Брайан Макклеллан - Blood Tally

“What’s the other two percent?”

“Say the password, and they add a watered-down shot of blood to your root beer float.”

“Ew.”

“Ew to me and you, yeah. Like crack cocaine to a thrall. Drinking straight blood will make them sick, but watered down … I’m told it tastes like candy to them. It’s a side effect of the contract they sign with their master.”

While Zeke talked, I opened a map on my phone and typed in the name of the place. There were three within an hour drive. One down in Akron, one in Bedford, and one in Parma Heights. “All right, thanks for the tip.”

“Are you working a runaway?” Zeke asked. “Isn’t that normally Jose and Karen?”

I grimaced. “Special circumstance. Keep it quiet for me, will ya? Oh, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about the espresso machine you owe me. Going on three months now, man.”

“I haven’t had any good ones come through,” Zeke protested. “I promised you a good one, and what Zeke promises, Zeke delivers.”

“Sure he does. Have a good one, Zeke.” I hung up and checked the map on my phone again. It was time to do some serious footwork.

I began with the Sip’n’Bite in Parma, then headed down to Akron, and worked my way back up to Bedford. I got nothing from the first two, showing off Michael’s high school photo to the customers and staff. There wasn’t a flicker of recognition from anyone. I felt my chances lagging when I found the Sip’n’Bite in a generic strip mall well off the highway in Bedford. I entered just before close. A couple young teenagers were flirting badly in one corner while the sole employee swept the floor with that dejected look on his face that you can only get working eight hours of customer service. I showed the photo to the lovebirds first.

Both of them shook their heads, but out of the corner of my eye I saw the employee’s head whip around to stare at me. He looked down quickly, but it was too late. He damn well recognized that name, and I knew it now.

I played it casual, thanking the teenagers and then turning around. The employee fled behind the order counter, staring at the floor as he began to empty the trash bins. He was tall and gangly, with a face pockmarked with acne. He had a mop of long, brown hair. He could have been anywhere from eighteen to twenty-five. I cleared my throat loudly, drumming my fingers on the order counter, and he flinched. Wiping his hands on his apron, he came over to me.

“Welcome to Sip’n’Bite, home of the triple-fried chili cheese fingers. What can I get you to sip today, sir?”

I genuinely almost laughed. The poor guy looked like a whipped dog standing there on the other side of the counter. I pretended to peruse the menu, then pulled out the photo of Michael and set it in front of him. “Sorry to bother you at work, bud, but I’m trying to find a guy named Michael Pavlovich. Do you know him?”

“Never seen him before,” he muttered.

He telling the truth? I asked Maggie. There was no answer, though I could feel her presence like someone looking over my shoulder. Despite her earlier apology, she was still mad at me. I decided not to start a fight in my own head. Besides, I was still enough of a professional to know when someone is so obviously uncomfortable with my questions. “That’s more convincing if you make eye contact with the photo,” I said gently, checking his name tag. It said, in cheerful Comic Sans, Hi, my name is BYRON. “Byron, do I actually have to know the password to get the blood in my drink, or can I just ask you for it?”

Byron swallowed hard, staring at anything but me like I was a cop who had just found weed in his glove compartment. “I’m not sure what you mean, sir.” His voice trembled.

“Seriously?” I rolled my eyes. “Look, I’m just trying to find Michael. He was reported missing yesterday. I heard he hangs out here.”

Byron’s face screwed up and he looked down at the picture. “He doesn’t hang out here,” he finally said.

“But you do know him?”

Byron looked over his shoulder, even though the kitchen behind him was obviously empty. He remained silent, and it took me a few moments to realize he was waiting for the flirty teens behind me to make their exit. Once they’d stumbled out the front door, hands all over each other, he let out a trembling sigh. “You a PI or something?”

“Or something,” I responded vaguely.

That seemed to be enough for him. “He’s not in trouble, is he?”

“Just missing,” I assured. “I’m trying to find him.”

“It’s just … he’s my cousin. Well, second cousin once removed, technically. I don’t want anything to happen to him.”

I considered the list I’d stolen from the OtherOps database. Byron’s name hadn’t been on it. I was willing to bet his family name was, though. “You think something bad has happened?”

Byron seemed surprised by the question. “I … I don’t think so. I mean I just don’t want him getting in shit deep. I’m kinda, you know …” He trailed off and returned to looking uncomfortably at the floor.

“I don’t know.” This kid is all over the place, I told Maggie. Was I like this when we met?

Only around women, Maggie broke her silence curtly.

I snorted, covering it up by wiping my nose. I removed a roll of twenties from my pocket – my “light bribe” stash – and peeled off a few, sliding them across the counter. “Can you explain to me what you’re worried about, Byron?”

Byron made those twenties disappear quickly. They seemed to give him a little strength. He licked his lips, nodded to himself, then said, “Look, I’m worried about the Mike. And I feel bad.”

“About?”

“He’s had a hard time of things. You know, with Boris. I’m the one who introduced them, so I feel kind of responsible.”

That caught my attention. “How did you introduce them?”

“Mike was hanging out at the Sip’n’Bite in Parma. I was working there as a summer job – you know, family business and all. Boris would come in scouting for thralls. Took a shine to Mike.”

“Has Boris hurt him?”

“What? No, not that I know. But Mike is a sensitive guy. It would be easier on him if Boris just beat him once in a while, but that’s against the Rules, so Boris just … yells a lot.”

“You know Boris well?”

“Enough. He courted me as a thrall back during my senior year. Ended up taking on Mike instead. Man, I was jealous too. Super jealous. Didn’t realize how big of a dick Boris could be. I dodged a bullet.”

I could feel Maggie hanging out in the back of my head, quietly listening to the conversation, quietly judging my entire part in this. I hated it, but I kept my professional face on. “Do you think something has happened to Michael?”

“Honestly? No idea. He’s smarter than most people give him credit for. Came in here two days ago asking to borrow some money. My dad owns this place, so I lent him a hundred bucks out of the register. Been having a feeling like I’m not going to get that money back, though …” He trailed off, staring at my hand still holding the roll of twenties. I peeled off five more and slid them over.

“Consider Mike’s debt paid.”

Relief crossed Byron’s face. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem.” It was Lord Ruthven’s money, not mine. “Any idea where he went after you gave him the cash?”

“No, sorry. He refused to say. Look, I’ve got to finish up. My dad will chew me out if I don’t close on time tonight.”

Maggie made no comment, so I took it as truth. “All right, thanks for your help.” I reached into my endless wallet – one of my favorite magical items that lets me carry around anything I can fit through the opening – and produced a fake business card. It said, Alex Frome, Private Investigator , and gave a number that routed to my real one. “If you see him again, could you call my number? He’s got some people very worried about him.”