Obsidian Butterfly - Laurell K. Hamilton [148]
I squirmed in the seat, but finally nodded.
Bernardo smiled happily. “And you’re doing a vampire that has been having sex for over four hundred years.” He suddenly sounded faux-British. “Can one assume that he is well-skilled by now?”
The blush that had been fading came back with a burn. I’d almost have welcomed darkness to hide behind. “Yes,” I said.
“Shit, girlfriend, I may be good, but I’m not that good. I am just a poor mortal boy. I can’t compete with the lord of the undead and the wolfman.”
We were in a section of town that seemed nearly deserted. Gas stations with bars on the windows and graffiti spread across everything like a contagious disease. The storefront across from it had boarded up windows and more graffiti. The afternoon was still thick with reflected sunlight, but somehow the light didn’t quite reach the street, as if there was something here that kept it at bay. The skin on my back crept so hard, I jumped.
“What’s wrong?” Bernardo asked.
I shook my head. My mouth was suddenly dry. I knew we had arrived before he called out, “There it is, Los Duendos, the dwarves.”
The air was thick and oppressive with the weight of magic. Death magic. Either they had just killed something to gain power for a spell or they were actively working with the dead right at this very moment. Since the sun was still up, that was a trick. Most animators couldn’t raise the dead until after dark. Theoretically, I am powerful enough to raise the dead at high noon, but I don’t. I was told once that the only reason I couldn’t do it was that I believed I couldn’t do it. But Nicandro Baco didn’t seem to share my doubts. Maybe I wouldn’t be the biggest fish after all. Now I got an attack of the doubts. Too late to get Edward down here for backup. If Baco got a whiff of police, he’d either run, be uncooperative, or try to hurt us. His power breathed along my body, and I was still sitting in the car. What was he going to be like in person? Bad. How bad? As the old saying goes, only one way to find out.
36
I’D PULLED INTO a deserted parking lot about two blocks down and around the corner from the bar. Ramirez had pulled in beside me, and he and the uniform, Officer Rigby, walked over to us. Rigby was medium height, well built, and moved like he worked out. He had an easy confidence, and a ready smile that went all the way to his eyes. He was entirely too comfortable in his own skin, as if nothing really bad had ever touched him. He lacked entirely that air that most policemen have of having been ridden hard and put up wet. He looked older than I was, but his eyes were younger, and I resented that.
Ramirez had spent his drive time checking out Nicandro Baco, alias Nicky Baco. He was suspected of murders, but witnesses had a strange way of disappearing or forgetting what they’d seen. He was associated with a local biker gang, ah, club. Biker gangs now preferred the more politically correct term of club, according to Ramirez. The local “club” was called Los Lobos. “Not to be confused with the music group,” Ramirez said.
I’d blinked at him. Then I got the joke. “Oh, yeah, Los Lobos, the music group.”
He looked at me. “Are you all right?”
I nodded. Even two blocks away I could feel a touch of Baco’s magic. I was betting if someone took the time, they’d find spells, charms, wards, set up here and there in the surrounding area. I didn’t think he was aware of me yet. I think the only reason I’d sensed him so strongly was he was in the middle of a spell. The charms were scattered around the neighborhood to give off a certain unease. He might have literally driven the other businesses out of business. Illegal, as well as unethical. Of course, why he’d want to destroy the entire economy of the area surrounding his bar was a mystery to me. I’d worry about it later. Murder and mayhem first. Possible real estate scam later. Some days you just have to prioritize.
“The Lobos are small and local, but they’ve got a bad rep,” Ramirez said.
“How bad?” I asked.
“Drug running, murder, murder for hire,