“I know what you’re giving up,” I say. “I know you just want us to have a normal life together, but what if that’s not possible? The door to the supernatural is open now. Perhaps we just need to figure out how to live the best lives we can despite it.”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” he says. “I don’t want to fight right now.”
Damon dips his fingers underneath my panties, his fingers exploring my folds, strumming my clit. I let out a breathless sound of desire and he takes this as a green light, pushing those deft fingers inside of me.
“I’ll fight for you,” he says into my ear as his hand works between my legs, building a rhythm that will very easily carry me over a cliff face and into oblivion. “I’ll kill every vampire in town if I have to.”
I reach back and grab him as he pushes aside my underwear so he can enter me. When he pushes inside, I cry out. We move together, him at my back, his hands on my breasts. The sex is a little violent, but I like it. Even though I don’t want to be controlled, there is a part of me that responds to his threat. I feel the same way about him. I would fight and die to keep him safe. Perhaps this is why we are meant to be together.
“You can fight for me,” I say. “Like I’ll fight for you. But not if it means controlling me.”
Damon rolls over, pulling me onto him. Looking down on him, I move, meeting his gaze, realizing he’s giving me a moment of power. I push his arms over his head, holding his wrists with my hands. My breasts graze his chest, my nipples hard and sensitive against his skin. I move on top of him, at first slowly, but as I pick up the pace, I feel the tingle of orgasm brewing. I push faster and faster, still holding Damon’s arms. He kisses me fiercely.
“I love you, Amy,” he says. “You’re strong and smart and fearless and beautiful. I saw it all the first time we met. I love all of you, but I can’t lose you. Not to one of them.”
Them. Vampires.
I feel tears prick at my eyes, my throat closing up as I try not to cry. I don’t want to feel the way I feel about Vincent. It would be easier if I could forget him if I could just love Damon the way he deserves to be loved. He deserves so much better than this, especially if he will really give up being a Hunter for it. That is a sacrifice of true love, and can it be that for me, if I also love someone else?
When I hit the peak, he follows closely. I release his arms and he pulls me close, kissing me deeply. We don’t say any more; we’ve said all we need to for now. And for now, we are here and focused only on each other.
As I get ready for work after, Damon says, “I don’t know if I can share you, Amy.”
I look at him, wide-eyed, as I brush my teeth. After I rinse, I say, “I don’t think I mentioned sharing as an option.”
“But you’d have us both if you could, would you not?”
I’m not sure how to answer that. I open my mouth several times before I finally speak. “I’ve never felt like humans were really designed to be monogamous, to have lifelong, single relationships for their whole adult lives. Just scientifically, we change. Our personalities evolve; our bodies evolve. We become different people and it’s hard to imagine that we could find one person who would change at our pace, continue to be what we need.”
“That seems pretty cynical, Amy,” he says. “And it didn’t answer the question.”
I shrug. “I guess. But I wouldn’t say that having you both is my goal. I love you and I love being with you. You do make me feel safe. I’m glad you’re in my life. And, frankly, I can’t imagine that there is any way to have a healthy relationship with a person who isn’t even alive.”
“Will you let him go?” he asks.
“Eventually, I’m sure. I can’t help that I have feelings for him and I can’t guarantee if or when those feelings will go away. But I can promise that I’ll always be honest with you,” I answer.
Damon nods. “That’s good enough for now, I suppose.”
He reaches out and pulls me to him. As I snuggle into his big body, I say, “Thank you, Damon. You’re a good man.”
He inhales and exhales deeply. “Is there anything I can do to help you with this new case?”
“The one I’m not supposed to be working on?” I ask with a wink as I pull away. “I don’t know. Let me see what else comes up and I’ll let you know.”
He drives me to work again, not because I’m late but because he says he can’t stand sitting around the house waiting for the phone to ring. He hasn’t heard anything about his interview and plans to put in some new applications through the day. I tell him for at least the fourteenth time that he should just go ahead and go back to his role as a Hunter. I do not wish for him to give up what he was born to do. He insists that this choice will make both of our lives safer.
As I get out of the car, I say, “Hey, if you’ve got the time, can you research this woman Alexis Alexander?” I hand him her business card. “She’s the manager at Centerfold, where those girls all worked, and I think she’s a witch.”
“Sure thing, boss,” he jokes. I lean in for a peck and then head off to start my day.
* * *
Vivienne greets me as I walk into the building. “Oh, hello, Amy,” she says brightly. “Nice to see you this morning. We were worried when you didn’t make it back yesterday afternoon.”
I give her a tentative, confused smile. What’s she getting at?
“I mean, some of the guys said you were being really weird yesterday,” she babbles. “Dropping things, hearing voices. They thought maybe you were having a breakdown or something.”
Some of the guys? I mean, Rick was one of the only people I spoke to yesterday, at least about anything out-of-the-norm. And Taquan Silver, I guess, but that was only a brief interaction.
“Who said that?” I ask.
“Oh, I can’t say,” she says. “But you’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I snap. “I went to get samples from a suspect. Something he said piqued my interest so I followed up. Just doing my job, which is what everyone else around here needs to do instead of getting in my business.”
She looks taken aback, her brown eyes wide. “Oh, okay,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push your buttons.”
I sigh. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Thank you.”
I wander off, sulking, and go straight to my office. Who the heck is talking about me? This isn’t high school. If someone wants to say something, they should talk to me directly, not to some newbie, too-chipper receptionist. That girl doesn’t know me from Adam. I don’t think I like her.
Fuming, I start reviewing evidence from the other two cases. They’re being handled by different investigative teams because of jurisdiction, but I find the information easily in our database. Indeed, Chessy and Miriam’s crime scenes all look eerily similar to Erin’s. As I think on this, Rick wanders in. He sets a mug of coffee on my desk.
“Thank you,” I say, turning to look at him. “To what do I owe this treat?
“I know you love the stuff,” he says. “Where’d you go yesterday?”
I think about Vivienne’s weird comments and consider telling Rick the truth. If they all think I’m having some kind of nervous breakdown anyway, maybe it would be good to just admit that there is some really weird stuff happening in my life lately.
Rick is a long-time investigator. He’s surely seen some very strange things in his career, right? Maybe he will believe me if I tell him that werewolves and vampires and witches exist. And that ghosts follow me around until they get vengeance for their deaths.
No, all of that sounds crazy, even to me, and I’m the one living it. If I tell him, he will have me on a one-way bus to crazy town. Then people really will have reason to think I am having a mental breakdown.
“I went to get the DNA I lost when I upended that tray,” I say.
“And?” he asks.
“And I don’t think the guy killed his girlfriend,” I say. “At least, I don’t think he was in his right mind if he did.�
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“So you went where afterward?” Rick probes.
I sigh and slump back in my office chair. “I went to Centerfold Club.”
“I assume not for a lunchtime peep show,” he quips.
“Definitely not,” I answer. “I was covering my bases. The girl worked there and, look, this Jimmy guy can’t remember the incident and he said his girlfriend was upset about two of her coworkers dying recently. Don’t you think that’s weird, Rick? That three women from the same establishment have been murdered in the same month?”
Rick tilts his head, “Tell me more.”
“They were all stabbed to death by people they knew. This morning, I looked through the database and the scenes are almost identical. The witness reports are almost identical. Don’t you think that’s weird? We have these supposedly open-shut cases that are so similar it’s eerie, and the victims all worked together?”
“Okay, yes, that is strange,” he concedes. “So against my orders, you went to the place where they all worked?”
“I did,” I admit, giving him a sheepish look. “But listen, there was something off about the place. I couldn’t do much without a warrant, but I definitely want to keep an eye on the place.”
“When you say something was off, what do you mean?” he asks.
I take a deep breath and rub my temples. Do I tell him the truth? Or some, acceptable, human version of it? I decide on the latter. It’s easier. For now.
“I can’t put a finger on it,” I say. “There’s a chatty bartender named Brian, and his sister, Alexis, is the manager. She didn’t seem upset at all that three of her dancers had been murdered in the past month. She was professional about it, but there was almost no emotion underneath. Three women, Rick, all dead at the hands of people they cared about, all dead in the same manner. They were all stabbed.”
Rick contemplates this. “So your Spidey-senses are tingling, even though there is really no evidence that these are connected.”
“I guess if you want to put it that way. Please. Let me investigate what these three murders have to do with that strip club. I really believe there is a connection, despite what we see at face value.”
“I can’t send you in on a hunch, Amy. The teams know I pulled you off direct field work. They won’t like it.”
“I don’t give a damn what they like or don’t like,” I say fiercely. “Just talk to them. Tell them to give me a week. If I don’t find anything, I’ll concede defeat. I’ll even take a leave of absence, a mental health break.”
“What will I tell them?”
“Tell them that I found some evidence that I want to rule out before they move forward,” I say. “One week, that’s all I’m asking.”
“Amy, I want to say yes, but…”
“Then say it,” I interrupt. “Please. Just give me a week.”
He looks up at the ceiling, his neck cracking. “Okay, fine. One week. Give me some good work Amy. Show me that my best investigator is still around.”
I grin. “I won’t let you down.”
* * *
With a bit more slack on the leash, I decide to head into Faye’s shop for a visit.
Today, Faye’s hair is a tall, spiky mohawk in fluorescent green. She’s paired it with a dress covered in characters from an anime series, and her eyes are rimmed in the purple liner. She’s using needle nose pliers to fashion a piece of metal into jewelry.
“Hello, Amy,” she says as I walk in.
“Hey there, Faye, how’s it going?”
“It’s going,” she says, not looking up at me. “I wanted to tell you that it’s going to be time to push the boundaries of your abilities soon. It would be good to do some work to help you control your energy and explore your inner power.”
My magical mentor, everyone…she lacks in social skills but seems to know just exactly when it is least convenient to throw a magical wrench in my life.
“That is, as usual, sufficiently vague,” I say. “And until you have more information, I will move on to the reason for my visit today. I was out at Centerfold the other day investigating a case. Three girls dead, three suspects, but the witness accounts and crime scene details are identical. And when I walked in, the place nearly suffocated me with dark magic. Heard any good gossip lately?”
She stops working and looks at me, her head to one side like a bird. “Gossip? About dark magic?”
I raise my eyebrows in response.
“Hmm,” she grunts. “Interesting.”
“What’s interesting?” I ask.
“Well, there has definitely been a spike of power in the community lately. All of our powers are more magnified, which usually means someone is tapping into something they shouldn’t be.”
“I didn’t know that was a thing,” I say. “Our powers are amplified by other witches’ activities?”
“They can be,” she says. “If what they’re tapping into is strong enough.”
“Why would they be gathering power like that?” I ask.
“Sometimes people get power-hungry. They like the feel of it, what they can do with it. Sometimes they have a specific purpose–vengeance or whatever.” She shrugs.
“Could someone be committing murder to harness power?” I ask.
“Sure,” she says. “Sacrifice has always been a way to tap into dark magic.”
“You don’t seem too worried about this,” I say.
“This is my worried face,” Faye says, giving me a bland look.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not,” I answer.
“I have not been led to any conclusion on this matter as yet. I sense that this activity has a purpose but not yet what the purpose may be.”
“Okay, well let me know if anything comes up that you think I should know about,” I say. “I’ve got three spirits attached to me now and I’d like to set things right for them.”
“Yes, I sense them,” she says.
“Faye,” I say, changing the subject, “There are three former witches, now vampires, in a local coven. They offered to train me. Do they play into your feeling that my abilities may be pushed soon?”
“I think that there are many avenues through which this could occur. Exploration can be messy and painful,” she answers, going back to her metalwork, effectively dismissing me.
I roll my eyes. Faye is cryptic on a good day. Would a simple yes or no, do this or do that, be too much to ask?
If nothing else Faye has said is certain, I feel even surer than before that there is something going on at this strip club. Someone is harnessing dark energy, doing strong enough magic to amplify all of our abilities? These murders have to be part of it, and I’d be willing to bet our witch Alexis is at the center of it.
Chapter 7
“I’m telling you, I don’t want you going alone,” Damon says.
We’re naked again, both standing in the kitchen where we started our argument while making dinner. Somehow, I don’t think that taking off our clothes during arguments is as effective as it once was. At least, it is not the deterrent that it once was. Though I do always enjoy the sight of a naked Damon.
“Fine, then I’ll enlist Ivanka, Joseph, and Mika to help me. They’re former witches; they’ll be able to tell me what they sense in the club.”
“I like you working with vampires even less,” he says, pouting. “Why do you insist on acting like they are anything but bloodsucking murderers?”
“Why do you insist on acting like they can’t possibly have personalities or feelings?” I counter.
“Because they are undead monsters!” he explodes. “They are killers. Killers don’t have feelings. Dead things don’t have personalities.”
At an impasse once more, I turn away, stirring the now-mushy pasta that has over boiled while we went round after round about the same thing we always fight about lately. I am, according to Damon, a vampire sympathizer and therefore unable to make rational decisions about for myself. He is, in my estimation, kind of a closed-minded jerk who thin
ks he can control everything I do under the guise of protecting me.
I feel that we could probably be in a sitcom at this point. We are literally naked; I am stirring pasta, and we keep arguing about the same things over and over again. It actually makes me smirk, despite my best efforts not to let my argument for freedom and tolerance be derailed.
Of course, my smirk does not go unnoticed.
“Why are you laughing?” he asks.
“Because this is so stupid,” I say. “We are literally having the same argument over and over again. It feels like Groundhog Day.”
“Huh?” he asks, perplexed.
“Groundhog Day? The movie with Bill Murray where he has to live the same day over and over again until he changes his ways?”
“Haven’t seen it,” he says. “And seriously, are you still stirring that pasta? It looks like mashed potatoes.”
I laugh, an unexpected, short, shrill sound. “You need a movie education, boy. Do Hunters not watch movies or something?”
“Of course we watch movies,” he says, as if this should be obvious. He wanders up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist and nuzzling my neck. “Why can’t you just ask me for help?” he asks quietly. “Why do you feel like you have to go it alone all the time? Or worse, ask others for help instead of me?”
“One, I don’t want you getting pulled back into this world when you’re obviously trying to get out of it,” I say. “Two, I don’t want you getting hurt.”
“And I don’t want you to get hurt,” he says. “How is that different? You keep me out of your plans to keep me safe, but if I do the same, I’m a sexist jerk who’s trying to control you.”
I wiggle out of his embrace, taking the lumpy noodles to the sink and pouring them into the colander. “I think these are dead.”
“Yep, definitely dead,” he agrees, peering at them with distaste. “Chinese or pizza?”
“Chinese,” I answer.
He picks up his phone and dials in our usual order. When he’s done, he faces me again. I stand with my back to the refrigerator, closing my eyes and resting my head on the cool metal.
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