Pure Blood_ A Nocturne City Novel - Caitlin Kittredge [16]
“How…” I started, and then Shelby’s blood donor comment made sense. I could smell nothing but plain human from Stella and Dusty, but the gang sign outside and the big needle marks in Stella’s arm filled in the blanks. “You sell it to them,” I said, understanding. She nodded once.
“And it’s not illegal, so you can go now.”
Maybe not in the sense that cooking meth and stealing Ferraris was illegal, but selling human blood to witches definitely walked in the gray zone. And if the blood witch Stella was associated with allowed her to participate in workings as a reward for a ready supply of blood … that was just bad all around.
I helped Stella up and brushed my knees off. “Think very hard about what you’re doing here, Stella. You may not be a junkie, but you’re feeding addicts just like the dealer who sold Bryan his last shot.” If Bryan Howard had really died of an overdose at all.
“I know what I’m doing,” said Stella, her lips compressed. “We don’t push it to the gangs on the street. Dusty and I are respectable commodities.”
I couldn’t formulate a response to that one, so I murmured, “I’m very sorry for your loss,” and called to Shelby that it was time to go.
“She called herself a commodity,” I fumed to Shelby as we drove back to the precinct. “Like … like she was a freaking slave! And liked it!”
“She is a slave,” said Shelby in a tone that let me know she was entirely unbothered by Stella Howard’s plight. “Blood donors are like prostitutes, only worse, because they let blood magick happen as a result of their trafficking.”
I took my eyes off the road to study her. She was picking something out of one of her nails, then blew on them and examined the tips in the flickering road lights.
“You don’t care,” I said, not a question. Shelby crinkled her brow.
“Why should I? People like that deserve whatever comes to them. They debase themselves willingly.”
“I can see all that time in Vice did wonders for your outlook on the world,” I muttered.
“I’m a realist, Luna. I never would have pegged you as an idealist.” Her tone was lightly derisive, and I wanted to slam the brakes so her pert little nose bopped against the dashboard.
“I’m not a Hexed idealist,” I growled, and just to be difficult I continued, “I think Bryan Howard may not have died from an OD.”
“Of course he did,” said Shelby dismissively. “Once you dilute your blood with hard drugs you’re of no use to blood witches. He probably killed himself because he couldn’t be someone’s donor bitch any longer.”
She was one to talk about bitches. I had heard the cold academic tone Shelby used before, usually in talk directed at weres. It ran prickles of anger up and down my back, and I pressed the accelerator a little harder.
“A suicide still isn’t an accident,” I persisted. “I think we should look into it.”
“And I think we should close it so I can do some actual casework,” said Shelby. “Just because Morgan has you on a choke collar doesn’t mean I can’t make my bones on a real murder.”
The Twenty-fourth came up on my right and I popped the emergency brake, squealing the Fairlane to a stop at the curb. I reached over a jostled-looking Shelby and shoved her door open. “Out.”
She cocked her head. “Why should I get out here?”
“Because that’s the precinct house,” I said, “and if you don’t get your smug little buns out of my car I am going to slap you.”
“You take things way too personally,” Shelby told me as she collected her coat and climbed out. I took the brake off and revved the engine.
“What am I going to tell Morgan about you leaving?” Shelby demanded over the noise.
“Tell her to bite me,” I said, popping the clutch and roaring away.
CHAPTER 6
The Belladonna club hunkered behind Nocturne University, a ramshackle ex-brothel that had been outfitted with a stage, a bar, and questionable restrooms. On weeknights it was mostly scenester college kids, but weekends brought out some of the less wholesome crowd.
Still, a booking there meant local celebrity and Trevor’s band was doing a sound check when I walked in. I had left my