Free Companions by Susan Sizemore Page B
Authors: Susan Sizemore
the dead one she'd delivered to Ariel? Should she make an attempt to spread the word around the vampire community through the companions? It was Ariel's business, right? It was not a companion's place to —
While she continued to debate in her head, her fingers typed, There's a headless, heartless vampire in Chicago.
Good. The fewer bloodsuckers we're going to have to nail when our time comes, the better.
You really believe that? Bring on the revolution? That things will be different when we take over?
Page 39
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Don't you?
I'm asking the questions.
You sound like a cop.
I take that as a compliment.
Selena knew, even as she sent the words, that they were a mistake, but she couldn't call them back once the Enter key was pressed. DesertDog was off-line the moment he read the message. Apparently he didn't like cops. She swore and turned off the computer. She'd been stupid, but at least she had some information from the other companion. What was she going to do with it? Merely asking the question gave her a headache.
She took aspirin, poured herself a tall glass of iced coffee, put some CDs in the stereo carousel, picked up a yellow legal pad and pen, and did what she always did when a case was giving her trouble: She let her mind wander and began to doodle. It was one of those Trust the Force things she'd learned to do when she accepted the fact that she really was psychic.
The last thing she expected to see when she came out of her trancelike state was that she'd written her Aunt Catie's phone number over and over and over. She didn't know what it meant, but she supposed it was better than drawing little hearts with her and Steve's names in them.
"Let's have a look."
The Enforcer of the City sneered. He did it very well, Istvan thought, especially after being grabbed by the hair and dragged down here from his lover's bed. "You have no right to — "
Istvan slammed him back against the basement wall with a casual swat. The impact left a spiderweb pattern of cracks in the brick foundation of the Victorian-era building that Ariel's companion ran as a trendy northside restaurant. "I'm not here to steal your lunch, fairy boy."
"Elf," Ariel corrected, with a toss of his pretty white hair.
"Whatever." Istvan rather liked Ariel, he respected his abilities, but it was Istvan's policy never to cut any of the undead any slack. He didn't blame Chicago's Enforcer for resenting the wicked dhamphir's walking into his private storage crib and making arrogant demands. If I were anyone but me, I'd hate me, too. He grinned and made it an insult by showing mating fangs like a total alpha jerk. He pointed toward the row of meat lockers. "You want to pay for the repairs when I rip the doors off?"
Ariel ignored his smile and didn't bother answering Istvan's question. He went to a door and worked the combination lock. A moment after Ariel opened the locker, Istvan grabbed him by the back of the neck and took the Enforcer inside it. It was very cold within the shallow walk-in freezer, with barely enough room for two living vampires to stand side by side and look upon the remains of the dead one. The corpse did not look as though a Nighthawk had been at it. One sniff told Istvan that the corpse was fairly fresh, two nights old at most. So, the mortal killer was here. It was nice to see that his guess that there was something rotten in the county of Cook had paid off. He almost wished he hadn't turned around somewhere in the middle of Iowa and headed back, but if you didn't trust your instincts, what was the use of having them?
Page 40
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Istvan picked up the head by its long, silky brown hair. "Who?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
Istvan felt how Ariel hated making the admission. "Local strig?"
"You're not the first one to ask that." Ariel took in a sharp breath, as though trying
While she continued to debate in her head, her fingers typed, There's a headless, heartless vampire in Chicago.
Good. The fewer bloodsuckers we're going to have to nail when our time comes, the better.
You really believe that? Bring on the revolution? That things will be different when we take over?
Page 39
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Don't you?
I'm asking the questions.
You sound like a cop.
I take that as a compliment.
Selena knew, even as she sent the words, that they were a mistake, but she couldn't call them back once the Enter key was pressed. DesertDog was off-line the moment he read the message. Apparently he didn't like cops. She swore and turned off the computer. She'd been stupid, but at least she had some information from the other companion. What was she going to do with it? Merely asking the question gave her a headache.
She took aspirin, poured herself a tall glass of iced coffee, put some CDs in the stereo carousel, picked up a yellow legal pad and pen, and did what she always did when a case was giving her trouble: She let her mind wander and began to doodle. It was one of those Trust the Force things she'd learned to do when she accepted the fact that she really was psychic.
The last thing she expected to see when she came out of her trancelike state was that she'd written her Aunt Catie's phone number over and over and over. She didn't know what it meant, but she supposed it was better than drawing little hearts with her and Steve's names in them.
"Let's have a look."
The Enforcer of the City sneered. He did it very well, Istvan thought, especially after being grabbed by the hair and dragged down here from his lover's bed. "You have no right to — "
Istvan slammed him back against the basement wall with a casual swat. The impact left a spiderweb pattern of cracks in the brick foundation of the Victorian-era building that Ariel's companion ran as a trendy northside restaurant. "I'm not here to steal your lunch, fairy boy."
"Elf," Ariel corrected, with a toss of his pretty white hair.
"Whatever." Istvan rather liked Ariel, he respected his abilities, but it was Istvan's policy never to cut any of the undead any slack. He didn't blame Chicago's Enforcer for resenting the wicked dhamphir's walking into his private storage crib and making arrogant demands. If I were anyone but me, I'd hate me, too. He grinned and made it an insult by showing mating fangs like a total alpha jerk. He pointed toward the row of meat lockers. "You want to pay for the repairs when I rip the doors off?"
Ariel ignored his smile and didn't bother answering Istvan's question. He went to a door and worked the combination lock. A moment after Ariel opened the locker, Istvan grabbed him by the back of the neck and took the Enforcer inside it. It was very cold within the shallow walk-in freezer, with barely enough room for two living vampires to stand side by side and look upon the remains of the dead one. The corpse did not look as though a Nighthawk had been at it. One sniff told Istvan that the corpse was fairly fresh, two nights old at most. So, the mortal killer was here. It was nice to see that his guess that there was something rotten in the county of Cook had paid off. He almost wished he hadn't turned around somewhere in the middle of Iowa and headed back, but if you didn't trust your instincts, what was the use of having them?
Page 40
Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html
Istvan picked up the head by its long, silky brown hair. "Who?"
"I haven't the faintest idea."
Istvan felt how Ariel hated making the admission. "Local strig?"
"You're not the first one to ask that." Ariel took in a sharp breath, as though trying
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