Free Dead Rising by Debra Dunbar Page A

wine that had been in my fridge for five months.
    I got out a brandy snifter, wanting to honor the Emergency Beer with an appropriate container. Then I reached in to grab it, the bottle of barley wine in my almost-empty fridge next to a bottle of mustard and a white box.
    Huh? I pulled the white box out with the care of a bomb-squad technician. The way my evening was going, I wouldn’t have been surprised to find a bomb in my refrigerator. I stared at it as I poured my beer, but there were no red or blue wires to snip, just a piece of twine looped into a bow on top.
    I pulled the thread, eased open the lid, and looked inside. There, nestled in wax paper, sat six cannoli.
    I wasn’t sure whether this was an apology or not, but any guy who brought me pastries, even if he broke into my apartment to do so, was pretty close to winning my heart. Too bad he was a vampire.

Chapter 5
     
    M Y LANDLORD WAS pissed. Not only was he up early on a Friday morning supervising my window replacement, but he’d needed to pay the contractors the emergency rate. Correction, I’d needed to pay, because as I’d been informed many times in the last thirty minutes, these sort of repairs were not his responsibility.
    I’d thought about lying and saying some drunk threw a rock at my window last night, but I just couldn’t. It was my fault. So instead I lied and told him I was practicing tai-chi and had a mishap with my bo staff. I think the only reason I wasn’t out on the street with all of my belongings was my payment of last and this month’s rent in cash. That meant I was caught up. And it also meant that after paying for the window, I’d have about fifty bucks left in my tampon box.
    Which was just enough to get me to and from Middleburg, Virginia.
    The summoning hadn’t worked, and given the results I was reluctant to try again with another Goetic demon. My call with Raven last night made it quite clear that I shouldn’t expect help from Haul Du or any of the other ceremonial magic groups in the northeast corridor. That left my family.
    It says a lot that I was weighing the risks of attempting another summoning against the unpleasantness a family visit would bring. I knew I’d eventually have to go home and make nice with everyone. My parents had been leaving the occasional message on my voicemail. There were regular deposits in my old checking account—money I refused to touch. They were extending the olive branch, and I knew I looked like a jerk for not accepting it. Of course, that olive branch was full of thorns, and any return of the prodigal daughter would be celebrated with constant questions about when I was going to be a responsible adult and take my Oath.
    Ugh. Luckily I had to work later this afternoon and could delay this trip until tonight. Weekends were usually family time, and there was a good chance my brother and sister and their families would also be in residence. I’d soldier through Sunday, and head back that night using work as an excuse. Hopefully I’d not need to repeat this trip for another six months.
    By the time the contractors finished with the window it was nearly noon and I’d eaten three cannoli for breakfast. Hyped up on sugar, I locked my door and headed for the police station.
    The records division was in the Baltimore City Archives, which luckily had a parking lot that didn’t charge an arm and a leg. Once in, I made my way to the information desk and asked where to file a request to see a cold case file.
    “Online.”
    Crap. “Can I fill out the form here?”
    The woman shoved two papers at me. “Fill out the registration form, and the research appointment request.”
    I thanked her profusely and went off to fill out the forms. When I returned the woman was gone, and a man was at the desk. He was a balding guy with a skin tone that desperately needed some sunlight and a paunch that desperately needed some time on the treadmill. Although if I had this job, I’d probably be deathly pale and