Chael said this afternoon.
Maybe I won’t have to.
* * *
THE TRIP TO THE CONSULATE GOES SMOOTHLY. UNTIL we’re presented a list of the documentation necessary to marry in France. One item jumps off the page—medical certificate. Blood tests and a medical exam by a French doctor have to be completed before the marriage application can be approved.
The clerk helping us offers a list of doctors to consult, but for the same reason I have avoided my own doctor in San Diego, I know I can’t go to just any doctor in France. I have no idea how vampire physiology differs from human, but I don’t intend to find out now. I glance at Frey. Chances are, he would pass a normal exam and routine blood tests. He is more human than not.
Everything else, passports, birth certificates, certificates certifying that we are free to marry, proof of domicile—all are dispatched with alacrity. Frey has his lawyer friend in San Diego with whom he’s already talked. I call David and he promises to get the bureaucratic wheels spinning for me. After, of course, an excited chorus of whoops from both he and Tracey when I tell him why I’m calling.
Then he says, “By the way, Harris stopped by the office yesterday. You are never going to guess what’s happened? They’ve identified Warren Williams’ killer! And the same guy confessed to killing Judith Williams, too. Can you believe it?”
My breath catches. Not possible. Warren Williams’ killer is a vampire long dead. By my hand. Judith was killed in Monument Valley. Frey’s hands were on that weapon, but I was at his side, urging him to take the shot. It takes me a second to compose myself enough to ask, “Who?”
“Some lowlife ex-con who had a grudge against the chief. Confessed to killing them both and burying Judith Williams’ body in the desert. Left a beautiful letter addressed to the DA before blowing his brains out in front of SDPD headquarters.”
Frey is watching me, reading my body language. We’re back in the car, getting ready to head home. As soon as I end the call with David, he asks, “What’s wrong?”
When I repeat what David told me, he’s as shocked as I am. “Somebody engineered this,” he says. “But who?”
“And why?” If I’m supposed to be relieved that Harris will no longer be harassing Frey and me, the feeling is overwhelmed by a sense of dread. Whoever did me this “favor” will undoubtedly be around at some point to collect for it.
“Jesus, Frey. A man is dead. The case tied up with a pretty ribbon. What the fuck?”
Frey’s eyes meet mine.
“I can’t help feeling this has Chael’s signature all over it.”
Frey is shaking his head. “Well, we can’t do anything about it now. When we get back home, we’ll do some digging.” He spreads his hands. “Right now we have a wedding to plan, right? I saw how you reacted when you saw that medical requirement. Let’s tackle that problem.”
Frey is right. I close my eyes for a minute, push Williams to the back of my head, focus on the present.
Where Chael is once again front and center. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I know he wouldn’t be your first choice as a go-to guy, but maybe Chael can help,” he says, proving that we are indeed thinking the same thing. “He’s obviously spent a lot of time in France. He speaks the language like a native.”
I release a breath. “I hate going to Chael for anything. He’s such a smug bastard. But you’re right, he’s been around for a long time. I’m sure there’s a network he can tap into. I can’t be the only vampire to ever get married in France.” I glance at Frey. “What about you? Could you pass a routine physical?”
He smiles. “Of course. Have many times. Only my DNA contains the strand that would identify me as a shape-shifter and I doubt they’re going to run DNA tests on us. Or recognize what it was if they did.”
Frey is at the wheel and has guided the car onto the road so I dig my cell phone
Maybe I won’t have to.
* * *
THE TRIP TO THE CONSULATE GOES SMOOTHLY. UNTIL we’re presented a list of the documentation necessary to marry in France. One item jumps off the page—medical certificate. Blood tests and a medical exam by a French doctor have to be completed before the marriage application can be approved.
The clerk helping us offers a list of doctors to consult, but for the same reason I have avoided my own doctor in San Diego, I know I can’t go to just any doctor in France. I have no idea how vampire physiology differs from human, but I don’t intend to find out now. I glance at Frey. Chances are, he would pass a normal exam and routine blood tests. He is more human than not.
Everything else, passports, birth certificates, certificates certifying that we are free to marry, proof of domicile—all are dispatched with alacrity. Frey has his lawyer friend in San Diego with whom he’s already talked. I call David and he promises to get the bureaucratic wheels spinning for me. After, of course, an excited chorus of whoops from both he and Tracey when I tell him why I’m calling.
Then he says, “By the way, Harris stopped by the office yesterday. You are never going to guess what’s happened? They’ve identified Warren Williams’ killer! And the same guy confessed to killing Judith Williams, too. Can you believe it?”
My breath catches. Not possible. Warren Williams’ killer is a vampire long dead. By my hand. Judith was killed in Monument Valley. Frey’s hands were on that weapon, but I was at his side, urging him to take the shot. It takes me a second to compose myself enough to ask, “Who?”
“Some lowlife ex-con who had a grudge against the chief. Confessed to killing them both and burying Judith Williams’ body in the desert. Left a beautiful letter addressed to the DA before blowing his brains out in front of SDPD headquarters.”
Frey is watching me, reading my body language. We’re back in the car, getting ready to head home. As soon as I end the call with David, he asks, “What’s wrong?”
When I repeat what David told me, he’s as shocked as I am. “Somebody engineered this,” he says. “But who?”
“And why?” If I’m supposed to be relieved that Harris will no longer be harassing Frey and me, the feeling is overwhelmed by a sense of dread. Whoever did me this “favor” will undoubtedly be around at some point to collect for it.
“Jesus, Frey. A man is dead. The case tied up with a pretty ribbon. What the fuck?”
Frey’s eyes meet mine.
“I can’t help feeling this has Chael’s signature all over it.”
Frey is shaking his head. “Well, we can’t do anything about it now. When we get back home, we’ll do some digging.” He spreads his hands. “Right now we have a wedding to plan, right? I saw how you reacted when you saw that medical requirement. Let’s tackle that problem.”
Frey is right. I close my eyes for a minute, push Williams to the back of my head, focus on the present.
Where Chael is once again front and center. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I know he wouldn’t be your first choice as a go-to guy, but maybe Chael can help,” he says, proving that we are indeed thinking the same thing. “He’s obviously spent a lot of time in France. He speaks the language like a native.”
I release a breath. “I hate going to Chael for anything. He’s such a smug bastard. But you’re right, he’s been around for a long time. I’m sure there’s a network he can tap into. I can’t be the only vampire to ever get married in France.” I glance at Frey. “What about you? Could you pass a routine physical?”
He smiles. “Of course. Have many times. Only my DNA contains the strand that would identify me as a shape-shifter and I doubt they’re going to run DNA tests on us. Or recognize what it was if they did.”
Frey is at the wheel and has guided the car onto the road so I dig my cell phone
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