Page 34 of The Mermaid’s Bubble Lounge (Sam Quinn #8)

THIRTY-FOUR

Bracken Tries To Interview Everyone

“Oh,” I said, remembering. “I meant to ask. How did you know where to find us tonight?”

“Arwyn, of course.” Bracken glanced at the other vampires. “I have another great-niece who is a very powerful wicche. We worked together to create that spell to slow down the pooka’s transition. Unfortunately, it wasn’t slow enough for us to kill him tonight.”

“When you spoke with us last night,” Adaeze began, “you mentioned other events, not related to vampires, that you believed the pooka to be responsible for. I realize it’s only been a day, but do you have any other information for us?”

Bracken brought out a journal he had in his interior breast pocket.

“Now, I can’t be sure, of course. A pooka hadn’t been identified as a possibility, but I do have other incidents that follow the pattern we’ve seen here and so make me believe they are the work of our current killer.

I’ve actually been wondering if reports of a chupacabra in Puerto Rico in the nineties was really a pooka.

“Also interesting is a string of killings in the Pacific Northwest in the seventies. No one was ever arrested, but the prime suspect was a local sheriff. Multiple witnesses reported seeing a man who looked like him. They all identified his photo within an array of suspects, but his alibis were solid. A church congregation all swore he was at services. His wife submitted an affidavit that he was with her on one night in question. On another night, the dispatcher vouched for him, saying the two of them had been the only ones on duty all night. He took a lie detector test, and it came back as truthful.”

He flipped through his notes. “He doesn’t fit any of the attributes of a serial killer. Psych tests said he was a hard-working, honest man who was struggling under the weight of others’ suspicions. He was a man who prided himself on doing right and was being accused of killing innocents.

“As individual alibis,” he continued, “perhaps they could be doubted. Maybe he disappeared when no one noticed. Taken together, though, they don’t make sense—unless he has a twin.”

“Did he have a twin?” Ahmed asked.

Bracken shook his head. “Not according to the medical records from his mother’s hospital stay and her labor and delivery report.”

“So the pooka isn’t only targeting supernaturals,” Cadmael said.

“I don’t believe so,” Bracken responded.

“But to Sam’s point earlier, the sheriff was a very good-looking man.

He was tall, and muscular, part Native American, with light green eyes.

He wore his hair in a long braid down his back.

It was part of what made him so easy for witnesses to recognize.

I think, though, like Vlad, the pooka found the Sheriff interesting and so wore his likeness for a while, killing innocents and destroying this poor man’s life. ”

“How do we kill it?” Ahmed wondered.

“It seems interested in Sam—” Cadmael began.

“No.” Clive shut him down.

I put my hand on Clive’s thigh and felt his tense muscles. “We’ll do what we need to do to stop it.”

Clive placed his hand on top of mine and squeezed.

“We can table that for now,” Bracken said. “As to the other topic last night, may I contact the Silva family about their abducted daughter?”

“Silv—oh, Jade?” I asked.

“Rafaela,” Clive murmured.

“We don’t know yet,” Cadmael said. “One of our people is investigating. We don’t want to set this in motion if we don’t have their daughter.”

Bracken looked annoyed. “I see.” He’d been very forthcoming with information for us, and we were stonewalling him. “But you do have someone’s abducted loved one. I’d like to help her find her home.”

“Understood. We’ll tell you what we can, when we can. For now, though, we need to meet with our colleagues. Perhaps we will have an update on the situation,” Cadmael continued. “I would suggest you and Sam come up with a plan for the pooka while my people meet.”

I leaned forward to catch my great-uncle’s eye. “Bracken, would you like to stay with Clive and me? Then you wouldn’t have to drive home so late and we could talk.”

He nodded. “Thank you. I’d like that very much.”

I kissed Clive on the cheek. “I’ll drive home with Uncle Bracken, so don’t worry about looking for me later.”

“I enjoy worrying about you,” he said.

I’ll be fine, I assured him.

See that you are.

Bracken replaced his journal in his pocket and stood.

“Thank you for your hospitality. I’d love to speak with anyone who’d be willing to sit for an interview.

I’m able to provide information, like I have for you in this case, because others have spoken with me.

” He took a card out of his pocket and placed it on the table. “My contact information.”

He walked around the table and held out his arm for me. “Come, my dear. We’ll get out of their way.”

Russell rose as well. “I’ll walk you out.”

Once we were in the hall, I told Bracken, “You know, Russell has had a very interesting life.”

Russell raised an eyebrow at me. “My lady, why would you throw me under the bus?”

Grinning, I tipped my head onto his shoulder. “Because there’s a lot more to the human experience and the vampire one than some pasty white guy with a strange accent crooning, ‘I vant to drink your blood.’ Your story is America’s story.”

“For some,” he allowed.

“For many who passed before their stories could be told to someone like my great-uncle. who would honor and preserve it.”

Russell nodded, walking us out to Bracken’s SUV. “I’ll think on it.”

“I can’t ask for more than that,” Bracken said, offering another card with his contact information. “If you choose to, I can come to you.”

Russell slid the card into his pocket and escorted me to the passenger side of the vehicle. He opened the door and waited until both Bracken and I were in. He bent down and speared Bracken with a look that felt very much like a threat.

“You will make sure nothing happens to her,” he warned.

Bracken nodded. “I will see to it that no harm comes to her in my care.”

I tapped Russell’s arm.

His expression softened. “Yes, my lady?”

“I’m a big, scary werewolf, you know?”

“Of course you are,” he said, though I didn’t miss the twinkle in his eye.

“You’re asking for it, buster.” I made a fist with my right hand.

He patted it. “Remember, thumb on the outside.” Laughing, he closed my door.

Chuckling, Bracken backed out and drove through the opening gates.

“Jerk,” I muttered.

“You have such an interesting relationship with the vampires,” he said. “They are a very formal lot with a love of hierarchy, but you they allow to break norms and behave as you wish.”

“Clive says since I’m not a vampire, I don’t have to follow their rules.”

Bracken shook his head as I directed him where to go. “I’ve known other humans in contact with vampires. They were treated lower than the lowest vampires. They treat you like a beloved little sister. It’s quite fascinating.”

“Okay, first of all, I’m not human. And there are plenty of vampires who hate my guts. Granted, most of them are dead now, but still. I’m a werewolf-wicche mix, and the wicche is a necromancer. Do you know what vampires are?”

Bracken glanced at me and then back on the road. “Undead humanoids who survive on blood?”

“The undead part being the most important in this case.” I had him turn again.

He looked at me twice in quick succession. “Do you have power over vampires?” He was having a hard time tamping down his excitement.

“No. And you can never write that in your notes or put it in a book. If that were known, even suspected, I’d be hunted by just about every vampire out there.”

He nodded. “I understand.”

We drove in silence for a while, with me only telling him which turns to take. Eventually, when we were close to home, he said, “I think it only fair, given what you have hinted at, to share a secret of mine with you.” He glanced over to check my response.

I nodded.

“I, too, am not just a wicche. I’m a bit of a black sheep in the Corey family, though most have no idea why. Only my mother was a Corey, you see. My father is fae. Like your cousin Arwyn, the fae blood makes our magic much stronger than other pureblood wicches.”

“Ah, the pureblood thing,” I groused. “My Aunt Abigail hunted my mother and me most of my life because my werewolf blood was sullying the Corey bloodline. I’m an abomination, apparently.”

He patted my knee. “She was a bad egg.”

“It’s up here on the right.” I pointed. “That one.” Our house was a gorgeous modern Tudor design.

Clive had purchased the apartment house that stood here and had it torn down to the studs and rebuilt into a house for us.

He chose this location because it was across the green from the steps to The Slaughtered Lamb.

My morning commute was about a minute and a half, and we had amazing views of the ocean.

“The garage door is on the side, so turn here. I’ll jump out and alter the ward so you can enter.”

Bracken was staring up at the house and when he turned the corner, one side of his SUV lifted like he’d driven over the curb. “Sorry,” he said. “I hadn’t realized I was cutting that so close.”

He pulled into the driveway and I stepped out, glancing around for any animals too interested in us. Seeing nothing, I went to the garage door, pulled on my magic, and placed my hand on the doorframe.

Allow Bracken and his vehicle to enter our home. I typed in the long security code and the door slid up. If I hadn’t altered the ward, he wouldn’t have been able to enter, even if the door was up.

As he started down the drive, I jogged ahead so I could show him where to park. At the bottom of the hill, the garage opened to the right into a huge showroom of luxury cars. I pointed to the left, so he could get out easily.

“My goodness,” he said, grabbing an overnight case from his back seat. “You weren’t kidding. This collection is extraordinary.” He started to follow me to the elevator but then stopped in his tracks. “Is that the 1965 Aston Martin DB5?”

He dropped his bag and went to the little silver roadster, staring at it in wonder. He glanced back at me, eyes glowing. “This is James Bond’s car.”

I laughed. “That sounds about right. Clive is terribly posh.”

“My word. Do you think he’d ever let me drive it?” His expression was so bright, I’d never have guessed he was in his late sixties. Which then made me realize that Clive might be right about the glamour.

“We can ask,” I told him. “He’s very generous, but also pretty careful with his cars.” I picked up his bag for him. “Little secret, though: If I ask him, he’ll say yes.” I hit the elevator button.

Bracken took the bag from me. “Because he’s hopelessly in love with you.”

I grinned. “Yeah. There’s that.”

The doors opened and we stepped in. They re-opened a moment later into the den. Fergus stretched his long body on the couch and rose above us. Bracken stopped, his fingers twitching at his side.

Fergus stepped off the cushions and leaned into me. His head was between my waist and my arm, so he could nuzzle me while checking out our visitor.

I did my best to block Fergus. “Please don’t curse my pup.”