A Girl's Guide to Guns and Monsters - Martin Harry Greenberg [72]
“Over the phone?”
“Now,” Mike repeated. Years ago, Tony Foster had been Vicki’s best set of eyes and ears on the street. Then Henry fucking Fitzroy had gotten his bloodsucking undead self wrapped up in the kid’s life, and Tony’d headed out west with them while Henry taught Vicki how to handle the change. After Vicki’d come home, Tony’d stayed with Henry. Next thing Mike knew, Tony’d actually had the balls to walk away and make a life for himself—a life that included a job, a relationship, and magic. Real magic. Not rabbits out of a hat magic, that much Mike knew, but not much more. In all honesty, he hadn’t asked too many questions. Vicki was about all the it’s a weird new wonderful world he could cope with.
Tonight, his ability to cope with the fact Tony had gone all Harry Potter was moot. He needed to get Vicki and the kids back. Tony was the only one he knew who might be able to do it.
Who could do it.
“All right.” On the other end of the phone, Tony took a deep breath. “Was one of them a sixty-year-old Asian dude?”
“No, I told you . . .”
“I know what you told me but I had to check. That means the girl who opened the portal wasn’t actually a wizard; she just found a spell and had enough willpower and need to make it work. So all you have to do is repeat exactly what she did.”
Mike glanced around the mausoleum at the bowl and the candles and the chalked circles. “All I have to do?”
“Send me pictures of everything she used. As much detail as you can. Doesn’t matter how small or insignificant. I’ll run it through my database and see if I can identify the verbal portion.”
“You have a database for this sort of shit?”
“Yeah, well, I like my shit organized.”
“She burned a dead mouse.”
“She probably killed it first. Send me the pictures, then go looking for a mouse of your own.”
A mouse of his own? “Tony, where the fuck am I going to find a live mouse in Toronto at one in the morning?”
“No idea. You may have to use your badge and go all fake official business on a pet store owner.”
“I can’t . . .” He rubbed at his temples and sighed. “Yeah. Maybe. Pictures are on their way . . .”
The ruins were dry and didn’t smell too bad, and if something skittered away while Vicki checked the first floor, well, it was skittering away. Good enough. She let Ren maneuver her friends through the partially blocked entrance while she kept watch, then slipped in behind them.
The gaping windows threw patches of gray against the marble floor. Ren tucked the other two at the angle where the gray met a pile of fallen masonry. Hands clasped, knees drawn up to their chests, they stared out into the darkness and shuddered at every sound.
As Vicki moved past her, Ren grabbed her arm and snarled, “Leave them alone!”
The scent of blood was still too strong for Vicki to push the Hunger completely back, but she damped it down as far as she could before she turned. Not quite far enough if Ren’s reaction was any indication but, in spite of a surge of fear so intense Vicki could all but taste it, the girl maintained her grip and repeated, “Leave them alone!”
“I’m not going to hurt them.”
Ren snorted. “Yeah, right.” She tipped her head to one side, exposing her throat. “Come on then. If you’re going to do it, do me.”
Tempting.
“Let’s table that offer until I have to feed,” Vicki sighed. If she hadn’t fed before meeting Mike at the cemetery, she doubted she’d have been able to tear her gaze away from the pulse throbbing hummingbird fast under the pale—and slightly grubby—skin. As it was, she glanced down at the fingers still clutching her arm and said, “Let go; I’m only going to put them to sleep. Give them a bit of a break from this place.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Because I’m asking you to, when I could be telling you to.”
“Oh. Right.”
When Ren released her, Vicki ignored the way