Winter Wolf Page 6

  The door dinged and opened to my floor. I had the only actual apartment in the basement, sharing a wall with the parking garage on one side and with the storage units on the other. It was more of a hike across the complex than I liked, but the place had its perks, and no noisy, nosy neighbors numbered among them. If anyone lived directly above me, they were quiet.

  I fumbled with my keys and unlocked the door after a few tries. Sparse, open space greeted me. My 1970's rejected couch, complete with red velvet and a built-in sound system, offered a splash of color. I peeled out of my leather boots, which had fortunately been spared from the night’s horrors. The rest of me, however, was a different story altogether. Dried blood caked my shirt and sweater to my skin, and it took several yanks before I managed to shed my ruined clothes.

  “Burn,” I commanded, focusing all of my attention on the fabric in my hand.

  Some problems could be solved with fire, and with a little concentration on my part, the cloth burst into white and blue flame, crumbling apart in my hands. I let it fall.

  Nothing but a fine white powder and a faint hint of smoke remained. With a tired sigh, I stared at the empty space of my apartment, through the opened door to my bedroom, which had a single dresser and a minuscule bed. But first, I needed a bath.

  Then I needed answers.

  ~~*~~

  After an hour of scrubbing in the shower, the water was cold, and I doubted I'd ever feel clean again. I wrapped myself up in a towel and trudged my way out of the bathroom, pausing long enough in the entry to pick up my copy of Among Us. I removed the dust jacket and tossed it next to my other books.

  I flopped down on the couch and set my feet up on the coffee table. It took all of my will to keep my eyes open. Without my phone, I wasn't even sure what time it was, but the last thing I wanted was sleep.

  Sleep, however, would bring nightmares. I had them often enough, but instead of the faceless terrors I usually experienced at night, Scott would haunt me. Maybe he would blame me for my failures.

  Maybe he wouldn't.

  I wasn't sure which was worse. At least if he blamed me, I could live with my guilt.

  Muttering curses at my cowardice, I flipped the hardback open. The first few pages stuck together, which I peeled apart. I didn’t want to read a book dedicated to zombies--dead bodies that refused to stay dead. Dominic would forgive me, if I told him about Scott’s murder. I doubted I had the courage to, however, which meant I needed to read or face his wrath.

  Then again, it only mattered if I managed to meet up with him in the afternoon, which I doubted. With luck, by the time sleep did catch up with me, I would be too exhausted to dream. I settled down to try to read, but the words blurred on the page, adding to my growing headache.

  I didn’t need to read the book to play my role, be it a zombie or a victim on the screen. Among Us could wait, couldn’t it?

  Surviving Dominic’s displeasure should have been the least of my concerns. However, the book had brought me to the store, which had been the sole reason I had met Scott. I couldn’t ignore Among Us’s connection to Scott’s murder, even if it was innocent of wrongdoing. Reading the book wouldn’t change anything. However, it would ensure I wouldn’t forget what had happened at the bookstore.

  And no matter how much I wanted to deny it, I needed any job Dominic could find me. My rent ate away at my savings, and it wouldn’t be long until I would have to resort to desperate measures, digging into my emergency money. I didn’t want to think about those funds, hoarded away in an off-shore account for a rainy day. Moving and changing identity had been hard enough the first time. I no longer had any connections with anyone who could set me up with a false identity and falsified past.

  I hoped I would never need that money.

  Sitting up, I forced myself to read.

  ~~*~~

  I didn’t remember falling asleep, but a knock on my door woke me. Blinking the grit out of my eyes, I grabbed my towel, secured it around me, and stumbled across my apartment. I peered through the peep hole, sucking in a surprised breath as my agent lifted his fist to knock again.

  I pulled open the door. My agent froze. His almond-shaped eyes, almost black in color, widened as he looked me over from head to toe. As always, he was clad in a carefully pressed suit. One day, I swore to myself, I’d find a wrinkle in his clothes.

  “You didn’t answer your phone,” he said, his gaze settling on my face; he didn’t quite look me in the eyes, but he was very careful not to be caught staring at anything below my chin.

  “Good morning, Dominic.” Keeping a firm grip on my towel and my dignity, I once again rubbed at my sore eyes. “My phone is currently occupied. Can I take a message?”

  The corners of Dominic’s mouth twitched, but I couldn’t tell if he was suppressing a smile or a scowl. “I see. It’s afternoon, by the way, and you were supposed to meet me an hour ago.”

  Oops.

  I ducked my head, letting my hair fall over my face. “I’m sorry. I fell asleep.”

  He graced me with a faint smile. “I’ll forgive you this once. Can I come in?”

  Panic fluttered through me. Would Dominic notice the blood on my boots? I didn’t remember cleaning them. Had Detective Harding called him? Would Dominic, in his infuriating way, press at me until I told him everything he wanted to know?

  Swallowing back my anxiety, I stepped aside. “Sure, come on in,” I mumbled. Under my breath, I cursed myself for giving him my real address instead of my PO box. “Sorry for the mess.”

  Dominic laughed. “What mess? If this is a mess, you could teach my housekeepers a thing or two about cleanliness. You’re as frugal as ever. Live a little, Nicole!”

  He made himself at home, kicking off his shoes. They tumbled to a halt near my boots, but if he noticed the dark, flaking splotches on the leather, he ignored them. Whistling a tune, he crossed my apartment and plopped down on my couch, dropping his briefcase on my coffee table.

  I glared at him, but didn’t reply.

  “You’ve been booked for an audition,” he said, pulling out a sheet of paper from his case and slapping it down next to him. “Here are the details. You’ll like this: It’s a closed audition, and the director and producer want to meet you.”

  “Already?” I asked, unable to keep the surprise out of my voice. I relaxed a little, following him to my couch. I sat on the far arm, watching him as he settled in. He closed his briefcase up, leaving out the sole sheet of paper.

  In the past, he would have strutted into my kitchen, complaining I didn’t have a state-of-the-art espresso machine available for his use. Then again, I didn’t typically answer my door wearing nothing more than a towel, either.

  “It’s your lucky day, Nicole. They’re rather interested in you for the role. It should be simple for you to secure this contract.” With a smug, flippant shrug and one of his million-dollar smiles, he gestured to the sheet of paper. “Everything you need to know is there.”

  I didn’t move, staring at him with narrowed eyes. After years of competing for roles and contracts, I wasn’t quite willing to believe it could be that easy for me to secure a place in any film. I’d earned my other appearances with a lot of effort.

  In Los Angeles, nothing was easy or free.

  When Dominic frowned, I nodded to acknowledge his words. “When?”

  “Tomorrow afternoon.”

  “How unusual,” I murmured, staring down at the sheet of paper on my coffee table. The text was too small for me to read from my perch on the side of my couch, which didn’t fill me with confidence. What sort of audition had so many little details without a script?

  “Where’s the script?” I asked suspiciously.

  Dominic sighed, leaning back and stretching his legs out under the coffee table. “You’ll have it tomorrow, at the audition. It’s at four.”

  “That’s not helpful, Dominic. How can I audition properly without a script? Where is it at?”

  “I’m sure you’ll manage. Anyway
, it’s at Silver Moon. They seem to like you over there,” he replied, his tone wry.

  Shock kept me silent, and for a moment, all I could see was the photograph of the three young men who had been murdered. The hope that I could put their deaths behind me crumbled away. I drew a shaking breath and forced myself to focus on Dominic and the film audition. Dominic was bringing me an opportunity, and I couldn’t sacrifice it—not for anything. Silver Moon was a good studio, even if it was a small fry when it came to Hollywood.

  But even as I struggled to force my attention on my work, I couldn’t forget about Scott, not entirely.

  When I didn’t reply, Dominic made a soft, amused sound. “You’re so subdued when you just wake up. I’ll pick you up at two, just in case. Dress casually; they’re providing costumes. Expect screen tests. I trust you can memorize lines better than you can keep your appointments.”

  The well-aimed jab for missing today’s appointment jerked me from my thoughts. Instead of apologizing, as I should have, I stuck my tongue out at him.

  He laughed.

  “I don’t forget my lines,” I replied with a dignified huff, letting some of my annoyance creep into my tone.

  Dominic’s grin wasn’t friendly. “How would I know?”

  “Do you want to die?” I whispered. The edge in my voice so sharp that Dominic sat straighter, his eyes widening a little. He didn’t move, as if I were some predator who had caught sight of prey.

  Then he started to shake, doubling over. It wasn’t until he made a soft snorting noise that I realized he was laughing. “I yield,” he choked out.

  “You better.” I paused before I continued, “Don’t worry, I won’t forget my lines.”

  What was there to forget? In most cases, I only had one or two lines. Lines were easy. Silent roles, where my body language and expressions had to speak for me, were the hardest. I always found lines easier than speaking without words.

  In either case, I’d manage.

  Dominic relaxed, flashing me another one of his perfect smiles. “See to it that you don’t. At two, then.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment, and Dominic shook his head and laughed again. Then, without another word, he rose, grabbing his suitcase. He stuffed his feet into his shoes and left, offering me a waved farewell before shutting the door behind him.

  I scowled down at the paper he’d left for me. Maybe I had deserved his aloof, better-than-thou attitude for missing our appointment. I had reason, even if I hadn’t found the courage to tell him what had happened.

  He’d find out soon enough, once Detective Harding called him. I hoped the police wouldn’t follow up with my agent, but I doubted my luck would hold that long. When Dominic found out, I suspected he’d be more than a little angry with me.

  At least I didn’t have to worry about my agent bailing out on me until after the auditions. A good agent in Los Angeles was hard to find, and Dominic was among the best. He didn’t give up on his actors and actresses, not without just cause, and not until a project was over.

  I wrinkled my nose, leaned over, and snatched the paper from my coffee table. Judging from the time stamp on the top of the page, Dominic had gone back to his office when I hadn’t shown up. Not only was the sheet a brief overview of what I could expect—several screen tests, fittings, and a general audition—it was also a warning indicating I would be under a non-disclosure agreement during the filming. I flipped the page over. He had printed on both sides.

  I folded the sheet and stuffed it inside of my copy of Among Us. I stared at the bloodstains on the pages. I didn’t need the reminder of what had happened in the bookstore; it lurked in my memories, threatening to smother me.

  I needed to know the truth. Why had Scott died, and who had killed him? Until I found out, I’d never find peace, and would live in fear of the Inquisition.

  Clenching my hands into fists, I marched to my bedroom to get dressed. I would find out the truth, one way or another. Fortunately, as a wizard, and there was something I could do. I hoped I wouldn’t regret my decision to once again meddle with the occult.

  ~~*~~

  I took a cab to the storage facility in the heart of Los Angeles, muttering curses the entire way over the exorbitant fees. I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone—or something—was watching me. The sensation didn’t fade even after I made my way to my ground floor unit.

  With a smile, I unlocked the door and lifted the door up. In the entire complex, mine was the one of the few capable of storing a car; the others had narrow hallways unfit for any vehicle.

  Dust covered the tarp I’d thrown over the old Porsche. I’d picked it up as a junker, and had been restoring the car to its former glory. I longed to start it up and rev the engine just to hear it purr, but if I succumbed to the temptation, I would spend hours under the car tinkering with it rather than doing what needed to be done. Settling with patting my car’s roof, I forced my attention on what was important: Scott and his friends.

  What I needed was in a shoe box buried under a pile of boxes just like it. If someone was observing me, all they’d see was a woman looking for something. They wouldn’t see a wizard pulling out her arsenal of weapons, stashed away for when they were needed. I smiled a little.

  It took me over an hour to reach the precious box at the bottom. Like the others, I checked it, making a satisfied noise since nothing had disturbed my hidden cache. I closed it, added it to my growing pile of things I was taking home with me, and kept digging around. Selecting two more boxes full of random trinkets and costume jewelry, I put everything else away.

  Stashing my collection of boxes in several reusable bags, I hit the streets in search of a cab.

  Instead, I got a police car. No sooner had I stepped out of the storage facility, Detective Harding emerged from his cruiser, approaching me with a faint smile. Before I could shake myself free of my surprise, he held out my cell phone. “We have everything we need from this, Ms. Thomas. I thought you’d like it back.”

  With wide eyes, I shifted my bags around so I could take my phone from him. “Thank you, Detective Harding. You were following me?”

  “For your protection, of course. I happened to be nearby, so I took over observation duty. Do you have a few minutes? I have some questions for you.”

  I had questions of my own, including why I was being followed around, but I settled with a nod. He opened the back door of his cruiser, and without a word, took my bags from me and put them inside. After settling my things to his satisfaction, he held open the front door for me.

  I buckled up and tried to ignore my growing unease. Detective Harding drove in silence for several blocks, letting me stew.

  “I think it would be wise if you joined California’s Witness Protection Program,” he began, his eyes on the road.

  “Did something happen?”

  “Two more young men were found. There were no witnesses. You’re the only witness we have who was so close. We feel it is prudent that you have the appropriate protections. That’s why I was having you followed.”

  There was nothing left of the hard edge that made me dislike the man the previous night. If anything, I felt a little sorry for him. There were dark circles around his eyes, and I wasn’t certain he’d gotten any sleep at all.

  “That’s terrible,” I whispered.

  Detective Harding nodded in agreement. “Your cooperation is invaluable, Ms. Thomas. We want to ensure your safety.”

  “I won’t run and hide,” I said, surprised by the confidence in my voice—confidence I didn’t feel. “I can’t. I worked too hard to get to where I’m at. I can’t disappear, not now.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I wondered about the quiet resignation in his tone. “I have a closed audition for a movie tomorrow.”

  “Actors rarely accept witness protection,” Detective Harding said, his tone still soft.

  “We’re not good at hiding, are we?”

  “No, you’re not. And it gets people kill
ed. We don’t want that to happen to you. Whoever is doing this is brutal and vicious, Ms. Thomas. Let us protect you.”

  “I won’t run or hide,” I repeated. My confidence strengthened, making my voice clipped and clear with little evidence of my laryngitis.

  Detective Harding stared at me, startled into silence for a long moment. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

  I sighed. Most people didn’t realize I hadn’t always been a pretty face with a sandpaper voice. Deciding I didn’t want to press the point, I shrugged. “I appreciate the offer, but I can’t accept it, Detective.”

  “For the next few days, I’m going to assign a patrol to keep an eye on your apartment and wherever you go, just to make certain you’re not a target.”

  Was a protective detail normal? I didn’t know, but something about the whole thing sent shivers down my spine. Scott’s death wasn’t natural; I knew that, and anyone with half a brain knew it too. But why protect me?

  I hadn’t seen anything.

  “So long as they don’t interrupt my work.”

  Detective Harding scowled. “They won’t.”

  I was a little relieved at his hard tone; it was more what I expected from him. “Then I’m fine with them keeping a watch. I just won’t run and hide. I hope you understand.”

  “I wouldn’t either.” This time, I heard respect in his voice. “Why aren’t you afraid?”

  “Who said I wasn’t? I am.” I wasn’t scared in the way he thought I would be. I almost wanted Scott’s killer coming for me. So long as I saw him—or her—coming, I’d take a perverse amount of joy in eradicating them from existence.

  “Maybe you’re a better actress than I thought.”

  “Why thank you.”

  Detective Harding dropped me off in front of my apartment building. He held the door open for me, and waited with infinite patience as I organized my bags so I could carry them inside.