Wendy’s aura brightened with concern. “You okay? What’s with that bump on your head?”

“Coffin lid fell on me. Occupational hazard.” I rested my hands on my knees until I gained enough breath to ask, “Now that we’re up here enjoying the penthouse view, explain your green aura.”

Wendy set her plate on the swamp cooler and stabbed the cake with her fork. “You got a weird set of priorities. We’re alone. We’ve got wine. And you ask about my aura. Why?”

“Humor me.”

“It’s green for the reason yours is orange.”

“Mine is orange because I’m a vampire.” I set the wine and glasses on top of the swamp cooler.

“Sort of. Your aura is orange because, being a vampire, your psychic energy level is centered on the second chakra, which is here.” Wendy touched her lower abdomen. “It’s all explained by Tantric mysticism.”

My stay in Denver had taken a tight turn into the even-more-weird. Radiation and nymphomania weren’t enough, now there was this New Age wackiness to consider. It was a good thing she was easy on the eyes. I worked the cork out of the bottle and poured the wine.

“You know anything about chakras?” She palmed one glass and sipped.

“I’ve tried not to.” The question reminded me of a hippie-dippy granola chick I dated in college. I put up with her Birken-stocks and patchouli stink for the sake of tapping her hairy nookie.

“Haven’t you wondered,” Wendy asked, “why humans have red auras and vampires orange ones?”

“Figured it was the same reason humans have blunt teeth and I have fangs. Part of the prey-predator arrangement.”

“Chakras are your body’s psychic energy centers,” Wendy said. She set her glass on the swamp cooler. “There are seven major chakras and each corresponds to a distinct psychic energy level. Each level is analogous to the color reflected by your aura. Red auras mean that the being is concerned with manifestation. Orange, connection.”

“Connection to what?”

“Of the material world to the spiritual,” she said. “That’s why vampires can see auras. You were surprised by my green aura, weren’t you?”

“Of course. But once you explained that you were a dryad-a forest sprite-then I figured it’s because you ate leaves and bean sprouts.” And granola.

“My energy is centered on compassion. The fourth chakra. Here.” She stroked her sternum. “Its color is green.”

During my interrogation of Tamara, Sofia, and Jenny, their auras had gone from red to yellow when the nymphomania took over.

“What are the chakra colors?” I asked.

“Red, orange, yellow, green, light blue, dark blue, and white.”

“You’re green. I’m orange,” I said. “If we’re supernaturals, why aren’t our energy levels next to each other?”

“I don’t mean to insult you,” Wendy replied, “but despite your powers, you vampires are closer to humans. That’s what you came from. We dryads were born this way.”

“Then explain yellow.”

“Who has a yellow aura?”

“Somebody I’ve met.”

Wendy raised an eyebrow. “Was this somebody a supernatural? Like us?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “They were human when I first met them. Under vampire hypnosis their auras turned from red to yellow.”

Wendy kept quiet for a moment. “Maybe that has something to do with it. Yellow is transformation.”

“Transformation from what?”

“One psychic level to another,” she explained. “I don’t know of any supernaturals with yellow auras. Doesn’t mean they don’t exist.” The intensity of her green aura notched up. “Why did you hypnotize these humans? Was it part of an investigation?”

“How do you know about that?”

“Bob Carcano told me you’re a private detective.”

My anger with Bob kept the words from forming. I had to force them out. “Yes, I’m an investigator.”

“He said something about an outbreak of nymphomania at Rocky Flats.” Wendy crossed her arms. A mischievous smile traced across her mouth. “Sounds kinky. Could be fun.”

“Bob talks too much. And why do you ask about me?”

“A request.”

“By whom?”

“Someone far away.”

Who did I know from far away? “The Araneum?”

“If it was, I couldn’t say so, could I?”

“What else do you do?” I asked.

“In other words, what pays the bills? I work at Denver Health, the local public hospital. It’s a good place to keep tabs on things.”

“What if I want to keep tabs on you?”

Wendy reached for me. “I’ll make it easy for you.” Her fingers clasped my wrist.

My kundalini noir rustled at the expectation of pleasure. Since becoming a vampire, I’ve never given thought to being close to another being, not this way. And certainly not to a supernatural creature I knew little about, however cute.

Wendy abruptly pulled away and lifted the hem of her sweater. She flashed a narrow band of white skin above her belt. Lusty excitement heated me. She didn’t waste time. The steep slope of the roof could demand some interesting positions.

A pager clipped to her belt buzzed and its red light flashed. She pressed the pager button to illuminate the display. “It’s the trauma center, a.k.a. the knife and gun club. Must be short-staffed again.” She smoothed her sweater over her waist. “Sorry. Gotta run. Give me your number.”

I handed her a business card.

She kissed my cheek. “I’ll call.” She stepped off the roof and floated down between the elm trees like a leaf. She scurried over the lawn toward a silver Mazda coupe parked along the sidewalk. The coupe’s alarm beeped twice. Wendy got in. The car shot away from the curb, honking goodbye.

The air cooled my skin where she had kissed me. Wendy was a good distraction from the mess of my investigation. The mystery about her intrigued me. Was she from the Araneum? If I wanted to learn more about Wendy on my terms, I should’ve gotten her number.

Now to get down. The drop from the roof looked forbidding now that I suspected my vampire powers were weakened.

Come on Felix, trust yourself. Walking off the edge, I hovered for a second. Then the air collapsed under me, and my legs slammed into the ground. I tumbled backwards over the grass and thumped my head on the siding.

Clutching my scalp, I cursed, pushed myself up, and brushed dead grass from my clothes.

I needed another belt of wine to nurse the pain, but then I remembered that I’d left the merlot on the roof. I wasn’t climbing back up there, so I limped inside and guarded a spot at the buffet table next to the liquor. Humans in capes took out their fake vampire teeth. They dipped breadsticks into the marinara sauce and acted as if they had been impaled. Their voices melted into the blur of conversation and music.

I downed one glass of a red wine I poured from a box, a wine whose two major attributes were that it was wet and had alcohol.

The humans dared one another to try the blood-pudding canapés, all of them behaving as if they were trying to out-dork the others. One of them, a man of about thirty and clearly the leader in this informal dork contest, threw his cape back and unfolded a cell phone. He stared at the tiny screen and started text-messaging. Even here at a party, humans were obsessed with documenting their lives.

Documenting. The thought echoed in my head.

The rush of ethanol and the fall from the roof must have jogged a loose connection in my brain, and I had a “Eureka” moment. The Tiger Team report couldn’t exist in the bureaucracy of DOE without generating a tide of paperwork. Documentation such as access logs, visitors’ files, and expense reports.

If I looked hard enough, I could find a trail within that documentation. A trail that would lead me to the truth.