the name they gave me.”
“I’m calling about the Mordred Lucius case.”
“Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving this case?”
“No. I just wanted an update on how things are going. Esther—the kidnapped vampire—is a close, personal friend of mine.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. We don’t give updates. We just collect information.”
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Ambrose.”
“Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving the case?” he repeated.
“I already said no.”
“Then you have no reason to speak with him.”
“But—”
Click.
Sonofabitch.
I tried once more and crossed my fingers that I might get someone other than Mickey.
“Mickey here.”
Have I mentioned that I’m not exactly the luckiest vampire in the world?
I cleared my throat and took my voice down a notch. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Ambrose.”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Countess Lilliana Guinevere du Marchette.” Okay, so the only thing even remotely good about being French royalty is that I could occasionally playthe countess card. I tried for my most commanding tone. “I need to speak with him at once. I command thee,” I added for effect.
“Would that be about a particular case he’s working on?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Correct.”
“Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving the case?”
“Not at this time.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Help me,” I cut in, my voice losing the regal tone. “Yeah, yeah. I know the spiel. I just thought you might cut me some slack. My friend is in desperate trouble and—”
Click.
I punched in the number again and went through the motions until I reached Mickey again. “I’m Lil Marchette. I’m calling about the Mordred Lucius case.” I decided to throw in a little bribery to tip the scales in my favor. “And I’d be more than happy to donate two free matches to anyone who spills their guts about Esther’s predicament.”
“I don’t date, Miss Marchette.”
“A man with your charm? I’m shocked.”
I could practically see his finger poised on the disconnect button. “Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving this case?” came the preprogrammed voice. “No? Then I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Yes,” I blurted. “I’ve got info. Lots of it.”
It’s one teensy lie. Get over it.
“Hold please,” he finally told me after a stunned moment.
Now, that was more like it.
I leaned back in my chair as Barry launched into a lively rendition of “Copacabana.” He’d just reached the final chorus when the music ended and a thick British accent echoed in my ear.
“Merle N. Ambrose. How may I be of service?”
My heart gave a double thump and excitement zipped through me. “This is Lil Marchette,” I started, my voice dying as two important things registered in my brain: 1) a dial tone blared in my right ear where I held the receiver to my head, and 2) there was a strange tickling on the back of my neck, which indicated that something or someone was standing right behind me.
I bolted to my feet and whirled. The chair tumbled backwards and the edge caught my shin. Pain zipped through me and rattled my teeth.
“What the …?” I scrambled for words. “Who the …? How the …?” Focus, Lil. I shook away the vibrating pain and drank in the man standing in front of me.
He was short and pudgy. He wore a red fleece suit and running shoes and reminded me more of Santa Claus than a timeless, all-powerful warlock. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes twinkled. “Merlin?”
“That’s Merle N.” He held a finger to his lips. “Ilike to keep it separate; otherwise, someone’s liable to put two and two together. Don’t want the SOBs beating down my door, now, do we?”
For a wizard flying below the radar, he was a little off the mark. “It still sounds like Merlin when you pronounce it out loud,” I pointed
“I’m calling about the Mordred Lucius case.”
“Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving this case?”
“No. I just wanted an update on how things are going. Esther—the kidnapped vampire—is a close, personal friend of mine.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you. We don’t give updates. We just collect information.”
“I’d like to speak with Mr. Ambrose.”
“Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving the case?” he repeated.
“I already said no.”
“Then you have no reason to speak with him.”
“But—”
Click.
Sonofabitch.
I tried once more and crossed my fingers that I might get someone other than Mickey.
“Mickey here.”
Have I mentioned that I’m not exactly the luckiest vampire in the world?
I cleared my throat and took my voice down a notch. “I’d like to speak with Mr. Ambrose.”
“Who may I say is calling?”
“Countess Lilliana Guinevere du Marchette.” Okay, so the only thing even remotely good about being French royalty is that I could occasionally playthe countess card. I tried for my most commanding tone. “I need to speak with him at once. I command thee,” I added for effect.
“Would that be about a particular case he’s working on?”
“Yes.” I cleared my throat. “Correct.”
“Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving the case?”
“Not at this time.”
“Then I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Help me,” I cut in, my voice losing the regal tone. “Yeah, yeah. I know the spiel. I just thought you might cut me some slack. My friend is in desperate trouble and—”
Click.
I punched in the number again and went through the motions until I reached Mickey again. “I’m Lil Marchette. I’m calling about the Mordred Lucius case.” I decided to throw in a little bribery to tip the scales in my favor. “And I’d be more than happy to donate two free matches to anyone who spills their guts about Esther’s predicament.”
“I don’t date, Miss Marchette.”
“A man with your charm? I’m shocked.”
I could practically see his finger poised on the disconnect button. “Do you have any relevant information that might help in solving this case?” came the preprogrammed voice. “No? Then I’m afraid I can’t—”
“Yes,” I blurted. “I’ve got info. Lots of it.”
It’s one teensy lie. Get over it.
“Hold please,” he finally told me after a stunned moment.
Now, that was more like it.
I leaned back in my chair as Barry launched into a lively rendition of “Copacabana.” He’d just reached the final chorus when the music ended and a thick British accent echoed in my ear.
“Merle N. Ambrose. How may I be of service?”
My heart gave a double thump and excitement zipped through me. “This is Lil Marchette,” I started, my voice dying as two important things registered in my brain: 1) a dial tone blared in my right ear where I held the receiver to my head, and 2) there was a strange tickling on the back of my neck, which indicated that something or someone was standing right behind me.
I bolted to my feet and whirled. The chair tumbled backwards and the edge caught my shin. Pain zipped through me and rattled my teeth.
“What the …?” I scrambled for words. “Who the …? How the …?” Focus, Lil. I shook away the vibrating pain and drank in the man standing in front of me.
He was short and pudgy. He wore a red fleece suit and running shoes and reminded me more of Santa Claus than a timeless, all-powerful warlock. His cheeks were rosy and his eyes twinkled. “Merlin?”
“That’s Merle N.” He held a finger to his lips. “Ilike to keep it separate; otherwise, someone’s liable to put two and two together. Don’t want the SOBs beating down my door, now, do we?”
For a wizard flying below the radar, he was a little off the mark. “It still sounds like Merlin when you pronounce it out loud,” I pointed
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