Bitten/Drained: The Lauren Westlake Chronicles Volume 1

by Dan O'Brien

  “Plastic badge? Don’t try to be clever, Lo. It’s not your strong suit.”

  Lauren waved his comment away.

  Ignoring the dirt and grime on the ground, Billy laid flat on his stomach and craned his neck so he could get a better look. “I think I can reach it….”

  “You’re going to stick your arm into a drain where a man was killed?” asked Lauren with a serious look.

  Billy smiled. “Afraid a monster might get me?”

  Lauren pressed her fists in her hips and pushed back her coat slightly in a defensive posture. “Have you forgotten what led us both here?”

  He downgraded his smile to a smirk.

  He slid his arm into the drain until his arm disappeared completely and his shoulder was pressed against the opening. He strained as he searched in the darkness for the shiny sliver.

  “Wait, what’s this?”

  Lauren stepped closer.

  Billy made a horrified face. “It’s got me. Lo, it’s got me.”

  He tried to pull his arm back, but he appeared to be trapped against the opening.

  Lauren crouched beside him, grabbed his other arm, and tugged.

  Billy snickered, and then rolled onto his back as he continued to laugh.

  Lauren slapped him hard on the chest as she stood, and then stalked away. “That’s not funny. I thought something serious had happened.”

  “Couldn’t help it.”

  Lawrence walked toward the siblings, placing his notebook into one of the many pockets of his long coat. “I imagine I missed something.”

  Lauren glared at Billy. “Agent Westlake thought it would be good fun to joke at a crime scene.”

  Billy stood, dusted off his pants, and opened his hand. “I found what our miserable miscreant was mumbling about.” In the light, unencumbered by looming boxes, the shard was iridescent.

  “What’s that?” asked Lawrence, stoicism abandoned.

  Willie scrambled behind the trio. He fidgeted as he tried to look past the broad shoulders of Detective Lawrence. He had seen the shaving first. Even though it had frightened him, he found that he wanted it back.

  “I found that,” he grumbled.

  The trio turned and looked at the hunched figure.

  “Huh?” Billy looked perplexed.

  Willie pointed at the shard in Billy’s hand. “That’s mine. I found it fair and square in Benny’s stuff. Finders keepers, man. Rules of the street….”

  Lawrence stepped closer to Willie so that he loomed over the transient.

  “Willie, this is evidence. I’m afraid you can’t have it.”

  Undeterred, Willie reached out to grab the object. Billy pulled it out of his reach and moved it into the shadow of his body.

  Light was replaced with darkness as the sliver’s solid crystalline exterior became viscous and smoky. Billy did not notice the change; he was too busy playing keep-away from Willie. It did not look like a crystal shaving at all.

  It was moving.

  Mortified, Lauren took a step back.

  “Billy, look at it. Look at it.”

  Billy felt the crystal change in his hand––the game of keep-away quickly forgotten.

  “Shit!”

  He dropped it.

  Falling and then bouncing on the ground, its appearance changed from light to dark, ethereal to horrifying. Willie chased the object with a manic glee, grasping at it as it tumbled down the sidewalk until he had sprinted out of the overpass and into the rain.

  “Well that escalated quickly,” spoke Billy.

  “What exactly was that?” asked Lawrence.

  Lauren watched the transient’s shadow disappear into the thick sheets of precipitation.

  THE CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER OF NEUROTECH looked through the glass walls of his dark office and watched Carl Whittington approach past a series of small conference rooms and a restricted laboratory area.

  Whittington had visited the top floor only twice during his tenure at NeuroTech and he did not relish either meeting with the CEO, Michael Eddings. He shuffled his feet like a student going to see the principal as he entered. His face was puffy and he sounded slightly out of breath as he addressed his superior. “Mr. Eddings…”

  Michael found the lack of confidence irritating.

  “What is it, Whittington?”

  The man swallowed as he surveyed the room.

  The CEO’s office appeared bucolic by design. A large glass table faced the hallway and two black leather couches with thin golden trim acted as a bottleneck from the door to the desk. Enshrouded in the far corner, a large Japanese lily appeared ghastly in the muted light.

  Michael stood at the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that overlooked the city below.

  “Speak, man. I don’t have time for you to stutter.”

  Whittington swallowed. “I’m sure you’ve heard about…”

  “Ken Marlowe’s death. Yes, I have. This is my company, Whittington. What of it?”

  “Two federal agents and a SFPD detective came by and asked me some questions about him. They wanted to know if we knew anything about the circumstances of his death.”

  Michael sighed. “This sounds fairly routine, Whittington. I’m assuming you’re going to get to the point: the reason you’re wasting my time.”

  “I didn’t mean to waste…”

  “Your stammering apology only compounds your error, Whittington. Why are you here?”

  Whittington attempted to collect his thoughts. He looked around the room as he tried to summon some confidence.

  A glimmer caught his eye.

  A man sat on the couch and then, as if he were smoke, he disappeared. The outline seemed to linger, like when you rub your eyes too hard and the bright outlines of the world persist.

  “Whittington?”

  “Sir?”

  Michael sat down in the plush chair behind his desk and leveled an emotionless glare at his subordinate. “If you have nothing more to say, I would prefer that you were on your way.”

  Whittington continued to stare at the couch, mesmerized.

  “It was a call, sir.”

  “A call?”

  Whittington nodded.

  “What does this have to do with Marlowe?”

  “It’s the Meyer Group, sir, the firm Marlowe was working with.”

  “Very well. What about the Meyer Group?”

  “They’re coming in this afternoon and wanted to meet with Marlowe. I didn’t know what to tell them,” replied Whittington, slowly moving his gaze from the empty place on the couch to the seated CEO.

  “I will meet with them. Send them up when they arrive.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And Whittington?”

  “Sir?”

  “A phone call will suffice next time.”

  Whittington took another look at the empty space on the couch before exiting the room without another word. Michael watched him go and then stared at the same place on the couch as Whittington had.

  Lightning crawled across the sky and rain sluiced down the perfect panes of glass.

  LAUREN WAS HAPPY to get out of the rain. She watched Lawrence disappear into the downpour as she settled herself into the cold seat of her brother’s drafty, white Challenger. Billy slammed the driver’s side door shut, started the car, then turned the heater on full blast, the air bursting forth muffling the 90s rock blaring from the speakers.

  “Still have her, huh?” asked Lauren.

  Billy touched the steering wheel, tracing it with his hands. “It was his. Seemed like a waste to let a cherry car like this go to pasture.”

  “So, what’s really going on?”

  “What do you mean?”

  When they were little, Billy would always play dumb. Her parents would ask: who broke the window? His reply: the window is broken? There was something going on that he was not telling her.

  “Tell me about vampires.”

  As the cab started to warm, Lauren slipped her hands out of her deep coat pockets and
touched the dashboard. She sighed.

  “I told you already…”

  She interrupted him. “Yeah, I remember. But that isn’t everything. Why are you lying to me?”

  “You’re a psychic now?”

  She smiled. “Just immune to your bullshit.”

  It was his turn to sigh. He leaned back in his seat and straightened his arms out as he held onto the wheel. “I know about your case.”

  “Meaning?”

  He continued to stare forward. “I know about Locke. I know about the package. Being here and finding the book is no coincidence.”

  “Would you care to elaborate?”

  “How about something to eat? Eating makes me a better storyteller.”

  “I don’t want to hear stories, Billy.”

  His boyish smile dissipated. “Not fairytale stories, sis. I’m talking about the story: the one that explains why you went to Locke and why you are here.”

  “Here in San Francisco?”

  Billy turned to look at her finally. “Here on this earth.”

  VI

  Having lived in Chicago for a good portion of her life, Lauren was picky when it came to pizza––especially the kind of pizza that came via delivery. While they waited for the pizza to arrive at her hotel room, she begrudgingly agreed to let Billy watch Sportscenter.

  After the boxes were open and the cheesy slices were served, Lauren clicked off the TV and sat into the uncomfortable chair at the desk. “So tell me why I am here? Did you send me that package?”

  “You asked me that already.” Pointing to the screen, he gestured. “Can’t we at least watch the Top 10?”

  Lauren shook her head.

  “Fine. Where do you want me to start?”

  “The beginning will do nicely.”

  “After the formation of the Order following the second darkness…”

  “The beginning of my involvement, jackass.”

  Billy smiled and took a big bite of his pizza, and then proceeded to talk with his mouth full. “The Westlake name is very old. It means a lot more than you know. We are descended from a very powerful family.”

  “What exactly does that mean?”

  “You want me to tell the story or what?”

  “By all means, proceed.”

  Billy stood, grabbed a two-liter bottle of orange soda, and drank directly from it. It was easy to act out his adolescence with his big sister present. “We are soldat. Hunters from the old world.”

  “I’m a federal agent and you’re a conman.”

  “That’s what we do in this world. Our family was soldat long before man walked out of the darkness and into the light. Soldat is not what we do; it is what we are, Lo.”

  “So, I’m Buffy the Vampire Slayer then?”

  Lauren started to giggle. It was too ridiculous.

  “Buffy was a TV show, Lo. Plus, she was a vampire slayer. We’re soldat. Completely different thing.”

  Lauren continued to giggle, her eyes turning glassy as she looked at her brother. “How so? Because I carry a gun instead of a pointy stick?”

  Billy did not seem to find her response funny.

  “You asked me to tell you what was going on….”

  Lauren stood and paced the small room. The mirth in her voice swum with venom. “I did indeed. And what a story you’re telling me.”

  “There is a silent war waging, Lo. The darkness wants this world back and it will do anything to make that happen. I told you that I was following a being called the Stranger. That is only part of the story.”

  She looked at him seriously, her humor evaporated.

  “As bad as you might think these vampires are, the Stranger is a thousand times worse. He is the king daddy of all that goes bump in the night.”

  “So the devil? Lucifer?”

  Billy shook his head. “Nothing like that. We aren’t talking about denominational religion here, Lo. We’re talking about ancient, massive beings that held dominion over this universe long before apes started walking upright and naming things.”

  “So ancient ones? Lovecraft mythology?”

  The younger Westlake grabbed another piece of pizza and devoured it. “Of a sort. The Stranger is an avatar, a vehicle for something very old that’s trying to crawl its way back into this world.”

  “What does that have to do with Marlowe’s death?”

  Billy shrugged.

  “Or vampires?”

  A shrug redoubled.

  “What do you know?”

  Billy looked at his sister in mock astonishment. “As I recall, I was going to tell you what was what. But, you decided to derail us because you haven’t learned how to wear your patient pants.”

  Lauren threw up her hands and resumed her seat by the desk.

  “As I was saying, being a soldat is sacred. There are very few of us left, even among the Order. We are given a rare gift: the ability to see the patterns of the world. To solve the great puzzles of human existence.”

  “We are sages?”

  Billy shook his head. “You’re a detective, a sleuth. You see how the pieces go together, how people think, and then bring the people responsible to justice. I was a conman. I could read people. I knew what they wanted and how to make them think it was their idea. Good or bad, it is the ability to see the patterns that defines being a soldat.”

  “No super powers? I can’t fly or see through walls?”

  Billy smiled. “You’re immune to bullshit, as you so succinctly put it. Might not be straight from Krypton, but it’s more than most of the blind masses can claim.”

  Lauren smirked. “Let’s say I believe this soldat nonsense, and that is still a big if, what does this have to do with Locke and the package that brought me here?”

  “Dominic McManus,” began Billy.

  She felt her heart leap––and then sink into her stomach.

  “Dominic?”

  “Werewolves are among the wisest and noblest of the supernatural realm. Their tribal leaders are well known among the Order. When the Order requires counsel, the eldest werewolf is sought. Dominic, while not the oldest among his tribe, was a friend to the Order. He had taken a sabbatical from his kind and, well, you know the rest of that I imagine.”

  Lauren nodded.

  She could feel warm tears spring to her eyes.

  Billy looked at her in sadness. “I don’t know everything that happened, Lo. I just know about him. He’s a good man.”

  Lauren’s voice was softer now. “Do you know where he is now?”

  He hesitated. “Somewhere in the Pacific Northwest.”

  Her eyes brightened. “So, he could be close?”

  Billy nodded and shifted uncomfortably on the bed. “I don’t know where, Lo. All I know is that he’s still looking for something. The Order communicates in plain sight, through classified ads and in publicly traded media.”

  “He could just get a Facebook account….”

  Billy smirked. “I think that might be a bit obvious for a secret organizations older than time, sis.”

  Lauren could feel irritation creeping in. “What about the vampires?”

  “Like werewolves, vampires are widely misinterpreted thanks to popular culture, fear, and anecdotal evidence. Calling them vampire is akin to calling anything with scaly skin a lizard. They are known by their clan affiliations, which are based on who was the first of their clan and during which era of darkness that being was born.”

  “So what do we have going on here?”

  Billy shrugged. “It’s difficult to tell. They don’t transform per se.”

  “But they do have some kind of camouflage.”

  “Yes.”

  Lauren was walking around now. “We have two murders in two different locations with two very different victims. Both were drained of their bone marrow, which is to put it simply, strange. They were attacked in the darkness. The vagrant makes sense, as no one would come looking for him. Marlowe, however, was a latte-sipping member of the corporate elite. S
omeone would notice if he went missing.”

  “So?”

  She looked at her brother with a stern gaze.

  “For a hunter in a secret Order, you can be quite slow, brother.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Ken Marlowe made six figures a year and partied with the wealthy. He would not stumble into an alleyway without provocation, without something that would draw a man of his station into the darkness.”

  “He could have been held up at gunpoint.”

  “But he wasn’t killed with a gun. No, there is something else here. Who can lure a man of means and status into a darkened alley in one of the roughest neighborhoods of San Francisco?”

  Billy reached down and grabbed the last piece of pizza and sat back against the pillows on the bed. “It’s a brain teaser, Lo.”

  “Tease?” She parroted, her hand rubbing her chin as she paced back and forth. “Beautiful women.”

  “Yeah?” Billy looked up.

  “Don’t you see? Beautiful people.”

  “Beautiful people what?”

  Lauren continued to pace, her face lighting up and her hands moving in quick circles as she spoke. “Beautiful people, especially beautiful women, are very rarely questioned. A man like Ken could be lured in by beauty.”

  Billy sat up. “Even a beauty in ruins….”

  “What?”

  Her brother’s demeanor became serious as he threw the half-eaten slice of pizza into the box. “I’ve never had the displeasure of dealing with a vampire, of any clan. But I know of one lineage that fits that description. They are called Decor In Fragminis in the old texts…or just the Fragminis.”

  “Beauty in ruins.”

  CARL MOFFAT HAD BEEN IN TOWN on business for exactly five hours before a liaison from NeuroTech convinced him that it would be a wonderful idea to have a night on the town. At first he was reluctant to take up the offer because he still felt jet-lagged from his flight from Topeka, but he was starting to enjoy the perks of his new jet-setting lifestyle. He was glad to get away from the daily grind at the musty headquarters of the small tech company where he worked.

  After a few drinks and some dancing in a low-lit bar, he found himself following a woman through the streets to a two-story house in an unfamiliar part of town. The streets were empty, though the discordant sounds of people still partying into the night could be heard in the distance. Infatuated with her beauty, he continued to follow her as she walked ahead of him at a short distance and turned onto the walk leading to the house.