and slid and slithered away from her every time she got hold of it. She was not being lucid and logical, and she knew it.
She wished she’d brought Lucien along with her. At least then she would have company. She could talk to herself and pretend she was talking to the cat. Even without Lucien to talk to, she stood in the center of the kitchen and asked, “Where do I start?”
And, of course, her mind went back to the woman who’d been murdered last night. “But . . .”
The death had not felt like it was connected to a vampire. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what she’d perceived. An ugly death, terror laced with gloating satisfaction.
Maybe the murderer was not mortal. Vampires could and easily did kill like that. Char didn’t have to approve of that sort of murder to acknowledge it was acceptable behavior under properly sanctioned circumstances. Only there were no sanctioned vampires in Seattle at the moment. She doubted any strig was brave enough to be in town, either. Or would dare to hunt on streets so recently cleaned by Istvan.
“But I have no proof Daniel wasn’t involved.”
Maybe the dead woman was her lead to Daniel.Maybe she should trust her instincts and go looking for her. There might be a trace of energy around the body that she could follow.
“And then what do I do? Avenge her death?”
It was none of her business, but Char couldn’t help but answer “Yes” to the question she’d asked herself.
As long as her thoughts dwelled on the murdered woman, she had trouble thinking about Daniel. Maybe the two were connected, maybe not, but somehow the woman’s death preyed on her conscience more than looking for the lost kid did.
“Besides, it’s a start,” she told herself. “Have to start being an Enforcer sometime, somewhere. This might as well be it.”
How to go about it? Char stood in the living room and took a few deep breaths to calm down. Then she walked back out on the balcony and closed her eyes in order to let all her other senses roam free. When she opened them, she found that she’d turned away from the city.
“That way.” She pointed. “In the mountains.”
Haven followed his instincts. He followed a trail he couldn’t see and couldn’t question. If he thought, he’d lose the mental scent. He focused on remembering the dream, on seeing the woman’s green eyes, on hearing her scream for help. He followed the dream when he got into his Jeep Cherokee and drove.
He didn’t try to make any sense out of what he was doing; he didn’t think at all, not for the first few hours, anyway. He’d gotten into this kind of weird trance statea few times before, hunting vampires by somehow sensing some kind of invisible something . He couldn’t explain it, certainly hadn’t tried to. Santini and Baker wouldn’t get it—or they’d suspect he’d gotten bitten and was turning into one of them . He hadn’t and he wasn’t, but he guessed the more you hunted the bastards, the more you became like them.
Or it was more likely that he was out of his mind. He decided this as he pulled off a narrow gravel road halfway up a mountain. He was deep inside a state park, and it was the middle of the night. Haven killed the headlights and switched off the Jeep’s engine. He was tired, hungry, and nearly out of gas. Haven rubbed an aching spot on his forehead. He wanted to cynically ask himself what he thought he was doing and turn around and head back toward the city. Instead, he reached under the seat, pulled out his favorite sawed-off shotgun, and got out of the vehicle.
Haven had done a lot of night work in the last few years, so his vision quickly adjusted to the thick forest darkness. It was foggy under the trees, but at least it wasn’t raining. It was cold this high up at this time of the year, but Haven was used to the way the high desert chilled down after the sun set. He took a black leather jacket out of the backseat and zipped it on. When he moved
She wished she’d brought Lucien along with her. At least then she would have company. She could talk to herself and pretend she was talking to the cat. Even without Lucien to talk to, she stood in the center of the kitchen and asked, “Where do I start?”
And, of course, her mind went back to the woman who’d been murdered last night. “But . . .”
The death had not felt like it was connected to a vampire. She closed her eyes and tried to remember exactly what she’d perceived. An ugly death, terror laced with gloating satisfaction.
Maybe the murderer was not mortal. Vampires could and easily did kill like that. Char didn’t have to approve of that sort of murder to acknowledge it was acceptable behavior under properly sanctioned circumstances. Only there were no sanctioned vampires in Seattle at the moment. She doubted any strig was brave enough to be in town, either. Or would dare to hunt on streets so recently cleaned by Istvan.
“But I have no proof Daniel wasn’t involved.”
Maybe the dead woman was her lead to Daniel.Maybe she should trust her instincts and go looking for her. There might be a trace of energy around the body that she could follow.
“And then what do I do? Avenge her death?”
It was none of her business, but Char couldn’t help but answer “Yes” to the question she’d asked herself.
As long as her thoughts dwelled on the murdered woman, she had trouble thinking about Daniel. Maybe the two were connected, maybe not, but somehow the woman’s death preyed on her conscience more than looking for the lost kid did.
“Besides, it’s a start,” she told herself. “Have to start being an Enforcer sometime, somewhere. This might as well be it.”
How to go about it? Char stood in the living room and took a few deep breaths to calm down. Then she walked back out on the balcony and closed her eyes in order to let all her other senses roam free. When she opened them, she found that she’d turned away from the city.
“That way.” She pointed. “In the mountains.”
Haven followed his instincts. He followed a trail he couldn’t see and couldn’t question. If he thought, he’d lose the mental scent. He focused on remembering the dream, on seeing the woman’s green eyes, on hearing her scream for help. He followed the dream when he got into his Jeep Cherokee and drove.
He didn’t try to make any sense out of what he was doing; he didn’t think at all, not for the first few hours, anyway. He’d gotten into this kind of weird trance statea few times before, hunting vampires by somehow sensing some kind of invisible something . He couldn’t explain it, certainly hadn’t tried to. Santini and Baker wouldn’t get it—or they’d suspect he’d gotten bitten and was turning into one of them . He hadn’t and he wasn’t, but he guessed the more you hunted the bastards, the more you became like them.
Or it was more likely that he was out of his mind. He decided this as he pulled off a narrow gravel road halfway up a mountain. He was deep inside a state park, and it was the middle of the night. Haven killed the headlights and switched off the Jeep’s engine. He was tired, hungry, and nearly out of gas. Haven rubbed an aching spot on his forehead. He wanted to cynically ask himself what he thought he was doing and turn around and head back toward the city. Instead, he reached under the seat, pulled out his favorite sawed-off shotgun, and got out of the vehicle.
Haven had done a lot of night work in the last few years, so his vision quickly adjusted to the thick forest darkness. It was foggy under the trees, but at least it wasn’t raining. It was cold this high up at this time of the year, but Haven was used to the way the high desert chilled down after the sun set. He took a black leather jacket out of the backseat and zipped it on. When he moved
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