Page 24 of Flock This

Ignis could listen and I knew she wouldn’t repeat it.

If she didn’t tell anyone about the time I tried to make out with her, she wouldn’t spill any of my secrets.

“You know what the biggest issue people have is?”

“Getting framed for the murder of a vampire? Wait, no, that’s just me.”

Ignis offered an indulgent smile. “They get caught up in their own head and stop seeing the whole issue. They get stuck on the details and lose sight of what’s right in front of them. You need to find evidence of the real killer, right? Or at least proof that it wasn’t you.”

“Yep, that’s it.”

“What’s the most important piece of evidence in any murder case?”

I thought back to all the true crime podcasts I’d listened to, the hours of terrifying details that I’d consumed while doing mundane shit like cleaning and cooking. “The murder weapon.”

Ignis didn’t respond, just lifted her light eyebrow as though asking me to think it through. Damn therapists, all sneaky like that.

“I’ve got the stake still, but what good is that? It isn’t like I can look at it and know anything. In fact, me having it just looks super bad on me.”

She sighed—the sound that said she was disappointed in me for not working it through. How was it that she could actually make me feel bad that way? “I know you tend to be a bit narcissistic, but you aren’t the only thing in the world, are you?”

I muttered her words back to her in a sullen, mocking tone, stopping only partway through when the meaning finally hit me. “You’re saying I could use the stake to find the real killer? But vampire blood is so pungent that it covers all other smells.”

“There are Spirits that track by things other than smell.”

“Who’d help me, though? It’d just put anyone in danger and despite my sticky fingers, it isn’t like I’ve got a lot of money to make it worth it.”

Ignis leaned over and grabbed a yellow legal pad and pen off the table beside her leather chair. She jotted down information, the scratch of the pen loud against the paper. She tore off the page, folded it once, and held it out between two fingers.

I took it, then glanced at the phone number. “What’s this?”

“A tracker who can help.”

“And why would they do shit for me? If you plan on me selling my body, I have to warn you, I don’t think it’ll bring in all that much.”

“He owes me a favor.”

“What for?”

“That’s confidential. Just tell him I sent you, and he’ll help.”

I wanted to turn down the offer, but that was absurd. I could make it up to Ignis another time, somehow.

And if this didn’t end up helping, if it all went bad, well I’d be dead and thus wouldn’t have to worry about paying her back.

Talk about a win-win situation.

“Thank you.” I tucked the page into my pocket, then glanced at the digital clock on the table. It had ended up in double digits somehow, which told me I’d been bitching for far too long. “I should get out of your hair.”

Ignis rose at the same time I did, her seat between myself and the door. It always seemed like a strange layout, but maybe making a patient feel a little uncomfortable might get them to speak up and tell the truth more? Ignis was rather good at manipulating others, after all.

“I’m here if you need anything.” She caught my wrist, keeping me from walking out. “I know you don’t want to put anyone in danger but losing you would be far worse than any trouble you bring to my door.”

I smiled, even if I knew it didn’t reach my eyes. A forced smile was better than nothing, wasn’t it? “I know. Don’t worry, I’ll be careful.”

She made a soft noise, one that said she didn’t come close to believing me. Still, she let me go, probably because she knew better than most just how much I hated being restrained.

I left the office and headed down the long hallway. She had her own practice, which meant she didn’t share the space with anyone else. Her clients were given a code to the front door that only worked fifteen minutes prior to their appointment time, which meant she didn’t even need a receptionist.

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