A Devil in the Dark

Chapter 2 - Blane

"Is this the place?"

Vee checked the piece of paper with Wren's address. "437A, yes."

Wren Gilmore lived in the left half of a narrow duplex, a home built half a century ago and barely maintained ever since. Pale paint that might once have been blue or green or white or cream peeled from the siding in the glow of a yellowed streetlight, and skeletal weeds had taken over the front yard. Some were higher than my waist, while others were flattened. Had a vehicle been parked there recently? One car remained in the driveway, a Prius with a dent in the trunk.

I climbed out of my Bentley—a new addition to my stable and one Joseph had chosen—and moved to get the passenger door for Vee, but she climbed out before I could open it. At least I'd tried to be a gentleman. It was surprisingly easy. Soon after I left Plane Three, I'd watched a bunch of old black-and-white movies for tips—my little sister, Aurelia, assured me that those men lived up to earthly ideals. Open doors, hold the umbrella if it rained, challenge a stranger to a duel if he insulted my masculinity. Although it seemed the duelling was considered a little old-fashioned now. The one time I'd issued an invitation, the fellow had asked me if I was on drugs and then fired a gun at me without taking ten paces first. Of course, being immortal, I did have an advantage, and the look of shock as I'd sucked his soul out of his scrawny body had been mildly amusing.

"Upstairs or downstairs?"

Vee waited until we got closer and said, "Downstairs."

The apartment was dark, which was relatively normal at this time in the morning, but when I knocked on the door, there was no movement inside. I tried again, harder, possibly too hard, because the upstairs window opened and a sour-faced chap leaned out.

"Shaddup, would ya? People are tryin' to sleep."

"We're looking for Wren Gilmore."

"Who?"

"Your downstairs, neighbour."

"Oh, her. She took off couple hours ago. Slammed the damn door on her way out."

"Was she alone?" Vee asked.

"Didn't see nobody else."

"Do you know where she went?" I considered it unlikely since he hadn't even been aware of her name, but I had to voice the question.

"Do I look like a psychic to you?"

I had to concede that he didn't. The only true psychics were the five conquisitors, and their powers only worked in limited circumstances. They'd escaped their celestial bonds in the late seventeenth century, and although physical gender reassignment had become a thing now, I couldn't imagine any of them slumming it in a place like this. Delilah in particular was notoriously vain.

Anyhow, the gentleman didn't seem to expect an answer because he slammed the window. Vee listened for a moment, head tilted to one side, a waterfall of turquoise hair cascading over her shoulder. She changed the colour every couple of months, usually to something outlandish. Pink, purple, yellow, green... Although the yellow hadn't lasted long, probably because with her pale skin, she'd looked like a fried egg.

"He's gone back to bed."

Ah, yes, there was Vee's enhanced hearing at work. When my great uncle Tiberius had created vampires, he'd upgraded their senses to assist with their designated job as part of Plane Five enforcement. At least, that had been the plan. The system had fallen apart years ago, and now Vee spent her days in a Las Vegas penthouse and her nights roaming the city. At least she didn't need to hunt for meals anymore. Her cop boyfriend provided sustenance on demand, a recent development that still baffled me.