Page 81 of A Shade of Myself
However, that was easier said than done. I stopped in a café for lunch and did some cursory searches, but they didn’t yield any useful results. Setting my phone aside, I forked a piece of mediocre quiche into my mouth.
Fact: an illusion had removed all memory of Aurora Mueller from the minds of her sister and parents, but not the people at the dance studio. Was it targeted only to those closest to her? Or only sustainable on family members?
If Rory had orchestrated all this herself, either through her own magic or with the help of someone else’s, I’d have to tread carefully and respect her desire to remove herself from her family. Once I found Rory and ascertained she wasn’t in any danger, then we could have a discussion about how to handle Giselle’s awareness that something was wrong.
The obvious move now was to ask the Lonestars to search for any record of Rory’s death. That avenue was also a no-go, since once I opened that door, the magic cops would insist on taking over the search, regardless of whether Rory was an Ohrist like her sister. A person in an Ohrist family was missing; that would be enough justification for them. Nor would they appreciate the potential delicacy of the situation. They would farm the case out to their colleagues in whichever city Rory was last seen.
I couldn’t ask for this favor and then expect to see the investigation through.
And Tatiana wouldn’t appreciate her case being taken away. I ran through my options, remembering the US Social Security Death Index that our lawyers used on occasion. It was quite reliable for Americans who’d died after 1972.
Once I returned home, I headed into my backyard because it was day four of our five-day heat wave and my house was muggy as shit. I dragged my lounge chair into the shade and scanned the SSDI database on my phone. No one by the name of Aurora Mueller had died in the last five years. There was no point going farther back than that because that’s when Rory had won her last dance trophy.
She might have died as a Jane Doe, but I preferred to work on the assumption that she was alive. I could ask Eli to check for credit card activity, but I didn’t want to burn a favor on such a long shot. Someone had gone to extreme lengths to make sure Rory wasn’t remembered. They wouldn’t pull a stupid move like having her use credit cards in her own name, and if Rory was the one with illusion magic, then she’d be careful to cover her tracks.
I tapped a finger against the phone case.
How could I find a woman who could be anywhere in the world? No Lonestars, no getting any Sapien police involved. If a demon had orchestrated all of this, I could go to Nav’s people, but I was reluctant to for the same reasons as the Lonestars.
There was one party without any vested interest who might be able to find the young woman. While Tatiana might not object to me speaking to Zev, what would it cost me? At the moment, my slate with him was clean, but this would put me back in his debt. It wouldn’t matter that successfully solving this case ultimately benefitted Tatiana, a woman who Zev had some personal history with and fondness for. Ultimately, I’d be the one on the hook.
Was it worth it?
Going with the “better to be safe than sorry” line, I phoned Tatiana in Moscow to confirm she didn’t have a problem with me speaking to the vampire. She sounded jet-lagged and our connection was patchy, so the conversation was brief, but I got permission.
I realized that I should have asked her about the Ascendant because if it was a thing that someone was looking for, she might have come across it in her line of work, but when I tried her again, the call went to voice mail. I didn’t bother to leave a message.
However, there was someone else I could turn to who owed me for playing me, then sending me off to my death.
Poe.
Vampire first, then the bird shifter. Ravens did like shiny things after all, so perhaps Poe would know what the star was and if it was called the Ascendant. Given Jake’s crazy drawings, it felt like the thing to prioritize in terms of tracking down.
Plus, the idea of this star seeking me out was creepy.
Harry was still out of town, which left Giulia to arrange any meeting with Zev. I rubbed the back of my neck, not up to her next interrogation about all things Laurent. Let’s see. Zev and I hadn’t crossed paths since he’d shared his memory of his wife. Did that confession buy me leeway to show up at Blood Alley and request an audience? I wasn’t so audacious as to just knock on his office door unannounced, but I could send my appeal through another vampire.
Zev didn’t sleep much during the day because he was so old. I had my suspicions that Yoshi was at least as ancient, but I’d wait until dusk to head down there, since I had plenty of other work from Tatiana to catch up on.
She’d given me decades’ worth of love letters from her late husband, Samuel, to catalogue. I’d barely dug into them, but I’d already fallen in love with the man’s wit and adoration of his wife. I was also really hoping they didn’t get racy, because I did not need those images in my head, however, I was only in the courting stage of their relationship and thus far, the letters were quite chaste.
A while back, I’d thrown out the idea to Tatiana that instead of writing her memoirs, she should publish a coffee table book that went beyond her art to act as a scrapbook. She’d pick the appropriate paintings or sketches to illustrate various periods of her life that were further documented by clippings and photos and these love letters. Pulling out the elements for Tatiana to approve would mean a lot more work on my part, but the more I got to know her, the more I was convinced that a typical prose memoir wouldn’t do her life justice.
She’d loved the suggestion but hadn’t had much time to work on it. Her assistant Raymond had dropped off this memento box with the letters about a week ago and that had been the last time we’d touched base about this project.
While catching up on my reading about Samuel and Tatiana’s first meeting and the dance she led him on until she’d agreed to date him, the time until my next appointment passed quickly. I freshened up, putting on an electric-blue wrap dress, fluffing up my curls, and applying my basic glam up routine of gold eyeshadow and red lipstick.
My heels clacked on the cobblestones as I stepped from Gastown to Blood Alley, striding confidently under the metal sign with its gargoyle statue sentinels. Even on a Monday night, the popular Ohrist tourist attraction was buzzing.
A large group was splitting up, the men wearing T-shirts with “Groom’s Crew” printed on the front. The poor groom had been dressed in a gaudy sundress with a coconut bra. The bridesmaids (wearing sashes denoting that status) all wore short shorts and crop tops, while the lucky lady had been poured into a hot pink prom dress, all crinoline and cheap satin that had crawled out of some 1980s nightmare. Both she and her fiancé had sashes that said “Last Night of Freedom” on them.
The couple kissed each other with much laughter and good-natured teasing about what each one was allowed to do.
There was a flurry of high-fives between the two groups and off they each went. I skirted around the women, wondering how many bad decisions would be made tonight. Blood Alley had temptations that made Vegas look like Disneyland. Good luck to them.
Most of the red lightbulbs above the black doors were already lit up, and I had no interest in the ones that were currently open to patrons, heading straight for a private room at the top of one of the narrow, crooked streets.
Stopping in front of the door to the private sake bar, I ran a hand nervously over my attire. I was mostly certain my presence here would be tolerated, but there was always the element of unpredictability. Gathering my courage, I squared my shoulders and knocked confidently.
After a moment, Yoshi opened the door and raised his eyebrows. His black hair had been buzzed close to his scalp, accenting his sharp cheekbones. I’d always suspected Yoshi was ancient, despite looking like he was in his early twenties, but with his head shorn, his skin now looked drawn tight over his skull, aging him.
“Can I help you?” he said.
“I’d like to speak to Mr. BatKian, please.”
“Ah.” He opened the door wider. “Come in.”
The bar was so small that I noted in a single glance that Zev wasn’t here.
The door clanged shut behind me and a bolt was turned. Slowly, I faced Yoshi, careful to show nothing more than a pleasant smile. There was nothing I could do about my hammering heart, but one way or another, I was walking safely out this door.
