by W H Lock
"Got it."
They both turned their attention back to the employee entrance. When no one appeared, Quinn turned back to look at Elly.
"How long have you been in the FBI?"
"Almost six years, why?"
"To be an agent, you've got to have a college degree, even for a witch. So, that's like ten years. And you can't be more than a day past twenty-nine. So, that's like less than once a year."
"Quinn," Elly said.
"Sure."
"Shut the hell up. We're not discussing anything about me. At All. Watch for your guy."
"Look, all I'm saying is that for a witch it just seems like that's not a big deal to have gone to a ritual. I mean, you're probably only making it to one every other year at best, am I right?"
"Quinn. When I said shut the hell up, I really meant it. Look, there's your guy. You're missing him because you've suddenly taken up doing math about how often I make it to one ritual of many that happen every year." She shook her head in disbelief.
Quinn turned to see their guy walking out to a car parked far from the building. He walked with his head down and with a listless shuffle to his feet. To Quinn's eye, he walked like a man who desperately wanted today to be over but dreaded what tomorrow would bring.
The pair tailed the guard across town. He stopped off at a pharmacy. The man sat in his car for a long time. He didn't pull out a phone. He didn't do anything other than sit in his car and stare straight ahead. Eventually, he got out of his car. He rubbed his bald head again. It was too early in the morning for it to be sweat, even for Texas. Quinn and Elly watched him as he came back out with bags full of overly large pill bottles. They followed him back to his house. Not once did he look up to see if anyone or anything was taking an undue interest in him. They parked about a half a block away from his house.
The yard was in disarray. It hadn't been mowed in a long time. The mail was bursting out of the mailbox. The house was mostly dark.
"Midnight says the backyard is even worse," Elly said in the fading light.
"What?"
"Midnight. My raven? You remember him?"
"Holy crap, I thought he was like gone or something. You mean he's been keeping up with us outside?" Quinn looked up through the windshield.
"He comes and goes. But he's in the back now."
"Does he need a snack or something?" Quinn looked around the car as if food would materialize just because he thought of it now.
"Why would he want to come out there for a snack? It's his house. He's probably got snacks in there already."
Quinn stared at her for a moment, not processing what she had said. Then he laughed. "No, I meant Midnight. Does he...has he...I'm sorry, I don't know anything about familiars."
"He just had killed a rat a little while ago, and he's been eating pill bugs from the tree he's sitting on. His fat ass is full."
They sat in silence for some time, watching the house.
When nothing happened, Elly turned to Quinn and said, "So what's the plan here, Mr. Big Crime Guy? You put all that together to find this guy, and here we are. Just sitting."
Quinn nodded. "Yeah, it's time to make things happen." Quinn got out of the car and walked down the block. He was almost to the house by the time Elly caught up to him.
"What do you mean? You can't just go up there and knock on his door."
"Why not?" Quinn said as his phone buzzed. He pulled it out and swiped the screen open. He frowned. He stopped walking and typed furiously on the phone.
Elly stopped a few feet ahead of Quinn and turned back to look at him with an unspoken question.
"We have to go back to Savannah," Quinn said, turning around and walking back to the car.
"Why? What's wrong?"
"Fred's been murdered," Quinn said tersely.
Chapter Twenty
Savannah, GA
Eno crouched next to Freddy's body. The vampire had turned into a desiccated corpse. The skin had become leather-like and pulled away from the mouth and eyes. Freddy's black curly hair had changed to stringy chalk white. His hands curled into claws with the nails turning black and ragged as Eno watched.
The carved wooden stake thrust up out of Freddy’s chest. Someone carved the top of the stake into the likeness of a screaming vampire. It's fanged mouth open to the night sky.
Eno had found Freddy in the parking lot of a bowling alley. He was flat on his back, stake mouth pointing to the night sky. He'd watched as Freddy aged and mummified by the second.
In his human form, Eno could see, smell, and hear better than any normal human. In his wolf form, those senses were truly unlocked. The world became a three-dimensional riot of color, sound, and smells. Eno saw into the infrared spectrum as a wolf. He could track by the heat left by their footsteps. He could watch people through the walls, provided the walls were thin enough. There were no secrets from Eno in his wolf body.
Except tonight.
The area around Freddy's body was sterile. There were no scents. No latent heat from footprints. Even the asphalt of the parking lot was cool to Eno's eyes and noses. Someone had scrubbed everything for thirty feet around the body of the vampire clean of any identifier. Not even the body smelled like anything.
Eno had never encountered this.
He sat for a few more minutes next to the body of his friend. As a wolf, Eno felt the pain of loss differently than if he had been in his human form. Someone had killed one of his pack. One of his. They had taken a piece of him away. It left him hollow and angry all at once. Eno trotted out to the edge of where the scent world ended. He circled the area, his nose to the ground to pick up any scent. Any telltale sign of someone walking into the area and then leaving it.
He found nothing.
Except.
On the faint edge of his nose, there was something. About sixty feet away from the clean zone, he found a car leaving the area. It was an English car; the scent the peat of England still clinging to it. But more importantly, there was a faint air of jasmine. The fur on his neck bristled. He circled again. He found where the same car entered the clean zone.
Eno threw his head back and howled into the night. A howl that began in grief and ended with the thrill of the hunt. He ran off into the night, following the stale scent of jasmine air-freshener.
Chapter Twenty-One
With one exception, the place looked like a family-friendly bowling alley. The one exception to the family entertainment was a large section of the parking lot cordoned off by yellow police crime scene tape.
"What was he doing here?"
"I don't know," Karen said from the back seat. "Out for dinner or something."
"Where's Eno," Quinn asked as he turned to look at her.
"Hunting, I think." She said with a shrug.
"Can you see what happened here?"
Karen shook her head. "I don't know how to dial back time like that," she said.
"Do you know anyone who can?"
"Not on short notice, no. And they're not in the know," Karen said as she tapped the side of her nose.
Elly sat in the passenger seat, her back pressed against the window so she could see at Quinn and Karen at the same time. Rube drove.
"What happened," Elly asked as she shifted in her seat, and settled Midnight in her lap by stroking his head.
"Someone reported finding the body to the police. He was found next to his Corvette. By the time the police arrived, he…it…had already desiccated to a mummified state." Before Rube could say anything, Karen looked at him and said, "Vampire bodies decay at an incredible rate, catching up to how they would be now if they'd been dead the whole time. An ancient one will turn to dust."
Rube nodded and closed his mouth.
"What can you tell me about what happened here, Karen?"
"He had around two hundred in cash on him along with some gold finesses. I'm not sure if he was chasing a lead or just out for dinner. But they killed him about nine at night. Someone put a stake through his heart.
"
"Do you think it was a hunter?" Quinn asked the group.
Elly shook her head and said, "No, they don't go after targets in a parking lot. They would have followed him back to his nest to make sure they got anyone he's turned."
"Nest? That don't sound right," Rube said. "He weren't no animal."
Elly shrugged. "That's the term for where a vampire lives. Deal with it."
"What do the police know," Quinn asked.
"Not much," Karen said. "All I've been able to find out is that they're declaring it a gangland murder."
Quinn turned back to Karen. "Gang war?"
Karen shrugged and said, "I guess that's how Savannah deals with supernatural crime? Which makes sense if you can't afford a supernatural department, I mean, vampires are like a gang."
Everyone nodded.
"And what do you know?"
"It's been scrubbed," she said.
"What?" Elly and Quinn said at the same time.
Karen nodded and said, "The site's been scrubbed clean. Which means whoever did it, he had friends to back him up. Non-vampire friends. Give me time, and there’s little that can be hidden from me. This,” she pointed to the police tape, “was wiped clean. There's nothing to find."
"Every hunter I've known uses a ritual stake," Elly said. "Something purpose-built for the specific vampire. What kind of stake did they use?"
Karen shrugged. “I don’t have access to that information yet.”
Elly said, “I can find out.”
Quinn nodded. He said, "So our greaser got greased by someone who knew enough to scrub the scene. That's not an accident. That's not a gang war. That's a warning." Quinn sneered.
The others in the car looked at him, waiting.
"We're still on course. We should have just everything we need. Max is almost finished with the daggers, and I'll have the book soon enough."
"But what are we gonna do about Fred?" Rube shifted in the front seat, not looking at anyone.
"We can't claim the body. They'll burn him and spread his ashes in the ocean to make sure he doesn't come back." Karen's voice was the careful neutral of a college professor listing what will be on the test.
"But what are we going to do?" Rube repeated. He slammed his hand against the steering wheel.
"Do?" Quinn asked. "Oh, I'm going to send a message right back. There are rules. There are rules for the way we run, and someone just skipped way past that. I'm going to send a message right back."
Everyone in the car nodded. It was time to send a message right back.
Chapter Twenty-Two
George had been drinking in O'Shea's Pub for what he was sure was his entire life. He'd come here as a boy with his Pa for dinner. Back then the place had served a proper shepherd's pie, not that cream of mushroom soup and instant mashed potatoes crap they were peddling now. He'd had his first beer here when he snuck a few sips of his father's. When he was old enough, he'd joined his dad and uncles at the textile mill. After work, they'd come here for a few beers and some shepherd’s pie.
The old man had been dead for a few decades. Like most good Irish men, his heart had given out on him. George had retired, and the mill closed. But George still came a few times a week for a beer. He skipped the shepherd’s pie on account of his heart medication.
Carl the sour bartender poured George his normal lite beer and turned a blind eye to George snagging the bowl of peanuts. George was supposed to stay away from salt too. George took his customary seat at the end of the bar right next to the battered dart board. Maybe he'd get lucky, and someone would want to play a round or two tonight. He enjoyed leaning back at just the right moment to spoil someone's throw.
The gangster brothers had staggered in with their tail of worthless bastards in tow. The brothers, and a few of their crew were distant cousins of George's. But being family didn't change the low regard with which George held them. When he was their age, he’d been working too hard to screw around like they did. George turned to Carl, to ask him why he allowed the gutless punks in the place when the front door exploded.
The front door to Oshea's had been kicked in a few times. Sometimes it was by angry husbands, rival gangs, and even once by the police. But tonight it exploded. The wood and glass of the door and several feet of the surrounding front blew into the room like shrapnel. George stared at the large blade-like shard of glass that embedded itself into the bullseye of the dart board.
As the smoke cleared, three people walked into the bar. In the front was a handsome young man. His eyes shown with the brilliant blue of an angry sky god. He was flanked by an efficient-looking Asian woman and a purple-haired white woman dressed in skin-tight black leather. Before anyone could think about screaming or even running, the Asian woman spun her hands in a complex set of gestures, took a few odd steps to the side and cast her hand wide. A net of fire appeared between her hands. She flung it out as if she were a fisherman at sea. The net covered everyone.
It locked George in place.
From somewhere sinister music played. The purple haired woman pulled a wand out from her sleeve. The tip glowed with an impossible brilliance. George had no doubt she was a witch and would burn him alive with that wand. He was unable to look away from the two rings piercing her bottom lip. They were set at an angle as if they were vampire fangs protruding out of her mouth.
The hooligans spilled out of the back room. They were wild and panicked as they shouted at each other. They came to a stop and piled up on each other as they spotted the trio that walked in the shattered front.
"That one," the young sky god said, pointing at the younger brother.
The Asian woman flicked her hand out, and a lash made of fire appeared. She snapped it once on the floor, creating a scorch mark. Then she whipped it up over her head like a bullwhip and then snapped it forward. It wrapped around the neck of the one Quinn had pointed to. She tossed the other end up into the air where it wrapped itself around one of the water pipes that passed for fire safety in the pub.
There was a moment where no one was sure what would happen next. The rope of fire was wrapped around the young man's neck and a pipe in the ceiling. The woman raised her hand, made a fist, and jerked it down. The young man was hoisted into the air by his neck. His legs flailed as he held on to the fiery lines, trying his best to not choke to death on his own weight.
"Look at me!" the handsome young man shouted. "Look at me!"
Everyone that could move looked at him.
"One of mine got done in last night. Was it you?" The young man pointed at the older brother.
George wasn't sure what their names were, and right now he didn't want to care. He had an urgent need to pee, and he very much wanted to get out of there immediately.
The older brother shook his head as he tried to look away from his brother dangling from the ceiling.
"I said look at me!" The young man shouted. His voice was amplified to rattle the pictures nailed to the wall.
Vinnie looked at him.
"We had a deal."
Vinnie nodded. Then he said, "Yeah, we did. We had a deal. A good deal too."
"That's right," the young man said. "But you or one of yours broke it. Who did it? I want them. Here. Now." He pointed at the floor.
Vinnie's eyes went back up to his struggling brother. The younger brother was turning purple. His legs flopped futilely.
"Do you understand what I am saying? I want whoever did this!”
"Look, man!" Vinnie said as he tried to grab his brother's legs and lift him up to create slack in the fiery rope. "I don't know who did it, okay? I didn't call it. No one called it. No one knows!"
"Bullshit! You know! I want a name. Now!" The young man stepped forward and slapped Vinnie in the face.
The gangster staggered back and looked at the newcomer as if they had personally insulted him. "Hey, hey, okay. Look. I heard someone. A name. Someone that was sent here to clean things up."
"What do you mean by clean things up?" The y
oung god slapped the gangster in the face again. This time he left a mark on the young gangster’s face.
The other gangster held his hand against his cheek and backed away from the newcomer. ”It's just talk, okay? No one knew anything for sure. But rumor says someone big from Tokyo or France or somewhere."
"And you didn't feel it was important enough to warn me?"
"It was only talk, man! Do you know how much of that shit I hear? I'm not going to pass along every worthless scrap that bends my ear."
"I want a name."
"I don't know it!"
"I want a name!"
The rope of fire flared and constricted around the other brother’s throat. His eyes rolled up into his head.
“I don’t think he’s got long,” the young god said.
"Okay! It's Renard. Renard! Renard the Fox!"
The young man with the blue eyes nodded at the Asian woman. She unclenched her fist. The rope of fire disappeared. The younger gangster fell to the ground with a heavy thud. He lay there, gasping for air.
The blue-eyed young man cocked his head to the side. He repeated the name to himself, mouthing the words. Then he said, "Wait. Renard the Fox? Renard is fox in French. This guy's name is Fox the Fox?!? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard!"
He laughed hard, doubling over and slapping his knee in obvious delight. He stood up, forcing himself to take a breath. He pressed on hand against his side. The young man finished laughing and ended on a deep sigh.
"Guys. Thanks. I really needed that." He shook his head and chuckled again. He pulled a roll of cash out of his pocket. He peeled a few bills off and tossed them on the table. "It’s been a stressful last few days, and that helped. Whew! You boys go get yourself a nice dinner on me. I'll take care of Foxy McFoxface."