Read Online Frost Moon by Anthony Francis - Free Book Online Page A

blonde girl behind the desk, the room was empty—things had to be slow at nine-thirty on a Friday night. Then the phone rang, and I realized that it was only a couple hours past sunset. Vampire business might just be starting to heat up.
    “Hello, Junior Van Helsing Detective Agency,” said the girl into her headset. Surely she couldn’t be in college. She had to be a high schooler… or a something. . “I’ll put you through to Detective Nagli.” She pressed a button, then looked up at me. “How can I help you?”
    “I’m here to see ‘the Lady Saffron,’” I said, pronouncing her vampire name carefully, trying to hide my resentment. “Is she still—”
    “Ah, Vampire Consulate business,” the girl said, oddly embarrassed. “You’re, um, you’re in the right place, but… I’m sorry, can you wait maybe an… hour?” She cringed at my glare, and said hastily, “The Lady Saffron is here, but she’s… ah… entertaining the Lady Darkrose right now. They won’t receive visitors for at least an hour—”
    Huh. She’d gone and shacked up with someone else—another vamp from the sound of it—and built up a whole entourage. I don’t know why it pissed me off, but it did.
    “She’ll receive me,” I said. “I’m an old friend of ‘Saffron’—”
    “Are you now?” said another voice. A young, young man, wearing a suit with all of the grace of a bum, had come to slouch in the side door. Just beyond him was a hard-looking man with a dark beard, openly staring at me with an unfriendly scowl. The boy’s gaze had no such hostility, but still pinned me with a calculating eye. “If you’re an old friend, surely you know Saffron doesn’t like to be disturbed when entertaining Darkrose.”
    “Or maybe I don’t,” I said. “I don’t know who this Darkrose is.”
    “An old friend of Saffron who doesn’t know who Darkrose is?” The boy raised a manila folder to his lips. “An old friend… or an estranged friend, perhaps?”
    “Both,” I said. “Now take me to see Saffron. I’m headed to a werehouse, and I need to ask for her protection—”
    “Ah,” the boy said. “Makes sense now. Show her in.”
    “You do it,” the girl said. “They’re in there with Doug—”
    “You’re the secretary,” the boy replied.
    “You’re the idiot who wants to interrupt her after she gave orders not to be disturbed—”
    “You’re forgetting they’re vampires ,” the hard-faced man said, with a sudden, bitter laugh. He had an odd accent, not English but maybe somewhere from the ruins of the empire. “They’ll love the chance to show off their little court.”
    The boy and the secretary looked at him, then each other. “Vickman’s right,” she said.
    “Fine,” the boy said, handing the envelope to Vickman. He whipped out his phone and tapped off a few quick instant messages, then snapped it closed and said, “Come on, old friend of Saffron, and let’s see how you handle this.”
    He opened the door to the left into a small hallway that led to a conference room, dimly lit, with a wetbar and overstuffed couches opposite a conference table. The hum of a refrigerator came from a set of built-in cabinets behind the bar, and I swallowed. What kind of drinks would a vampire serve at a bar? The boy stepped between the table and wetbar to an elaborate, heavy wooden door, and pressed a button on an intercom.
    “Just who the hell are you?” I asked.
    “I work for the Junior Van Helsing Detective Agency,” he said. “We have an… arrangement with the Consulate to handle their reception in exchange for the office space.”
    He pressed the button again. After a moment, a woman answered in a strong but oddly clipped variant of an English accent, like Vickman’s. I didn’t recognize the voice.
    “Yes, what is it?”
    “I have a… supplicant for the Lady Saffron,” the boy said, looking at me.
    “I’m not a ‘supplicant,’” I snapped. “I’m an old friend—”
    “I understand,”