Chapter 23

A woman—Bernard'swife—is angrily packing a suitcase.

"Don't go." Bernard tugs on his messy beard, his hair disheveled around his tired face. "Please don't."

"I can't live this way," she says without looking at him. "That killer is more important to you than either me or your living daughter."

A killer? What a pity. Sounds like the kidnapping I witnessed ended in the worst possible way.

Bernard's hands tighten into fists, but instead of yelling at his wife—or worse—he turns on his heel and slams the door behind him so hard it nearly flies off the hinges.

He storms into his office, where I can see the scope of his obsession. The place is completely covered with newspaper clippings. On the wall is a map with pushpins, and there's even a collection of milk cartons with pictures of kids on them.

The good news for me is that this section of the trauma loop looks to be over. The bad news is that there's at least one more coming. I can feel it approaching.

A familiar pressure appears on my arm that has nothing to do with the dream. Confirming my suspicion, my cheek stings from a slap.

Just like it happened the last time, my dreamwalking trance breaks, and I open my eyes back in the waking world.

Filth stands over me with a satisfied expression on his pale, weaselly face.

"Kain said you need to save your powers for the investigation," he snarls. "And here I come and catch you entertaining yourself."

I debate lying that I was doing my job but decide not to risk it. Resisting the urge to sanitize the skin he touched, I say in the nicest tone I can manage, "I'm glad you're here."

He looks at me as if I've sprouted an elephant trunk. Then a nasty smile splits his face. "Do you need something from me?" he asks in what he probably thinks is a seductive tone. It's repugnant. "Some precious liquid, perhaps?"

I fight my gag reflex. "Actually, I need information. It's related to what you're talking about."

"Oh?" He cocks an arrogant eyebrow.

I remind myself that I'm talking to a killing machine and that it wouldn't be wise to punch him in that weaselly mug. "Keep in mind I'm asking for the investigation, okay?" I take a breath. "Is it true you supply Gertrude with said precious liquid?"

His fangs show up, making his face truly frightening—less weasel and more wolverine.

I surreptitiously back away. "I ask because Kain told me as much. I just want to double-check, so—"

"Kain is the only reason you're not a blood bag. Push me again, and I'll risk his wrath." His gaze drops to the vein pulsing in my neck. "I'd love to show you your place in the food chain."

I figure I can safely take this reaction as a yes. Time for some reconciliation. "I didn't mean to upset you."

He stares at me the way I plan to look at a proper Gomorran meal after all these Earth bananas.

I decide to throw him another olive branch. "Your alibi checked out, by the way. I don't know if Kain told you that."

His expression doesn't change.

Clearing my very dry throat, I say, "Is there a place where the Council keeps records of things like voting, the Mandate ceremonies, or when each member joined the Council?"

Might as well dig through some files, like a real detective.

Filth glares at me for another second, then turns on his heel and strides to the door.

I grab a bunch of bananas and follow him through the maze of corridors, keeping a few feet between us at all times, just in case.

He stops when we reach a set of doors with a fancy design carved into them. Without a word, he opens them for me.

As soon as I step inside, he slams them shut behind me.