“Can I ask you for a little favor?” whispers Ashley.
“Anything. Uhh, except maybe turn you into a vampire unless you’re already about to die.”
She chuckles, then clutches me by the arms. “Please make me forget seeing you mash that guy’s face open—and the details of what he wanted to do to me. Let me think you chased him off, erased his memory of me, and he’ll never come back.”
Cool. Yeah, that I can definitely do. “No problem, Ash.”
24
It’s Good to Have People
Making a person disappear entirely off the face of the Earth is some CIA-level stuff over my head.
It would be a massive pain in the ass to chase down everyone who ever knew him, make his landlord forget him, erase him from the minds of co-workers, and so on. My two major concerns are eliminating any connection between him and Ashley, getting rid of the body, and doing something about the massive bloodstain in the trunk.
Creep Boy, real name Troy Allan Prince—figure I’ll use all three since if he got his hands on Ashley, it would’ve turned into a True Crime documentary—lives in a trailer about forty-five minutes by road away from Seattle Downtown, toward Olympia. Not exactly isolated, but enough tree cover no one sees me go inside. The place is an absolute mess. Trash everywhere. Pizza boxes all over the place.
The bedroom smells like sweat, microwave dinners, and psychosis. It’s a massive shrine to Ashley, literally wallpapered in color printouts of photos he’s taken of her at the school. He’s even Photoshopped her face on a few nude images of other women who have similar body shapes. My blood gets warm again seeing this, but he’s already dead.
“Hey, you could wrap this up real easy, yanno.” John points.
I follow his glowing finger to a double-barrel shotgun leaning against the wall by a collection of ninja weapons and swords.
“Leave her pictures up. Make it look like he offed himself when he couldn’t have her.” John pokes his ethereal foot at a laptop on the floor. “Saves you the trouble of having to go through every electronic device in here and deleting her pictures. You already made your friend forget watching him go splat, so she’ll be able to talk to cops if they track her down.”
“Hmm. Good idea. What about the blood in the trunk?”
“Nothing some bleach and sponges won’t fix. The police won’t have any reason to run lab tests on the trunk. Take less time than chasing digital cameras and phones.”
“Fine.”
I check the shotgun to make sure it’s both real and loaded—yes to both—then go get the body from the car. Dead blood smells exceptionally foul to me. Once it’s sat too long to be edible, it reeks. I’d say it smells like shit, but poop doesn’t stink this bad. Probably should find a trash bag to wear so I don’t have to wash blood out of my clothing. Shotguns get splattery. Especially at point-blank range.
With John’s advice guiding me on how to arrange the scene, Troy Allan Prince officially committed suicide via a self-inflicted buckshot smoothie.
I took care of the car first, figuring the gunshot would disturb neighbors. Poking a hole in the bottom of the trunk with a claw so the blood could drain into a pail saved me a bunch of time. This guy didn’t believe in cleaning supplies, so I had to steal some bleach from a neighbor. Did I mention vampires are really good at breaking into houses? Especially when they’re trailers.
Blood from the pail poured strategically over the dead guy’s head should hopefully confuse the medical examiners enough to not realize he’d already been dead before the shotgun went off. Not sure how accurate crime shows are, but they might notice something weird. Maybe they can tell if someone’s been shot postmortem due to how they bleed, but there’s a big difference between bullet holes and the upper half of his head disintegrating. Rigor hadn’t set in nor had this other thing called ‘livor mortis’ John mentioned. At his suggestion, I left him on the floor in the same pose he’d been in the trunk to make it more difficult for anyone to determine the body had been moved.
Anyway, problem dealt with. If the cops don’t buy the suicide angle and feel like wasting time hunting for a killer here, no big deal. I’m sure Troy has a few skeletons in his closet they’ll chase down.
It’s a little after two in the morning when I arrive back at the police station.
Two cops emerge from the building on their way into the parking lot. One’s a little older, like Dad’s age, the other in his twenties. I swerve, aborting my original plan to land behind the car and drop into a dark spot between a police van and a K-9 SUV.
“… no kidding. The brass is practically shitting themselves over this one,” says the greying cop.
“Two hundred and fifty grand… damn.” Young cop whistles. “Freakin’ thing must’ve been the size of my fist.”
“Nah. Not quite as big. Maybe golf ball. Don’t matter. The guy can afford to lose it. Insurance will cover it. We shouldn’t be wasting our time with a stolen ruby, anyway.” Older cop chuckles. “I’d rather we spent our time goin’ after the sick bastards who make life hard on ordinary folks.”
“You some kinda Robin Hood, pops?”
“Who you callin’ pops there, rook?” The older cop laughs on his way around the nose end of a car—thankfully not the one I’m interested in.
“Eh, maybe. But it ain’t like whoever stole it is going to be able to sell a rock that huge. It’ll turn up. Now, if I’m gonna be your TO, the first thing you’ll need to learn is how I take my coffee.”
Young cop flips him the bird, then gets in the car. Both guys laugh again.
As soon as they drive off down the street, I hurry over to John’s cruiser.
I’m about to ask him if he can pop the mechanism… but it’s broken open.
“Dammit!” I open the lid, anyway. Sure enough, the reliquary is gone. Cardboard box and Styrofoam peanuts are still there. “Dammit.”
“You said that already.” John materializes next to me.
I slam the trunk. “Figures.”
“If you knew it was going to walk away, why didn’t you bring it?”
“Look at yourself and ask me again why I didn’t want the stupid thing anywhere near Ashley.” I grab two fistfuls of my hair, but stop myself from screaming, mashing my face into the trunk, or tearing the hair out of my scalp. “Even if it left her alone, it probably would’ve thrown a soul into the creep as soon as I killed him. I’d have had to kill him twice.”
“How difficult could it possibly be to destroy a vampire when they’re thirty seconds old?”
I stare at him. “No idea. But it would be annoying. Like closing a cabinet door and it pops right back open and hits you in the head.”
He whistles.
“Damn. I knew it.”
“Are you psychic?”
I sigh at the stars. “No. But, like, you know how if you’re reading a book, and in one scene they make a really big deal about some object—like a giant book in a fancy locked case—that object is always going to be important later on?”
“Umm, yeah, kinda.”
“Well, the instant I left the reliquary in the trunk to go help Ashley, I knew someone would grab it before I got back here.” I pace, growling to myself. “Before, I hadn’t done anything stupid or made an error. Now, it’s missing and it is my fault. The elders aren’t going to care about Ashley’s life. They’re gonna be on me for not prioritizing vampire stuff over ‘mere mortals.’ Guess this is where I finally say something stupid enough to get me killed. Ever wanna tell someone to go F themselves but you can’t because the fallout will be way worse than the momentary gratification?”
“Every day. I’m a cop.” John smiles. “Every. Single. Day.”
“Ugh. It has to be Ladonna. Bet she’s been following me. I’m seriously screwed. She’s an elder.”
John turns in place, glancing around. His gaze fixates on something in the distance. “Huh. I think I can sense the damn thing. Isn’t far away from here.”
“Huh?” I gawk at him. �
��Did you just say you can feel the reliquary?”
“Kinda think so, yeah. Probably because the freakin’ thing that stole my body is still in my body and I’m somehow connected to the jar.”
“Umm.” I fidget. “There’s still the problem of her being an elder. She’d tear me apart.”
“Think like a cop. Call in backup. Don’t matter how bad some dude thinks he is, twenty of us on him is gonna win.”
I wince. “Not sure pissed off vampires scale numbers the same way mortals do, but you have a point. Let’s go.”
John drifts off into the air. He’s not the fastest flyer, but we end up only going a few blocks down the street to a small motel. The building is a rectangular C shape, wrapped around a parking lot. Three faces of motel rooms and windows on two stories. I land in the weeds at the edge of the parking lot. John points, either at Room 11 or 12, both on the ground floor.
“Which one? The doors are kinda close together.”
“Eleven. It’s in there.”
“Can you go look inside? She probably won’t care about a ghost walking by.”
John jogs across the lot, sticks his head in the window, then leans back and waves me over. As soon as I’m next to him, he whispers, “She’s in there alone. Back of the room on the telephone. The thing is on the bed. You might be able to grab it and run before she notices.”
Ordinarily, I’d laugh at the idea of outrunning an elder. However, Oblivare appear to lack the ability to fly. If I can make it out the door before she gets a hand on me, I’m good. Whew. Deep breaths. I nod once, then edge up to the door.
“… minimal interference with the plan,” says a male voice on the other end of the phone. “The curator is on his way to claim the reliquary. He should arrive in approximately forty minutes.”
“Perfect. I will be here.” Ladonna emits a pleased sigh.
Hmm. Hang on. One, she’s no longer distracted by a telephone call, which drastically lowers my odds of success. Two, it sounds like we have more Oblivare in the area. This might be a bigger problem than any of us think. I hurry back to my bushy hiding place and pull out my phone.
I send a text to Glim. ‹Need help plz. Important. Can you meet me where I am?› Then, I call the direct number for Wolent. It only rings twice before he picks up.
“Sarah… where are you? What’s taking so long?”
“Complications,” I whisper. “Will explain everything in detail soon. There are more Oblivare in Seattle. One of them—an elder a bit much for me to take on myself—got the reliquary, and she’s sitting on it in a motel room waiting for someone called the curator to come get it. Sounds kinda impressive. Thought you might want to know they’re going to be here in like thirty-five minutes.”
“Ahh, an unexpected turn of events but perhaps in our favor,” says Wolent. “Stay there and keep an eye on the situation. Call me back if anything changes. Associates will be with you soon.”
“Yes, sir.”
We hang up.
Hmm. Maybe I do ‘have people’ to call.
25
It’s Latin for Destruction
Three minutes after I stuff my iPhone back in my pocket, Glim’s standing next to me.
John lets out a yelp. Most of my muscles lock in surprise, but I keep quiet.
“Are you all right?” asks Glim.
“Mostly.” I take a moment to exhale and let the minor jump scare fade. “There’s a dangerous object in Room 11 over there. I was supposed to bring it to Mr. Wolent, but stuff got complicated and now it’s in there with a fairly old Oblivare. Wolent’s sending some people to help deal with them and get the reliquary. He thinks a Shadow named Eidolon can destroy it.”
Glim’s eyes widen. “How do you know of him?”
“Uhh, Holden mentioned him. Why? Is he supposed to be a secret?”
“Yes.”
I cringe. “Oops. No problem. I’ll pretend I don’t know he exists. If it makes you feel better, I don’t know anything about him other than the name.”
“It shouldn’t be a problem. You aren’t seriously considering attacking an elder alone, are you?”
“No. Mostly asked you here in hopes you might be able to make sure the reliquary gets to where it needs to go, but if you wouldn’t mind helping me not get my ass kicked, I’d appreciate it. Wolent is sending some friends to take care of the ass-kicking part. It’s probably going to be over my head. Only thing I’m gonna do is lurk and maybe dart in and grab the reliquary if there’s an opening.”
Glim nods.
“Thank you.” I hug him. “Someday, you’ve gotta ask me to help you do something more demanding than bring beer. I owe you so much.”
“It’s all right, Sarah. Your friendship is more than enough.”
We stand there, hidden behind Glim’s ability to make people not see or hear us. No clue if he’s strong enough to hide from a vampire Ladonna’s age, but she hasn’t come storming out of the motel yet, so maybe. To kill time, I pull my phone back out and google the American Civil War. Hmm. Started 1862. So, she’s ‘oh hell no’ old. Not sure exactly when during the war she turned. She’s at least 150 years a vampire.
An inconspicuous grey passenger van pulls over to park across the street from the motel. Clark, Virgil, Stan, Jay, and Donnie get out. Hmm. The last time I saw these guys, they’d been trying to kill my Lost One friends, Amy, Luke and Dante. Note ‘trying.’ Not sure these guys are going to be much of a threat to an elder.
The van rises up a few inches.
Seconds later, Aziz walks into view around the back. My brain fills in epic entrance music like from pro wrestling. Okay, things just got serious. This is like the first time he’s ever gone downtown—as far as I know. Sure, it’s almost three in the morning and not many people are out, but no one looking at this guy is going to think he’s real. He might pass as a cosplayer in a fake muscle suit. Human beings do not have arms this big. The guy’s a walking Photoshop abuse.
However, seeing him here gives me some confidence.
Glim obviously recognizes them as friends since the group sees us and walks over. Clark’s the oldest—and looks it thanks to grey hair. He’s a silver fox though, as they say. Prematurely grey and not bad looking. Jay’s a Fury, the rest as far as I know are Old Guard. They look like a team of oddly buff corporate lawyers, except for Jay who’s more of a WWE wrestler, even down to having long blond hair. I’d call him huge, but Aziz is here.
“Hey, Sarah,” says Clark. “Seems you have a knack for ending up in the middle of stuff.”
“Seriously.” I exhale. “How much did Wolent tell you?”
“Only that there are some Oblivare here he’d like removed from the city.”
I raise both eyebrows. “Removed removed, or just removed.”
“Depends on them.” Clark nods toward Aziz. “You mentioned an elder.”
The big guy isn’t radiating elder vibes, but Beasts are in another world. Aurélie may be 397 years old, but I couldn’t say for sure she’d definitely be able to win a fight against Aziz. A fair fight, I mean. She’d totally charm the snot out of him way before anyone hit anyone.
I fill the guys in on what little I know about the situation and the telephone conversation mentioning a curator. Our plan is for me to try swiping the reliquary out of the room while the guys confront Ladonna and her friends to deliver Wolent’s ‘request’ to leave the Seattle area. Knowing the level of contempt Oblivare hold for society, especially vampire society, we’re all expecting this will end up turning into a fight. Not sure how the Portland vamps convinced them to leave. Maybe there had been a whole lot more Oblivare and only six made it out.
Regarding this curator dude, none of the guys know if it’s a job title or a douchey name the guy took because he’s an egomaniac, powerful, or important. Given the wild, neo-primitive aesthetic these vampires seem to like, I half expect him to be some kind of creepy ‘high priest’ figure like the dude in Indiana Jones who liked to rip hearts out of people.
Aziz s
uggests he may be officially responsible for handling reliquaries, sorta like the requisitions clerk at an undead sperm bank. Whenever someone wants to make a new Oblivare vampire, they have to talk to him to dispense a soul. Now I really don’t want to know how they fill the jar.
Weirder and weirder my life gets.
Six minutes after Wolent’s people arrive, a black Mercedes pulls into the motel lot and parks by Room 11. A thin, late-sixties guy gets out of the passenger side. Well-groomed white hair and a normal dark suit makes him kinda look like a doctor. The curator, I assume. Totally not what I expected. Then again, I suppose roaming around the modern world in a cultist robe and face tattoos would kinda stand out.
Wolent’s guys start across the lot toward the car. The door to Room 11 opens. Ladonna takes half a step out carrying the reliquary, but pauses upon seeing the small army of men in black suits. She’s not wearing the ‘Xena armor’ tonight, rather a short black dress, but still looks like she belongs on stage at a Eurometal show. There’s no concern whatsoever in her expression, merely annoyance.
The curator sees her expression and twists to peer back at the guys, then frowns. A younger man hops out of the driver’s side of the Mercedes. He’s the total opposite of the curator, white shirt, biker vest, jean shorts, combat boots, bald and bearded. Right, so if Ladonna’s the front woman for a symphonic metal band, the curator must be the manager and this guy’s the roadie.
Ladonna leans into the room, depositing the reliquary on a small table by the window.
Glim and I stay by the sidewalk, watching. Not the most valorous moment in my unlife, but I’m not in this for glory. No one would call a soldier a coward for deciding not to challenge a tank to a fistfight. As soon as they start talking, I’m going to try making a run for the reliquary. Technically, Glim and I are going to make a run. No point for me to take it only to bring it to Wolent to hand off to someone else for transport to Eidolon. I’m hoping Glim can just bring it to him. The obvious question, of course, is why am I in the middle of this? Simple. Wolent doesn’t have any Shadows on speed dial or in his circle of friends. It’s kinda rare for them to associate with other vampires outside their bloodline, mostly because people are assholes and ninety-five percent of vampires who aren’t Shadows regard them the way medieval peasants regarded lepers. Maybe too harsh. Other vampires don’t burn or actively try to destroy them. I need a better analogy. Umm, they kinda treat Shadows the way people in the 1800s treated undertakers. Tried to keep distance but tolerated them when needed.
Vampire Innocent | Book 12 | Ancient Vampire Death Cults & Other Annoyances Page 21