“Felipe, what’s going on?”
“It’s my Reggie,” he huffed.
Pike and I shared a very déjà vu look. “What about Reginald?”
“He didn’t commit the suicide. He—he—he was murdered.” The admittance came out with another rash of hysterical tears and Pike rushed over.
“What do you mean he was murdered?”
I knew what I heard at the cocktail party, but Felipe’s crushed face was painful confirmation.
“I just came from the police station. They did the”—sniff—“the”—sniff—“autopsy. It came back positive. Or whatever you say. My Reggie was murdered!”
Pike snaked his arms in front of his chest. “First Reginald and now Emerson,” he said just under his breath. He shot me a sidelong glance and I knew exactly what he didn’t say: that I was next.
We spent the next twenty minutes listening as Felipe filled us in on what the police had told him—which wasn’t much. By the time he left the sun was dipping into the Hudson and I was pacing. Pike grabbed both my shoulders and I stopped my march.
“What’s up?”
“What’s up? There is a murderer on the loose. And you and I both know who’s next on his list. Me.” Being mainly immortal I wasn’t all that nervous. But still, getting stabbed or hung would be nothing short of an enormous pain in my ass, not to mention the havoc it would wreak on my wardrobe.
“I’m not sure that’s what you should be most concerned about,” Pike said.
I raised a brow.
“Suspect.” Pike mouthed the word.
I shook my head. “No, no, that’s just a theory. And a flimsy one at that. You have more motive.”
“Like I said, Emerson and I barely spoke. The whole boyfriend-girlfriend thing was completely in her head. Emerson and Reginald were both your competitors. With both of them gone, you’ve technically won the competition. That’s your motive.”
I yanked my shoulders away from Pike and gaped. “Are you seriously accusing me of killing off my competition? I’ll have you know that I would have whipped their asses fair and square. God rest their souls.”
“I’m not accusing you. I’m telling you.”
“They don’t think it’s me. They think it’s you.” Pike rolled his eyes and I dropped my voice. “Or me.”
“How much do you know about Emerson? You said you used to run into her all the time. I know you two weren’t friends but—”
“But what? I knew nothing about her other than what I told you. I didn’t even know she had a sister for God’s sake until she showed up in my face.” I paused. “That’s it. The sister. We need to talk to her.” I bit my bottom lip. “But she probably wouldn’t talk to us.”
“Because she was apparently so hysterical?”
“Because she might think that one of us killed Emerson.”
Pike pinned me with a stare and I sighed, dropping my head in my hands. “I will be the hysterical one if I have to go to prison. They make everyone shower together. And you have to wear those stupid plastic shoes!” I frowned, my eyes skittering over the apartment and seeing bars, one of those ugly metal toilets, and a thin cot with four-thread-count sheets.
And then I saw Vlad.
Slowly, his eyes came up from behind the screen. “What?”
I felt a smile playing at the edge of my lips. “She’ll talk to you.”
“What?” Pike asked.
I stopped, excitement building in my chest. “She’ll talk to Vlad. He’s young, he’s charming,” I said and glanced at Pike. “He’s not you. She’ll open up to him.”
Pike looked over at Vlad and then back at me. “No offense to your nephew, but do you really think a girl who just lost her sister to murder is going to suddenly go all boy crazy for him?” He jerked a thumb toward Vlad, and threw in a, “No offense, bro,” for good measure.
“Well, Vlad’s got—” I paused, biting my tongue before I said the word glamours. A glamour is almost like a vampire pheromone; it attracts humans to us like bees to honey and once they find us . . . well, humans tend to become utterly entranced and allow us to eat them. Usually.
If you don’t adhere to UDA guidelines.
Glamours are strictly forbidden according to the UDA-V charter but I am almost completely sure that a glamour for solving a homicide was a way lesser charge than a glamour for committing a homicide. And either way, I’d rather be beheaded by the UDA than spend eternity in a prison cell and an orange jumpsuit.
“I mean Vlad’s got charm.” I turned toward him and threw on my best version of adorably irresistible Disney eyes. “Please, Vlad. For me?”
Vlad looked up, eyed me warily. “No.”
I crossed the room in two short strides and batted my lashes again. “Pweeze?”
He shook his head.
I tossed a quick glance over my shoulder, then laid my palm flat on the table, a quarter-inch from Vlad’s hand.
“Look,” I said, my voice low and dripping with heat. “I made you, Louis.” Vlad didn’t regard me visually, but I could see a stiffness run through his spine as I regarded him by his real, pre-vamp, pre-Count-Chocula-obsession name. “And I will be the first one to take you out.”
“Can’t. UDA bylaw.” There was an edge of teenage smugness in his words that made me want to kill him just a little bit more.
“Fine,” I said, crossing my arms in front of my chest. “I won’t kill you.” I snatched my cell phone from where it rested on the counter. “But Kale will.”
Vlad stood up so quickly his chair thunked to the ground behind him. “Fine!” he said, terror cutting through his eyes. “Just please,” he continued, holding up both hands as if the phone were about to spit bullets. “Whatever you do, don’t call Kale. Please.”
Now I was smug.
Pike looped an arm over the back of the couch as he turned to stare at us. “Who’s this—”
“Never mind,” Vlad and I said in unison.
I pushed Vlad toward the door. “Come on. Just go over there. Ask her for coffee.”
“I don’t feel good about this,” Vlad said, pulling on his collar.
“You’re doing a good thing,” I said, patting him lightly on the shoulder. “You saw the way Nicolette lit up when you introduced yourself.”