Page 72 of Tested
Chapter Twenty-One
I should probably have gone directly to Smith, but after my misadventure at Betancourt’s house, I’d wanted to see my men.
Needed to see them.
And yet as I sit in one of the living room chairs, I know in my bones coming here was a mistake.
We’re testy, all of us. Trajan looks like the reincarnation of Zeus, his dark hair slicked back to highlight his bone structure. The button down he’s wearing makes his shoulders even broader than normal and the tension in his body has me worried he might start throwing thunderbolts. He’s taken a position by the living room window, facing away from me.
David comes down the stairs wearing a simple black suit with no shirt and perfect make-up. A large, ornate gold cross hangs from a chain around his neck, hitting the level of his heart. The look he gives me could frost a beach ball, and I don’t blame him. I’d tried to talk to him earlier, to let him know what I’d learned, but he didn’t want to hear it.
Trajan crosses his arms, squaring off with me. “So you went over to Jacques’ house today?”
“Tell him.” David’s words are close to a hiss. Clearly, I’ve exceeded his tolerance for secrets.
I set down the smoothie I’m unable to stomach. “Okay, yes, I did go over to Jacques’ house this afternoon.”
Trajan waits a couple beats, but when I don’t volunteer any other information, he prompts me with “And why was that?”
A vampire’s aura is hard to read, but I swear there are as many spikes of fear as there are anger. I meet his gaze straight on. I’ve got to tell him why, and that’ll lead to a conversation about Poole and that’ll lead to anger and the kind of words you can’t always take back.Shit. Still, I’ve gotta say something before David implodes.
“Okay, so you’ve heard me talk about the missing elven princess, right?”
Trajan tilts his head, his gaze never leaving mine. “Maybe.”
“Yeah, well—”
My words are cut off by the sound of breaking glass. The noise is coming from somewhere near the front door. We’re still standing frozen when the teargas canister explodes.
The clouds of burning gas fill the foyer. I sprint for the kitchen and start throwing drawers open, looking for hand towels. David’s in the doorway, holding a forearm in front of his nose and mouth, his eyes red and watering. The vampire’s coughing. Something to note for the future.
Teargas affects all manner of supernatural creature.
I shove a towel in David’s hands and keep going. Trajan’s still in the living room. The white clouds are spilling out of the foyer, infiltrating every room on this level. Handing a towel to Trajan, I say, “Cover your nose and mouth with this and get David outside by the pool.”
He grabs my arm, hard. “What are you going to do?”
I shake free and tie a towel around my face. “I’m going out front and see if our attackers left any evidence.” Reaching under my leather jacket, I pull out my handgun. “When you get to a place where you can breathe, call Smith.”
David comes stumbling into the living room, the towel I gave him tied over his nose and mouth. I shove him toward the stairs and motion at Trajan to go. Once they’re both headed down, I squint into the smoke. The foyer has begun to clear, and while I can’t take a deep breath, I’m able to maneuver by panting through the towel. My eyes are streaming with tears, though, so odds are I’m stepping right past A Clue on my way by.
The front door is flanked by a pair of narrow windows. The one nearest the handle has shattered and a black canister sits in the midst of broken glass. I jerk the front door open and stop, frozen with surprise.
There’s a body on the walkway, and even with my impaired vision, I can tell there’s no aura. The body is either a figment of my imagination, or they’re dead.
My eyes are too watery for me to operate my phone. Hoping Trajan has called Smith, I squat down, the heels of my hands pressed into my eyes. Somewhere along the way I’d learned that milk could cool the burning from teargas, but none of us are milk drinkers. It’s not worth the exposure for me to fight my way back into the kitchen to find something that likely isn’t there.
I’m still letting the gusty Santa Ana winds cool my burning skin when a car pulls up. It’s a couple of uniformed patrolmen, swaggering in my direction like they’re going to show the rich kids how it’s done.
“Careful,” I say when they’re still several feet from the body. “I think this is a homicide.”
The lead cop crosses his arms and sneers at me through the dusk. “You kill someone?”
“No.”
“Then how do you know he’s dead?”
“Pretty sure the victim was female and I can’t see her aura.”
