“How do you know so much about vampires?”

  “I don’t only read about whales.”

  “Oh my God, have I got a book for you. In chapter eight this guy asks his dark lord to give him an infernal breeding—”

  “Anyway,” Dag said, a flush in his cheeks, “I think David might be, you know, like a Renfield.”

  I blinked. “Wait, you think David is like an evil servant to this thing?”

  “He’s wearing gloves, right? That’s a good way to hide a wound. He shows up at the scene of a tragedy that we think is connected to the hashok. He’s in the support group. And we know the hashok is feeding off the support group.”

  “It could be a suicide cluster,” I said. “Statistically—”

  “We’ve got to decide, both of us, right now,” Dag said. “Either we believe this is real, or we don’t. I know I’m not the right person to say that; I’ve been a chickenshit about it. But we’ve got to decide. We can’t keep going back and forth.”

  The lake lapped against the shore; an egret broke from a clump of brush, wings flapping hard to bear him up over the water. A jolt went through me, and I blew out a sharp breath.

  “Yes, ok. I guess I believe it. I’m crazy otherwise, because I know what I saw. So I guess I believe it.”

  “Me too,” Dag said.

  “So what now?” I said.

  “Now, we start investigating your friend David.”

  DAG (12)

  We went back to my parents’ house, and the smell of garlic and bacon met us at the door. Dad was in the living room, kicked back in an easy chair; Mom was moving around in the kitchen.

  “Oh my God,” Elien said. “That smells so good.”

  “Hi, boys,” my dad said. He was flipping channels and settled on golf. “Dag, that nice young man at Rouses asked me why you stopped texting him.”

  I herded Elien toward the hall.

  “What nice young man?” Elien called over my shoulder.

  “Oh, Elien,” my dad said, twisting in the chair to talk to him. “He’s got these great eyes. Aquamarine, right, Gloria?”

  “Turquoise,” she screamed from the kitchen.

  “Turquoise,” my dad said.

  “Nobody has turquoise eyes,” I said.

  Elien was being surprisingly hard to manhandle into my bedroom.

  “What about his body?” Elien said.

  “Well, he’s very muscular,” my dad said.

  “He’s not a bear,” my mom shouted from the kitchen.

  “No, he’s not a bear,” my dad said. “More of a twunk.”

  “Please stop,” I said—to Elien, my dad, the universe.

  “Dag, he’s a twunk,” Elien said. “Is that Dag’s type?”

  “Oh,” my dad said. “I mean, Jackson wasn’t quite as muscular. But Robbie had really strong thighs.”

  “What about body hair?” Elien said.

  “That’s it,” I said, and I got him over my good shoulder and carried him into my room.

  “I think he manscapes,” my mom called after us. “He’d look very nice in a thong, I think.”

  Elien giggled into my neck until we got to the room, and then I tossed him on the bed and pointed a finger at him. “You are still drunk.”

  “A little. Your parents are cute.”

  “Please don’t encourage them.”

  He sprawled on the bed, dragging his arms and legs across the bedding. “This is comfy.”

  “Great. I’m glad you like it. You can rent it out from my parents when I leave, and they’ll set you up with Chad from Rouses.”

  “Oh my God, you actually texted him?”

  “My dad made me promise.”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “And what happened?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Let’s work on finding David.”

  “In a minute. You texted him. What did you say?”

  “Normal things.”

  Rolling onto his side, Elien propped his head in his hand and said, “I’m really good at dating. And flirting.”

  “Ok.”

  “Let me help you.”

  “That’s not really the focus here.”

  “Hey,” Elien said, his hazel eyes still soft from the rum. “It’ll take five minutes. You deserve to be happy. This guy sounds super hot.”

  “Yeah, well, I told you about my awesome track history with guys.”

  “Don’t do that.”

  I dropped into the desk chair. “What?”

  “Don’t shut everything down because one asshole got inside your life and messed things up.”

  “It’s not just—”

  “I know, I know. Badge bucks. That’s just an excuse, though.”

  “No, it’s—”

  “Read me your texts to Chad.”

  “No.”

  With a grin creeping across his face, Elien began to bounce on the bed. “Oh, Dag, yes, give it to me!”

  “Stop it,” I hissed. “Fine, please, I will read you the texts.”

  As Elien bounced to a stop, he made a go-ahead gesture.

  “Hi, Chad,” I read. “This is Dag. My dad said he met you at the grocery store. Super weird, sorry about that.”

  “I mean, it’s not great,” Elien said.

  “I do not need a running commentary.”

  “Ok, ok. What’d he say?”

  “‘Hahaha, no prob, your dad is really cool.’ And then I said, ‘No, my parents are the worst. Just murder me and you can pretend this never happened.’ And then he said, ‘Your dad said you were a deputy. I think murdering a deputy might be frowned on.’ And then I said, ‘Well, it’s justified if you get approached creepily while you’re doing your job.’ Elien, please, do I have to do this?”

  “It’s cute. You guys are kind of bantering. He sounds smarter than I expected. A muscly twunk who works at Rouses and has a brain? You might be set for life.”

  I stared at him.

  Laughing, he said, “Ok, just tell me how you guys left it.”

  “I said, ‘Maybe we could get a drink sometime,’ and he said, ‘Yeah, I’d like that.’”

  “And?”

  “And what?”

  “Oh my God. What did he say when you gave him a date and a time?”

  “I, um, didn’t want to annoy him.”

  Elien gave me a look.

  “And he brought up the deputy thing. It feels like more of the same badge buck shit.”

  “He knows, like, two facts about you, and he learned them from having your dad proxy hit on him in a grocery store, while he was working. Maybe you can cut him a little slack.”

  “Ok, we talked about this, so now let’s figure out where David—”

  “No, no, no. We’re going to get you on a date, and we are going to get you boned within an inch of your life.”

  “I don’t really want to be boned within an inch of my life. It sounds uncomfortable, and—”

  Elien surged off the bed and grabbed the phone out of my hands.

  “Hey,” I said, scrambling after him. “Give that back.”

  I caught up to him in the kitchen.

  “Hi, Mrs. L,” Elien said, smiling at my mom like he was just some beautiful, innocent waif who had wandered into our kitchen, when really he was a sexual dervish, the stuff of which nightmares are made.

  “Well, hello, Elien,” she said. She was kneading dough; in the cast iron skillet, bacon and garlic had finished cooking together and now sat at the back of the range.

  “Just going to borrow a few things, Mrs. L,” Elien said as he opened the fridge.

  “Of course, sweetheart. But you really have to call me Gloria.”

  While Elien rummaged in the fridge, my mom kept looking at me and looking at Elien with annoyingly significant glances. I shook my head. She mouthed, Invite him to dinner. I shook my head again.

  “Elien, dear, what are you doing for dinner?” my mom said.

  “He has a boyfriend, Mom.”

  “I’m sure that’s perfectly fine, but I just asked him about dinner, Dagobert. Elien, I’m making one of Dagobert’s favorite meals: it’s a Cajun shrimp pasta with garlic, bacon, and cheese bread twists. Oh, and a light salad.”

  Emerging from the refrigerator, Elien set carrots, celery, an eggplant, and pancetta on the counter.

  “Pasta?” he asked.

  “Over there, sweetheart,” my mom said.

  “Mom, stop. You’re enabling him.”

  When Elien came back, he had dry spaghetti. He grabbed a bottle of red, the loaf of French bread next to my mom, and then he tugged on the strings of her apron and said, “I’ll give it right back.” And God damn it, the woman giggled as he turned her out of the apron. Elien arranged all of it on the counter, including the apron, and then snapped a picture with my phone. He tapped for a while and held it out.

  “Ok?”

  I read the message that was waiting to be sent. Along with the photograph of the food and the apron, he had written, Sorry, had a friend pass away last week, and I’m still dealing with that. I didn’t mean to ghost you. I’m missing one ingredient for this romantic dinner: you. Good thing I can swing by the grocery store and pick you up.

  “I think I’m going to throw up,” I said.

  “He’ll like it,” Elien said with a laugh. “Please let me send it.”

  “Dagobert, let him send it,” my mom said.

  “You don’t even know what it says!”

  “Please,” Elien said.

  I groaned.

  “Fine,” Elien said.

  “No, just—ok, press Send before I change my mind.”

  I heard the little whoosh of the message zipping off into space. Groaning again, I let my head hit the counter.

  The phone dinged.

  “Told you,” Elien said.

  He was smirking when I snatched the phone back.

  Sorry about your friend. Are you all right? Another ding. Also, you are such a dork. Are you actually going to ask me to dinner, or do I need to invite myself over?

  Looking up at Elien, I said, “That actually worked?”

  “Of course,” he said.

  “Of course,” my mom said.

  “Of course,” my dad shouted from the living room.

  “You don’t even know what he did!”

  “I know it was cute,” my mom said. “Everyone likes something cute.”

  “You have to actually tell him a day and a time,” Elien said, still smirking.

  “Do not look so satisfied,” I said.

  “I’m just happy for you.”

  “No, you’re smug. You look smug.”

  “Day and time, Dagobert,” my mom said.

  “Tell Chad what day,” my dad shouted. “And a time.”

  “I’m going to become a monk,” I said. “And take a vow of no parents. And nobody will talk to me or bother me.”

  Elien still had that damn grin on his face when he tapped the screen.

  Friday? I wrote. 7?

  A big thumbs up came back. Then, Are you all right? Really? I’m sorry about your friend.

  I’m ok, I texted back. Thanks.

  If you need to talk, I’m pretty much always around.

  Thanks.

  I’ll see you Friday!

  Great! Thanks for being cool!

  Elien grabbed my phone again. “And that’s enough. Save something for the wedding night.”

  My mom laughed so hard she had to sit down.

  I grabbed Elien and steered him down the hall.

  “Elien,” my dad shouted as we passed the living room. “Do you want to watch some golf?”

  “Yes,” he said, trying to get free.

  “No,” I said, “he doesn’t. Why does everyone in this house like Elien more than me?”

  When we got back to my room, I pushed him toward the chair, shut the door, and leaned against it.

  “Chad’s a very lucky guy,” Elien said.

  “Will you stop joking?”

  His mouth quirked once, and he said, “Who says I’m joking?”

  “Can we please try to find David now? A supernatural monster that creates catastrophic, spiraling violence is more important than my love life.”

  For a moment, Elien looked like he might say more. Then he shrugged, took out his phone, and said, “Let’s see what we can find.”

  I did some online searches and found five people called David Bass in the DuPage-St. Tammany greater area. I searched county property tax records against those five addresses and eliminated three of them; my guess was that the David Bass I was looking for didn’t own a two-hundred-thousand-dollar yacht, a hundred-thousand-dollar Tesla, or a two-million-dollar historic home just off the Quartier.

  “Nobody has his address,” Elien said. “I’ve tried everyone in the support group except Zahra, and she won’t give it to me because she’s a doctor and it’s confidential.”

  “What about his phone number?”

  “I have his phone number, but he’s not responding to my messages, and he doesn’t pick up when I call. His voicemail is shut off.”

  “What’s the number?”

  Elien read it to me, and I tried a reverse-number lookup.

  “Dead end,” I said. “What kind of car did he drive? Or did someone pick him up?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You never saw him leaving a support group meeting?”

  With a frown, Elien said, “I think he drove himself.”

  “You think?”

  “I didn’t catalogue what everybody drove.”

  “How about a Prius?”

  “No, he definitely didn’t drive a Prius.”

  Scanning the tabs of property record searches, I said, “What about an Impala?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “A Sonata?”

  “Uhh.”

  “Ok, here’s a picture of a 2002 Chevy Impala. And here’s a picture of a 2010 Hyundai Sonata. Did his car look like either of those?”

  Elien’s thin, dark brows drew together. “It was brown?”

  Grinning, I said, “So you’re definitely not a car guy.”

  “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s ok. We’ll figure it out. We’re down to two addresses. One is outside of Bragg, in an unincorporated part of DuPage Parish. Let’s see what Google Maps shows. Mobile homes. Ok, and this other address is, ok, back in Moulinbas. Street view says . . . apartment above Ye Olde Bookes Ande Treasurees. God, how many extra e’s did this person need?”

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “Moulinbas makes sense, right, because he could have walked to Tamika’s?”

  “Moulinbas isn’t tiny.”

  “Well, let’s map it. Google Maps says . . . twenty-five-minute walk.”

  “That’s pretty far.”

  “It’s definitely walkable.”

  “But it’s pretty far.”

  “Well, since you’re a guest and you salvaged something from the wreckage of my attempt at dating, I’ll let you decide.”

  “You’re such a gentleman.” Elien frowned and finger combed his blowout hair. “You decide.”

  “Oh my God, Elien. Just pick one of the two.”

  “You think Moulinbas.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “Let’s try the address in Moulinbas.”

  “Great. Let’s go.”

  Elien hemmed. “Unless you think we should try the one out in DuPage Parish.”

  “Let’s go.”

  “I want to know if you—”

  “You were much more decisive when it was my love life on the line,” I said, kicking him in the shins and ankles. “Get up.”

  “Jesus, God, ouch, that hurts!”

  “Here we go.”

  “You’re a fucking barbarian,” Elien said, fighting a smile.

  “Whatever it takes,” I said.

  We drove across town again, and I found a spot across from Ye Olde Bookes Ande Treasurees. The bricks had been painted gray, and a maze of Virginia creeper crawled along the wrought iron, the leaves turning scarlet in the autumn weather. Elien and I crossed the street. The second-floor apartment had a private staircase on the side, but a locked gate prevented access. Elien pointed to an intercom, and I buzzed up.

  “Yes?” The voice was male and nasally.

  Elien looked at me and shook his head.

  “Hi,” Elien said. “We’re looking for David Bass.”

  “This is he.”

  Elien gave another shake.

  “My name’s Elien Martel. I’m trying to find a David Bass I know from a support group.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Elien Martel. From the support group.”

  “I don’t know any Elien. I’m sorry.”

  “Ok,” Elien said, “thank—”

  The speaker went dead.

  “—you.” With a shrug, Elien said to me, “This is why I thought we should try the address in DuPage Parish.”

  “Does Richard really put up with this kind of stuff?”

  Elien grinned as we made our way back to the car. “All the time.”

  “That man is a saint.”

  “And he never kicks me in the legs.”

  “I’ll tell him how well it works.”

  “Don’t you fucking dare.”

  The drive out of Bragg was pleasant; the October day was drawing to a close, the sun low and fat in the west, the autumn sunlight cutting broad lines through fields of corn, outlining the round bales of bahiagrass, trimming the aisles of the pecan groves. It was the smell of the hayfield, though, that stayed in the car: dusty and sweet. Elien sneezed once.

  “Let me guess,” he said, running his arm under his nose. “No A/C.”

  Sticking a hand out the window, I said, “The whole world is our A/C.”

  “So that’s a no,” Elien said, but he just had another of those weird smiles.

  We reached the mobile home neighborhood twenty minutes later, and if it had a name, I couldn’t see it. Most of the homes were trailers with aluminum sidings. They were set up on blocks, which meant they all had stairs and a small deck. The gravel road cut between dirt and crabgrass yards, and dust floated up behind us. It didn’t look like a bad place, but it looked like a hard place that people had tried to make better: on one of the homes, a paper banner had letters in crayon that said WELCOME HOME, BILLY; in front of another, a patch of sunflowers gave a shock of color; at the edge of the crabgrass ahead of us, someone had cobbled together a stand out of scrap lumber, and letters in black paint said LEMONADE 25C SMILES FREE.