by A and E Kirk
“If they sent you, it must be true.” The detective’s voice lowered. “Oleander is back.”
Leontes dropped the sheet. “Oleander died centuries ago.”
Detective Cage smirked. “So did we.”
Leontes shot him an annoyed glance that stuttered the smirk into submission, then he flicked the tail of his coat back and knelt to lift up a new sheet. Heavily muscled arm. Deep, oozing lacerations. The round tip of the humorous bone jutted out, ready to be popped back into a shoulder that was likely scattered under another sheet. In the midst of all this, finding that shoulder could prove difficult.
“How many victims?” Leontes asked.
“We don’t know. A hundred, two hundred? Can’t be sure until we piece bodies back together. You were alive back when Oleander was loose, right?”
Leontes stood. “Have you not found the guest list?”
“Guest list?”
“Security was excruciatingly tight. You had to be on a list to be allowed entrance.”
“You would know,” Detective Cage said with not-so-subtle envy. “I’ll have someone look for that.”
Idiot. Leontes pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Start your search with the dead security guards out front.”
Detective Cage started to turn away, but stopped. “They say Oleander is feral. A machine with one goal. Destroy everything. How did you stay alive? How do we all stay alive?”
Before he could answer, a female voice said, “By not jumping to conclusions, you fopdoodle.”
CHAPTER 3 Leontes smiled.
All four-feet-eight-inches of Dr. Victoria Frankenstein stomped in wearing dainty boots that glistened with blood and dew. Revered for her brilliant scientific mind, she had been utilized by vampire masters for centuries. Many considered sunscreen to be among her greatest inventions. It poured billions in revenue into their coffers when sold to the humans and allowed vampires to live ‘outside the box,’ as the in-house marketing slogan stated. Most importantly, it solidified her spot in the vampire hierarchy.
“Good evening, Frankie,” Leontes said evenly.
With a fierce glare on her face, Frankie tugged a hot pink cardigan over her small shoulders and smoothed her hands over the slim skirt of her black dress. She wore bright green, cat’s-eye glasses on a face full of rounded features, her thin lips currently set in a frown. She tucked back a few blonde strands of hair that had dared to escape the tightly wrapped bun at the nape of her head.
Normally, Leontes was happy to see her. Normally, she was not shooting him dirty looks. So he was grateful when her ferocious fawn-brown eyes turned on the detective. Leontes may have intimidated him, but the detective visibly withered as he stared down the wrath of the tiny woman’s bespectacled glare.
“This is brutal, yes,” Frankie snapped in a voice that tremored with a vague accent of old European. She stepped close to the detective and craned her neck up to address him, continuing her rant, but then scowled and looked around.
Without a word, Leontes righted a folding chair and offered his hand. She took it and let him help her step onto the seat, then gave him a stiff nod of irritated gratitude.
Using her newly found loft, Frankie glared at Cage eye to eye. “But other than flowers any idiot could plant, I see no indication that this was Oleander.”
Leontes glanced at the black oleanders blooming out of the chandeliers above. He would not say any idiot.
“He also left the calling card,” Cage said.
“Oh,” Frankie said, clearly disappointed. “We still must investigate to be sure.” She jumped off the chair, then put her hands on her hips and faced Leontes.
He turned away on the pretense of studying the scene once again.
“You son of a bitch,” she said.
Leontes refrained from comment, but a sudden thought tightened his chest. “Where is Kiara?”
“At the mansion, locked up under the evil queen’s watchful eye. Not that you’d know or care.”
“Good.” Leontes breathed easier, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Frankie had certainly gotten more dramatic over the last few hundred years. He knelt on one knee and removed a glove to inspect another corpse.
Frankie’s booted foot connected squarely with his backside. To keep from falling, he squished a hand into the intestines of some poor bastard who had only been counting on champagne and caviar. Not evisceration.
“I’m not being dramatic,” Frankie said.
Leontes flicked his hand, flinging off chunks of clotted blood and mutilated flesh. “I never said you were.”
“Sure you didn’t. You haven’t called in over a month.” She kicked him again.
The detective snorted. At Leontes’ harsh look, the man quickly busied himself with a notebook and took a step back.
“I have been overseas working the Oleander case,” Leontes said mildly.
“Rubbish,” Frankie said.
That it was, but he would never admit it. Leontes avoided her gaze and removed a handkerchief from his pocket to clean the carnage off his hand. “I have uncovered some disturbing news regarding Kiara,” he said. “We must retain a closer watch upon her. And it is imperative that we keep her confined. Why are you not at the mansion?”
“Mass murder at a party for the undead elite which our queen and you were supposed to attend?” Frankie sniffed. “She sent all her best.”
“Where is she, by the way? Is she safe?” Leontes asked.
“She had Elliot call. That’s her new limo driver, which you would know if you had bothered to keep in touch,” Frankie said in a scolding tone. “They had a flat tire and now, of course, she isn’t coming.”
“A lucky coincidence,” Leontes said, looking around. “Another vampire master died tonight.”
“With the two killed last month in the Middle East and Asia, we’re losing them fast,” Frankie said. “Maybe the killer was planning to take the queen out as well.”
“Perhaps,” Leontes said. “Whoever is responsible for these killings is escalating. They hit the sorcerers hard last week in Europe. I was too late. I am always too late.”
“I don’t care that you didn’t call me,” Frankie said. “But Kiara? She asked about you every day, you know. Now it’s every hour. She’s unraveling without you.”
Leontes gritted his teeth. “I am sure she is fine.”
The detective glanced at them both. “Is that the crazy girl the queen keeps locked in the tower?”
Leontes stifled a growl. “Why are you still here?”
At Frankie’s nod of confirmation, Cage continued, “Yeah, that girl is so not fine.”
“See?” Frankie said.
Leontes glowered at the detective. “Perhaps we should focus on the serial killer. That might help prove that you have some worth to the investigation.”
“Yeah,” Frankie said. “Are you sure you’re even a detective? Fopdoodle seems more appropriate.”
Cage’s cheeks reddened. “Is this about my badge going missing? I’ve already been reprimanded. I still say one of those pennies took it when I was at the mansion for our last monthly meeting. You know how they are. Sneaky. And useless, except for—”
With lightning speed, Leontes was upon him, wrapping the fingers of one hand around the man’s throat and easily lifting him in the air. Choking, eyes bugged, the terrified detective clawed at Leontes’ hand, feet kicking but finding no purchase. He, too, had inhuman strength, but was no match for the old vampire.
Leontes snarled with fury. Cage kept struggling, but his movements slowly became weaker.
“Pipe down,” Frankie said, swacking Leontes’ back. “Now who’s being dramatic?”
For several moments, Detective Cage’s future seemed to hang in the balance. Then, with a noise of disgust, Leontes released him. Cage dropped, barely managing to stay on his feet, and grabbed at his neck.
“What the hell, man!” he croaked. “I mean, sir. But...jeez.
What the hell!”
“So,” Frankie said to Cage. “What has a dimwit like you so convinced this is Oleander?”
Keeping a wary eye on Leontes, the detective coughed and swallowed a few times before speaking. “The survivors. Before our ambulances took them away, they said they saw Oleander.”
Cold washed over Leontes’ body. “Survivors?”
Frankie’s jaw took on a hard edge. “Oleander doesn’t leave survivors.”
“Well,” Cage said, “these guys barely made it out with their lives.”
“Call the queen.” Leontes stood and raced toward his car. “Lock down the entire institute!”
“Leontes, what’s going on?” Frankie called.
“The queen sent more than half of her house to investigate this!” Leontes called over his shoulder.
“Of course, but with an attack of this magnitude, how could she not send everyone?” Frankie put a hand to her mouth as realization struck. “Oh my God.”
The mansion was nearly empty. Kiara was defenseless.
CHAPTER 4 “Someone is breaking into the mansion,” Butch said quietly, his tone urgent.
“Go away.” Kiara buried her head under her pillow and tried to reclaim sleep.
“They’re right outside your window.”
Kiara lifted her head. In the filthy gloom of night, a cloaked figure swung over the railing and onto her balcony.
“It ain’t a dream.” The thin, old man knelt beside her bed. “Move.”
Now fully awake and keeping an eye on the intruder outside, Kiara slunk off the far side of the bed and onto the stone floor. The cold quickly chilled her bare feet and reached her skin through the thin material of her nightgown.
The intruder paused outside the doors, hooded head doing a slow sweep. Kiara ducked and scanned the space, too. She had always loved her room, but now, noting it had glass walls and resided at the top of a tall tower with only one way in or out, it was not ideal.
She had worked hard to keep the space open and free of clutter, with cozy armchairs and tall armoires strategically placed around the perimeter, leaving nothing but a rug on the center of the open floor. Plants bloomed outside on the wraparound balcony, but none were big enough for her to hide behind.
Dark, from either the middle of the night or the very early morning, the stars twinkled in and out of clouds moving across the sky. Fog rolled in off the forest behind the mansion. Kiara pondered the idea of making a run for the doors to the balcony on the other side of the room. She could jump and lose the intruder in the mist.
Kneeling beside her, Butch’s watery blue eyes followed her gaze. “That’s a five-story drop. Don’t even think about it.”
The doors squeaked softly. Kiara dropped flat. Looking from under the bed, she saw the intruder swing the balcony doors open and step inside, bringing with him the sound of crashing surf and the salty aroma of the ocean. The rush of fresh air fanned the fire in the hearth, renewing life into flames, which had dwindled low.
Butch scowled at her. “You didn’t lock the doors?”
“It’s a five-story climb,” Kiara hissed.
The intruder’s boots paused, then pivoted. Butch pushed at Kiara to move her under the bed, but she resisted. When her expression turned fearful and she shook her head, he gave her a forceful shove and slid beside her in the narrow space with surprising speed and strength for a man so old.
The back of her head grazed against the underbelly of the bed. So little room. So confined. Butch patted her shoulder and offered a reassuring smile, but she felt her lungs lock down and her heartbeat accelerate.
“Relax,” Butch said. “Breathe. Slowly. In and out. Steady. But stay silent. He’s coming.”
The intruder remained strangely quiet as he moved toward the bed. Not even the softest sigh of a footstep reached her impeccably attuned ears.
Kiara held her breath as he stopped at her bedside. She had the sudden urge to grab his ankles, like a real monster under the bed. She bet his boots would thud and squeak as he jumped away, giving him a taste of the terror he was trying to inflict upon her. But Butch clasped her hand in his wrinkled fingers. She frowned, irritated she would not get the satisfaction.
A hiss and rustle of sheets filled the air, followed by a few pillows falling onto the floor. Then she heard him flipping through the book she had fallen asleep reading, yet another history on Leonardo da Vinci. The intruder sighed and stepped back.
He strode to the center of her room and knelt. Slowly, he lifted the hatch door off the floor. Light beaconed from the hole, blasting the chandelier directly above and causing the crystal pieces to refract like tiny stars skittering about the room.
He wore no cloak now, only dark pants, a hoodie, and gloves.
In one fluid motion, he dropped through the hatch too quickly to have used the ladder. There was no thud from an impact below.
“How is he doing that?” Kiara whispered. “Maybe he’s a ghost.”
Giddiness fluttered over her skin, helping abate her initial panic, but she quickly crawled out from under the bed and rolled onto her back, happy for the open space. She sucked in deep breaths and worked to calm her racing heart.
Butch scooched out and stood, tucking the flannel shirt into his jeans and smoothing his sparse grey hair back before readjusting the cowboy hat back onto his head. Kiara smiled. Even in moments of danger, he liked to keep a neat appearance.
The delicate material of her nightgown clung to her small, slender body, but under her pale skin was a mass of sinewy muscle. She had delicate features, fine bones. The classic, serene beauty of a high society debutante in her late teens or early twenties. But looks could be deceiving.
Butch rolled his eyes. “If he was a ghost, why would he have opened the doors?”
“Good point.” Flipping the long French braid of her dark hair over her shoulder, Kiara army-crawled for the hatch. “Do you think he knows he broke into the Palace of the Undead? How stupid do you have to be? We’ve got every kind of walking corpse imaginable down there. All hungry.”
“Not stupid a’tall.” His southern drawl came out harder in stress filled moments. “It would take weeks of research and surveillance, not to mention skill, to get in here.” Butch leaned his frail body against the heaviest dresser and made an unsuccessful attempt to move it. “Close the hatch and lock it. Quietly. We’ll put this over it.”
“Or we can follow him. Quietly.”
Kiara peered over the edge of the hatch. An orange-gold light warmed Leontes’ library beneath, but she did not see the intruder.
“No, no, no.” Butch rushed to stop her.
“Too late!”
Kiara hurried down the ladder, mindful of the books stacked on the steps. She was far too curious and bored to play it safe. Mostly bored. Being a ward of the Queen of the Undead was surprisingly uneventful.
The library was painfully empty. Bookcases were stuffed to their limits, with more volumes piled precariously on top. A polished wood desk overflowed with more books, a laptop, and papers. A case of scrolls hung open. Books and pillows were strewn all over the floor. Someone really needed to clean up after her before Leontes came home. He did not like things messy.
The bottom of the ladder leading down from her hatch opened up to four lanes between the chaotic jumble of bookcases. One path led to a heavy wooden door, the others to the far ends of the room where cozy sitting nooks awaited.
Kiara took a step toward the door, but Butch caught her arm and tugged her behind one of the bookcases. At her look, he put a finger to his lips and pointed. Through a bookshelf, she could see the hooded intruder tread out cautiously.
“Nice save, Butch,” Kiara whispered. “Doesn’t he look like Leontes?”
Butch gripped her arm to keep her from stepping out. “That is not your guardian.”
“I know.”
She could not see the intruder’s face, but his hoodie was too large for his slender frame. His
head came almost to the top of the towering bookcases, much like her guardian’s did. The intruder clutched a syringe in his lithe fingers. A big one. It contained a dark liquid with shiny flecks swirling within.
That looked ominous. And deadly. Not something Leontes would have. Nor a thief. But an assassin would.
The man paused at the table behind the ladder. His shoulders shook with a short huff of a laugh. Mocking. He picked up a pen off a stack of papers. A quick scribble later, he moved around the table and headed their way.
Kiara hooked her arm through Butch’s bony one and dragged him down the aisle. She slid around the bookcase, and when the old cowboy balked, she left him behind to rush down to the other end to follow the assassin.
She paused a moment. Risked a peek. The intruder’s focus was on the door to the stairs down the tower. Kiara smiled. That would keep him busy for a while. It was locked from the outside. Kiara knew there was no way he could get through it since she had not been able to do so for over a month.
She darted out to the table behind the ladder. From the safety of the bookshelves, Butch waved his hands frantically. She ignored him and chose, instead, to stay and see what the stranger had found so interesting.
Case files. On Oleander.
It seemed everyone was brushing up on the ruthless serial killer and his modern-day murder spree. He had been dormant for hundreds of years, but the recent eruption of slayings had forced Kiara’s guardian out of retirement. And out of her life for the last five weeks. She blinked against the sudden water in her eyes. She missed Leontes. Terribly.
“Focus,” Butch whispered.
“Right, right,” Kiara muttered.
The pen he had used sat atop the tally of Oleander’s newest victims. The assassin had drawn a slash through it and sprawled a new number beneath, increasing it by over a hundred and adding the ominous words “and counting” at the end.
Kiara shivered with a sudden chill.
Metal moaned softly. She jumped. The assassin threw his back into opening the oak door. The vault-like attachment built into the opposite side of the wood and the solid steel lining made it heavier than it looked. Without sparing a glance back, the intruder slipped out, tucking the syringe in his pocket.