There were groans, then the typical repositioning of questions, all of which Taylor was forced to deflect. That was how the game was played-feed a little bit of information to the reporters, let them ask their questions with the knowledge that they wouldn’t be getting an answer on the air. Off camera, each would sidle up to Taylor, or Dan, or any of the other officers and get the inside scoop. Most of Nashville’s reporters had a great tradition of being told the truth, because the police trusted that they wouldn’t put that truth directly onto the air and ruin their cases.
“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to work. I’m going to turn this over to Dan Franklin now. He’ll do his level best to answer as many of your questions as he can. Thank you for your time, and for being patient with us.” She paused for a moment, looked right into the cameras. “You have my word. We are doing everything in our power to solve these heinous crimes.”
She stepped away from the makeshift podium, and Dan caught her eye, nodded imperceptibly. He took her place, faced the group and was immediately barraged with questions. She avoided smirking and backed away until she was out of camera range. Lincoln came up beside her.
“I was watching the crowd. I can’t tell who’s a part of the neighborhood and who isn’t. Feels like half of Nashville is out here watching the show. We’ve got a long-ass night ahead of us.”
“You’re telling me. Okay, I’m heading to the party. You start on these tapes. Lincoln? Find me something.”
“Will do.”
“Okay. I’m outta here.”
Taylor opened her cell and called Marcus. He answered with a morose, “Hey.”
“Hey yourself. Any word on the vie?”
“She’s in a coma. They’ve loaded her full of Narcan. They think it was some kind of drug overdose. But they don’t know if she’s going to make it-you know how quickly Narcan works. She didn’t come to, just slipped into the coma.”
“A drug overdose makes sense. That’s what Sam thought, too. The presentation screams drugs-I instructed the ‘gators and crime-scene techs to look for anything that might be the culprit. I need you to join us at this address- 8900 Sneed Terrace. It’s the home of Theo Howell, best friend of victim number three, Xander Norwood. He’s supposed to be having a Halloween party. I sent McKenzie over there a while ago to get everyone corralled, and apparently some of the kids’ parents have shown up there, as well. I’m going to need your help taking all of the statements. I’m sure word has spread, and a few kids may have scattered by now, but McKenzie’s got at least thirty people waiting around.
‘The victims are being described as the perfect kids, and I want to find out what the real story is. Sam’s gone to Gass Street, and Lincoln’s doing the video footage. So that leaves us. You up for it?” She wanted to get him away from Brittany Carson, away from the guilt, get him preoccupied with something else. Interviewing thirty teenagers should do the trick.
“Yeah, I’ll be there. Give me fifteen. Want me to wrangle up a couple of lattes? I’m across the street from Starbucks.”
Her stomach growled in a Pavlovian response. “That would be heavenly. I’ll see you there.”
“Will do, Taylor.”
“Thanks, Marcus. Hang in there, okay? I know you’ve had a bitch of an afternoon.”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Good man. See you in a few.”
Ten
Nashville
11:45 p.m.
Raven lay on his narrow bed, watching Fane apply her makeup. Next to feeling his body inside hers, her warmth enveloping him, it was possibly the most sensual experience they shared.
She was an expert, her hand sure. First the layer of foundation, two shades lighter than her skin, which gave her a pearly glow. Then a dusting of powder, also two shades lighter, to set the makeup. She used a sponge to feather the color into her neck so there was no line of demarcation. She put just a hint of blush on her cheeks, from the apples right into her hairline, then started on her eyes.
Raven had filmed her doing her makeup once. He overlaid it with music, a pulsing track from The Crux shadows called-appropriately enough-“Immortal.” He’d known it was their song the first time he heard it, the lyrics crying out to him, “With hearts immortal, we stand before our lives.” It was perfect for the video-fast, wicked hot and theirs.
He’d sped the tape up to five times speed and posted it to YouTube as a Goth makeup tutorial. It had garnered more than five hundred thousand views so far. It gave him an unbelievable rush to think about all those baby bats out there using his woman as a guide.
They’d have even more to admire him for now.
Raven sat up and put his chin in his hand, watched Fane create the mystical black cloud that made the green of her eyes look like fifteen-carat emeralds. The long swoops of black liquid eyeliner, the deep black M-A-C eye shadow, more liner, five coats of mascara, then the intricate swirls dripping off the edges of her eyes like she was a bedouin princess decorated for her wedding night. A dark princess. The ruler of his heart.
She finished, screwed the top on her liner, then outlined her lips with a burgundy pencil. She dug into her makeup tray and pulled out a deep, deep cherry-black lipstick. He appreciated the symbolism. Fane sometimes had difficulty talking to others, and the black lipstick reminded her that she was the one with the power. He knew she’d imbued it with strength-they’d done the spell together.
She bent over and ratted her hair so it stood out from her head, allowing it to fall in glorious waves nearly to her ass, then finished with a liberal dose of Aqua Net.
When she flipped up and smiled at him, he could barely contain himself. His love. His perfect, perfect love. “Your turn,” she said, shrugging into her corset. The stays made her waist about the span of his hand.
Raven tried to distract himself from his woman’s faultless form and glossed his face with makeup, disappearing behind the foundation. He never felt so strong as when he was in full Goth mode. He had to temper it down at school a bit-the administration had strict rules about boys wearing makeup. Capitalist bastards. They had no idea how strong he was.
But tonight, in celebration, they were headed to a club. They would feed on the energy of the crowd, be themselves. There was nothing like a good night of clubbing. Subversion had a five-dollar cover in honor of Samhain, and there was a guest DJ in from Los Angeles, a guy called The Baron. Raven had heard some amazing things about his playlist- he always seemed to have the newest bands at his disposal. He supposed that was the whole Hollywood thing-the Nashville Goth scene rocked, but it was still Nashville. Full-on industrial wasteland. He’d been to a couple of clubs in Washington, D.C., that were out of this world. But beggars couldn’t be choosers-traditional Goth was all Nashville could offer tonight. One day soon he and Fane would head out to Los Angeles, would ride the wave of the Goth scene, rising to the top, glorified in their power. Their art would be watched by millions, and they would never be parted. That day was corning. He’d already purchased their tickets- they’d be gone on Monday. Just a few things left to accomplish before then.
In the meantime, they had to make do with what they had. First Subversion, then they’d hit Salvation to cap off the night and meet up with Thorn and Ember. Ember was going to have to sneak out tonight, especially after- “Raven, love, you need to get moving. I want to get downtown.”