"What list?"
"The list of names. Cameron must have given you one, else how would you have found me? Hand it over," she demanded, beckoning her crimson-clawed fingers at me.
I dragged out the list. Alice snatched it and read it. A new gleam entered her eyes. "Oh, very interesting…" She pulled a fountain pen from her tiny purse and wrote a new name at the bottom: Wygan.
"There," she said, flinging the page back to me as dismissal. "Start with Carlos. That should loosen up the dirt under Edward's feet. And don't worry—I'll keep Edward's attention off of you. I did promise. By the time you've finished with that lot, his problems will have just started."
I got up from the table and walked out. I could feel her gaze on me all the way to the elevator, like freezing water rolling down my back.
I did not want to follow Alice's orders, though I felt a mental nudging to do so. I stared at the list as the elevator descended. Unfortunately, the closest vampire was Carlos. If I was going to talk to anyone else tonight, it would have to be him.
I was crossing the lobby when my pager went off. I used a desk phone to call the number. Cameron answered at the other end.
"Where are you?" I asked. My head throbbed and a matching ache had grown in my innards.
"I'm at Sarah's place. Uh, she says to say hi and she got two ferrets instead of one."
"I'm happy for her. I just finished talking to Alice and things are… well, they're trickier than I thought. Could you meet me tonight?"
"Not tonight. Tomorrow. Call it an hour after sundown, which is… eight twenty-seven, so, nine thirty?"
"All right. I'll see you then. For now, I'm going to see Carlos."
"Oh, man… be careful, Harper. If I don't see you tomorrow, I'll know who to ask, at least."
"Thanks for the vote of confidence, Cameron."
I checked my watch as I left the lobby; it was twelve thirty-nine and dread was twisting in my stomach. I did not want to precipitate a palace coup, but Alice's point about the protective behavior of vampires was giving me an idea. I didn't know if I could manage it, but my other options seemed feeble. I had to trust Alice to cover my tracks as she'd said. If she hated Edward enough, she would. I was banking on hate.
The list said I could find Carlos at Adult Fantasies, a sex shop just behind a strip of businessmen's motels from which they probably culled most of their clientele.
Less than ten minutes' walk from the swanky shops and condos of downtown, the tangled area of odd-shaped blocks housed a strip joint, two all-night bar-and-grills, and Adult Fantasies in their own little commerce park of public embarrassment and private greed. Efforts to move them off or shut them down were never completely successful. Even a plan to make the area into a park had come to naught; eighty years of industrial dumping had made the ground too toxic. So the nighthawks' wasteland remained and Seattle's history of making money off sin continued in all its tawdry glory.
The Adult Fantasies building was a sharply pointed triangle. Full-height windows at the point opened up a view right through the fetish wear and lingerie. I pulled open the plate glass door, went past the stairs that led to the video parlor and "home of live girls," and into the store proper. To my left was the clothing: on my right, the stuff even a sex shop doesn't put in the window. Ahead was a glass counter of X-rated impulse items, guarded by a cash register and a Goth girl.
Her hair was deep, oily purple, her face rice-powder white around black lips and battered-raccoon eyes. Two small, black niobium rings pierced her right eyebrow and a fine silver chain connected the ring in her left nostril to one in her left ear. For balance, the earring on the right was a heavy black spider web with its ruby resident dangling within. A studded leather collar with swags of chain imprisoned her neck. She glanced at me over a notebook she had spread on the countertop. Realizing I was coming straight to her, she closed the book and put her pen down on top of it.
She looked midtwenties, though she sounded like a teenager. "Hi, did you have a question?"
"Is Carlos in?"
"Oh, he's around. Probably upstairs. Just a second." She looked around the store and spotted a young man over in the only dark corner the store had, crowded between vibrating plastic penises and the green-painted dressing-room doors.
She called to him. "Jason, is Carlos upstairs?"
Jason raised his head out of a cardboard shipping container filled with videotapes and looked in our direction. "I… um, yeah, I guess I saw him go up there about half an hour ago. One of the girls came downstairs to get him."
"Would you go up there and tell him someone down here wants to talk to him?" she asked, displaying the kind of patience mothers have for backward children.
"What about my box?"
"I'll keep an eye on it," she assured him. "OK?"
"Sure. OK. I'll go get him." Jason slumped off toward the door.
We stood there in the vague thump of music from the rooms upstairs. Her gaze kept flickering down to her notebook. "You can look around, if you want. Sometimes it takes a while for the guys to get back downstairs. I don't know why. I mean, they've seen tits before."
I nodded. "What are you studying?"
"I'm writing an article for The Stranger, about safe sex."
"That should be a winner." I wondered what qualified as safe from the point of view of someone who felt the need to chain her nose on. Not wanting to cramp her writing style, I wandered around.
I was examining a black and purple leather bustier with marabou feathers around the top when I felt my stomach fall toward the floor. I turned my head. A slab-bodied, bearded man strode toward me. He wore a clot of darkness like a cape, riding on the broad shoulders of his black leather jacket. His eyes were a couple of pits under lowering, cliff like brows. He stopped a scant two feet from me and looked me over. The desire to run far and fast, shrieking, electrified my legs and caught at my throat. I quashed the urge and pivoted to face him.
He clasped his hands in front of himself. "You wanted to see me?" he rumbled.
The breath. I tried not to flinch. "Alice sent me," I stated.
"Alice." Glaciers react more.
"Liddell." I stared right back at him, even though it racked me. A tremor of fright moved under my skin.
He grunted. "Let's go to the office." He turned, assuming I would follow him. As we passed the counter, he glanced at the Goth girl.
"Keep Jason out."
"OK," she agreed, barely raising her head from her page.
A door next to the dressing rooms led to a small storage room with a desk and a couple of chairs shoved in among the boxes and files. Carlos went behind the desk and pointed at the chair on my side.
"Sit down."
I did.
He folded his arms on the desktop, cupping his left elbow with his right hand. His fist was as big as a billboard against the black leather sleeve. "Now. What do want with me, ghost girl?"
I bridled. "Excuse me?"
"You got 'em hangin all over you," he growled, reaching toward me. I shied, but he hooked something out of my hair and pulled it back to the desktop. A wisp of Grey, like a steam-spun cobweb, wafted from his fingertips. He wadded it up and shoved it into his inside breast pocket. "Now, what do you want?"
"I–I'm a private investigator and I'm working for Cameron Shadley."
"Edward's little blond toy? That Cameron?"
"Yes, that Cameron." I gave a sharp, annoyed nod. "But he's not Edward's 'toy, as you put it, anymore."
He sketched a shrug.
"I need to know more about Edward before I attempt to meet with him about Cameron," I continued. "Alice suggested you might have something to say that I could use."