S. Harper - Cursed

“What is it?”

“You’ll see when you get home. Trust me, you’ll like it.”

When she passes the bag to me, there’s a rustle of fabric. This must be the dress Liz mentioned I could borrow. This is so Liz. Her world could be falling apart and she’s thinking about what I’m going to wear to the party.

“I won’t go if you want me to stay here with you,” I tell her, pushing the bag away.

“No.” Her reply is quick, adamant. “My place is here. But you go. If anyone at Green Leaf is in any way involved in Evan’s disappearance, you can find out.” The look she sends me telegraphs that she knows I can find out, that she expects me to do whatever it takes, that she’s certain I will.

“Should I call the police?” she asks then.

“Wait a little while longer,” Zack says. “We’re doing everything possible right now. Let’s see how things play out and keep one another posted.”

She sighs and walks us to the door. Zack goes ahead and I pause to give Liz one last hug.

She pulls away. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She turns back to the coffee table and slips a piece of paper out of a folder lying there. “A list of Blood Emporiums.”

I glance at it. “Looks pretty complete. Who’s your source?”

She shrugs. “A longtime client. He circled the one in the Gaslamp, the one he thought you might be interested in.” Her mouth twists in a weary frown. “Ironic, isn’t it, Emma? Yesterday I wasn’t sure how I felt about Evan. Today I’d give my life to see him back home safe. With me.”

I smile and touch her cheek. “He will be. And the good news is now you know. You have your answer.”

• • •

I toss the garment bag into the backseat of the car. I can wait until I get home to see the dress. It’s the piece of paper Liz handed me that has my attention—a computer-generated list of all of San Diego’s Blood Emporiums with the names of each one’s cover business and address.

“Check this out.” I hold up the paper so Zack can see.

“Wicked Ink?” It’s circled in red. The address is around Fifth and J Street.

“Michael Dexter found a receipt dated the day Isabella disappeared. He said she used to pick up her blood supply from a Blood Emporium in the Gaslamp. I think this might be it.”

Zack gives the list a quick once-over. “This looks like a list of all of the Emporiums in San Diego County. Information like this isn’t easy for an outsider to come by. Where did Liz get it?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. A friend of Evan’s maybe? But I think it’s worth paying this Wicked Ink a visit. Someone there might have been the last person to see Isabella before she disappeared.”

Zack’s expression clouds over with worry.

“What are you thinking?” I ask him.

“Some of the old guard have been targeting the Emporiums. They aren’t happy with the number of vampires who are mainstreaming. They fear it’s a sign the culture is collapsing.”

“But they’ve been sanctioned by those in power, right?”

“That’s the case here in the West. My understanding is that there’s quite a bit of dissension between the four American sovereigns. The new Southern king is vehemently opposed. He’s been spewing all sorts of new rhetoric. Or should I say old rhetoric? He wants the Emporiums shut down.”

I haven’t kept up with vampire politics. “I didn’t even know there was a new Southern king. When did this happen?”

“Eight, maybe nine months ago. He started by levying outrageous taxes, driving up the price of blood in his territory until it’s practically unaffordable, both for those buying and selling. There’s a huge propaganda machine behind the movement. The Emporiums are like a lifeline to mainstreamed vampires. They’re what allow them to function and integrate into society. Shutting down the Emporiums would have the same impact on vampires that shutting down every grocery store would have on humans.”

“Then why on earth is the Southern king doing it?”

“Because it’s more difficult to oppressively rule people who are independent. He talks about giving control back to the vampires. Of supporting their taking what’s rightfully theirs instead of lining the pockets of the elite few and kowtowing to humans. I think what he’s really after is a return to the old ways. Some of the zealots have started to move into other territories. I’ve heard reports that Emporiums in New Mexico and Arizona have been torched. I’ve even heard they’ve gone so far as to kidnap and torture patrons. It seems they might be working their way west.”

“Like here? Southern California? Do you think that’s why we have three missing vampires?”

Zack shrugs. “It’s something else to check out.”

And something else to complicate an already complicated case. I glance at Zack. “How do you know so much about it?”

Zack avoids my eyes. “My former pack has close ties with the Southern king.”

“One of the reasons you parted ways?” I ask.

I get a curt nod. Then he closes down. I see it in the set of his shoulders, the tightness of his jaw. He starts the car and pulls onto the street.

I clear my throat. “Hate crimes against vampires by other vampires. What’s next?”

If Zack has an answer to that question, he keeps it to himself. We decide to split up. I’ll go to the Blood Emporium alone and Zack will go back to the office to take a second look at Amy’s and Isabella’s financial records. When we looked the first time, we were searching for evidence that the two women were patients of Dr. Barakov. This time he’s going to look for contributions to Green Leaf.

Soon I’m on my way to Wicked Ink. The first order of business will be to see if I can persuade anyone to acknowledge that an Emporium’s housed there. If I get that far, I’ll ask to speak to someone in charge. For obvious reasons, getting a warrant is out of the question. This is going to be up to me and my powers of persuasion.

Parking in the Gaslamp District is always a hassle. There’s a road crew working on Fifth Avenue, which makes the predictably busy traffic even worse. I’ve been moving at a snail’s pace but making progress. Until now.

Now I find myself stuck behind a black sedan that’s decided to stop right in front of my destination—Wicked Ink. It’s just large enough so that it blocks the lane, has tinted windows all around like so many others these days, much like the one I saw at Evan’s place this morning. The light up ahead changes, but it still doesn’t move. I honk. The driver gets out.

“I’ll be damned.”

It isn’t like the car I saw at Evan’s. It is the car I saw at Evan’s. The driver glances back at me, not with the slightest hint of apology or even curiosity. His eyes flick my way; then he turns his back on me and holds open the rear door. The passenger gets out and heads inside. Again, there is a distinct moment of hesitation on his part. But he doesn’t look back. I can’t see his face. Is he the one who gave Liz the list I have in my pocket? If I can convince him to talk to me, he might have information about Isabella. He might even have a sense about whether the conflicts Zack mentioned have anything to do with the disappearances of Amy, Isabella, or Evan. They were all mainstreamed. Could it be they were all getting their blood here? Are they targets of the faction who wish to see the Emporiums closed?

The sedan is once again on the move. Traffic opens up and I luck out. There’s a parking space just around the corner on J Street. I park, then hurry to catch up with the man in black.

The bell over the door rings as I walk into the shop.

It’s not at all what I expected.

For a tattoo parlor, Wicked Ink has one fancy reception area. To my right is a large, round dining room table, surrounded by high-back red velvet chairs and piled high with black leather-bound books and two sterling silver candelabras. Each holds half a dozen black candles, all lit. There are more candles blazing in the standing candelabras that line the north and south walls. The walls and ceiling are padded, tufted, and covered with an elegant black on black brocade, the floors a dark polished wood. A series of ornate silver-framed floor-to-ceiling mirrors covers the east wall across from me. I see myself reflected in several of them.