The Vampire Hunter. Michele HaufЧитать онлайн книгу.
“V12 Zagato,” the vamp offered. “Hot off the production line less than a month ago.”
The curves were insane, not to mention the deep color inlaid with mica flecks that captured the glowing neon lights and flashed like some kind of supernatural conveyance.
“That is—was—a sweet ride,” Kaz corrected as his gaze landed on the smashed front quarter panel, and followed the scrape that arced over the wheel well to end in a crunched side mirror.
“Still is sweet,” the vampire offered. “Just a few dents.”
Dents? More like a major crash. Kaz couldn’t believe the tire was still attached to the axle, let alone in the shape of a circle.
“Get in before someone sees me talking to you, hunter.”
Thankful for the invite, Kaz slid inside the car and had to bend his knees and shift a hip to the side to fit properly. He almost reached to adjust the seat back, but a man never touched another man’s car unless he was directed to do so. Folding his hands across his knees and curling his shoulders slightly forward, he decided to mark this particular model off his wish list. Not that he needed a car to get around Paris. The Metro served him just fine. And a hunter who took the time to find a parking spot would never claim a kill.
Before he could ask a question, Kaz suddenly remembered an important detail about this particular vampire.
Twisting a frantic look over his shoulder, he scanned the backseat, down to the floor and then up along the center divider, and somehow managed to check near his feet, though it was difficult to bend too far forward.
“Green Snake is at home,” the vampire provided. “Chill out, man. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of reptiles?”
Kaz dropped his shoulders, yet they remained slightly curled forward in the cozy confines. “I don’t like surprise reptiles, is all.”
The first time he’d met the vampire, a green mamba snake had curled about his ankle as he’d unknowingly sat in the back of a limousine talking about local vampire tribes. Those things were poisonous. Apparently, though, not to vampires.
“So, Vail—”
“No names!”
He met the vampire’s blue gaze, and did not miss the warning glint of fang between his compressed lips.
“Fine. Sorry.”
It wasn’t as if he hadn’t talked to Vaillant before, and had once even had a drink with him at the Lizard Lounge, sans reptiles. Kaz made a premeditated choice to cater to this vampire’s quirks to stay on his good side. Besides, they weren’t all evil.
“So, Mysterious, Dark-Haired Man Who Has Never Taken A Driving Lesson And Who Wants to Give Me Information, what do you have for me?”
Vail tapped the steering wheel with fingers bejeweled in dark metal and diamonds. Black clothed him from boots to slicked-back hair. He was a vampire who had grown up in Faery (not by choice) and had returned to the mortal realm to claim a dysfunctional family (including a werewolf twin brother) and a faery dust addiction. He was supposedly clean now. If anyone had a finger on the pulse of what was going on with vampires and the dust connection, it was Vaillant.
“This dust blend you told me about is very new.”
“Weeks,” Kaz said. “Just hitting the market. Not many know about it.”
“Exactly. Not sure there even is a market for it yet. When I mention the purple stuff fellow vamps give me a wonky look. Though the one vamp who did know what it was called it Magic Dust. And he was anxious for more. Had to beat him off with a stick.”
Yep, that was the way it worked on vampires. Normal faery dust caused instant addiction. This new stuff compounded that addiction with an unreal craving for sparkly stuff. Only, sometimes the sparklies the dust freaks went after were pieces of jewelry attached to innocent humans.
“Magic Dust. Is that what they call it?”
“Yep.”
Kaz hated that the substance carried an appealing name. Of course, that’s how most drugs were named, to attract attention.
“You know it drives vampires crazy for anything that sparkles?”
Vail studied his knuckles, the diamonds glinting. “Nothing wrong with sparkly stuff.”
“Unless it’s wrapped around some human’s neck, and the vampire decides to tear through it—and skin and bones—in an attempt to feed their addiction.”
“You told me about your friends. I’m sorry, man. That’s rough.”
Robert and Ellen Horst had been murdered last week while in Paris on their honeymoon. They’d called the morning of their arrival, hoping to meet Kaz in a café to catch up. Kaz and Robert had both hung around Madame du Monde’s Dance Emporium a decade earlier for reasons they’d kept to themselves.
Kaz had only arrived at the hospital five minutes before Robert had died. His friend had told him the attacker had fangs and had been crazy for his wife’s diamonds and had growled about needing more dust to keep the high. As he’d exhaled his dying breath, Robert’s hand had fallen open to reveal the fang he’d knocked out of his attacker’s jaw as he’d fought for his and his wife’s lives.
That tooth now sat in Kaz’s front pocket.
“I have no clue where it’s coming from,” Vail offered. “None of the known dealers in FaeryTown, that’s for sure. They’re all sanctioned through the higher-ups, if you know what I mean.”
“What does that mean, exactly? Does someone control all sales of faery dust and ichor?”
Kaz hadn’t a clue about illicit drugs sold amongst the paranormal breeds, and the Order certainly hadn’t an interest in it, either.
“Dust and ichor are two different highs, man. Do you even know how it all works?”
“It’s a drug that makes my job a pain in the ass. What more do I need to know?”
Vail sighed and tapped the steering wheel, then turned to him. “So you’ve got faery dust and faery ichor. The dust is easy to obtain, and it gives a quick high. Very addictive. You get dust directly from the faery, but can also do something to the ichor to make it turn to dust. I’m not sure how that works. But it’s dust form. Right?”
Kaz nodded. He understood that much.
“Vamps deal dust. But not ichor. The Sidhe Cortège controls that.”
“Do I want to know what that is?”
“You should. They’re sort of faery mafia that exist only in the mortal realm.”
“Great.” Yet another wrench tossed into his investigation. “So all ichor goes through this cortège?”
Vail nodded. “A vampire can only get ichor by going to FaeryTown and checking into an ichor den. Or he can find a willing faery and bite her. Ichor straight from the vein is amazing. Or it was. I’m clean now, man. And then there’s the ultimate. The Neverland Fix.”
“Explain.”
“That’s when a vampire has sex with a faery—you know when a faery comes they sort of explode dust all over, right?”
He had not known that. Kaz wasn’t sure he’d ever get the image from his brain.
“So if you bite them and suck out their ichor while they are coming in a cloud of dust it’s like Neverland,” Vail said. “Except, you ain’t never coming back from that one. Total oblivion for the vamp. No chance of returning to sanity. But I’ve heard it’s worth it.”
“Is that so?” Kaz eyed his informant. He knew the vampire was a father and had many friends in the paranormal community. But how much was he keeping to himself? Did he have reason to protect those vamps who dealt