Лорел Гамильтон - Obsidian Butterfly

He opened his mouth as if to argue, but Edward cut him off. "Do it."

Bernardo did it.

When they were all at the other end of the room, I put the gun up.

Edward had an armful of cardboard box. It was overbrimming with files. He set it down on the tabletop.

"You didn't even have a gun," Olaf said.

"I didn't need one," Edward said.

Olaf pushed past Edward to the hallway beyond. I hoped he was going pack and leave, but doubted we'd get that lucky. I hadn't known Olaf for hour, and I already knew why he was no one's sweetie.

A MURDER ALWAYS BREEDS a lot of paper, but a serial murder, you can drown in the paperwork. Edward, Bernardo, and I were swimming upstream. We'd been at it for about an hour, and Olaf hadn't come back. Maybe he had decided to pack up and go home. Though I hadn't heard any doors or cars, but I wasn't sure how soundproof the house was. Edward didn't seem bothered by Olaf's absence, so I didn't give it much attention either. I had read one report through back to front. One to get an overview and see if anything jumped out at me. One thing did. There were slivers of obsidian in the cut up bodies. An obsidian blade, maybe. Though we were in the wrong part of the world for it, or were we?

"Did the Aztecs ever get up this far?" I asked.

Edward didn't treat it like a weird question. "Yes."

"So I'm not the first one to point out the obsidian clue might mean Aztec magic?"

"No," he said.

"Thanks for telling me that we're looking for some sort of Aztec monster."

"The locals cops talked to the leading expert in the area. Professor Dallas couldn't come up with any deity or folklore that would account for these murders or the mutilations."

"You sound like you're quoting. Is there a report around here somewhere?"

He looked out over the mound of papers. "Somewhere."

"Isn't there an Aztec deity that the priests skinned someone as an offering, or is that Mayan?"

He shrugged. "The good professor couldn't make a connection. That's why I didn't tell you. The police have been looking into the Aztec angle for weeks. Nothing. I brought you down here to think different thoughts, not follow old ones."

"I'd like to talk to the professor all the same. If that's okay with you." I made sure he got the sarcasm.

"Look at the reports first, try to find what we've missed, then I'll introduce you to Professor Dallas."

I looked at him, trying to read behind those baby blues and failing as usual. "When do I get to see the professor?"

"Tonight."

That raised my eyebrows. "Gee, that is quick, especially since you think I'm wasting our time."

"She spends most nights in a club near Albuquerque."

"She, being Professor Dallas," I said.

He nodded.

"What's so special about this club?"

"If your career was Aztec history and mythology, wouldn't you just love to interview a real live Aztec?"

"A live ancient Aztec in Albuquerque?" I didn't try and keep the surprise out of my voice. "How?"

"Well, maybe not live," he said.

"A vampire," I said.

He nodded again.

"Has this Aztec vamp got a name?"

"The Master of the City calls herself Itzpapalotl."

"Isn't that like an Aztec goddess?" I asked.

"Yes, it is."

"Talk about delusions of grandeur." I was watching his face, trying to catch a hint. "Did the cops talk to the vamp?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"She wasn't helpful."

"You didn't believe her, did you?"

"Neither did the cops. But she was on stage at her club during at least three of the murders."

"So she's cleared," I said.

"Which is why I want you to read the reports first, Anita. We've missed something. Maybe you'll find out what, but not if you keep looking for Aztec bogeymen. We raised that rock, and as much as the police would like it to be the Master of the City, it isn't."

"So why the offer to take me down to see her tonight?"

"Just because she's not doing the murders, doesn't mean she can't have information that could help us."

"The police questioned her." I made it a statement.

"Yeah, but funny how vampires don't like talking to the police, and how much they like talking to you."

"You know you could have just told me that we were seeing the Master Vamp of Albuquerque tonight."

"I wasn't going to take you down there tonight unless you got bitchy about it. I was actually hoping you wouldn't make the Aztec angle until you'd read everything first."

"Why?"

"I told you, it was a blind alley. We need new ideas. Things we haven't thought of, not things the police have already crossed off the list."

"But you haven't crossed this Itza-whatever off your list, have you?"

"The goddess will let you call her by her English translation, Obsidian Butterfly. It's also the name of her club."

"You think she's involved, don't you?"

"I think she knows something that she might share with a necromancer, but not a vampire executioner."

"So I go down off duty, so to speak."

"So to speak."

"I'm Jean-Claude's human servant, one third of his little triumvirate of power. If I go visiting the Master of this City without police credentials, then I'll have to play vamp politics. I hate vamp politics."

Edward looked out over the table. "When you've read your hundredth witness report tonight, you may change your mind. Even vampire politics look good after reading enough of this shit."

"Gee, Edward, you sound almost bitter."

"I'm the monster expert, Anita, and I don't have a fucking clue."

We looked at each other, and again I had the sense of his fear, his helplessness, things that Edward just didn't feel. Or so I'd thought.

Bernardo came in with a tray of coffees. He must have caught something in the air because he said, "Did I miss something?"

"No," Edward said, and he went back to the papers in his lap.

I stood and started sorting papers. "You haven't missed anything yet."

"I just love being lied to."

"We're not lying," I said.

"Then why is the tension level so high in here?"

"Shut up, Bernardo," Edward said.

Bernardo didn't take it as an insult. He just shut up and handed out the coffee.

I sorted out all the witness reports I could find, then spent the next three hours reading them. I'd read one report back to front and found out nothing the police and Edward hadn't known weeks ago. Now I was looking for something new, something that the police, Edward, the experts they'd called in, nobody had found. It sounded egotistical, but Edward seemed sure I'd find it, whatever it was. Though I was beginning to wonder if it was confidence in me or sheer desperation on Edward's part that made him so sure I'd find something. I'd give it my best shot, and that was all I could do.

I looked down at several stacks of witness reports and settled in to read. I know most people read each report in full, or almost in full, then move to the next, but in a serial crime you were looking for a pattern. On serial murders I'd learned to divide the files up into parts: all the witness statements, then all the forensic reports, then the pictures of the crime scene, etc … Sometimes I did the pictures first, but I was putting it off. I'd seen enough in the hospital to make me squeamish. So the pictures could wait, and I could still do legitimate work on the case without having to see all the horrors. Procrastination with a purpose, what could be better?

Bernardo kept making us all coffee and continued to play host, going back and forth when the coffee ran low, offering food, though we both declined. When he brought me my umpteenth cup of coffee, I finally asked, "Not that I'm not grateful, but you didn't strike me as the domestic type, Bernardo. Why the perfect host routine? It's not even your house." He took the question as an invitation to move closer to my chair until his jean-clad thigh was touching the arm, but it wasn't touching me so that was fine. "You want to ask Edward to go for coffee?"