"Sizemore, Susan - Laws of the Blood 2 - Partners" - читать интересную книгу автора (Sizemore Susan)

She wanted to ask why Helene had chosen her rather than Portland's official Enforcer, but she could guess the main reason. Oh, Helene Bourbon would make some excuse about how Marguerite couldn't be expected to leave the city or how a missing person's case would be good experience for a young Nighthawk just getting her claws bloodied. Truth was, Helene thought that Char wouldn't come down too hard on her for having lost a nestling. And she assumed Char was more likely to return the lost cub to her rather than kill him if he'd betrayed the Laws.

Truth was, those suppositions Helene Bourbon wouldn't voice were probably quite true. Char was a wimp, and she knew it; it didn't even bother her unless someone tried to use her. Like now. And right now it didn't bother her because hunting for a lost nestling was not only a very important duty, it was an excellent excuse to put off killing Jebel Haven for a while.

She could let him do his work while she pursued justice and protection for her own kind. "Do you have any idea where I should start looking for your nestling?"

Helene nodded. She picked up a leather bag she'd set beside her on the floor. She took a folder out of it and handed it to Char. "When Daniel disappeared the first time, he wandered north. I asked him where he was going when I caught up with him, but all he would say was, 'The underground.' " Helene stopped petting Lucien for a moment and got a complaining yowl and her hand batted with a paw for her temporary neglect.

"Which underground?"

The strigoi had called so many places the underground over the millennia that Daniel could have been referring to almost any cave, cellar, basement, subbasement, crypt, vault, archaeological dig, or hidden room on the planet. Then there were the passageways, subway tunnels, and sewers, not to mention all the revolutionary groups, freedom fighters, criminals, and paramilitary types whose underground existence attracted vampire attention, usually as food sources. And, of course, there were cemeteries. Vampires used to live in graveyards. In fact, all those huge, overdecorated marble and gilt Victorian mausoleums had been terribly popular dwellings until Stoker's book attracted tourists and ruined real estate values. These days, urban graveyards attracted druggies, Goths, and television crews filming documentaries with titles like In Search of the Supernatural. These days, a cemetery was the last underground place a sane strigoi would head for.

A young vampire that had recently been a sexually abused mortal teenager might not know any better. Or -

"I think we both know which underground," Helene said, interrupting Char's thoughts.

A tense knot formed in Char's stomach. "Why would he return there? Because it's all he remembers," she answered herself. "Poor baby." And if you know where he is, why don't you go find him yourself?

Before Char could voice the thought, Helene said, "I have no proof and no trail, only those newspaper clippings in the folder."

Newspaper? Publicity? About a vampire? Char said a bad word. She quickly reached inside the folder and pulled out a handful of clippings. "Oh good," she said with a sigh of relief after reading through several pieces of newsprint. "It's only a serial killer." Not that reading about a mortal who preyed on mortals was anything to rejoice about, but the last thing she wanted to see was any hint of a reference to vampires in the media.

"Most of the stories are from the Post-Intelligencer."

Char looked up at Helene. "I noticed that." She hadn't planned on bringing it up, though. "Where did you get these?" Char asked.

"A friend in Seattle sent them."

"There are no strigoi in Seattle." Maybe a few lonesome strigs, but the nearest nest to Seattle in Washington state was in Carnation.

"The friend is not one of us, exactly," Helene said. "There was a companion who lost her lover in the massacre, but she survived, after a fashion. She lived on the streets and in shelters until she began to recover from the loss a few months back. Now she runs one of the homeless shelters."

Char nodded. "Delia."

"You know her?"

"Of her. I keep track of things." Char didn't say for who. Delia was a loose end but a harmless enough one. Mortal still, but an ally. Strigoi weren't supposed to have mortal allies outside of slaves and companions, but the Law and reality weren't always quite in sync.

Helene said, "I called Delia a couple of weeks ago to ask her to look around, see if she could pick up any word on a narcoleptic kinky sex addict anywhere in town. She sent me the clippings."

"Nothing about the word on the streets? Nothing about why she thinks your boy might be involved with a serial killer?"

Helene shook her head. "Maybe being cryptic makes her feel better. Delia's a friend, but an angry one."

Justifiably so, Char thought. "Wait a minute. You called her two weeks ago?" She looked through the clippings again. Some were over a month old. "How long has the nestling been missing?"

Helene's hand stilled on the cat's head. She looked down. "Since August, Hunter."

Char was on her feet. "August!"