There were vampires like Nick—friendly, approachable, and always ready for a roll in the hay. And then there were vampires like James Morton. I wondered if the Chief of Security for the Night Court of the Eastern Empire had ever cracked a smile.
He sat behind his desk, an impeccable cotton shirt setting off his perfectly tailored black suit. His hair looked as if he’d spent a few hundred bucks getting it cut some time within the past hour. His eyes were deep blue, and his gaze was sharp enough that I wondered if he was reading my mind.
That was ridiculous, though. Vampires weren’t mind-readers. They were ordinary imperials, just like I was. Just like Becs was. Nevertheless, I was eternally grateful that my warder had taken the lead in this meeting.
“I’m not quite sure what you’re asking me, Ms. Sartain.” Morton gave the impression he was looking at his watch, even though he didn’t move a muscle. “I don’t have any secret formula for keeping order here at the courthouse.”
If Becs was intimidated, I couldn’t tell from her tone. “We thought you could give us some guidance because you’re dealing with a lot of the same issues we are. You’ve got imperials of all races coming in and out of this building on a regular basis. There hasn’t been a major security breach in years.”
Morton didn’t bat an eyelash at the compliment. Seriously—he didn’t blink at all. I knew vampires didn’t have beating hearts or breathing lungs, but did they honestly skip the blinking stuff too? I’d never come across that tidbit at Georgetown Medical School.
I’d have to test the idea with Nick—see which one of us could win a staring contest. I was pretty sure I’d come out the winner. He was easy to distract.
Just the thought made me want to smile. The past week had taught me a lot about Nick, and a lot about myself as well. One of the most important lessons was that I’d rather be anywhere with him—on his motorcycle, on a mountaintop, in my cramped attic bedroom—then sitting here in this finely appointed office.
For the hundredth time, I wished I hadn’t let Becs convince me to keep this meeting secret. It seemed like I’d agreed to that restriction a lifetime ago. I wasn’t the same woman I’d been when I’d questioned Nick’s motivations the afternoon of the shuck’s invasion.
Morton leaned back in his chair, apparently resigned to helping us. “You’ve got the basics, I assume? Cameras on every entrance and exit? Electronic passcards for staff? Security checkpoints within the building, barring access to high-risk targets?”
“Of course,” Becs said.
And that was why I would never play poker with my warder. I knew for a fact that every camera we had was a dummy; we didn’t have the funding for Morton’s type of set-up. Electronic keys were at the top of my wishlist for the new year. And we’d never even designated which targets were high risk, aside from our ineffective Vitriol drug safe.
Morton steepled his fingers in front of his chest. “The term ‘security theater’ is disparaging. But there is a certain visual component to what we do. You’ve hired the most physically impressive staff you can find?”
“Our senior guard is a gargoyle.” Well, Jerome was physically impressive. It was only his fading memory that was problematic.
Morton nodded, eyes narrowing in something that might have been approval. “And your second-in-command?”
Becs made her voice casual. “A centaur.”
That caught Morton by surprise. “A stallion?”
For the first time, Becs hesitated.
“Not a foal?” Morton asked with disbelief.
Becs cleared her throat. “A filly.”
Morton’s displeasure tightened the lines around his lips. “That’s a substantial point of vulnerability, relying on a prey species for such a sensitive position. Here at the court, our bailiff is a griffin. When we need extra security, I vastly prefer vampires, but I’ll settle on griffins or gargoyles.”
“We’ll take that under advisement,” Becs said.
Great. I’d have to find some alternative job for Mikaela. And hire at least one vampire to take her place. Well, that’s why we were consulting with the master.
Morton rose and ushered us toward his office door. Apparently as an afterthought, he asked, “Have you had any luck finding the banshee who stole your Vitriol?”
Great. Morton hadn’t even read whatever briefing materials Becs had provided. Irritated by his superior tone, I couldn’t bite back my retort. “Banshees aren’t exactly known for their black market drug connections, Mr. Morton.”
He barely spared me a glance. “No, but the people who hire them certainly might be.”
“No one said anything about hiring banshees. They’re naturally attracted to our setting. Unfortunately, patients sometimes die in a hospital.”
Morton pinned me with that laser gaze. “I was under the impression that no one saw the banshee on your premises.”
Becs took the hit. “That’s right.”
“Did she keen? Did anyone hear her the night she lost her comb?”
Becs somehow met Morton’s steely gaze. My reflex was to scrape and cower like a schoolgirl witch who’d failed to master the Rota yet again. But my warder answered evenly, “I don’t believe so.”
He nodded once. “And yet, a banshee’s wail is the loudest sound any imperial can make.”
For the first time since we’d entered the courthouse, Becs seemed off-balance. “If the banshee didn’t wail…”
Morton completed her sentence, clearly back to managing his timetable and getting us out of his office. “Then she was at the hospital for some other reason. As banshees are the only imperial I know that can pass through solid objects, I would assume she was there to steal your Vitriol.”
The banshee hadn’t been announcing an imminent death. She hadn’t represented a threat to my patients’ lives. Instead, she’d been an imperial cat burglar. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or outraged.
Becs recovered first. “But why—”
Morton interrupted. “You don’t need advice on building security, Ms. Sartain. You need a good investigator to track down who’s bringing your Vitriol to market. I’d start with all imperials embarking on large-scale transactions that need massive financial underpinning. Money laundering 101.”
As Becs chewed on that, I pushed for a little more practical guidance. “Where would you suggest we find an investigator with those skills?”
“Aside from the most obvious option of Nicholas Raines?”
I gurgled something that wasn’t a reply.
Morton continued: “After all, his ability as an investigator is the precise reason he was turned.”
“T— Turned?”
Now impatience swamped Morton’s tone. “Raines came sniffing around my courthouse once too often. After the sixth time we dosed him with Lethe, I had no choice but to order his execution. The security guard who failed at that task has been reassigned.”
I managed some sound of disbelief. Nick had been targeted for execution by the Eastern Empire?
Before I could demand more details, Morton offered ice-cold facts. “Nicholas Raines was investigating the Empire as a threat against the president of the United States. For all I know, the entire Secret Service is after us now.”