Chapter Text
My first, uncharitable thought was that Ellen Burton reminded me of a chihuahua, or equally as small and prone to piddle when it got excited. The girl was painfully young in a way that had nothing to do with the year on her driver's license. It was the eager shine in her eyes, the fidgety way she held herself in my office chair, the impatient tapping of her pencil against the college-ruled paper of her notebook. No one who'd seen and done the things I had could ever be termed perky.
The blonde hair didn't help the impression. It was a lie that blondes had more fun, but they certainly had a better PR firm than the rest of us. I was betting the color was an expensive dye job, not her natural hair color. Call me crazy, but she just didn't have the right complexion for it.
The shell pink blouse stretched tight across her chest and she'd come perilously close to spilling out of her top more than once. She was leaning so far forward in her chair that a stiff breeze would knock her into my desk.
Ellen thrust a hand at first me, and then Ari. Ariana Snyder was Animator's Inc.'s first official intern. She was also the youngest necromancer in the world that we knew of, and we kept that secret under wraps. There were people who'd kill us both for being what we were.
The handshake tingled, just a bit. Ellen had a talent, subtle but there. I wondered if she knew. Most people with a mild gift could go a lifetime without tapping into their power.
"I'm Ellen," she enthused. "But you probably already knew that. Mr. Vaughn explained your consultancy system. It's fascinating what you all do."
I struggled to keep the annoyance off my face. I had a bad feeling that my boss, Bert Vaughn, had let in a preternatural groupie into my office because her cash spent as well as anyone else's. Never mind that animating was a serious business and dead bodies weren't meant to be used as sideshow attractions.
"I'm sorry to be pushy, Ms. Burton, but I only have a half hour left on my shift and I have another appointment after this one. Perhaps we can get to the point of your visit. Your case was marked preternatural advice. Are you having a problem we can help you with?"
I'd been tempted to send Ari home for the night. I wasn't meant to be in the office at all, but Bert had pressured me to come to the office anyway. He was still bent out of shape by the departure of one of his most powerful animators, Dr. Georgia Hale. I was filling in on her cases now that she was returning to her 'anthropology' work halfway across the world. The truth was actually more exciting. But I couldn't tell Bert I'd encouraged Georgia to strap on a pair of short shorts and LARP as Lara Croft in her own version of Tomb Raider.
Still, preternatural advice could be a learning opportunity for my teenage apprentice. Ari was incredibly intelligent, but she rarely showed it. Too shy and awkward to meet the eyes of the person she was talking to and speak with authority. I could empathize. I'd been that girl, once upon a time.
Ellen deflated a little. Her blouse gaped a little, giving me a glimpse of a Celtic knot tattoo spanning her right shoulder. So, she wasn't as straight-laced and cheerful as she appeared. I rarely met bubbly cheerleaders who went in for large tattoos. So, she was using a facade. But to what point and purpose?
"Ah, right. Sorry. I'm just thrilled to meet you. I mean, you're an awfully private person, and the tabloids never have much to say about you. The partners of celebrities never get the coverage they're due."
Oh, crap. It was going to be one of those visits. I thought I'd made myself clear to Bert the last time someone had come in here looking to interview me for a tell-all piece. Talk zombies, or get out. I was not spilling the sordid details of my love life, no matter how much they paid to talk to me. I could stonewall with the best of them. If that's what she'd come for, she'd leave disappointed. I only had to give Ellen the silent treatment for another ten minutes, and then I could kick her out. At least Tony Bennington was here for a raising.
I glanced sideways at Ari. She also looked young, though in a different way than Ellen. Actual youth, instead of the shiny persona. She'd just turned seventeen a month ago, and she'd shot up another half foot. Her springy curls had been bound into braids, and she'd finger them from time to time, smiling vaguely.
Her adoptive mother meant well, but Kylee was as white as a jar of mayonnaise and had no idea how to handle her hair. She and Jamil had spent most of our movie night braiding each other's hair. It had done my heart some good to see it. Ari was thrilled and Jamil's hair had finally gotten long enough for cornrows. I missed the long box braids, but those were going to take a lot longer to grow.
"Would you mind getting Ellen and me a coffee?" I asked.
Ari frowned at me. "You're just trying to get me out of the room."
"Yeah, I am. If I'm not mistaken, Ms. Burton is going to ask me about my sex life. Is that something you want to hear about?"
Ari pulled a face, looking appropriately horrified. All teenagers seemed repulsed by the idea of the adults in their lives having sex, and Ari was no exception. She fled the room quickly when I opened my mouth as if I might just give Ellen the answer she was looking for. I turned back to Ellen with a cool stare when the door closed behind my apprentice. She had the decency to look abashed.
"I wasn't going to-"
I held up a hand. "Yes, you were. If you're here for an interview, you can forget it. I don't talk to reporters unless it's related to my work as an animator or my consultancy with the local police. If you're looking for personal details about Jeanette, you're out of luck."
Ellen chewed her lip. "It's not about Jeanette."
"Bull."
"It isn't," she insisted. "Not exactly. It is about where you'll be tomorrow, though."
I shuddered. Jeanette and I would be boarding a plane in a few hours, bound for New York. We'd all been dreading the visit for months, but the day had finally arrived. We were heading into the lion's den, and the beasts were hungry. It was going to take a minor miracle to get all of our people out alive.
Ellen took note of my reaction with interest. "You're not looking forward to New York Fashion Week, I take it?"
"I don't like crowds and clothes aren't really my thing. I love my girlfriend so I'm going to support Jeanette. End of story. You can quote that if you want. Now, if you're through-"
"I'm not," Ellen said, cutting across me. "Because I'm not writing a puff piece. I'm actually doing an investigative piece about Belle Morte. About the rumors of unsafe practices in her factories, and some mysterious deaths in the cities she's visited. That sort of thing. I think there's a dark side to Belle Morte that the public hasn't been allowed to see. And since I'm being put on a plane to cover it, I thought I'd shoot my shot. Would you mind being an anonymous source?"
Oh boy. Things just kept going from bad to worse. Ellen of the pink blouse and bouncy demeanor was stepping into a world of monsters that would happily twist her head off and drink whatever came out.
"I'm afraid not. I'm just going as moral support," I lied. "Good luck with your article, though."
I knew I couldn't dissuade her from investigating. She had that look about her. But I could tip someone off. I knew a few people who worked at the local paper. If I had time, I'd see if I could head them off and convince them this wasn't a story worth printing. I didn't want to bring vampire mind games into it, but if I had to, I would. Belle would kill anyone who even thought about tainting her reputation.
I hustled Ellen out of the room. She didn't go quietly, but she did eventually go. It left me with a rare moment to breathe. These past few months had been hellish. Everything had to be negotiated, down to the color of clothes we were allowed to wear. As if that mattered, in the long run. The beauties in Belle's court were going to show almost all of us up, no matter what we wore.
So of course, the moment was broken by my office phone. The shrill ring made me jump, and I fumbled the receiver twice before I could lift the phone to my ear.
"Hello?"
"Anita, I'm so sorry," Mary began. And she did sound like it. She knew how stressful the last few weeks especially had been. "But there's an agent on line two for you. She says it's urgent. Tony Bennington says he's happy to wait until you're finished."
Generous of him, but I couldn't bring myself to be happy about it. If an agent called me at work, things had to be bad. I'd made my semi-retirement known to RPIT and the FBSA regional command center. If they were calling me now, the consultation must be needed urgently. I just couldn't think of any female agents I knew that would want to get in contact with me this badly.
"I'll take the call."
I punched a few buttons, steeling myself for what was to come, and said, "This is Animator's Inc., Anita Blake speaking. How may I help you?"
"In any way I wish," a lovely female voice purred from the other line. It sounded like silk dragged over a bleeding wound. Sensual, with a bite of pain, just like the woman herself. "You do owe me one more favor, after all."
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled, but my voice was calm when I said, "Hello again, Queen Andias."