Part 22 (1/2)

I found a teller and showed my s.h.i.+eld and the key. She bit her lip. ”I'm sorry. I can't let you into someone's private box. Vincent was a nice guy. I can't imagine he's doing anything wrong.”

”Well, somebody thought he was, enough to kill him,” I said. Her mouth and eyes formed quarter-sized O's. ”So since any rights Mr. Blackburn might have had to his privacy ceased when he died, how about letting me take a look?”

Sure, I probably traumatized the woman for life, but if she thought a drug-pus.h.i.+ng, drug-using blackmailer was ”nice,” she had bigger problems than me.

The safe-deposit box was a big one, with a flat folding lid. The teller set it in front of me on an oak table and left. I was in a small cubicle, about the size of a handicapped bathroom stall, the walls all done in red velvet and the chair upholstered. I felt like I was inside a well-lit coffin.

”You better have something good for me, Vincent,” I muttered as I popped the lid. A stack of file folders greeted me, all neatly labeled with names and dates. I picked up the first one, and glossy photos fell out. n.o.body outside of Internet perverts probably wants to know the contents, but suffice to say I wasn't aware there were so many uses for a lit candle.

All the folders were like that. At the bottom of the box were two DV ca.s.settes and a bunch of CD backups of the photos. I settled in for the long haul and began going over each folder, making a note in my book of the names.

Halfway through, I found roger davidson burdock, and opened the manila folder to find Boot Guy staring me in the face. Vincent had clipped his Fortune Fortune article to the top of the glossy of Roger in a dress. It was a nice dress, probably Gucci. article to the top of the glossy of Roger in a dress. It was a nice dress, probably Gucci.

At least now I knew why he looked familiar.

The folder underneath Roger was tagged seamus malachy o'halloran. I stopped, fingers just touching the manila. I had guessed someone in the family, but Seamus himself? He was a scary guy, no denying it, but a perv as well? Where did he find the time?

Only a single strip of negatives lay in the folder when I flipped it open. I held them up to the mellow bulb in the ceiling and winced at what I saw. Seamus, like Samael nee Arthur, liked control, and he didn't seem too picky about the gender or age of his partners.

I took a breath of stale air and shoved the negatives back into the folder, bending it double and tucking it under my tight black polo s.h.i.+rt. It made an odd bulge, but I zipped up my jacket and managed to come off as mildly pregnant rather than deformed. The rest of the files and photographs went back in the box. I had the key. They were as safe as I could make them.

Then I left the bank and walked two blocks down from Main Street to the O'Halloran Building. My blood was pumping like I'd just done a five-mile run and the were was panting in my ear, feeding on my slow-burn rage.

Seamus was a murderer and a s.a.d.i.s.t and he was over. Through. Done. When I finished, his life and reputation would be sc.r.a.ps that stray dogs wouldn't pick at. Perversely, I thought of Shelby as I strode through the O'Halloran lobby and punched the b.u.t.ton for the highest floor the elevator went to. She'd be horrified at this course of action, but I couldn't help feeling that, were her leg healed, she'd be here next to me.

At least, that's what I told myself to keep my mind off what a bad idea confronting Seamus O'Halloran was, and it worked until the elevator doors dinged open.

Seamus's secretary was a nice-looking girl, with icy eye shadow and couture clothes she probably couldn't afford. She looked up at me and gave an audible squeak. In the slick waiting area I probably stood out like a h.e.l.l's Angel in a roomful of priests.

”I need to see Seamus,” I informed her, flas.h.i.+ng my badge. She squinted at the gold s.h.i.+eld like it was covered in Sanskrit.

”Mr. O'Halloran O'Halloran is very busy,” she finally said, sitting back and folding her hands. is very busy,” she finally said, sitting back and folding her hands.

”I have no doubt,” I said. ”But consider this-would you rather interrupt him or have me kick open his office door?” I c.o.c.ked my head toward the frosted-gla.s.s double doors that concealed the inner office. ”I'm sure these are hooked to a central alarm that has a direct line to the Nocturne City PD. You can deal with me or a dozen uniformed officers. And those guys never wipe their feet.”

Her lip curled but she reached for the silver phone on her desk, which had enough b.u.t.tons to control a s.p.a.ce station. I put my hand over hers to stop the call. ”Just open the door.”

She opened her mouth to say something else prissy, and I let my eyes flame to gold. Sometimes the direct approach is best. The secretary swallowed and then pressed a switch on the underside of her desk. The lock on the inner doors clicked open.

”Smart choice,” I told the secretary. She just sat frozen with her head in her hands as I pushed open the doors, letting them bang against the wall. Seamus was pacing back and forth with a phone pressed against his ear, holding the base in his other hand like a movie magnate. His head shot up when I came in.

”Hang up the phone,” I told him. ”We're going to talk.”

”Hold on, Herb,” he said into the receiver. ”Minor glitch on this end.”

”Don't make me ask you again,” I warned. ”Hang up.”

”What in seven h.e.l.ls is going on?” Seamus hissed at me. ”How dare you bust in here, you little b.i.t.c.h?”

I walked over to where the phone was plugged into the wall and gently unclipped it, laying the cord on the floor. Seamus jiggled the receiver. ”Herb? Herb? s.h.i.+t!” He turned on me. ”Do you have any idea who you just hung up on?”

I crossed my arms. ”I don't care if it was Lord Ganesh himself. We're going to talk about Vincent Blackburn. Oh, and the poisoned blood you used to kill Vincent, and the car bomb that almost killed your niece.”

I'd expected Seamus to deny everything, yell and wave his arms and swear a lot. He was a rich white guy, after all. What I didn't expect was for him to close the distance between us and backhand me across the face.

Had I been a normal woman pus.h.i.+ng thirty, the blow would have flattened me. As it was, my teeth clacked together and I tasted blood on my lip. My neck snapped around, and I held there for a second, waiting for the ringing in my head to dissipate.

Seamus watched me, face florid red. He looked like he was bucking for a heart attack. I shook my head once and then met his eyes again.

”You hit like a senior citizen, Seamus.” I would be calm. I would not rise up to the challenge the were perceived. I could probably tear Seamus's arms and legs off with my bare hands, but he didn't need to know that.

”Get out,” he ordered. ”Before I teach you the lesson you so obviously need.”

”Since you mention lessons,” I said, taking the strip of film out of my pocket, ”I've got one for you.” I tossed the strip on the carpet between us. ”Always make sure you get all the negatives when you pay someone off.”

Seamus looked at me, at the film, back at me, then crouched and picked it up. He turned his back on me and went to the broad window behind his desk, holding the film up to the light.

”Good composition,” I said. ”Well framed. The faces are very clear. Vincent might have had some actual talent. His sister mentioned he was a painter.” I put my hands in my jacket pockets to disguise the rubbery fear that was working its way out of my stomach and strolled across the carpet to Seamus. ”But I guess we'll never know, since you had him murdered.”

He whipped back to me, the film clutched in his fist. ”You think this changes anything? You'll never prove I poisoned that queer. I'm a G.o.d in this town, little girl.” A shadow of ink started at the corners of his eyes and bled across the pupil. The small hairs on my neck p.r.i.c.kled and my lower back twinged, the were equivalent of a red flas.h.i.+ng light and an alarm klaxon. I blazed on.

”Of course you didn't hold the needle, Seamus. But you ordered someone to.” Or he had forced Vincent into killing himself, by using the Skull. ”After all this, witches and magickal wars and blood feuds, it's something so pedestrian. I'm kinda disappointed, honestly. Multiple killings over a bunch of dirty pictures. Puts things into perspective.”

Seamus laughed, shaking his head like I was a very stupid toddler who had messed my pants. ”You are so focused on what's there in black-and-white, little girl. You can't see that an addict would do anything for drugs and cash. He'd snap some compromising photos, and he'd also cut a deal when he got caught.”

Before I could apply that to any sort of sense, Seamus's hand flashed out and twisted in my hair, bringing my face close to his. His eyes were pure black now as he pulled down his power, like the daemons I had encountered. In a human face they were terrifying.

”And now I think I've confided enough to you,” Seamus said softly. ”Don't resist,” he added when I struggled against him, snarling. ”Or I'll just kill you outright.”

The compulsion slipped over me like plunging into a pool of hot ice-everything was warm and solid and I just didn't care anymore. It wasn't like a dominate, all heavy limbs and clouded senses, like being drunk. I was still perfectly aware that I was standing in Seamus's office, looking into his eyes, but I saw it all from a small spectator box in the back of my mind. My body and my consciousness were no longer under my control.

”Good,” Seamus breathed when he saw the compulsion take hold. ”Now walk.” Still holding my hair, he led me across the office to a small metal plate set in the wall. He pressed the b.u.t.ton and a piece of the wall slid back. I had an odd sort of tunnel vision-directly in front was clear but everything else was a swirl of light and sound and overwhelming sensation.

Seamus dragged me into a small compartment and we started to move, downward. After what seemed like a long wait the door opened and he commanded, ”Out.”

”What's that you've got there?” said a familiar sharp voice. Seamus grunted.

”She burst into my office and started spouting accusations about Vincent Blackburn. Nothing too deep, but enough to be serious.” He let go of my hair and I went to my knees because that seemed like a natural thing to do. ”Do what you want,” Seamus said. ”I put her under far enough that even if she snaps out of it, she won't remember a thing.”

Joshua, wearing a new dark suit worth more than my car, stepped into my field of view and whistled. ”I love the perks of this job, Seamus. I really do.”

”I'll need my car at seven,” said Seamus. A door clicked somewhere and he was gone.

Joshua stroked his jaw and regarded me. ”Well. All alone, eh, Luna? Remind you of anything?”

Alone, on the floor of someone's van while a beach bonfire rages in the distance. No one is going to hear me if I scream. He holds me down, the rampant snake on his arm poised to strike. I scream anyway.

I beat on the walls of the working Seamus had put me under. I knew what was going to happen, but I couldn't move, could only stare blindly ahead while Joshua put a finger under my chin and commanded, ”Stay.”