that, the sparkle fades. “Be careful, yeah? I can’t prove it, but I got the distinct feeling I was being followed while I was reporting all this out the first time.”

My muscles tense, and it’s all I can do not to make a quick sweep of the market. I’ve felt safe enough, even after our disaster of a conversation with Marcus at the club, but it’s a good reminder to keep my guard up.

After a few more minutes of conversation about the case and staying in touch with any information we uncover, Audra and I go our separate ways out of the market. I head for the T, trying to ignore the prickling sensation that won’t quite leave me. Eyes on the back of my neck, the whisper of threat from the very real possibility there might be someone watching me, even now.

Head down and eyes to myself, I get on the train that will take me to a stop just a few blocks away from Casimir’s place, and thankfully don’t draw any undue attention during the ride, or as I leave the station and start the trek back. There’s a cold front on its way in. The afternoon is cloudy and blustery, the wind brisk as I walk down blocks of homes that get more and more opulent with each passing street.

Casimir’s is more ostentatious than almost any of the rest.

A huge, hulking, Gothic thing, I nearly laughed out loud when I first pulled up at its gates.

Becauseof courseit has gates.

Black, wrought-iron fencing surrounds the entire property, set into a dense neighborhood of homes that probably cost the equivalent of a small country’s GDP. The gates leading into the driveway are intricately designed, with iron vines and roses intertwining. Casimir gave me the keycode that opens them, and I glance up and down the street as I enter it. Finding no one else on the quiet sidewalk, I quickly swing it shut and make sure it re-locks behind me, starting up the drive to my van.

The house itself is beautiful. With an exterior of deep grey accented with black trim, and vibrant stained glass windows, it looks like something out of another time. As ancient and vaguelythreatening as the vampire who inhabits it, it took me a while to work up my courage to step inside for the first time.

But I’m only human, and after seeing the gorgeous guest bathroom on the first floor and the even more gorgeous kitchen that puts my mini-fridge and hot plate in the van to absolute shame, I was sold.

And now—chilled, and still a bit unsettled from my conversation with Audra—I’m powerless to keep myself from the temptation of a few hours of creature comfort before Cas gets home from wherever it is he goes all day.

I swing by the van then let myself in with the key Cas gave me, footsteps echoing in the vast foyer at the front of the house. The ceilings soar all the way to the third floor, and the space is edged by a grand, winding staircase that leads to a balconied landing on the story above.

Stopping in the middle of the room, I fight the temptation to go upstairs and snoop.

It would be unimaginably rude to stick my nose in Cas’s business when he’s been nothing but generous in letting me park here and take advantage of his hospitality.

So I should just stay downstairs.

I shouldn’t be so damned tempted to poke around a little, to see what the rest of this place is like. There’s absolutely no reason for me to wonder if he’s got a library filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves of ancient tomes, a vintage pipe organ, a coffin where he sleeps at night.

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