Hunters slept in the Cellars for any number of reasons, but one of the biggest was that they needed a place to hide. “Do I need to ask?” She waved at Vivek as he headed down the ramp to his transport.
“It involves Janvier, a handwritten sign, and large quantities of honey. That’s all I’m permitted to say.”
Snickering at the images that sprang into her mind at the mention of the Cajun vamp Ashwini seemed to spend half her life hunting, Elena said, “So, where do you need me?”
“Delancey Street, right under the Williamsburg Bridge. DB, might’ve been vampire-bit multiple times, but cops say there’s so much damage they can’t really tell. Should be a simple assignment.”
Her spine turned into a steel rod. “I don’t need to be coddled, Sara.”
“Don’t give me lip.” Snapped-out words. “You’re not back to full hunting strength, and if I’d had anyone else, I wouldn’t have sent you into Boston yesterday. Use the downtime you have to get back into shape, or I’ll be putting you on penny-ante assignments involving idiots who think they can break their Contracts after a measly year or two.”
Elena winced. “Mean.”
“That’s why I earn the big bucks.”
Glancing into the office area, Elena saw that Gwendolyn and the girls seemed to be finishing up. “I’ll probably be about twenty-five minutes.”
“Cops’ll hold the scene.”
The cops had not only held the scene, they’d quarantined it behind so much yellow crime-scene tape it might as well have been a fence.
“Fuck me.” The uniform closest to Elena shoved back his cap and stared as she landed on the lush green of the parklike area beneath the bridge. “They real?”
She couldn’t help it. “Nah, costume-shop rejects.”
He narrowed his eyes, stared some more before a big-shouldered plainclothes detective came between him and Elena. “Welcome back, Ms. Deveraux.”
“Nice to be back, Detective Santiago.” Shooting the veteran cop a genuine smile, she nodded at the crime-scene tape. “Slight overkill don’t you think?”
Santiago rubbed his jaw, solid as a boxer’s and bristly with salt-and-pepper stubble that was even more apparent against skin the color of dry tobacco leaves. “Rookie.” He lifted up a section that had enough leeway that she could duck under even with her wings. “He freaked—first DB. It’s not as bad as some I’ve seen though.”
Elena had to fight not to let the detective’s words kick her into a past that refused to stay buried. She’d freaked at her first dead body, too. The only difference was, she’d been ten years old, and the body had been that of her sister Mirabelle. Long-legged Belle, who’d played ball and danced with the same athletic grace. Belle, whose legs Slater had shattered into so many pieces that she’d never have been able to do either again even if she’d lived.
“Could be a human psycho”—Santiago’s deep voice jerked her back into the present—“but after the things I’ve seen in my career, I’ve learned to check.”
Walking carefully down the slight slope, Elena followed the scent of blood almost to the water’s edge. She’d half expected the victim to be wet or semisubmerged, but the teenage girl lay dry in the long grasses in a shadowy corner beneath the bridge. Dry except for the blood. It coated her from head to toe, leaving bare glimpses of skin of such a pale hue, it appeared made of tissue.
Santiago, having navigated the slope with a little less grace, his black loafers slipping on the grass, blew out a breath. “Just a kid.”
Elena tried not to let the girl’s youth matter, tried not to see her sisters Belle and Ariel in the victim’s coltish form. It was hard. With her thick, dark hair and summer dress patterned with forget-me-nots, she looked like a pagan sacrifice lying there caressed by the waving strands of grass. Then the wind shifted, bringing with it the scent of death, and the illusion shattered. “Yeah.”
“Ready to do your bloodhound thing?”
“Yes.” Finding her footing in work, she took a deep breath. Frowned. “Unusual number of vampiric scents in the area.” The entire section was drenched in notes as diverse as cotton-wood and lime, to bitter black tea with sprinkles of sea salt, and sticky strands of taffy. Those weren’t the only things she caught in the air. Oh. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a make out spot.”
Santiago raised his head. “Hey, Brent! You owe me ten bucks!”
“Aw, shit.”
Elena felt her lips quirk. Guilt threatened. How dare she smile while a girl lay dead at her feet? Elena fought that voice—fact was, you had to distance yourself somehow at these scenes or they’d eat away at you until there was nothing left. “You betting on me now?”
Santiago winked. “Another rookie. Like taking candy from a baby.” Putting his hands on his hips, he pushed back his jacket in that way men had of doing, and said, “Lot of the young vamps hang out here, along with their human partners. We keep an eye on things, but they’re harmless for the most part—like to party a bit and, yeah, make out.”
“Huh.” Elena realized she hadn’t been around any vampires that young since she woke from the coma. “Well, that’s going to cause a problem unless the perpetrator—if he was a vampire—left enough of a trace behind on her that I can conclusively separate out his scent.”
Pulling on the latex gloves she’d grabbed from a kit at Guild Academy—because while she might be immune to disease, she didn’t much enjoy dipping her fingers in blood and other bodily fluids—she hunkered down beside the body. Not a young girl who liked forget-me-nots and wore a pretty summer dress in spite of the nip in the air. Not someone with the long legs of a dancer. Just a body. “Can I touch?” she asked, fighting to maintain the emotional distance.