J Duncan - Deadworld

“You were fidgeting,” Jackie replied, unsure if she should be amused or worried. “Because of the whole ghost thing?”

Laurel shrugged. “Yeah. I’m just stressing on this case, that’s all. You know, chasing after people who may already be dead.” She smiled at Jackie, but Jackie didn’t buy it.

“You said earlier that you didn’t think they were actually dead-just felt that way.”

“I know, sounds crazy.”

“Yeah, it’s fruitcake crazy. Not supposed to be chasing after vampires. We aren’t supposed to do that kind of shit, but here we are.”

Laurel merely smiled back and nodded.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Laurel reached over and pounded briskly on the door. “I’m fine, damnit. Focus on the case.”

The door opened almost immediately, so fast that Jackie wondered if Shelby had been listening on the other side. “Agents Carpenter and Rutledge. Please come in.”

Said the spider to the flies. Jackie pushed down her nagging annoyance at the woman. It was her job to be somewhat objective, and it was more than the facade she always had going on. She got the feeling the woman was far more dangerous than she appeared. The information they had indicated little, other than that Hauser figured she had to be over one hundred years old. She had done a lot of things in her various incarnations, but nothing obviously illegal beyond some traffic violations and disturbing the peace.

Shelby wore knee-length black spandex and a University of Illinois T-shirt. A pale blue towel was draped around her neck, her wet hair pulled back into a ponytail.

“This a good time?” Laurel said.

Jackie wanted to smack her. Did it matter? She gave Laurel a stern glance and crossed the threshold. “Thanks. I’m glad you decided to speak with us, Ms. Fontaine. Your boss has been less than forthcoming.”

She laughed-a deep, throaty sound leaving no doubt about her amusement. “Nick has it down to an art, Agent Rutledge. He would prefer to tell you absolutely nothing or just enough to make you go away.”

The inside of Shelby’s apartment was an interesting contrast of old Chicago warehouse loft and Victorian England. The furnishings were all antiques, in pristine condition by the look of things, but Jackie was far from an expert on furniture. The place would be featured in some home magazine. The kitchen was partially enclosed on one side of the large space, with a bedroom loft above it. An enormous four-poster bed swathed in gauzy curtains shrouded the area in a cloudy haze. Above them, a large glass chandelier illuminated the space. Outside, Chicago’s wind whipped a light rain against the great wall of windows.

Shelby grabbed a gray sweatshirt off one of the sofas and walked toward the kitchen. “Anything to drink? I’ve got tea and water, but no coffee. Sorry, Agent Rutledge.” She flashed a charming smile over her shoulder at Jackie.

What the hell was that for? “Thanks. I’m sure I’ll manage.”

“Tea,” Laurel said, clearing her throat. “Tea is fine.”

“Earl Grey?”

“Um, yes. That’d be nice.”

Jackie turned to Laurel, a questioning eyebrow cocked up, but Laurel refused to look at her, instead sitting down on one of the pretty little sofas with its frilly throw pillows. Preferring to walk, Jackie kept slowly perusing the space, stopping to idly check on a Tiffany lamp or an old painting on the wall.

A few moments later, Shelby came out with a tray holding a lavishly painted tea set with a pot and two cups. It certainly struck an interesting contrast to the BMW-biker-chick motif she walked around with. Jackie didn’t give her time to stop serving. She was tired of waiting.

“Look, Ms. Fontaine,” Jackie said. “The tea is nice and all, but you said you had the whole story for us.”

Shelby dropped a cube of sugar into Laurel’s tea and handed the cup to her, her hand lingering on Laurel’s for just a moment longer than necessary. Laurel’s faint smile faltered for a second, but Shelby’s flashing teeth and full, lush lips brought it back. “Patience, Jackie. When you’ve been around as long as I have and lived with Nick Anderson, you learn to have some.”

Jackie took a deep breath. “Look, Ms. Fontaine. I don’t know how seriously you take this situation, but I do. I’ve got blood-drained children. I’ve got a suspect and his business partner slash former lover slash fiance slash whatever, who aren’t really what they appear to be. You and Mr. Anderson have given us nothing but bullshit from the outset, and one or both of you have been lying about this whole thing from the beginning. You tell me that you’re out hunting because there will be a next victim soon. Excuse me if I’m a little short on patience today.”

Shelby grinned at Jackie, and without turning back to face Laurel, said, “Is she always such a hard-ass?”

Laurel paused, assessing her reply. “Pretty much.”

“Explains why Nick finds her so appealing.”

Laurel nearly spit her tea back into her cup, and Jackie found herself momentarily speechless.

“What?” Jackie said.

“Appealing,” Shelby repeated, smirking at Jackie. “He likes you, Agent Rutledge. Your hard edges suit him.”

Jackie avoided glancing at Laurel, who she was sure had some smarmy look on her face. “You would think he’d be a bit more cooperative if he liked me, Ms. Fontaine. I hardly think there is any interest there.”

“If I’m going to help you, Agent Rutledge, you can start by calling me Shelby. I hate Ms. Fontaine. Makes me sound like a third-grade teacher.”

Jackie shrugged. “Fine. Shelby. So what’s the real story?”

Shelby took a deep breath and drank down the rest of her tea. Jackie studied her, wondering if she might be preparing the next round of lies or if indeed she meant to help. After she set down the teacup, Shelby looked up directly at her, those eyes glowing even brighter than Nick’s had. Laurel’s words about them being dead ran through her head, and Jackie looked away.

“First off, I’ll tell you that Nick has been silent in an effort to protect you, Agent Rutledge.”

“I don’t need protecting,” she said. “This is my job, Shelby. Not his.”

“Not just you. Laurel, too. Anyone not personally involved in this.”

Laurel inched forward toward Shelby, her hands steepled under her chin as if she were in prayer, attention riveted.

Jackie wondered what she could be doing. Maybe it was some kind of psychic thing. “Except we are involved. What makes this ghost so bad? He sounds much like any other psycho we’ve dealt with before.”

She gave Jackie a wry smile. “For one, he’s a vampire, not a ghost.”

Jackie ignored the sharp inhalation of breath from Laurel, who glanced up at her with a moment of “I told you so” fear.

“The FBI is pretty adept at handling even the worst cases. Drinking blood doesn’t come close to topping our list of worst-case scenarios.”

“That’s the least of your concerns,” she said.

“Well, why don’t you tell us what we should be concerned about then? It’s about time we got some real information out of you two.”

Shelby took a sip from her tea and then got up to walk around. “The man’s name is Cornelius Drake. At least, that’s the name he’s been going by. I don’t know what his real name is.”

The name didn’t ring any bells for Jackie. “Okay, we’ll check that out.”

“Like I said,” she continued, “he’s a vampire, meaning he needs to consume blood to stay alive. Without an adequate supply, he’d be as dead as the day he should’ve died.”

Shelby’s explanation lost her. “What do you mean that he should’ve died?”

Shelby continued pacing, making her way over toward the kitchen. “Some time in the past-who knows when-Cornelius Drake should have died. Something happened that was going to end his life, but he was able, through consuming blood, to draw upon the life force held within that blood to keep himself in the world of the living.”