He’d left his blanket with a buddy on the Row. Now, only a ragged T-shirt covered his balding back. It looked like he was shivering, but that could have been the fleas. Suddenly, a jacket landed on the table in front of him. He looked up at Eileen’s ever-relaxed expression.
“Here. Lost property from weeks ago. Should be about your size.” Pride and shame battled in his mismatched eyes. “Take it.”
He slipped his thin arms through the sleeves and mumbled a simple, “Thanks.”
“No problem.”
She dropped a straw into his beer. That made him smile. She didn’t seem to mind him smiling either. I guess when you spend your days beneath the bedroom of a decaying Vampire you get used to looking death in the face without blinking.
The other customers cleared out, so Eileen was free to pull up a stool on her side of the bar. We were both glad to have a third member in the band. There wasn’t much for Pete and me to talk about. The old days brought pain and the present wasn’t much better. Eileen filled the gaps perfectly. She spun off a list of her worst customers (perhaps to make Pete feel more comfortable). Self-righteous royalty from long-fallen kingdoms or strung-out junkies who’d come into a windfall by robbing their best friends’ back-pocket.
It wasn’t all disappointment. Pete was clean – of drugs, at least – and he was still as sharp as an Elf’s ear. Once Eileen politely asked us to hit the road, I told him he could sleep at mine if he wanted to. He swiftly refused.
“The neighbors will get worried if I don’t make it home before sunrise. They may not be pretty, but the boys on the Row have my back. This was lovely, Fetch. A real treat. Thanks.”
I gave him one of my cards and told him to call if he ever needed anything. The silver case I kept them in looked extravagant beside Pete’s honest poverty. He found a pocket on his new jacket and tucked the card inside.
We didn’t shake hands or hug. We just did the awkward nod of grown men who still don’t know what the game is or how they’re meant to play it. He strolled away with his naked tail hanging behind him. In the old days, it might have been wagging. Hell, in the old days it would be seated on a high seat in a great room of a better place than this. Considering the circumstances, I just hoped he’d had some fun.
When I got back to my office there was a telegram under the door from Richie. I opened a fresh bottle, poured a generous glass, took a seat and dialed without thinking of the time. It was late enough to be early again and I’d woken him up but if he took the time to complain about every shitty thing I did we’d never get anything done.
“You go first,” he said.
“Sorry?”
He grumbled. “The Vamp you’re looking for. Give me the name and I’ll tell you if we’ve got him or not.”
“Not sure I want to do that, Kites.”
“Yeah, I bet you don’t. But you don’t have a choice.”
He was right. I had nothing to bargain with, but I knew from experience that you should never show your whole hand to the cops. Even when they’re on your team, they’ll bet on the enemy to balance their odds.
“I found the stiffs and I played ball. I could have discovered who they were if I’d ransacked the place and kept hush for a few days but I brought you in. The way I see it, I came to you in the spirit of friendship and the least you can do is let me know whose body I found.”
I heard Richie mumble to himself down the line. I think he gave in just so he could go back to sleep.
“Sydney Grimes and Samuel Dante. Grimes owned the place, Dante was his friend from out of town. Haven’t identified the third body but it’s some species of ex-magic humanoid. Cause of death is tough on the two Vamps because of the disintegration but the third body shows signs of violence. That’s all you’re getting.”
“Thanks. That’s a lot of help.”
“So, was it your guy?”
“I appreciate the info, Rich. I’ll see you around.” I hung up.
So, there it was. No Rye and not even a clear connection to him. The case was as wide open as it had always been but now the bugs were getting in. I was tired, but my brain wasn’t ready to quit.
In the bottom drawer of my desk were the files I’d taken from Edmund Rye’s room. I flipped through the pages till the sun came up. Rye was tutoring seven different students and their contact details were scribbled in his diary. Once it was late enough to make an unsolicited call, I dragged the phone to my weary face.
The first student was the teenage Werewolf interested in biology. The operator connected me but the phone rang out. Next was the young Siren, January Gladesmith. This time, the phone buzzed twice before a nervous woman picked it up.
“Hello?”
“Mrs Gladesmith, my name is Fetch Phillips. I’m sorry to call you so early, but I wanted to ask you some questions about your daughter.”
There was a strained pause before she managed to respond.
“Have you found her?”
11
I called the remaining households and was relieved to find every other child home and unharmed. I got a few questions through to some of them – when did they last see Rye? Where were they studying? – Nobody knew squat. I accepted the fact that I was giving the game away. It didn’t take a genius to work out that Edmund was off the map, and gossip goes through parents like piss down a drain, but I wasn’t worried about protecting Rye’s reputation anymore. A little girl was gone. That meant discretion had to take some time off.
I tried in vain to make myself presentable. The Gladesmiths lived in the only part of Sunder that you could describe as beautiful while keeping a straight face. Primrose Avenue ran along the edge of the city limits, sectioning off a suburban area at the base of Amber Hill. In this neighborhood, things looked like they were holding themselves together. It wasn’t that the people in the area were rich, they just still seemed to care.
Modest and homely, the Gladesmith house presented the most valiant attempt at a garden I’d seen in years. One scientist had suggested that all soil contained a magical element, fearing that after the Coda we would lose all vegetation within a decade. The Gladesmith garden was the first evidence I’d seen to the contrary. It was mainly shrubs and grasses but it was alive, and that was something.
I knocked and waited for Mrs Gladesmith to answer. There was no Mr Gladesmith, but that wasn’t a surprise. January was a Siren and that meant her mother would be a Siren and her father mortal. The first Sirens were created when a ship full of female warriors crashed into a rocky island during a thunderstorm somewhere out on the Harmon Sea. In magic-rich waters, the crew drowned but didn’t die. They became something else. Their lungs filled with water and something far more potent. They crawled out of the ocean, onto the island that had dashed them, wailing with voices of pain and wonder.
They stayed there for an age, luring passing ships onto the rocks with their song. Then, half a century ago, the descendants of the first Sirens stole a boat and sailed it back to the mainland. When they arrived, they looked for the last thing anyone expected: a date. They chose their men, sang their songs, and did their best to settle down.
Every child of a Siren would be another Siren daughter. Their species scattered themselves across the continents, setting up families in lovely little homes.