Ari grinned. Claris had harped on this theme since she and Brando, another childhood friend, found each other about six months ago. In spite of being a boy—and a wizard—Brando had shared in their exploits since elementary school. Luckily, he hadn’t adopted the common wizard trait of arrogant superiority. Or Ari and Claris had beaten it out of him years ago. Either way, he was one of the good guys.

At the moment, Ari was a loner with no immediate prospects. Her job didn’t leave much time or energy to date. A Saturday night now and then, but she hadn’t had a steady guy since an abrupt breakup three years ago. Ari was fine with that, Claris wasn’t.

“Not that kind of an evening,” Ari retorted. “Although the vamp I met probably has his share of women drooling over him. Dark-eyed, sexy dude.” Ari rolled her eyes. “Can you believe I said that? Never thought I’d think a bloodsucker was sexy. But he’s also…” She searched for the right word. “Unpredictable.”

“Who is he?”

Ari frowned. “Nobody you’d know. Andreas De Luca.”

Claris put the last of the herbs in place, her fingers moving with practiced precision, and turned to Ari. “Actually, I do know who he is. He’s a singer at Club Dintero. Voice like a dream. And yes, he is sexy. How’d you meet him?”

“Oh no, you first,” Ari said, staring at her friend. “Since when are you hanging out at vamp clubs?”

“I’m not hanging out.” Claris chuckled. “Blame Brando. He took me to dinner at Club Dintero last Thursday night. It’s a respectable supper club. Fancy waiters, candlelit tables. And the music was sooo romantic.” She lifted a melodramatic hand to her forehead and sighed. “He’s good. It was quite a performance,” she said, dropping the posturing. “Now you.”

Ari gulped the rest of the coffee, gratefully felt her synapses start to fire, and told Claris about the meeting, complete with details.

“He bit you?” Claris exclaimed when Ari finished. She reached out a hand. “Oh my God, are you all right?”

“It was only a scratch.” Ari downplayed the incident, even produced a chuckle. “If you’re asking if I’ll turn into a vampire, don’t worry. It takes a lot more bloodletting than that, followed by an infusion of vampire blood. How could you not know that?”

“I guess I did. I try not to think about those things. But this time we’re talking about my best friend.” Claris went back to fussing with her arrangements. “So, why’d he do that? And what did you do?”

Ari lifted a dismissive shoulder. “Nothing much. I kept in mind that I was the Guardian and tried not to overreact. He didn’t really hurt me. And what else could I do short of killing him? Slap his face?” She wondered what he would have done if she had. “Don’t know what his point was. That he’s big, bad, and scary? Testing my abilities? Or maybe it was his warped idea of fun. He is a vampire, you know.”

“Yes, I got that. And that means he’s trouble.” Claris deepened her frown. “I admire your restraint in the face of such provocation,” she said dryly, “but you aren’t fooling me, Ari. Maybe if I hadn’t seen him. But I think you were at least intrigued by him. Sounds like a bit of flirting going on. Kind of dangerous though. Even witch fire can’t save you, if you can’t or won’t use it.”

“Oh, come on. Flirting? If I felt threatened, I’d burn him just like that.” She snapped her fingers. Lethal crimson fire was forbidden to fire witches only if considered an unnecessary use of deadly force. Like overreacting to Andreas’ provocation.

Claris ignored her protest. “Cute or not, he’s still a vampire. I want you to find a guy, but not this one. Not a barely restrained predator. I hope you never see him again.”

Ari was a little taken aback by her friend’s vehemence. Not that she was interested in any kind of a relationship with a vampire. And she got Claris’s point.

“You’ll probably get your wish—unless he breaks the law. And then it might be fun to lock him up.” Ari set her empty cup down and looked at the clock. “Surprised Ryan hasn’t called. He likes to get going early. I’ll step in the back and give him a ring,” she said, scooting toward the beaded curtain. “Can’t be scaring off your customers with talk of murder and autopsies.”

“Help yourself to more coffee,” Claris urged, giving her friend a worried look. “You need it. Might have another myself, if it stays quiet up here. By the way, nice boots,” she said, pointing to Ari’s feet. “They new?”

“You like?” Ari showed them off by doing a little side step. “Cost me a mint, but worth every penny.” The coal-black leather boots, all shiny and wicked, had called to her last weekend as she passed the window of an exclusive shop two blocks over. In a weak moment, she’d turned into the shop. Still wasn’t sorry.

Entering the kitchen area, Ari punched in the police department’s number, learned Ryan was in a meeting, and left a message with the clerk. Resigned to more waiting, she refilled the coffee cups, took a seat at the table, and scanned the morning paper. The Clarion’s headlines warned of continuing political unrest in South America. What else was new? Smaller articles condemned government corruption and reported suspicions about a financial merger. A two-column story from the crime beat caught her eye long enough for a quick read. The latest drug fad appeared to be a hallucinogen called Fantasy.

Angela’s death made page two.

Woman’s Battered Body Found

The body of 18-year-old Angela Raymond was found last night in her Olde Town apartment. The immediate cause of death was unknown, pending autopsy. Around 9:30 p.m. neighbors called 911 due to loud noises from the residence where Ms. Raymond lived alone. Police and Council authorities are investigating the death as suspicious.

Ari was surprised the press had gotten the victim’s name so soon. Family notification and confirmation of identity hadn’t been completed when she left at 5:00 a.m., well after print time. Somebody had slipped up. At least there was no mention of claw marks or speculation about an Otherworld killer. That would have been messy this early in the investigation. Public attention wasn’t always helpful, and human panic was a real possibility in this type of case. Too bad the reporter had mentioned the Council. A careful reader would notice that.

Ari finished the article as Claris came through the curtain. She turned the newspaper face down. Enough murder talk.

“Seen Yana lately?” Ari asked.

Claris settled at the table. “We talked on the phone. That reminds me, if you visit her sometime soon could you stop here first? I have some seedlings she wanted for her garden.”

“No problem. It’s been awhile since I’ve been there.” Ari’s face pinched with guilt. “Thanks for reminding me. Maybe later today or tomorrow, while it’s still on my mind.” She brightened at the thought of seeing her mentor and discussing the werewolf case. Maybe even learning about a certain vampire.

Ryan’s return call interrupted their chat, and Claris exited to the shop.

Ari listened in silence as Ryan related the expected results of the autopsy: homicide due to traumatic severing of the cervical spinal cord; multiple fractures of both legs, left arm, four anterior ribs; multiple bruises, lacerations and abrasions; perpetrator unknown. Off the record, the ME voiced his opinion that someone, or something, with exceptional strength had inflicted the injuries. Confirmation tests for drug use weren’t completed, but preliminary results were negative.

Not much new there. She set aside her disappointment and concentrated on the rest of Ryan’s news. Based on the sketch artist’s image, the computers had identified the human boyfriend as Wesley Simpson. The address on file was old, with no forwarding update.

“I’ll track him down this afternoon,” Ryan said, yawning into the phone. “Right now, I’m going home. I’m beat. I came here straight from the crime scene and started paperwork. Sleep is sounding better than sex.”

Ari’s voice held amusement. “That’s pretty tired. While you sleep it off, let me look for Simpson. The suspect I’m after won’t be up until dark. Plenty of hours before then.”

Apparently too tired to argue, Ryan agreed.

Moments later, Ari stuck her head through the beaded doorway to tell Claris good-bye. Customers crowded the counter, so Ari waved, mouthed her thanks, and, well-fortified by coffee, went out the back door through the greenhouse. She had suspects to find and dragons to slay. Or maybe she was just too hyped on caffeine.

* * *

After numerous conversations with Simpson’s former neighbors and employers, Ari wasn’t feeling quite so revved. It had taken three hours to track down Wesley Simpson’s current place of employment with a packaging firm. Now she faced an immovable object in the form of the firm’s one and only secretary.

“I told you,” the woman repeated. “He isn’t here, his supervisor isn’t here, and I can’t give out the home address. I’d get fired. You’ll have to come back another day.” She looked Ari up and down suspiciously.

After the secretary’s third refusal, Ari gave up. This sentry seemed convinced Ari was a disgruntled girlfriend hell-bent on stalking their employee. Ari had given her best, most disarming smile, but no go. She decided it must be the new kick-ass boots.

Deciding Ryan could handle this with less fuss, Ari called the police station and left the info with a clerk. The secretary would be putty in the hands of Ryan and his blue tell-me-all eyes. Not to discount his shiny badge. Ari had one too, of course, but she was afraid her Otherworld credentials would scare the woman more than the new boots.

Her promise to Ryan essentially kept, Ari considered Claris’s request. Still time to see Yana before dark. She stopped briefly at the shop to grab the seedlings and left with eagerness in her stride.

Chapter Five

Ari had lived in Riverdale most of her life. She grew up in the area, considered herself a river rat, and returned to town about two years ago after her witchcraft apprenticeship in St. Louis. Riverdale was home.