Free Hold The Dark: A Markhat story by Frank Tuttle

hadn’t expected that.
    “Good one.” He tilted his head down, looked at me over the tops of his shaded spectacles. “What would you say if I told you that the House is motivated purely by self-interest—but that even in that light, we want to see Martha Hoobin returned to her home?”
    “I’d say I might believe that. But I’m still curious, Mr. Prestley. What does a seamstress from the wrong side of the Brown have to do with your House?”
    “Nothing at all,” he said. “Directly. But indirectly—before I say more, Mr. Markhat, I’ll need to hire you. And as part of that arrangement, I’ll need to bind you to secrecy.”
    “I have a client. Ethel Hoobin.”
    “Take a new client. House Avalante has deeper pockets.”
    I pushed back my chair. “That won’t do. It’s time for you to go.”
    “Wait a moment. Are you telling me you’re refusing my offer?”
    “I’m telling you that. Now beat it.”
    He didn’t rise. “You’re as stubborn as I’d heard,” he said. “I don’t suppose a fat bag of coin would change your mind.”
    “I’m about to lose my temper,” I said.
    He smiled, remembered who he was with, covered his mouth with his hand, like I’d do if I yawned before a lady.
    “Sit back down. Please.”
    “I asked you to leave.”
    “And I shall,” he replied. “You may throw me out or hear me out. Which will it be?”
    I pondered that, shrugged and sat. He looked on, bemused behind his glasses.
    “My superiors have a somewhat simplistic view of mankind. They believe all men can be bought. They sent me here with twenty thousand crowns and instructions to enlist your services in our search for Martha Hoobin.” He leaned forward, elbows on my desk. “I know something of you, finder. I told them that you couldn’t be bought. They laughed. I shall be quite pleased to tell them they were wrong.”
    “Twenty thousand crowns?”
    “Twenty thousand,” he repeated. “All yours, if you would agree to accept it as a retainer with the agreement that we would obtain your services, and your secrecy, as a finder in the search for Martha Hoobin.”
    “I’m going to ask this again, Mr. Prestley. Answer, or get out. What does House Avalante want with Martha Hoobin?”
    Evis was silent. I felt his eyes upon me, felt a shiver go down my spine.
    “We want nothing with Martha Hoobin. What we want are the people behind her disappearance.”
    “And who are they?”
    He shook his head. “If we knew that, Mr. Markhat, I assure you that members of the House gardening staff would be dumping their dismembered corpses in the River about now.”
    “You think I know?”
    He shrugged. “Not yet. That’s the problem, Mr. Markhat. We’re running out of time, you and I. If one of us hasn’t found Martha Hoobin in the next four days, stop looking. She’ll be dead. Just like all the others.”
    I looked down at the list. “They’re dead.”
    “I’m afraid so.”
    “By whose hand?”
    He shook his head. “I do not know.”
    “Why four days? What happens then?”
    The muscles around his jaw began to move beneath his cold pale skin. “I cannot say,” he said.
    “What can you say?”
    “I can tell you about the other names. Prostitutes, all. From houses less prestigious than the Velvet. One has vanished each month, for the last eleven months.”
    “How—”
    “I cannot say,” he said. “No one looked, when they vanished. They had no family. Few had close friends.”
    “Then how do you know so much?”
    “The House has many interests,” he said. “We’ve been following this one for some time. With, I fear, little success.”
    “Why are you telling me this?”
    “We both want the same thing.” He sounded tired. “If anything I tell you helps you find Martha Hoobin, you’re welcome to it. Maybe you’ll remember that we did try to help.”
    I wrestled with the concept of helpful vampires for a moment. Then I pulled open a drawer, found Martha’s silver comb, held it up.
    “Ever seen