Page 22 of Blood and Bonbons

She gave a small laugh like I’d hoped.

“I wish it was a booty call.” She began leafing through the papers, dismissively setting some aside. “There aren’t any recent messages or anything particularly informative in his browsing history.”

Vena stopped flipping through the papers. “This research is useless. Virgin blood on a full moon? Where is he finding this shit?”

“Probably the Shadow Trade market.”

Here in D.C., the local Shadow Trade market ran out of an old brick warehouse. While I’d never been to it myself, I’d listened to Miles talk about it enough to imagine it looked like an indoor flea market. However, the goods found in those vendor stalls weren’t human-made.

A person could find ancient fae relics for an astronomical price or simple charms to ward off a common cold. The Shadow Trade market was where Miles had purchased our protection charms. It was also where he sold information to treasure hunters like Vena.

Still sorting through his research, I picked up a ridiculous propaganda pamphlet with a coffee ring on it. Why would Miles even bother keeping this? He was smart enough to know trolls didn’t bring the creatures to Earth. They are barely smart enough to open a jar of pickles.

“What are we looking for?” I asked, setting it down again.

“Anything unusual.” She stood suddenly and went to the cupboards, looking inside them. “If he was knowingly working on something big, he might have hidden information about it.”

She stopped and looked at the baggy by the sink.

“What the fuck is that?” she asked.

“The dick cake. Well, the dick from the cake.” I made a face and rubbed my stomach again. “He set me up.”

“What the hell is dick cake?”

“A perfectly innocent-looking slice of delectable cake he used to hide that thing. I ate three bites before I found it, Vena.Three.”

She picked up the nasty skin roll from the counter as I willed the few bites of tainted cake to stay down.

Thankfully, a knock on the door stopped any further inspection and distracted me from my resurrected nauseousness. She shoved the disgusting baggy into her pocket as I went to look through the peephole.

“It’s the police,” I said, opening the door.

The two officers introduced themselves and listened to Vena explain about the broken charm, the abandoned phone, and the empty apartment. The officer who wasn’t taking notes kept glancing at the research articles on the table.

“Did he mention any plans to leave?” the officer taking notes asked.

I saw doubt creep into Vena’s expression. “Yes, but he wouldn’t have left without his phone and charm. Never.”

“What did you say your brother did for a living?” the second officer asked.

“I didn’t say,” Vena said. “Does it matter?”

The second officer gave a patient sigh. “By the looks of things, your brother is investigating supernaturals. Either he’s a vampire hunter, a treasure hunter, or a researcher. If he’s a vampire hunter, he knows what he’s doing and will be back. Hopefully. If he’s a treasure hunter, give him a few weeks. He’ll turn up. If he’s a researcher, he’ll be back for his phone and notes before the day’s done.”

“He’s a researcher,” she said, her frustration showing. “And if he’s not back tonight?”

“Then it’s a standard missing person’s report. We have his information and will put it into our system after twenty-four hours.”

“Wow. So helpful,” she deadpanned.

“We’re just following protocol,” the officer said, not unkindly.

“Thank you,” I said, opening the door for them before Vena could say anything else.

“Our jobs would be a lot easier if people would stay away from shit they have no business being in,” I heard one officer say to the other as they walked down the sidewalk.

I turned to close the door and looked at Vena. Anger and worry radiated from her. Closing the distance between us, I hugged her hard.

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