65

Image Description: Elena Prodan, Pawnbroker

Behind the display case with the knives is a pretty young woman with choppy blond hair and Victorian replica railway glasses. She's peered over those sunglasses to watch you like a hawk since you pushed past the Closed sign and walked in. You know that reaction: she recognizes a predator but doesn't know exactly what kind. So this place is only tangentially connected to the Tucson Camarilla. It, and she, are independent and kept that way because they're useful.

"Small world," the young woman says. "You haven't changed, Cvjo." She enjoys your attempt to hide your confusion for a moment, then says, "Radu was my brother."

Radu—that takes you back. He taught you how to fight. Well, he taught you a few tricks. You tried calling him a few nights ago when your Honda died on I-10 outside Tucson.

"Elena," you say, dragging the name out of memory. Then, "Was?"

She shrugs. Her bare arms are covered in HR Giger tattoos—sinuous biomechanical figures in shades of black, gray, and green.

"His boyfriend shot him," she says. "So I got his boyfriend's place." She waves a hand around Covenant Pawn Shop. "It's a long story, and no part of it is interesting. Anyway, Miguel sent you."

It's not quite a question and not quite a statement. Miguel and Carlos know each other, but you don't know the details. You did ask the Prince's second in command, Dove, about getting something to drive. Whatever. You nod.

"Let's get you set up."

She throws a red leather jacket on over her tattoos. She makes sure you can see the Glock in the shoulder holster.

The cars are waiting out back.

Next