Pure Blood_ A Nocturne City Novel - Caitlin Kittredge [68]
“Sure,” I said. “Tell yourself that if it makes things easier to mask.”
“Please go,” said Shelby politely, lifting her magazine again. “I’m tired and in a lot of pain.”
“I’m going to figure out who did this,” I said. “Whether you help me or not.”
Shelby didn’t reply.
I left the hospital in a pissed-off state that was rare even for me. So my partner was no help, and probably hated my guts even more than she had at the beginning of our dysfunctional little alliance. Nobody who knew anything would talk to me. Not only was I an outsider, I hated magick to my core and it probably showed.
Of course, I realized almost immediately that I was being stupid. There was a witch who would help me, if only out of his own desires for vengeance. It would have to be good enough for now.
In my car he appeared to me, a flare of gold in the rearview mirror. I swerved and almost went off the overpass on the Appleby Expressway. “Hex me!”
“What are you running toward, Insoli?”
“Leave me alone!” I shouted at Asmodeus, pulling over and putting on my blinkers.
“The Skull of Mathias is not your provenance, Insoli. You will bring down exactly what you seek to hide from if you go toward it.”
“Cryptic much?” I snapped at him. Where was a good exorcist when you needed one?
“I am drawn to convergences, Insoli, and one is happening as we speak. Dark magick. Magick that kills. You would do well to stay away.”
Before I could shout at him to leave again, a tractor-trailer blew by with its horn blaring. Wind rattled the Fairlane and when I looked back into the rear seat Asmodeus was gone.
“Hex me,” I muttered again as I tried to stop my hands from shaking. The tight sense in my chest, the sense that Asmodeus had been right, eased after a few minutes and I drove on.
After all, everyone knew you couldn’t trust a daemon.
The Blackburns’ building didn’t look any better in daylight. In fact, I could see the cracked brick and peeling paint and garbage all over the sidewalk, so it was measurably worse.
I pounded on the door and got the same surly guard, in what was probably the same ugly mesh shirt and studded jeans. “I need to see Victor,” I said. “It’s urgent.”
He raised an eyebrow at me, but stepped aside without comment and pointed up the stairs. “Be my guest. Cop,” he added as an afterthought. I had the feeling I was supposed to be insulted, but didn’t dwell on it.
Scratchy classical music drifted from the top floor of the apartments, and I pushed open the door to see Victor nodding in his armchair. He looked very old, used up and spat out by the power that ran in his blood.
The moment my foot landed inside the door, his eyes snapped open and fixated on me. “Does anyone in your generation knock, Ms. Wilder?”
“Sorry,” I said without thinking. Once he was awake, the sheer force of his will animated his face and body with the intensity of a wildfire.
He sighed. “Never mind. Valerie’s running wilder by the day. Soon she’ll be exactly like you. Tea?”
I took my cue to sit down across from him. “Coffee, if you have it.”
Victor picked up an old-fashioned servant’s bell and jangled it, then sat back and steepled his fingers. “I take it you’re not here socially.”
“No,” I said. “But I am here asking a favor.”
He frowned. “You know, according to magickal law, I can—”
“You can compel a favor in return, I know,” I snapped. “What’ll it be?” Yet another reason I hated most witches. They’re so damn OCD about balance and favors and all that crap.
“I can, but I won’t,” said Victor patiently. “You don’t have anything I want.”
“Well… well, fine,” I said, blushing. “Don’t ask, then.”
“You don’t like witches very much, do you?” said Victor. I snorted.
“What gave you that idea?”
“I don’t blame you,” he said. “We’re an untrustworthy, self-serving, insular bunch.” The creepy servant came in and brought a tray of steaming mugs. Victor added sugar to his tea and sipped. I tried my coffee after a discreet sniff to make sure it wasn’t riddled