Blood, Sweat, and Tears (Blood Vice Book 6) Page 4

Murphy began to nod but then stopped short. “Well, to be fair, a lot the kids don’t have parents. But some do,” he quickly added, seeing the horror in my expression. “The most important thing to remember is that no one is forcing anyone to do anything they don’t want to. Harem donors aren’t prisoners.”

  “So, the ones who do have families have parents who are aware of what their children are being prepared for?”

  “Sure. A lot of them were donors once themselves. They know what an easy, lucrative career path being a trained blood doll is.”

  “And if their kids refuse, they can always go back home,” I said, frowning as I double-checked Ingrid’s and Jodie’s details again. “But what about orphans like Jodie? What happens to them if they decide they’d rather not open a vein?”

  Murphy fidgeted uncomfortably. “Some of them run off. If they don’t, the younger ones are put into foster care.”

  “And the older ones?” Jodie was only nineteen, and if she didn’t know how modern technology worked, she was going to be hard-pressed to find a job.

  Murphy shrugged. “I imagine some of them get dropped off at the unemployment office or a shelter. It’s their choice.”

  “That’s terrible.” I closed the file and tucked it under the console between us.

  “Not all of the schools are as stuck in the Dark Ages as Bathory House,” Murphy said. “Some of them even put their pupils through college—House Starling expects their potential scions to have a medical degree.”

  It should have perked my spirits, but I only found the mention of House Starling more depressing. It reminded me of Sonja, and by proxy, Natalie, Will, my mother—all the people I’d lost. I tried to thwart the melancholy by rolling down my window. Traffic had thinned, and so had the bright city lights. I closed my eyes, enjoying the way the wind blew my hair across my cheeks and forehead.

  “Better hope no one recognizes you,” Murphy grumbled. “The boss will rip me a new one.”

  “Chillax, would you?” I leaned back in my seat, letting the shadows conceal me.

  It didn’t take much investigative skill to figure out that Dante had tasked Murphy with babysitting me for the night. Tracking down his former scioncée couldn’t be that high on his priority list if he’d moved on to a second and then a third blood doll a whole week later. There hadn’t been any exciting developments at Bathory House since the disappearing act either, so even if the girls had met some untimely end, the likelihood that we’d encounter any danger was minimal.

  No daring heroics required. Simple, as Dante had put it.

  This was just a menial task that he probably hoped would curb my nagging with regards to getting out of the house. Either way, I didn’t care. I’d take it.

  The city lights grew dim in the distance, and I stuck my face out the window again, breathing in the cool, fresh air while Murphy snorted at me from the driver’s seat.

  * * * * *

  Bathory House looked like a convent from the street. The modest, brick and stone structure was located several miles outside the Belleville city limits, surrounded by a clean, well-kept lawn. Night had already painted dew on the grass. It glistened in the light of several decorative lampposts that lined the sidewalk.

  An unremarkable vegetable garden took up most of the lot to the south, but as Murphy pulled around the circular drive, I noticed that that side of the school was covered in climbing roses. Their white petals glowed softly under the security lights anchored to the roofline.

  A tall, slender woman in a gray dress greeted us as we exited the car. Her dark hair was pulled back in a bun, and though her face wasn’t unattractive, the frozen expression she wore gave me pause.

  “Lady Jusztina,” Murphy greeted her first, bowing his head slightly. I did the same, remembering that this woman was from House Vlad, one of the oldest, most respected vampire families.

  “Mr. Murphy.” Lady Jusztina did not return his bow, but her head cocked as her eyes fell on me. “You must be the infamous Agent Skye of House Lilith,” she said, sounding unimpressed.

  “At your service.” I dipped my head again, wondering if maybe she’d unintentionally forgotten to return the curtsy. When she sniffed and turned back to Murphy, I realized that wasn’t the case.

  “I do appreciate the duke’s desire to discover what’s become of his chosen scion,” she said, not sounding appreciative in the least. “But since that seems unlikely, and since he has decided to take his business elsewhere, I do not understand why he’s bothering to continue this investigation. The only purpose it serves at this point is to further tarnish the name of our good school.”

  “Lady Jusztina,” Murphy said, pressing the palm of one hand over his heart. “The duke has no intention of harming your school’s reputation. His only concern is for Ingrid’s safety. He hasn’t even issued a complaint with the Sânge Institute.”

  The woman bristled at the mention of the institute, and her shoulders squared. “Small mercy.”

  “We’d just like to ask your students and staff a few follow-up questions and take another look at Ingrid’s room,” I said, adopting Murphy’s mild tone. “We’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

  Lady Jusztina could be as snippy as she liked. I wouldn’t sabotage the small sliver of rapport I’d developed with the duke and the trust that had earned me a get-out-of-jail-free card for the night.

  While we stood there, letting the headmistress stare us down with silent scrutiny, a young man in coveralls walked around the corner of the garden with a leaf blower. He got an eyeful of us and quickly retreated around the side of the building, his chin tucked into his chest. I wondered if everyone at Bathory House was as fond of Lady Jusztina.

  “Follow me,” the headmistress finally said, turning on her heel and leading the way up the walk to the front door of the school.

  I stayed a step behind Murphy. He’d been here once before and was familiar with the place. Besides, it gave me a chance to take everything in—with my blood vision.

  At the far edges of the campus, sparse trees gave way to thicker woods. I expected to find some sort of security hidden in the shadows, but there was none. Granted, the school was built like a fortress. Two rows of barred windows stretched across the top half of the building. A curtain parted in one of the frames just before I entered through the front door, and a young girl peered down at me. I paused at the threshold to stare back at her, but then she was gone.

  Inside, the front hall was bordered by narrow tables topped with vases of sunflowers and white roses. The dark, glossy wood of the floor was offset by rugs and the stone walls, all brightly lit by an iron chandelier that hung to the right of a long staircase. There was a quiet luxury to the place. Nothing too flashy, but certainly nothing cheap or worn.

  Lady Jusztina headed for the stairs, but before we reached them, we passed a wide doorway that opened into a formal sitting area. A dozen girls, dressed and styled in the same fashion as the headmistress, sat on couches arranged in a semicircle, each holding a stringed instrument. The youngest was maybe twelve, the oldest twentyish. They paused to look up from their sheet music and regarded me with apprehensive curiosity. I returned the favor.

  “All of our girls are classically trained in the arts,” Lady Jusztina said as if reading from a brochure. Then, she tilted her chin in the air. “Do you play, Agent Skye?”

  “No,” I answered truthfully.

  “Hmm.” It wasn’t a kind sound, but I ignored it as she turned and headed up the stairs. Murphy and I followed closely behind, curling around the landing halfway up.

  Once we reached the second floor, the stone walls surrendered to plaster. A wide hall cut a path that ran the length of the building. Down both sides, framed paintings of sunsets and fruit still life arrangements were practically hung on top of one another. It reminded me of the way Dante’s photographs were displayed throughout the manor. Déjà vu hit me a second time when I noticed a painting of a sun setting behind a line of autumn-kissed trees.

  It ha
dn’t occurred to me until just then that while I knew Ursula had attended a blood finishing school, I had no idea whether or not Dante had. Because of the Eye of Blood, I knew exactly how the princess had died. I’d had a front-row seat to her memory of it.

  Dante’s past, on the other hand, was a complete mystery. I knew that the prince, Alexander, was his sire. And that Dante had maybe been a Union soldier or general during the Civil War. But that was it.

  Lady Jusztina turned left, and as I peered ahead of her, another woman exited through a doorway midway down the hall. She, too, wore a gray dress, but her hair was cut short and curly.

  “Ms. Collet has taught French here at Bathory House for seventy-five years,” Lady Jusztina said. “She is one of my half-sired heirs, and she was on watch the day Ingrid vanished.”

  For somewhere in the ballpark of a hundred, Ms. Collet looked amazing. I supposed still being human was more beneficial at a place like this where the students required supervision during the daylight hours, as well.

  Ms. Collet inclined her head to Murphy and me. She didn’t look much happier to see us than the headmistress had, but she was more careful with her tone.

  “This is Ingrid’s room,” Ms. Collet said, opening her arm to welcome us inside.

  Murphy stepped back this time, allowing me to go ahead of him. The stuffy environment seemed to be bringing out his inner chivalry. I did the polite thing and thanked him as I walked past.

  Ingrid shared a room with three other girls. The beds were stacked over desks like in a college dorm, one tucked in each corner, allotting just enough wall space for the entrance, a barred window, and the closet and bathroom doors.

  “Ms. Collet, would you please assist our guests and answer their questions?” Lady Jusztina said. “I have calls to return.”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll send Holly and Renee upstairs before retiring to my office.”

  “Thank you, Headmistress,” Ms. Collet said, bowing her head deeper than she had for Murphy or me.

  Murphy echoed the motion to Lady Jusztina. “We appreciate your time,” he said. I nodded but refrained from expressing additional gratitude. Ursula’s vampire etiquette lessons weren’t entirely useless, and this was the first chance I’d had to test drive them outside of the manor.

  Do not cave to anger, but neither reward insult with veneration.

  I considered it a successful trial run before the All Hallows’ Eve ball.

  Lady Jusztina gave me one last glance before disappearing down the hall, and I turned my attention back to the room.

  “Which one is Ingrid’s?” I asked.

  “Here.” Ms. Collet pointed to the desk and bed combo along the wall beside the closet door. “And Jodie’s is there,” she said, nodding to the bed along the stretch of wall by the window.

  I glanced over Ingrid’s space first, taking in the quilted bedspread and the stack of books on her desk beneath—calculus, American history, chemistry. A violin case was propped upright in the desk chair.

  “Ingrid was one of our best pupils,” Ms. Collet said, melancholy softening her words. “She seemed so excited to be chosen by the duke.”

  “When was the last time you saw her?” I asked as I moved on to Jodie’s space. Murphy’s eyes followed my movements, his focus split between the room and me.

  “Late Tuesday morning. She was still asleep. Jodie, too,” Ms. Collet answered. “The headmistress and two of our instructors are undead, so we keep split hours. The girls go to bed at 1:00 A.M. and wake around 10:00 A.M. I looked in on them before going downstairs to prepare brunch. When Ingrid and Jodie didn’t show, and we could not find them, we immediately contacted Blood Vice and then the duke.”

  Jodie’s bed and desk looked almost identical to Ingrid’s, except for a small vase that held a pair of white roses and a familiar book of vampire poetry. I double-checked the other desks in the room but didn’t see flowers on any of them.

  “Did Jodie like gardening?” I asked, fingering the white petals of one rose.

  “She spent a lot of time in the garden,” Ms. Collet answered. “And she enjoyed helping me in the kitchen.”

  “Was she allowed to roam the garden without supervision?” Murphy asked.

  “Of course. The girls are not prisoners.” She scowled defensively. “They are free to leave at any time.”

  “Free to be homeless and destitute?” I lifted an eyebrow.

  “We’re a finishing school, not a trust fund for quitters,” Ms. Collet said. “We rely on donations from wealthy benefactors, who hire our girls for their harems or as future scions. These young ladies work hard to attain such an honor, and any of them would have loved to be in Ingrid’s shoes.”

  Just then, two girls entered the room. One of them I recognized as the cello player from downstairs. They were both older, so I assumed the living quarters were arranged by age group. They folded their hands behind their backs and looked down at the floor as Ms. Collet addressed them.

  “Holly, Renee, these agents are here to ask more questions about Ingrid and Jodie. Will you speak with them?”

  “Yes, Ms. Collet,” they answered in unison. Something in the robotic way they responded told me they would say whatever they thought was least likely to displease their keepers. Maybe they could leave whenever they wanted to, but that didn’t mean they had anywhere else to go.

  It had been some time since I’d interrogated a suspect or witness, even longer since I’d questioned a kid. So, I approached it carefully, starting with the easy stuff.

  “How long have you girls shared a room with Ingrid?”

  The first girl, Holly, glanced up at me. “Almost five years. She’d been here for six months before I arrived. She chose me to be her second donor-in-waiting,” she added glumly.

  “And you?” I asked Renee.

  “I’ve been in this room for two years but at the school for four,” she answered.

  “How long was Jodie here?”

  “Ingrid and Jodie joined us at the same time,” Ms. Collet said. “Their mothers are sisters, both retired harem donors.”

  I looked at Jodie’s desk again, sure I was missing something vital. “I don’t see an instrument.”

  “Jodie plays bass, though not very well. It’s quite large, so it remains in the music room downstairs.”

  “Was she as excited about the move to the duke’s manor as Ingrid?” Murphy asked next.

  Ms. Collet sighed and shot an uncertain glance at the two girls. “Tell them what you told me. It’s all right,” she added at Holly’s worried expression, but it was Renee who spoke up first.

  “The day before they were supposed to leave, Ingrid seemed mad at Jodie. Jodie was begging Ingrid to pick someone else to go with her.”

  “She wanted to stay here at Bathory House,” Holly added.

  “Why?” I frowned and glanced around the room, wondering what Jodie could possibly have to stay behind for. Then my eyes caught on the vase of flowers again. Was she worried that the duke wouldn’t have a garden? Did she think he’d look down on her for not playing her instrument well?

  No one, including Ms. Collet, seemed to have an answer for that one. They just stared uncomfortably at the floor. Renee seemed to grow more agitated as the silence stretched. Until she seemingly couldn’t take it any longer.

  “Ingrid caught her talking to some boy on a cell phone,” she blurted.

  “Where on earth would she have gotten a cell phone?” Ms. Collet snapped. She turned her puzzled face to Murphy and me. “None of the instructors, nor the headmistress, have mobile phones. The school has two landlines, and that’s it.”

  Ah, young love. If there were a boy in the picture, Jodie had to have met him somehow.

  “Does the school have internet access?”

  Ms. Collet frowned thoughtfully. “Only in Lady Jusztina’s office, but she keeps the door locked when she’s out, and her computer is password-protected. It’s not available to the girls.”

  I steppe
d out into the hallway, trying to recreate the morning the girls disappeared in my head. “Is there another stairwell to get up to this floor besides the one near the front entrance?”

  Ms. Collet nodded. “At the end of the hall. It leads down to the sunroom at the back of the house, right off the kitchen. They must have slipped right by me.” She paused to shake her head. “Come. I will show you.”

  We followed her out of the room, and past two more closed doors before finding the stairwell tucked around a corner at the end of the hall. It was narrower than the one at the front of the house and lit only by a pair of small, dim sconces.

  Just as Ms. Collet had said, it deposited us into a sunroom. The space was crowded with potted plants, and shelves of boxed herbs were pressed up against the three glass walls. A wreath of dried roses hung from a hook on the brick interior wall.

  “Jodie must have made that,” Ms. Collet said with a tender smile. “She loves flowers.”

  “The gardener planted the crawling roses along the side of the house just for her,” Renee said.

  “No,” Holly said. “That was the gardener’s son, Wesley.”

  I thought of the roses on Jodie’s desk again, and the book of poetry. “I saw a boy in coveralls near the garden when we arrived. Would that be Wesley?”

  “Yes, Wesley Arnold,” Ms. Collet confirmed. “He’s been staying extra late since the girls disappeared. I think he’s hoping they’ll return. He and Jodie were friends. They worked together in the garden.”

  “Could we talk to him?” Murphy asked.

  “Of course. Girls, you may return to your music lesson,” Ms. Collet said to Renee and Holly before pointing Murphy and me out a door that led to the garden.

  “We should check in with the boss,” Murphy whispered over my shoulder as we stepped back out into the night.

  He gave me a curious look that crossed somewhere between cautious hesitation and excitement over the new development. I wasn’t sure which he wanted more: to solve the mystery or keep me perfectly clear of any potential disasters that could land him in hot water with the duke.

  I shrugged. “Why don’t we wait until we have something useful to tell him.”