13

Ophelia

Faneuil Hall bustles with tourists as I weave between families with strollers, groups of kids on field trips, and long lines stacked up at the dozens of food stalls inside. Eventually elbowing my way into an open, high-ceilinged seating area, I spot a familiar face sitting at a table in the far corner.

As I approach, a pair of startlingly amber eyes flick up to meet mine. Audra, the demi-fae those eyes belong to, smiles as I take the seat across from her.

"Long time no see," she says wryly.

With her deep brown skin, tightly curled black hair floating in a halo around her round face, and eyes that have always seemed too keen and perceptive to be entirely human—even before she was free to move through the world without the glamour that covered her pointed ears—Audra is as strikingly beautiful as ever.

"Sorry about that," I say, wincing. "I've been… well, there's probably not a good excuse for losing touch."

Audra was another casualty of the life in Boston I left behind after graduation. Another series of dwindling texts and a pang of guilt every time I thought about being a better friend and reaching back out.

Unlike me, she put her journalism degree to good use after leaving uni. Working first as a reporter at one of the city's oldest papers before the Acts, and then becoming a founding member of Boston's first paranormal-run news publication after they were passed.

"Don't worry about it," she says gamely. "Everyone loses touch after college."

It's probably more generosity from her than I deserve, and as we both dig into the lunches we picked up from the market—a bowl of delicious-smelling noodles for her, a steaming cup of chowder for me—she rests her elbows on the table and leans in a little closer.

"So, I'm guessing this lunch wasn't just about… lunch?"

Slowly, I set my spoon down and shake my head. "No, it's not."

"And, if I'm guessing again, you're back in town on Bureau business?"

I hesitate, but she just shrugs. "I heard about Cleo's promotion. It's not a stretch to assume they'd be interested in what's been happening with these rogue vampires ."

She rolls her eyes as she says that last part, and I lean closer, too.

"Anything about that you can share?"

During my research, I found a series of articles Audra wrote on the attacks right after they happened, covering the facts of the case and Haverstad's response.

It's Audra's turn to hesitate. She studies me for a moment, weighing her next words.

"And if there is?"

"If there is, the Bureau would be willing to assist in whatever kind of investigation you're doing to get to the bottom of it."

Her amber eyes sparkle with interest. The sight of it brings back a whole host of memories, mainly of how damn fearless she's always been in going after the truth. We were both staff reporters on the campus paper before she became Editor in Chief our senior year, and there was no story she ever shied away from, no matter how much it might have pissed off administration or upset the status quo.

"Even if it means going up against Haverstad?"

" Especially if it means going after Haverstad."

She chuckles. "Well, then, we might be able to help each other."

"Off the record?"

Her brow furrows. "That depends."

"On?"

"On what the Bureau hopes to get out of it, and how much they're going to meddle with the stories I publish."

"No meddling. Nothing expected. Cleo just wants the truth out there."

"And you?"

"And I'm in it to help Cleo. To help the whole Bureau. I've got skills they can put to good use, and they pay pretty well."

She chuckles again at the honesty. "I heard you went into private investigation after you left Boston."

I shrug. "Got bored. And it's good work, if you can get it."

We both take another bite of our food, silently sitting with the proposed partnership between us.

I hope she agrees.

It's been five days since Cas and I got our asses kicked out of the Raven, and though he's also been working his contacts in the city, he's coming up against just as many dead ends as I am.

"Alright," Audra says finally. "I can tell you what I know so far."

She gives me a rundown of what she's been able to learn about the attacks—when they happened and when they abruptly stopped, the oddity of all the stories being so similar, down to the last detail.

"And that's not everything," she says. "I've been trying to find out more about who exactly these victims are, and I don't think any of this was random."

"What do you mean?"

"The first two are still a mystery, the police never released their names, but I've gotten some information on the last one. Some kid named Devin, twenty or so, a university student. And get this, he's related to the boyfriend of Billy Derham's daughter. Haverstad's campaign manager."

My ears perk up at that, though I hedge my next words. "It's a bit of a stretch…"

"Is it?" Audra challenges. "If they faked these attacks, they'd want to know they could control the narrative. They wouldn't have just recruited randos off the street to go to the police and make reports."

Audra finishes with a darkened expression as we both sit and think about what it could all mean.

A hoax. Some idiotic attempt to stir up the public and paint Haverstad as the candidate the voters can trust—known, consistent, dedicated to law and order. I chew on the information for a moment, thinking back to Cleo's similar suspicions.

"You really think Haverstad would be that stupid?"

She levels me a flat look. "He's a rich old bastard who's never done anything with the power and privilege he holds other than line his own pockets and see to his cronies' interests, and now he's facing losing all of it in the next election. Of course he's that stupid."

I can't quite swallow my bark of laughter, and draw startled looks from the couple at the table next to us.

"Alright. Fair enough." I lower my voice. "So how do we prove it?"

"I think I can get to Devin."

"Really? He's agreed to talk? To go on record?"

"Not yet," she says, undaunted. "But he will be. He's young. In over his head. If my suspicions are right, he's the weak link in all of this that made them back off their stupid fucking plan in the first place."

"How can I help?"

Audra pauses for a moment, considering. "Surveil him? See if you can find out anything that might help us give him some… incentive to come clean."

"Done."

"And will it just be you on the case? Or should I know about another partner in the mix?"

The glint in her eyes lets me know it's not an entirely innocent question. My stomach cramps a little knowing how small and tightly knit the paranormal community is even in a city as big as Boston.

Small enough, apparently, for news of Cas and me to have gotten around.

"I may have help."

"Help from?"

"A friend," I say, emphasizing the word.

"A friend with fangs, perhaps?"

Her eyes sparkle again, and I fight the urge to roll my own.

"A friend with connections that might help us get somewhere with all of this. And help me deal with the covens, if there are any issues."

At that, the sparkle fades. "Be careful, yeah? I can't prove it, but I got the distinct feeling I was being followed while I was reporting all this out the first time."

My muscles tense, and it's all I can do not to make a quick sweep of the market. I've felt safe enough, even after our disaster of a conversation with Marcus at the club, but it's a good reminder to keep my guard up.

After a few more minutes of conversation about the case and staying in touch with any information we uncover, Audra and I go our separate ways out of the market. I head for the T, trying to ignore the prickling sensation that won't quite leave me. Eyes on the back of my neck, the whisper of threat from the very real possibility there might be someone watching me, even now.

Head down and eyes to myself, I get on the train that will take me to a stop just a few blocks away from Casimir's place, and thankfully don't draw any undue attention during the ride, or as I leave the station and start the trek back. There's a cold front on its way in. The afternoon is cloudy and blustery, the wind brisk as I walk down blocks of homes that get more and more opulent with each passing street.

Casimir's is more ostentatious than almost any of the rest.

A huge, hulking, Gothic thing, I nearly laughed out loud when I first pulled up at its gates.

Because of course it has gates.

Black, wrought-iron fencing surrounds the entire property, set into a dense neighborhood of homes that probably cost the equivalent of a small country's GDP. The gates leading into the driveway are intricately designed, with iron vines and roses intertwining. Casimir gave me the keycode that opens them, and I glance up and down the street as I enter it. Finding no one else on the quiet sidewalk, I quickly swing it shut and make sure it re-locks behind me, starting up the drive to my van.

The house itself is beautiful. With an exterior of deep grey accented with black trim, and vibrant stained glass windows, it looks like something out of another time. As ancient and vaguely threatening as the vampire who inhabits it, it took me a while to work up my courage to step inside for the first time.

But I'm only human, and after seeing the gorgeous guest bathroom on the first floor and the even more gorgeous kitchen that puts my mini-fridge and hot plate in the van to absolute shame, I was sold.

And now—chilled, and still a bit unsettled from my conversation with Audra—I'm powerless to keep myself from the temptation of a few hours of creature comfort before Cas gets home from wherever it is he goes all day.

I swing by the van then let myself in with the key Cas gave me, footsteps echoing in the vast foyer at the front of the house. The ceilings soar all the way to the third floor, and the space is edged by a grand, winding staircase that leads to a balconied landing on the story above.

Stopping in the middle of the room, I fight the temptation to go upstairs and snoop.

It would be unimaginably rude to stick my nose in Cas's business when he's been nothing but generous in letting me park here and take advantage of his hospitality.

So I should just stay downstairs.

I shouldn't be so damned tempted to poke around a little, to see what the rest of this place is like. There's absolutely no reason for me to wonder if he's got a library filled with floor-to-ceiling shelves of ancient tomes, a vintage pipe organ, a coffin where he sleeps at night.

Okay, that last one's a stretch.

I'm well-aware vampires don't actually sleep in coffins, and know that the older they get, the less they need to sleep at all, but I'm still a nosy, painfully curious woman at heart. Seeing what Cas's bedroom looks like is none of my damn business, but I'm still half-tempted to go up and look anyway.

Instead, I turn in the other direction and head down a short hall to the guest bath, minding my own business and ignoring the slight twinge of disappointment that lodges itself in my gut.