Chapter Nine
Even at a slow thirty mph on the back of Ivy's bike, the wind was frigid, and I pressed my head into Wayde's shoulder, shivering. He was still in his boxers and T-shirt, and if he could take it, I could, too. The feelings of dread and anticipation had tightened my gut until I felt ill. The sweet coffee wasn't sitting right, and the rumble of Ivy's bike under me, usually soothing, only wound my tension tighter.
We were down by the waterfront, the Cincy side of things, and when our momentum shifted, I looked up through the cloudy goggles that Ivy kept in her side bag for unexpected riders. We were at a stop sign, and whereas I knew Wayde would probably not have stopped under most circumstances, he did now.
I put down a foot to help keep us balanced. The smell of soap and Were drifted back, and I breathed it in as I pushed my goggles up and looked at the amulet in my hand. This was why he'd stopped, not the sleek black new-model Lexus following us.
"Keep going," I said loudly, seeing no change in the amulet's glow, and Wayde nodded.
The heat from the Lexus's engine hit the back of my calves, and my foot rose to the rest as we accelerated. Nina was driving it. I suppose I could have done this from the comfort of her borrowed front seat instead of freezing my ass off out here behind Wayde with no real coat, no leather, and garden shoes instead of my boots, but I wasn't willingly going to put myself alone in a car with her, even if she had been polite at the coffeehouse. It was obvious she still wasn't happy about my forcing them to give primary jurisdiction to the FIB, even if I had agreed to see the run through. If I didn't finish this quietly and to their satisfaction, they were going to frame me or wipe my memory, or both.
Mental note. Call Trent about a possible elf-magic-based spell to block memory charms. There'd been nothing about one in my spell books, nothing from a quick Internet search. I was sure the demons had something, but that didn't help me.
Nina had shown up almost immediately after my call from Junior's, making me wonder if she'd been waiting for it. Ivy and Jenks would join us when they could, and Glenn was probably on his way. I longingly thought of my coffee, left behind when I said I'd ride with Wayde. He'd had time to shave, but he was still in his jammies. We must look quite the pair, creeping down the service road with a Lexus twenty yards behind and two I.S. vehicles after that.
God, he smells good, I thought as I hugged Wayde. I lied to myself that I was just trying to stay out of the wind, but the reality was, this was the closest I'd gotten to another human being in months, and I wasn't above teasing myself. My thoughts strayed to our conversation at Junior's, and my focus blurred. It sure had sounded like the hint of an offer to hang with him for a while. True, he was kind of straggly looking right now, but I'd seen him out of his shirt and had been duly impressed. Unfortunately, though I knew that it might start with no strings attached, it would turn into something more. I couldn't do that, as pleasant as it sounded.
Why again was I on this bike? Oh yeah. Avoiding Nina.
I pulled my head up as Wayde went by the two empty stadiums. Squinting, I pushed back from him enough to look at the amulet. "Keep going!" I shouted, and he motored on.
The wind increased as we slipped from the lee, and I hunched into him again. I was more than a little relieved that whatever my amulet had pinged on wasn't at the stadiums. There wasn't a game today, but I'd been banned, and if Mrs. Sarong found me poking around, it would strain our delicate relationship. Finding a mutilated body or the magic to turn a witch into a monster would have been the icing that made the camel trip . . . or whatever.
I shivered, not knowing what we'd find, other than it probably wouldn't be pleasant. The sites that the I.S. had found had contained little more than a heavy moulage coating, a cage, and washed-down walls.
My eyes glanced at the amulet and my pulse quickened. It was getting fainter. "Turn around!" I said, squeezing his middle. "We passed it!"
But what had we passed? Nothing obvious. I'd swear that the amulet was focused on something between the expressway and the river, and there wasn't much between them. Maybe there was an entrance to the forgotten Cincy tunnels down here.
Wayde flicked his turn signal on and made a smooth, probably illegal U-bangy and started back the other way. There were a few low buildings between us and the stadiums, and letting go of Wayde's middle, I pointed at the buildings as we passed Nina and the two I.S. cruisers. No Glenn yet, and while Wayde took a left onto the service road, I tucked the amulet away and tried to get my phone out.
"What are you doing?" Wayde asked as my weight shifted and the bike swerved.
"Calling Glenn," I said loudly as I put one arm back around his waist and punched numbers with my thumb. I could barely hear the dial tone over the wind, and I eyed the low building as we approached it. It looked like an old office complex turned museum. Museum? I didn't like the sound of that, and my head started to hurt.
"Rachel?" Glenn's voice came over the phone, and I leaned into Wayde to get out of the wind. "Where are you? I'm at the coffeehouse. Are Ivy and Jenks with you?"
I frowned. Coffeehouse? What is he doing still there? "I was kind of hoping they were with you," I said. "I'm down by the stadiums. Nina was supposed to call you. I'm sorry." I looked up as we slowed, idling into a circular drop-off at the front of the building. "We're at the Underground Railroad Museum. Huh. I didn't know this was here." Pierce would like it, I thought, then squashed it. I doubted Pierce was still alive. He'd taken responsibility for my "death" so Al would take him into the ever-after instead of Trent. Pierce hated Trent, but Trent had been the only one who knew how to move my soul back into my body. There was no doubt that Pierce had loved me, but ultimately I hadn't trusted him, his loose morals, or his questionable black magic. It bothered me, and a flash of guilt rose and died.
I was so messed up.
Glenn hadn't said anything, and I pressed the phone closer. "Glenn?"
"I'm here," he said, and my foot went down when Wayde stopped the bike at the museum. "I'll be there in five minutes. Don't let Nina go in there without me, okay?"
I could hear the tension in his voice, his anger. "You got it," I said, turning where I sat to glare at Nina, now pulling up behind us. I'd be willing to bet she hadn't called Glenn. The Turn take it, what was it with them? The important thing was that we stopped these wackos, not who got the credit for the tag. Besides, there probably wasn't going to be anything here that Nina hadn't seen before. Unless this was a cover-up? They hadn't wanted the FIB involved at all until I forced the issue. What was a high-ranking I.S. vampire doing on a run anyway?
"Stop it, Rachel," I muttered as I swung myself off the bike. Nina was here because I'd jerked primary jurisdiction away from her, not because they were covering up anything.
Wayde tugged his shirt back down where it belonged, a strange look in his eyes when he took his helmet off and set it on the back of the bike. "You okay?" he asked, surprising me.
"Nina didn't call Glenn," I said, handing him the goggles.
"And you're surprised because . . ."
I gathered my hair in a thick, tangled ponytail, then let it go in dismay. I'd never get through the tangles. My front was cold from where I'd been pressed up against Wayde, and we watched Nina get out of her fancy borrowed car, shutting the door carefully, using two hands, actually polishing her fingerprints off with the cuff of her long coat. Clearly it was hers only for right now.
She'd taken the time to go shopping since I'd last seen her, and was now in a tailored pantsuit, purchased, I was sure, with the dead vampire's funds. Her hair, too, had been styled, falling in professional, attractive waves. New, very expensive shoes finished the look, stylish yet comfortable enough to run in. They matched her handbag and new watch. Nice that he is making her descent into hell so pleasant.
Holding her hair against the wind, she talked for a moment with one of the officers from another car. A family came up from the nearby underground garage, the parents giving us a wide berth as they went inside with their kids protectively close.
My back stiffened when the officer talking to Nina turned, crossed the road, and went up the wide stairs to the big glass doors. "Hey, wait a minute!" I called, and Nina waved him on.
Jaw clenched, I strode up to Nina. "The FIB has jurisdiction," I said, pointing at the officer vanishing inside. "We wait for Glenn. Get your man back out here. And why didn't you call Glenn? I just got off the phone and he had no idea where we were." Eye to eye with the woman, I glared at her. "Think he's better than you? Worried you need the advantage to look good? You should be. The FIB is better than you want to admit."
Nina reached for my hand, and I took a quick step back, sobering fast as her undead companion slipped in behind the woman's eyes. I could tell, not only because they flashed pupil black, but because her entire posture now had the relaxed tension of the undead, sort of a satiated-lion look. "Afraid? I am nothing of the kind," she said, her voice smooth and confident. Still very womanly, she now exuded a feeling of control and power, an intoxicating mix of masculine and feminine, yin and yang. She gave Wayde a long up-and-down look, taking in his army boots and thin T, then dismissed him. "My message surely got lost in his voice mail. When did you have the time to get that marvelous tattoo, Rachel? It suits you. Does it go all the way around your neck? May I see?"
Blinking, I took another step away, forcing my hand down. Hiding one's neck only made it look that much more appetizing to a vampire.
"Your tattoo?" Nina prompted, showing her small, pointy teeth, and I backed into Wayde. Sure, she was smiling, but I knew better. The vampire inside her was still peeved about yesterday. That my amulets worked when theirs hadn't probably hadn't gone down well, either.
"Yesterday," I said, more nervous yet. "Get your man out."
My voice didn't tremble at all. Go me. Where in hell was Glenn?
"My officer is simply speaking with the curator," Nina said, and I breathed easier when she looked away. "You can't have two I.S. cruisers pull up to your establishment and not explain yourself." Expression blank, she looked me up and down, and I suddenly felt grossly underdressed in my jeans and garden shoes. "How sure are you that this is the place?" she said with a sniff, her taking a wider stance, her hand straying to her waist where I'm sure the dead vampire kept his phone.
I looked at the amulet around my neck, glowing green. "Pretty sure. If you want, we can do a triangulation with the rest of the amulets before we go in with guns blazing."
Nina laughed, and I watched Wayde hide a shudder by scuffing his feet. "We aren't going in with 'guns blazing,' " Nina said. "If they're holding to their usual pattern, the people who committed these crimes are long gone. If this is indeed where they were." Her eyebrows rose. "It hardly looks like the area where one would go to perform acts of demonic magic," she said softly, squinting into the wind and bright autumn light as she looked up at the roofline.
"Yes, well, looks can be deceptive," I said. The more suave Nina became, the less I liked it. Living vampires considered it an honor to let their undead kin see through their eyes, speak through their mouths, and it was obvious that Nina the DMV worker was getting a great deal out of the arrangement, but I couldn't help pitying her for the emotional fall when the dead guy left her for good and she went back to being just herself again. And that was if she was lucky.
I watched her from out of the corner of my eye, trying not to be obvious about it as I searched for something, anything, that belonged to the living Nina, but it was as if she was entirely gone, reduced to an elegant pantsuit and a pair of Prada shoes. Ivy could have been something like this. Had been, perhaps, before she stood up to Piscary. No wonder she'd wanted out.
As I watched, Nina frowned and brought her gaze back from the city. A second later, Wayde breathed a relieved "There he is." I followed his gaze across the interstate to the city to see the flashing lights of an FIB vehicle.
"Finally," I said, and Nina chuckled.
"We could have gone in to wait," she said as she extended her arm to invite me to cross the informal drive to the front steps. "It would have been warmer."
"I'm fine," I said, cursing under my breath as I found myself automatically moving and jerked myself to a stop before I'd gone more than a step. This guy was good. "How old are you?" I asked sourly, and Nina smiled.
"Old enough to know better, and young enough not to care."
That wasn't the answer I was hoping for, and I slid two more feet away from her as Glenn pulled up behind the last I.S. car and got out. In the distance, another car followed. "You made good time!" I shouted before he was close, and we all crossed the wide, informal drive to the shallow steps leading to the front door, Wayde lagging behind and looking uncomfortable around all the suits.
Glenn seemed pissed, his arms swinging as he joined us. He looked a little tired, too. No surprise after a morning with Ivy. Blinking at Wayde's less-than-professional dress, he turned to me. "Thanks for the call. Apparently the one that Nina made got stuck in my voice mail."
It was a thinly veiled rebuke, and Nina smiled. "My apologies?"
Nina didn't look sorry, and Glenn's expression became even tighter when the I.S. agent Nina had sent in came out with a bookish-looking man, wire glasses on his nose and wearing a polyester suit, the hem of the jacket whipping in the wind off the river. His shoes were shiny, and it looked like he didn't get out much as he awkwardly followed the I.S. cop down the stairs to meet us somewhere in the middle.
"What was he doing in there?" Glenn asked, and Nina pleasantly inclined her head.
"I simply sent a man in to inform the curator of why we were parked on his drive. Relax, Detective Glenn. No one is trying to hide anything from you." Her eyes turning black, she turned to the short man looking at us from a step up. "We can go in now?"
The officer stiffened. "Mr. Ohem - "
Nina raised a hand to stop him. "It's Nina," she said calmly, but it was obvious he wasn't pleased about the slip - which made me all the more curious as to what his name was.
"Sir," the officer tried again, flushing. "This is Mr. Calaway, the curator on duty."
Mr. Calaway, oblivious to the blunder, stuck his thin hand out, and he and Nina shook. "Pleasure to meet you," he said enthusiastically, his narrow face beaming at the woman. It was obvious he didn't have a clue that he was shaking hands with a vampire, much less one channeling a dead one, and I exchanged a quick look with Glenn. His eyes were as bright as I figured mine must be. Mr. Calaway was human. That put him as a suspect, perhaps? How could he not know there was demon magic being practiced in his building? The screams would give it away. It was always the quiet ones who were the ax murderers.
"Detective Glenn," Glenn said as he gave me a twist of his lips to acknowledge my suspicions. He took a breath to introduce me, hesitating when he saw the tattoo of the dandelion tuft on my collarbone. "Ah, this is Ms. Morgan, who is helping us with the magic, and Mr. Benson," he said, a faint smile quirking his lips, "her security."
Mr. Calaway nodded at me, then did a double take at Wayde, his hairy legs showing between his army boots and his boxers. "I hope we can take care of this quickly," he said, his eyes squinting in worry at the official cars and the young family with a stroller giving them a wide berth. "We haven't had any trouble for a long time. It's a museum. Nothing much changes here except the interns."
I forced a smile as I leaned forward and shook his hand. "We will be as unobtrusive as possible," I promised, but it was as if I didn't exist for him, and it kind of rankled. I wasn't dressed as nicely as the people around me - except for Wayde, and he had dropped back to run a hand over his face as he looked out over the river, his untucked thin shirt flapping in the wind.
Nina gestured toward the door, and we all began moving. "You okay?" I asked Glenn, and he gave me a sharp look.
"Why shouldn't I be?" he asked, and I warmed, resolving to keep my mouth shut.
"Come on in," the curator was saying. "I can't imagine anyone's been here, but we don't go down into the lower levels much. It's damp down there. Low water table."
Mr. Calaway opened the door, and all the men hesitated, looking at me. I knew I had promised Jenks and Ivy that I'd go to only secure sites, but this was a museum lobby, not the bad guys' lair. Besides, it was cold, so I hunched my shoulders and went in, appreciating the lack of wind as I took in the tall-ceilinged entryway with its placards explaining what the museum was about. There was an official-looking desk for buying tickets and arranging for self-guided audio tours, and the eyes of the woman manning it widened as the rest filed in behind me, Mr. Calaway's mouth never stopping.
"There's a tour going through right now. Is there any way you can avoid them?" he asked in worry. He still didn't get it, but the I.S. officer probably hadn't told him we were tracking down a militant human fringe group that was deforming witches with black magic.
Glenn brought his attention back from the artifact case. "We will be as circumspect as possible. We don't need to do a room by room since we have a detection charm."
"Oh." The human looked at me doubtfully, and I smiled sarcastically.
"It's a super-duper murderer finder," I said, holding up the glowing amulet as I remembered him dissing me on the front steps. "I made it in my kitchen last night. Don't you worry, Mr. Calaway. We'll find those serial killers and get them out for you."
"S-serial killers?" the curator stammered, his dark complexion lightening considerably.
"Rachel . . ." Glenn growled, but Wayde had turned his back on us, laughing, I guess.
"Didn't they tell you?" I said, making my eyes wide and enjoying jerking the stiff man's chain. "What did the I.S. officer say we were here for? Inspecting for fire-code violations?"
Nina frowned, and Glenn pinched my elbow. "You like causing trouble, don't you?" Glenn insisted, and I stopped. Maybe being ignored on the front steps bothered me more than I'd realized, but that had felt good, and now I was pretty sure that Mr. Calaway wasn't a suspect. I didn't want to walk around a museum with a serial killer. I had promised to be careful, right?
Glenn stepped nearly in front of me, taking the upset man by the shoulder and all but leading him to the turnstiles. "We only need a few people until we know for sure if what we're looking for is here, Mr. Calaway," he said, giving me a glare to keep my mouth shut. "There's no need to be alarmed, and we're grateful that you're letting us look around without a warrant. Ms. Morgan is exaggerating the situation."
I sighed, but got what Glenn was saying and resolved to shut up. If Mr. Calaway refused to let us in, we could lose a day in the courts getting a warrant. The thing was, though, I wasn't exaggerating, and Glenn knew it.
"Um, I'll get the keys," the curator said, his focus distant as he reached over the counter and brought out a ring of them. "I've got a key for everything."
Right at the front desk, I thought, thinking security was pretty lax. But who was going to run off with any of this stuff?
Mr. Calaway started for the museum's entrance, his pace fast and jerky. Glenn grabbed my elbow and propelled me forward, his grip a shade too tight and his shoulders tense. He wasn't happy with me, but I didn't care. Wayde was behind me, and Nina ahead, her eyes scanning, evaluating, searching, her motions both graceful and tense. I don't think the vampire she was channeling had ever been in here before. It was like watching a cat, furtive and sleekly sexy at the same time.
"This is our main room," the man was saying as we took our turns going through the turnstile and entered the large four-story room. Tours fanned out from here, but it was the log cabin my eyes lingered on. As the curator started in on his memorized spiel as if we were tourists, I stared at the building, wondering why it drew my attention - other than its being a building inside another.
"That is creepy," I said to Wayde when I read the placard and found the log cabin had once been hidden inside someone's barn and was a holding pen for slaves being moved and sold. "Something doesn't look right," I added as I continued reading, finding that it had been painstakingly reassembled here for instructional reasons. Kids ran in and out of it as if it was a playhouse, while serious adults tried to take in the atrocity it represented, and yet . . . something felt off.
Nina rocked toward me. "It's a fake," she said softly, her eyes on the roofline.
I looked at her, as did Wayde, leaving Glenn patiently listening to the curator and trying to wedge a word in and get this train moving.
Nina shrugged, her hands loose at her sides. "There's no moulage on it," the vampire said, still not having looked away from the thick, dark timbers. "It's a fake, a replica."
"But moulages fade with time and sun," I said. "This thing is ancient."
"Ancient? No." Nina reached out to touch the timbers, apparently blackened artificially, and not with the blood the sign said they were. "But something like this - something built to hold people against their will, to imprison lives, souls, and fears - tends to soak up emotion and hold it like a sponge." Scrunching up her face, Nina looked at the chimney. "It will hold its emotion for a long time, and this has none."
A banshee might have soaked it up, I thought, but dismissed it. "A fake?" I asked, thinking it was unfair that they would try to pass it off as an original.
Nina's eyes flicked behind my shoulder, and I jumped when Glenn touched me, asking, "Rachel? Which way?"
I took a deep breath and exhaled. Oh yeah. Fumbling for the amulet, I held it even with my chest and walked in a circle. There was only one direction where the glow strengthened, and I stopped, staring at a service-oriented area with no displays. An oversize door with no window and painted the same color as the walls was obvious, and I pointed. "There."
Mr. Calaway bustled past me looking positively relieved. "That leads to the research area," he said as he fumbled with the keys, finally bringing one up to his face and peering at it. "This one, I think." He slid it into the lock and opened the door, flicking the lights on as he held it for us. It looked like your average hallway, with white tile and boring painted walls. A little wider than most, perhaps, but bland. "Sue!" he shouted, his voice echoing. "We're going downstairs. I'll be back in a moment! Lock the doors and let the place empty naturally."
The woman from the front desk peeked around a wall. "Yes, sir."
"What about Ivy and Jenks?" I asked, not wanting to leave them out, but wanting to see what the amulet had pinged on. What was taking them so long anyway?
Glenn turned to Mr. Calaway, looking as anxious as I was to get moving. "Two more people are coming. A Ms. Tamwood and a pixy named Jenks. Could someone bring them down when they arrive?"
Sue smiled. "Yes, sir. I'll let them in and send them down."
Wayde shifted from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable. "I'll stay here," he said, and I gave him a questioning look. "Technically, I'm not allowed to be at a crime scene without prior arrangements." He turned to me, his gaze intent as he touched my elbow. "I think you should stay with me. This isn't a secure site. Someone else can work the charm."
My breath came in slowly, and I forced my jaw not to clench. He was just doing his job. "I have my splat gun," I said patiently. "I'll be careful. Besides, there's no one here."
"You don't know that," he said, and in my peripheral vision, I saw Glenn chafing at the delay. Yeah. Me, too.
"Cautious?" Nina mocked in her expensive pantsuit, crisp and pressed, her voice like silk. "That's not like you, Ms. Morgan."
"Maybe I'm getting smarter," I said dryly. "I'm working the amulet until there's reason to believe they're still here," I added, wedging Wayde's fingers off me. "I'll be smart about it."
"Smart is staying here until you know for sure," Wayde said.
"My job puts me at risk. I said I'll be careful, and I will," I said loudly, then locked my knees as the heady scent of excited vampire cascaded over me like water. It was Nina, and I sidestepped her so she wouldn't link her arm in mine.
"I'll see to Rachel's safety personally," the woman said gracefully, not at all upset that I'd avoided her. "I can smell them, you see," Nina said, and she touched her nose as she smiled coyly. "Nasty little humans with mischief on their brains. I'm sure Ms. Morgan will be most careful, but I will restrain her from entering any room that's unsafe. Physically . . . if necessary."
"There, you see?" I said brusquely, my heart pounding as I made a mental promise that Nina wasn't ever going to lay a hand on me. "You should stay here, though. You're right about the legal thing. You might get hurt and sue the city."
"I would not," Wayde said with a scowl, but Glenn was pointing at one of his men to stay behind with him. "Fine. I'll stay," he said with bad grace, arms over his chest and his feet spread wide. "I'm starting to see why you don't have many friends."
I probably deserved that, but with only the faintest tug of guilt, I followed the curator into the wide hallway, the rest of the men behind me, and Nina behind them. The wide door shut behind us with a solid thump, and I stifled my shiver. Almost immediately we found a set of stairs, and Mr. Calaway started down, turning on big industrial lights as he went. It was cold, and the air smelled stale. My feet in my soggy garden shoes didn't make a sound. Neither did Nina's, and it was giving me the creeps. I could feel her behind me, lurking. Maybe leaving Wayde behind hadn't been such a good idea, but I was surrounded by men with guns looking for an empty room. What did he think was going to happen?
I checked my cell phone when we reached the bottom of the stairs, not liking that there was no signal. The amulet still worked, meaning we weren't too deep to reach a ley line. Small comfort, since I wasn't going to.
"Which way?" Glenn asked when we came to an intersection. He was tense, and I could see Nina enjoying the mild temptation Glenn was making himself into. It probably didn't help that he smelled like Ivy.
"Give me a moment," I said. Head down over the amulet, I left them, half on the stairs, half in the lower hallway, and went a few paces to the left, watching the amulet's color.
"That leads to storage," Mr. Calaway offered. He was starting to fidget, and Nina smiled, basking in it.
"What do you store here?" Nina almost purred, clearly happy belowground. "Brochures?"
I turned at Mr. Calaway's scoff, but then he hesitated and backed up several steps when he saw her almost lascivious expression. "Mostly artifacts that we haven't gotten prepped for display or those that we don't want to make available to the general public."
Glenn spun on a heel, his face creased in irritation. "Why wouldn't you want them on display?" he asked belligerently.
The curator adopted a stiff posture, one step up from Nina. "Slavery was an ugly business, Officer Glenn. It became more so when given a high monetary value and people took inhuman steps to protect their investments."
Clearly this was a sore subject for the man, but Glenn had turned to face him squarely, just as upset. "It's Detective Glenn. And what right do you have to determine who gets to see it?"
Mr. Calaway squinted at the larger man, not backing down an inch. "I'll arrange a private tour for you if you like, and if you still feel the same way, I'll be very much surprised."
Eyes down, I walked past them in the other direction. My pulse jumped when the amulet glowed a brighter green. Nina must have sensed it because she came down the last few steps, her eyes alight. "I think it's this way," I said, and Mr. Calaway waved his hands in protest.
"There's nothing down there," he claimed, but my amulet said differently, and we all strode forward to find it ended in . . . nothing. No stairway, no door. Nothing.
"I don't understand," I said, staring at the empty wall as I remembered doing almost the same thing in Trent's labs a few months ago. There'd been a door that I had needed to use a ley line to walk through to the room beyond. I couldn't do that now, and I looked from my band of charmed silver to Glenn, feeling ill.
"What's behind this wall?" Glenn asked, his hand skating over the smooth paint.
Mr. Calaway thought for a moment. "That's the storage area for the holding pen."
Glenn stiffened. "The one upstairs is a fake?"
"Absolutely!" the man exclaimed.
"What are you afraid of?" Glenn pressed.
I looked down the hallway to Nina, leaning casually against the wall and wedging something from under her fingernails. It was a very masculine gesture that looked odd with her carefully manicured nails. This was not going well, and Mr. Calaway flushed.
"I'm not afraid of anything," he said, flustered. "The holding pen is behind this wall, yes, but we have access to it through the elevator. If you had told me that's where you wanted to go, I would have taken you there in the first place. Follow me."
Glenn clenched his jaw, and Nina closed her eyes, soaking in his anger. I turned and trudged after Mr. Calaway as he backtracked to a set of huge silver doors. He keyed it to life with a flourish, glaring at us as the machinery rumbled and whined. I shivered as the doors opened to show a huge elevator that looked big enough to hold an elephant.
"It's not right that you're hiding a piece of history down here where no one can see it," Glenn grumbled as he filed in after me.
Mr. Calaway entered last, and he used a second key to light up the panel. "We don't have the original holding pen up for display for several reasons, Detective Glenn," he said stiffly as we waited for the lights to quit flashing and the panel to warm up. "Preserving the priceless art created by the people confined within it for one, maintaining people's sanity for another."
Sanity?
"The truth should never be hidden," Glenn insisted.
Nina covered a smile as the smaller man fumed. "It's not hidden," Mr. Calaway barked. "It's simply not on public display! The original inscriptions on the interior of the structure are as priceless as they are heartbreaking, but there are magics associated with the structure itself, and that's what we are keeping from the public. Black magics."
My gut tightened, and I exchanged a look with Nina, who was suddenly a lot more alert. Black magic under the museum? Maybe there was a method to the madness after all.
The angry, smaller man punched a button, and we started to descend. "It was deemed better to have a small lie that the public could touch, sit in, and connect with on a physical level than a harsh truth behind glass that would divorce them from experiencing anything," Mr. Calaway said, the rims of his ears red. "You'll see."
Glenn shifted from foot to foot and faced the front. "It can't be that bad."
Something was crawling up my back, and I turned to see that it was Nina's attention.
"You are such a delight to watch," she murmured, but everyone in the elevator could hear the seduction the dead vampire was putting into Nina's voice. "Every thought you have passes over your face."
"Y-yeah . . ." I drawled, trying to remember who had told me that before.
"Do you always fight crime in dirty shoes?" she asked, and Glenn, in the back of the elevator, cleared his throat.
"Give me a break," I said, trying to hide the wrinkles in my shirt. "I was having coffee with my bodyguard. I didn't expect to be hunting bad guys until later. Leather before sundown is tacky."
"Besides," Mr. Calaway muttered, "if we had the pen upstairs, it would fall apart in twenty years. We have it in the biggest temperature-controlled room in an eight-hundred-mile area," he said proudly. "That's why the museum was set here in the first place. It was originally university property."
My eyebrows went high. Do tell?
Oblivious to my sudden interest, Mr. Calaway said, "Some of their machines are still down here, and we let university people in occasionally to use them. The room has its own heating and cooling system, and battery backup in case the electricity goes down."
Machines? I thought, forcing myself to be still, but inside I was fidgeting. "Mr. Calaway? Just what kind of machines do you have here?"
The man's enthusiasm vanished, and he winced. "Uh, they tell me they're used to identify genetic markers," he said, and Glenn grunted. "It's all perfectly legal," Mr. Calaway said as the doors opened to show a hallway almost identical to the one above, with the exception of a huge double door facing us from across a wide hallway. "Nothing unsavory," the curator insisted. "We use it occasionally to find out who used an artifact, owner or slave. It's old technology, and they need the cooler room to run it in."
Airtight room. Black magic. Genetic, borderline technology. I wasn't liking what this was adding up to, and I followed Glenn to the locked door. My amulet was a bright green. Clearly this was it, and the tension grew.
"There, huh?" Mr. Calaway said, disappointed as he glanced at the amulet and then his massive key ring. The first key he tried didn't work, and Glenn became impatient. The second one didn't, either, and when he tried the first one again, Glenn just about lost it.
"Open the door," he demanded. "Or I'll call in for a warrant and sit here until it arrives. Rachel, go stand over there."
"I'm trying!" the curator insisted as I obediently moved to where Glenn wanted me, knowing it was going to be an empty room but wanting to prove that I could be a team player as well as the next person. "My key isn't working," he said, bringing the key right up to his nose and squinting at it. "Either the key has been changed or the lock has."
Glenn squatted before it, breathing gently on the lock with his hands unmoving before him as he looked it over. "It's the lock," he said softly as he stood. "You can see the new scratches in the paint. We need to get a team down here for fingerprints."
"They can't do that!" Mr. Calaway exclaimed, affronted. "I'm the curator!"
"I don't have time for this," Nina said impatiently. "Excuse me."
She moved vampire fast, and both Glenn and Mr. Calaway backed up when she grasped the knob and simply yanked the mechanism out of the door. It gave way with a terrible shriek of twisted metal and, looking satisfied, Nina threw it into the open elevator.
"Shall we?" she said as she tugged down the hint of lace at the hem of her sleeves.
Glenn was outraged, sputtering at the loss of fingerprints. Mr. Calaway looked at the waiting vampire, then the broken lock in the elevator, and finally the door. "Sure," he said weakly. I think he'd only just realized she was a vampire.
My skin prickled as Glenn pushed the door open, tense and straining for sound as he slipped into the darkness past the threshold. Nina was next, straight and upright as she casually strolled in and turned on the lights. Thinking about the mutated, twisted body in Washington Park, I hesitated where I was with Mr. Calaway. "We're good," Glenn's voice echoed out, and I lurched to get in before Mr. Calaway.
The room was at least two stories high, lit with fluorescent lights still flickering and ringed with banks of cupboards and counter space. At the center of the room was the holding pen in a huge snow-globe-like affair, all blackened timbers and broken chimney. The windows were mere slits, and the walls had fallen apart in places. It was ugly, awful, and I was glad it was behind glass. Maybe Mr. Calaway was right to hide this. The emotion coming from it was almost too much to bear.
Shivering, I went in farther. Mr. Calaway was staring, aghast, at the twin empty spaces against the opposite wall. I could see why. There were scrape marks, and in one place, the wall had been busted and a thick cable had been pulled out. The end was raw and looked like it had been connected to something, hardwired in, and just cut out.
There were no bodies, no blood, and it looked barren. Perhaps too barren, I thought as Mr. Calaway began a high-pitched cry, his hands over his mouth.
"They're gone!" he shouted, pointing at the broken wall with a trembling finger, and Glenn turned from where he'd been staring at the holding pen.
"Who?" the FIB detective asked, his voice suddenly aggressive.
"The machines!" Mr. Calaway said, pointing again. "Someone took the machines! They're gone!"
