The Judah Black Novels: Boxed Set of books 1-3

by E. A. Copen

He shrugged his jacket back on and chuckled. “I suppose. She’s been a good investment. My last assistant didn’t have any medical training. Now, what can I do for you? Please be as brief as possible. It’s already going to be a late night.”

  “You wanted me to report my results from yesterday night.”

  He paused buttoning his jacket and stared at me. “I was under the impression it would be... inconsiderate of me to inquire, given recent events. Humans tend to be moodier when their offspring are hurt and their friend has passed.”

  “I’m not moody,” I snarled and then stopped to calm myself back down. “Look, having something to work on and keep my mind busy actually helps. Since I can’t do anything for Hunter, and I can’t stop Sal and Istaqua without shooting myself in the foot, I thought I’d turn my attention to something I could do.”

  “And that’s the one thing I admire about you. That and your conviction, even if it is often misguided and misinformed.” He went back to his chair and gestured to the chair across from him. The desk had already been removed but was yet to be replaced. “Would you like to sit? You look like you might fall over any second.”

  I considered accepting his invitation as tired as I was, but I didn’t want to give him the illusion that we were friends. “No thanks. Think I’ll stand.”

  “Suit yourself.” He twisted in his seat, turning over the blood bag he had warming in the afternoon sun.

  I nodded to the blood bag. “I thought only sanguine vampires needed that?”

  “You thought wrong. Human blood is essential for healing. Given how many times I have to stick myself every day, the boost doesn’t hurt.” He rubbed his stomach. “That, and it keeps the sun from making me uncomfortable in the evening. Can I assume, given the events today, that you haven’t made much progress?”

  I stepped forward. “Mr. Kelley, how did your wife die?”

  His head snapped up and I recognized the same cool anger in his eyes that I’d seen before. This time, he controlled himself in every respect except for his voice. “Why?”

  “Because the ghost I saw was a dead ringer for the giant oil painting you have hanging in your den.” He narrowed his eyes at me so I added, “No pun intended. She’s connected to Mia’s sickness. I just haven’t figured out how.”

  “Impossible.” Marcus’ hand cut through the air. “Ghosts only manifest if they have some sort of unfinished business. I assure you that all of Emiko’s affairs were completely tied up. She was careful about it. She didn’t want to leave her family with any burdens other than her burial. Besides, what would she have against Mia?”

  “That I don’t know, but I do know it’s her. Or, at the very least, something that looks like her. The form I saw was twisted. She was angry. Marcus, did Emiko have any enemies?”

  Marcus’ glare intensified and I suddenly felt cold. “Find another suspect, Judah. It isn’t Emiko.”

  I sighed and rubbed the back of my head. Of all the responses I’d expected to run into, denial wasn’t one of them. The very mention of her name had nearly set him off and when he spoke it aloud, it almost sounded like it hurt him to do so.

  “When Mia fell sick, it was just her and her mother in the den?”

  Marcus shrugged. “The four of us had tea.”

  “Four?”

  “Zoe, Mia, myself, and Cynthia,” he explained. “A phone call drew me away to my office before the tea finished. Cynthia sat with them for a moment and then came into the office. It must have been two, three minutes later that Zoe screamed for help. When I came out, Mia was on the floor, jerking. That was the first fit.”

  “And she fell unconscious after that?”

  “No,” Marcus said, tapping his fingers. “But she was visibly weakened afterwards. Refused food and water. In the days that followed, she retreated into herself. I called Han and we spoke over the phone, but he assured me that, if she wasn’t feverish, it was nothing dangerous. By the next morning, she was unresponsive.”

  I sank into the chair. Now that he wasn’t agitated, maybe I was out of the woods. “Marcus, have you ever heard of ghost sickness?”

  He frowned. “No. I assume it’s an ailment metaphysical in nature?”

  “Sort of,” I explained. “Some Native American groups believed that, if a person were to die indoors, the bad parts of that person would become trapped and form a malevolent spirit that would haunt the house. They took their dying outside to avoid it. Today, a lot of experts agree that about ninety-five percent of ghost sickness stems from depression and the natural grieving process. The other five percent of cases remain unexplained.”

  “You think that’s what’s wrong with Mia?” Marcus leaned forward.

  I sighed and then shrugged. “It doesn’t fit exactly. Usually, it affects family members of the deceased. For the first patient to be an outsider with no relation to the ghost I saw isn’t unheard of, but it is rare. If it is ghost sickness, then the spirit is being directed by somebody and used as a weapon.”

  “What about Zoe? Zoe is sick as well.”

  “That fits,” I said, nodding. “It’s also common for it to travel through bloodlines, affecting or even killing whole families. That explains Zoe falling sick as well. The problem is, I don’t know how to combat it.”

  “What about Saloso? Isn’t he some kind of native?”

  I shook my head. Even if Sal knew something, I couldn’t lay this at his feet, not as unstable as he was. “Chanter might have known but...” I couldn’t finish.

  “Maybe Istaqua, then? He’s Navajo. Although he’s about as in touch with his roots as I am with my Irish heritage. Chanter was always the one who knew those things.” He looked down at his hands, and his voice took on a slightly more regretful tone. “Maybe Chanter left some writings or information at his home?”

  I stood and Marcus stood with me. “I have to go out there anyway later to make sure Sal and Valentino don’t kill each other.”

  “I’ll see you out,” Marcus offered and gestured to the door.

  What I didn’t tell him was that my next stop was going to be Patsy Adams’ to inquire about Emiko. The news that we had spoken would get back to Marcus eventually, probably sooner rather than later, but I needed information. Since he wasn’t willing to give it, I had to go to the next best thing.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  I got Patsy’s number from Marcus, but I wanted to talk to her in person. If there was one thing I had learned from werewolves, it was that body language added another layer to a conversation. Interviewing her over the phone would put me at a disadvantage if she decided to withhold information. Not that she would. Patsy always seemed eager to talk. I did call to make sure she was home. The sun was still up, though, so of course she was home.

  Real vampires are kind of a mixed bag. The myth that daylight turns them to dust got started in the Victorian Era, and then perpetuated by vampires themselves. That was the case with most vampire myths. For example, they can eat garlic just fine, and don’t have to stop and count rice if you spill it on the floor. They don’t turn into bats or fog, and they don’t burst into flames in the sun. They do suffer from varying degrees of sun sensitivity. Like Marcus had said, feeding regularly reduced the effects of the sun. Being a really old vampire also seemed to help. The younger ones were supposedly sunblind, but I’d never met a vampire child. No creature protects their young as fiercely as the vampire.

  When I pulled into the cul-de-sac, Patsy was sitting outside under a shaded swing wearing a black turtleneck, black skirt, sunglasses, and a big, black sun hat. She smiled at me, showing her fangs, and patted the young lady next to her, a doe-eyed young woman with brown hair. The girl got up, folded her hands, and shuffled back toward one of the trailers. When she turned, I saw the fresh marks on her neck. Apparently, my call had interrupted Patsy’s afternoon snack.

  “Agent Black! Oh, Agent Black,” she called to me once I got out of the car, drawing out her vowels the second time.

  “Hey, Patsy,” I said, shutting my
car door. I trudged over and stood in front of her. “Glad you could make time to talk to me.”

  She smiled. “Oh, no trouble. No trouble at all. Sit. Would you like something to drink? I’m afraid all I have made up now is orange juice. Keeps the blood sugar up for you humans after a feeding, you know.”

  I grimaced. “No, I’m good, and with everything going on, I need to be brief.”

  “Of course, sweetie. How’s your boy? I heard about the shooting. Awful thing, that. And Chanter! My but if he wasn’t one of the best of us. The council lost its voice of reason today, I should think.”

  “I’m not here about that,” I said sitting. “And with the questions I have, I need two things from you. First, I need your promise to be honest, since lives are at stake.”

  She frowned at the word stake. That was the only vampire legend that was mostly true. Staking vampires didn’t kill them, but it did render them incapacitated until the stake was removed. Aware, awake, but unable to move. It was a poor choice of words, one I didn’t have time to go back and correct.

  “The second thing,” I continued, “is that I need for this not to get back to Marcus Kelley for at least twenty-four hours. After that, you’re free to call and report to your master.”

  Patsy pressed her fingers to her ample bosom and feigned offense. “My, I’ve no idea what you mean. Report to my master? I’d never!”

  “Just so, I need your word.”

  “If that’s what you need, honey, then you’ve got it. What’s this all about?”

  I folded my hands and leaned forward on my elbows. Patsy didn’t use the swing often. There was a thick patch of crabgrass right out in front of where her feet were and yellow, dying tufts of it all around.

  “I was told you knew the late Mrs. Kelley pretty well. Emiko. I was hoping you could tell me something about her death.”

  Patsy sighed. “A terrible tragedy, that. They were like a real-life Romeo and Juliet, Marcus and Emiko. Inseparable. Almost laughably in love. Which drew them a lot of unwanted attention.”

  “Unwanted?” I asked.

  “Oh, yes. Love is a very modern concept. At the time, the Stryx were still basically running America. Prior to the Revelation, that was how it was, and they’ve still got a lot of power here. He would have done anything for her and she for him and they did. Especially the one thing two different vampire lines should never do.” She leaned in and whispered the last sentence like a curse. “They procreated.”

  “I know Emiko was an auric vampire,” I said.

  “Not just any auric vampire,” Patsy added. “She was the granddaughter of the leader of the Jiangshi at the time. He’d married into the royalty of a rival clan. That just wasn’t done. To the Stryx, they saw only that he’d snubbed tradition and married above his station. They pulled their financial backing from him.”

  “He still seems to have done well for himself,” I said with a shrug.

  “Since the Revelation, of course. That was his big break, that contract with BSI. A lot of people still think he might have had a hand in engineering our coming out of the coffin. Back in the eighties, he, Emiko, and their two children were destitute. The last thirty years have made him a very rich man, the last ten years in particular. Too bad Emiko never lived to see it.”

  “I’ve heard Emiko was found decapitated. Yet, the story I heard also paints it as suicide. What do you know about that?”

  She shook her head and stared at the crabgrass. “It was jealousy or maybe just the power games we play that did it. I remember like it was yesterday. I used to work at the house of the Master in those days, you know. Alto Continelli, the leader of the Stryx, came with his two sons for a visit. Marcus and Emiko graciously put them up at their estate, but the whole thing was tense and just felt off. You could have cut the tension in the air with a dull knife.

  “It was at dinner one night when the eldest Continelli boy, Crux, and Marcus had their back and forth. They fought with words, and then decided to do so with swords at midnight.”

  Patsy removed her sunglasses and dabbed at the corner of her eyes with a tissue in her hand. “Four went up: Marcus, Emiko, Alto, and Crux. By morning, Marcus returned bearing Emiko’s body, Crux and Alto were gone.” She sniffled. “The pain in that house...” Patsy closed her eyes and sighed in an almost romantic tone. “Poor girl. She sliced her own neck almost to the bone.”

  “What!?”

  The vampire leaned in closer to me. “Suicide. Rumor had it that it was engineered, however. That she was given a choice. Either she could end her life or they would kill her children. Emiko died protecting her family, Agent Black. That was the kind of person she was. Lovely, tragic, fiercely protective. She wouldn’t hurt a fly, not unless someone forced her into it or to protect her babies.”

  “Thanks for the info,” I said, standing. I fished my business card out of my pocket and held it out to her. “If you remember anything else, give me a call, would you?”

  She nodded and took the card. I scanned the trailer park and settled on one with plastic over the window. “Your friend that had the brick thrown through her window, how long ago did that happen? Did she get any kind of warning?”

  “Oh, people have been harassing us for ages.” Patsy gave a dismissive wave. “Death threats, angry letters, burning crosses. The works. It’s been going on for a few months now.”

  I flexed my jaw. “Since about the time Tindall threw his hat in for sheriff?”

  “How’d you know?”

  “Just a running theory.” I pointed back to the card. “You tell your people if they have any more trouble like that to contact me. I’m going to get this crap sorted out.”

  As I walked away, Patsy’s voice rang out after me. “Wait, agent. You don’t think that’s related to the shooting in Eden, do you? Judah?”

  I didn’t answer her. Rage stewed in my center, hot, white, and angry. The conversation I’d had in Marcus’ office earlier came back to me, and I reconsidered my position. I could suddenly understand Sal’s need for vengeance. Even though it wouldn’t bring Chanter back, people full of so much hate couldn’t be allowed to live. As vocal as they’d been about it, they’d already stirred up the whole county. Imagine what they could do if Marcus was right and they had the power of senators behind them? The Vanguard was trouble, and it was trouble I needed to deal with before it got completely out of hand.

  I needed to phone it in.

  In my car, I pulled out my cell and considered calling my regional supervisor, Gerry. He was who I should have called first if I needed help. Hell, he should have called me by now and told me he was sending some. Gerry was like that, angry and impulsive. I’d never met him in person, but I imagined a short, bald, red-faced man. He sure did like to yell a lot.

  But he wasn’t my only contact with BSI anymore. My last case had thrown me together with Agent Abe Helsinki, an unusual ally, given that he was a half-vampire himself. But he was likable enough. And he’d told me to call if I ever needed to chat. I needed someone to talk to that wasn’t involved. An outsider. Abe could be that, at least, without being judgmental.

  I dialed the number he’d left with me and held my phone to my ear.

  “Allo?” he said in the form of a greeting after three rings.

  “Abe, you have no idea how good it is to hear your voice.”

  “Ah. Judah. How are things?” One more thing about Abe. He’s Russian, or at least he grew up there or something. Either way, it gave him an accent and an unusual way of speaking that I found entertaining. The one thing Abe didn’t have was much of a sense of humor. I could hear the irritation in his voice as soon as I called him Abe, which I did purely because I knew he hated it.

  “Not so good. There was a shooting this morning. Hunter was caught in the crossfire. I was hoping you could give me some information.”

  There was a small sliding noise followed by a click. “I am not in the ideal place to take a call. I am working. Judah, what is this about?”

  “The
Vanguards of Humanity, Abe. Do you know anything about them?”

  He was silent for a long beat and then sighed. “Do not get tangled with that organization again.”

  “Again?” I shifted the phone and glanced up at the sky through my windshield. Clouds had rolled in, and given the height of the thunderheads, there might be a storm before day’s end. “What do you mean again?”

  “Ohio? Did they not tell you that was the reason for your reassignment?”

  Ohio had been my previous post before coming to Paint Rock. In Cleveland, I had arrested a nineteen-year-old college kid for a hate crime. When it came down that he was a state senator’s son, and distantly related to the governor, I was told to cut him loose. Rather than follow a bad order, I grilled the kid harder, and pushed him to confess. I handed the DA a foolproof conviction. TV shows don’t have evidence, witnesses, and a confession as good as I had. The kid took a deal and got a few years’ probation instead of jail time.

  Meanwhile, his victim was probably still waking up with cold sweats at night, screams caught in her throat. Some said she should be glad to be alive. After what the senator’s kid did to her, she probably wished she were dead.

  But I had always assumed I’d just stepped on the wrong toes. I was good at that. The Vanguard hadn’t even come up in my research.

  “I didn’t know that kid was a member of the Vanguard,” I answered Abe sheepishly.

  “His father was and still is. The organization survives because of powerful men and large sums of money changing hands. I do not see even your persistence dismantling an organization like the Vanguards of Humanity, Judah.”

  I swallowed the growing tightness in my throat and decided I shouldn’t give Abe more details. I didn’t know how close he was to BSI brass, but I knew he was closer than me. If the Vanguard had people in the senate and governor’s mansions, Istaqua’s theory that they were in BSI too was not so far fetched. I couldn’t let this go up the chain. I had to deal with it. I had to make sure there were no more bodies.

  “Judah?”

  “I’m fine, Abe. I’ve just got a lot on my mind.”