How to Rattle an Undead Couple - Hailey Edwards Page 0,29

his job from family, from friends. Corbin’s evasive behavior might not be more than a symptom of that. But his rapid descent into that lifestyle concerned Linus. As he followed Corbin out, his mind whirred, and the doubt in his gut yawned wider.

Eight

The state-of-the-art garage where they met the engineer had no windows and only one door that sealed tight behind them. It spoke to the vampire’s age, or his mindset, that he received visitors during daylight hours when most of his brethren would be asleep. He rolled out on a creeper from underneath a vintage car missing its engine, and got to his feet with a grunt of effort.

His proximity sent a corresponding shiver down Linus’s spine, but that was true of all vampires he met.

The engineer was a middle-aged vampire dressed in oil-stained coveralls, a torn flannel shirt, and yellow flip-flops. He wore his black hair twisted up in a bun on top of his head, and his glasses had been broken and then repaired with Bondo.

“Mr. Woolworth.” He stuck out a wide palm that smelled of GoJo’s pleasant orange scent. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Linus noticed the layers of grime embedded in his fingers as they shook hands, a telltale sign the man loved his work. “Hello.”

“Orin.” He chuckled. “I forget my manners. Orin Masterson.”

“I understand you’re one of six people able to access the bunker the Grande Dame commissioned.”

Orin’s eyes widened, and he checked with Corbin, who nodded. “Yeah. That’s right.”

The deference to Corbin prickled along Linus’s skin, another indicator Grier’s progeny was swimming in deeper water these days. “Have you noticed any unusual activity in the bunker?”

“Quiet as a church on my end.” Orin leaned against the hood. “Yours?”

Corbin played a quick clip of video from the scene, and Orin paled when it ended.

“I smelled blood when you walked in,” he said softly. “I assumed…”

That Corbin had fed recently, or that Linus had been practicing necromancy.

“The only thing I’ve had today was stolen cake, so no. Not me.” He angled his body to put himself between Orin and the door. “You’re the sixth link. Convince me you had no part in what went down last night.”

“What are you implying?” He swung his head toward Linus. “What is he talking about?”

“The Grande Dame was taken from her home at dusk. The feeds were down, so Corbin and I went to examine the bunker in person. It appears my mother and Boaz Pritchard were inside the bunker but unable to seal themselves inside before whoever pursued them attacked and extracted them.”

“Goddess be merciful,” the vampire breathed. “I’ve been here since yesterday. I haven’t left once.” He pointed to an open laptop on a desk. “I’ve been filming the entire time. I’m racing a friend to fully rebuild a 1970 Chevrolet Chevelle.” He cursed under his breath. “I’ll have to edit out this conversation, and damn it all, he’ll cry tampering. This will cost me the win.”

“I’m sorry to hear my mother’s disappearance has cost you bragging rights,” Linus said coolly.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” Orin took a healthy step back. “You can also verify my whereabouts with the security cameras. I have expensive toys in this shop, and I’m gone for months at a time working on commission projects—such as your mother’s bunker—so there’s constant surveillance.”

Until the footage could be verified, Linus couldn’t afford to take him at his word. His inclusion proved his mother trusted him, but her fail-safe had failed, and that meant someone with access had betrayed her.

Corbin lifted a crescent wrench and thumbed its rolling worm screw. “How long is the ward disrupted after a key is used?”

Utter stillness swept through Linus as what Corbin implied blossomed into possibilities.

“You would have to ask Leisha about that. I handled the mechanical aspects.” He shrugged. “I leave the magic up to the necromancers.”

The fingers at Linus’s side curled into fists. “Leisha Penduko laid down the wards?”

“Yeah.” Orin frowned. “Is that a problem?”

“It’s another potential vulnerability.” Linus shot Corbin a glare. “Why didn’t you mention her sooner?”

Misery saturated Corbin’s features, and Linus had his suspicions all but confirmed about Corbin’s reticence.

“NDAs are a bitch.” Orin caught the drift of their argument. “The Grande Dame’s are ironclad.”

“I know,” Linus said, tasting ash. “I helped draft them.”

Orin released a slow whistle and took another step back, as if NDAs were contagious.

Clamping a hand on Corbin’s shoulder, Linus forced his expression to soften. “All is forgiven.”

The early troubles he experienced with Grier could be traced back to the magically