Bloodshot - Cherie Priest [12]
“Who on earth—or who in the military hierarchy, as the case may be—even believes in vam—” I almost said it, but caught myself because my voice was getting too loud. “In this day and age, I mean. I didn’t know anyone believed in us anymore, not really. Especially not anyone in the military. They seem like such a …” I started to say rational bunch, then became spontaneously aware of how idiotic it sounded.
“I didn’t know either,” he said, and the words were miserable.
I said, “Christ, man. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yank your chain, but that’s the craziest thing I’ve heard all week. Well, I don’t mean you’re crazy, obviously—I mean the situation is crazy—”
“I know what you mean, and I appreciate the sentiment. The situation is crazy, yes, and bizarre, and difficult to understand. God knows, I’ve spent years trying. I’ve played the game of Why Me? until I could hardly live with myself anymore, and I’ve gone digging around in every way I possibly can, trying to figure out why it happened.” This time, when the server came by with a helpful look on her face, he agreed to another glass.
I did not.
“So you want me to get my hands on these records—your medical records,” I amended. It sounded so strange, a vampire’s medical records. There couldn’t be many of those lying around.
“Yes. If Dr. Keene can see what procedures precisely were conducted, he might be able to reverse-engineer the process and restore some of my vision.” He added, “He’s been very kind and fair, and he urges me to keep my expectations reasonable.”
“Reasonable. That must be tough.”
“I’ll take what I can get.”
I heard a small sizzle in the air. Or I didn’t hear it exactly, but that’s the closest word I can grab for the experience. I caught a humming sound that wasn’t quite a sound—it was the buzz of Ian Stott communicating with the Seeing Eye ghoul. There was nothing urgent or rushed about it. I have to assume he was telling him everything was fine, and that I wasn’t going to whip out a sword and slice anyone in two right on the spot.
Cal gave a little nod and gathered his things. He paid his bill and left without so much as a wink or a smile in our direction.
“He’s very discreet,” Ian told me. “I found him as a graduate student out at the university, and I rather like him. He knows how to keep his head down and his mouth shut. He’s told me before that it’s his secret power, the ability to go unnoticed.”
I shrugged and said, “He’s pretty nondescript, and he certainly dresses to fit with the locals. All he needs is a band T-shirt and more facial hair, and I couldn’t pick him out of a crowd.”
“Like I said, he’s very discreet.” Ian was warming up as he was drinking down. It happens to the best of us, but I didn’t want it to happen to me, so I sent the somewhat pushy, somewhat hovering server away again when she tried to foist another glass onto our tab.
No false sense of security for me. For all I knew, Ian had also been the recipient of strange metabolic experiments that let him drink like an Irish sailor.
But just in case I was holding an actual advantage, I pushed the conversation back to business. “So tell me, Ian. What do I need to know in order to get started with this case?”
“We’re not going to talk money first?”
“No. Money will depend on the circumstances. And I hate to make the comparison here, but think of me as one of those expensive boutiques. If you have to ask about the cost, you probably can’t afford me.”
He grinned, almost exactly the same way I do—no teeth showing, just a tight pinch of the cheeks. Oh yes. The wine was relaxing him. “I can afford you. I asked as a matter of curiosity, not concern.”
From underneath the table he produced a sealed manila envelope. He slid it across the table, and I took it with a question-lifted eyebrow.
“Do I open this now?”
“You can if you like. Or save