Urban Fantasy Collection - Vampires

by Adrian Phoenix

  “We’ll discuss that later.” During intermission of an ice hockey game in hell, if David has any say in the matter. “Can you put Shane back on, please, and give him some privacy?”

  Travis chuckles suggestively and hands the phone over. Shane says, “So what’s next?”

  “Can we trust Travis?”

  “I think so. We took care of him in his first few hours of death, fed him and gave him a home. The transition period is really rough, and we were there for him. It’s like when baby ducks take after the first person they see, what’s that called?”

  “Imprinting.”

  “Yeah. We’re his mom and dads now, especially after Gideon rejected him. But what does he have to do with your plan?”

  I outline a quick rundown of the updates, most of which come to mind as I speak. David stands in the middle of the office, jaw slackening as he listens.

  After I finish, Shane lets out a low whistle. “Remind me never to piss you off.”

  “We’ll meet you here after sunset. Sleep tight.”

  “The sleep of the dead.”

  I set down the phone. David plants his hands on the other side of the desk, looming.

  “We can’t do this,” he says. “It’s one thing to impersonate her over the phone. You’re talking about identity theft.”

  “Why not? As a vampire, Elizabeth made sure there were no photos of her in the press. She wouldn’t even talk to the reporters at the Smoking Pig party.”

  “I don’t understand why we can’t just decline the buyout with a phone call or an e-mail.”

  “Because they’ll get suspicious and pushy. They’ll think we’re holding out for more money. Unless Elizabeth looks them in the eye and tells them she absolutely won’t sell, they’ll never stop until they get what they want.”

  His shoulders droop as he realizes I’m right. He sighs and heads for the door. “I’ll double-check the Internet and my old press files, make sure there are no pictures of her anywhere.” He slides his hand over the wall on his way out, as if it still bears her essence.

  I sit back in her leather chair, feeling like an empress on a throne. Its soft surface reminds me of her Mercedes.

  I pick up her keys from the desk. The car will be lonely without her.

  Shane sings R.E.M.’s “(Don’t Go Back to) Rockville” as I drive Elizabeth’s car into the sprawling suburban city. David sits in the passenger’s seat, with Travis behind him.

  “Do you think Gideon is biting the children in his compound?” David asks me.

  “I didn’t see any evidence of that. But then again, I didn’t see anything they didn’t want me to see. Their smiley representatives made everything seem tightly controlled. Like Disney World.” A memory sparks. “Except there was one guy I don’t think I was supposed to see.”

  “Who?”

  “Some human with white hair, too far away for me to see his face. The others said he was a ghost.”

  “A ghost? Hmm. Maybe the spirit of someone Gideon killed.”

  “Now you sound like Lori.”

  “So you believe in vampires but not ghosts?”

  “I’ve seen vampires.” I meet Shane’s eyes in the rearview mirror and mentally add gloriously naked. “Now that we know Gideon was the cold presence in the parking lot, I’m even less inclined to believe in ghosts.”

  David silently ponders. “Something about that bothers me. Why was Gideon stalking you that first night? We hadn’t even started the campaign.”

  “Noah made the same point. Maybe there was another vampire senior citizen following me.”

  Shane stops singing. “Let ’em try to touch you. I’ll kick their ancient asses.” He returns to the third verse.

  I glance at him, then lower my voice to David. “Something odd about Gideon and the other vampires. They didn’t seem to have compulsions like ours do.”

  “Their environment is so regimented, they probably don’t need those sort of coping mechanisms.”

  “It’s not like they were normal. They were really faded, kind of robotic. But not, you know—”

  “Bonkers,” Shane says. He shifts into a version of Van Morrison’s “Crazy Love.”

  I pull up in front of Elizabeth’s swanky apartment complex. David grabs a few empty duffel bags from his trunk. As we walk to the door, Shane keeps himself between the humans and the jittery Travis, who watches us like an Atkins dieter with a stack of pancakes. But without the strength of desperate hunger, he’s no match for Shane, so I feel safe around him, if not particularly happy.

  Elizabeth’s basement condo looks like that of any other up-and-coming venture capitalist: leather furniture, stainless steel kitchen appliances, and hardwood floors begging for a good game of sock hockey.

  “Wow,” David says. “She never made enough working for the Control as a human to afford a place like this.”

  A thud comes from the kitchen, making us all jump. A large white cat struts into the living room and says prrrow.

  David breathes a sigh of relief. “I didn’t know she had a pet.”

  Shane squats down and makes little puss-puss noises to get the cat to approach him. He picks it up and checks the tag.

  “What’s its name?” David says.

  “There’s no name. It’s just a rabies tag.” He quickly slides the blue collar and tag off the cat, avoiding David’s eyes.

  “Let me see the kitty,” Travis says.

  Shane turns away. “No, you’ll bite him.”

  “I will not.”

  “Believe me, I was your age not too long ago. You’ll bite anything that bleeds. Speaking of which.” He nods at the insulated canteen on Travis’s hip. “Meal time.”

  “Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Travis pulls a fast-food straw from his shirt pocket and yanks off the wrapper.

  “Give me the cat.” David eases the beast out of Shane’s arms. “I’ll take him home with me. First let’s get him some food.”

  I flip through a pile of mail on the dining room table. “Travis, what are we looking for?”

  He jolts a little at being spoken to, especially in the middle of a drink. He bobs the straw in the canteen and wipes his mouth with a napkin. I look away from the red smear on the white paper.

  “Uh.” He smooths down the front of his shirt. “She probably keeps her important documents in a fireproof safe. Let’s try the closets.”

  We open the coat closet across from the kitchen, where David and Shane are searching for cat food. I hold the flashlight for Travis, who seems calmer now that he’s had a snack.

  “Should we be wearing gloves?” I ask him.

  “Naw, no one’ll dust for prints in here. It’s not a crime scene.”

  I look behind me into the kitchen. “It will be if David and Shane don’t leave that thing alone and come help us.”

  Travis snickers. “You don’t like puddy-tats?”

  “I’m more of a dog person. But I admire cats and their ability to take so much while giving so little.”

  “I had a dog. Ex-wife took him, and the house.”

  “Is that why you like country music?”

  He eases himself out of the closet. “Huh?”

  “Just a joke. Sorry about your dog.”

  “Yeah, well—” He scratches his stomach. “—don’t suppose I’ll get another one any time soon. Let’s try the bedroom.”

  Shane overhears and joins us. “Nothing personal, Travis, but we don’t leave new vampires alone with humans.”

  The detective just sighs and sips his breakfast.

  Elizabeth’s walk-in closet would make most women swoon. I, however, could really give a shit how many pairs of—

  “Oh my God.” I kneel before the hottest pair of red pumps. “These would look so amazing on me.” I check the brand. “Ferragamos! I always wanted a pair of—fuck, they’re the wrong size.” I hurl the shoe on the floor. It bounces under a row of skirts and hits something metallic.

  Shane shoves apart the skirts to reveal a foot-high combination safe.
“Excellent.”

  Before he pulls it out, he eyes me clutching the other red pump. I toss it aside, chagrined at my estrogen outburst.

  “You didn’t see that.”

  Shane drags the safe out of the closet and carries it to the bed. While Travis and I watch, he kneels beside the safe and pulls a pencil and a sheet of graph paper from his back pocket.

  “What’s that for? “I ask him.

  “I’ll show you when I’m done.” He looks at his unwelcome audience. “It’s tedious and takes forever. Go do something else, quietly.”

  We obey. In the living room, David is inspecting the bookshelf under the long, high window, which is covered in heavy room-darkening curtains. He pulls out a few volumes that look like Control manuals. “In case the police come,” he tells us as he stuffs them in a duffel bag.

  I approach a large wall-mounted cabinet on the far side of the dining room. I fish Elizabeth’s keys from my purse and unlock it. “Whoa.”

  The cabinet contains an arsenal of anti-vampire weaponry: crosses, sharpened stakes, a long sword, a crossbow.

  And at the bottom, a gun shaped like a prop from a 1940s alien invasion flick.

  Travis approaches, giving the stakes a wary eye. “I never saw a piece like that before.” He picks up the gun. “What kind of—”

  “Don’t touch that!” David shouts.

  Travis drops the gun. I leap back, expecting it to go off. Instead of a heavy thud, it makes a hollow whap! against the floor. I bend down and pick it up.

  David stalks over to me. “It doesn’t fire bullets.”

  “It’s plastic.” I heft it in my hand. “Like a water pistol.”

  “It is a water pistol.”

  I look at the two bottles of holy water in the cabinet.A box of latex gloves sits next to them, presumably for Elizabeth’s safe handling.

  I scrape the gun’s rough surface with my nail to reveal bright pink. “Aren’t there laws against painting water pistols black?”

  “They need to be camouflaged for night ops,” David says. “And a Control agent would never carry a pink-and-yellow weapon. It’s a macho thing.”

  “Can someone kill a vampire with this?” I point the gun at Travis. “Like the vampire who tried to rip out my throat the other night?”

  The detective puts his hands up, paling. “I said I was sorry.”

  “Actually, I don’t think you did.”

  David steps between us. “It won’t kill him, but it would burn him badly.”

  “It’s empty.” I flip the gun to David, sending Travis a wicked grin. “Besides, sacred weapons don’t work in my hands.”

  “Holy water’s different from crosses.” David checks the pistol, then picks up one of the empty duffel bags he left on the table. “It’s intrinsically powerful because it’s been blessed. Most crosses, on the other hand, are just profane pieces of jewelry made in a factory. They have no power unless they’re wielded in faith.” He crams the gun, the holy water, and a small funnel into the outside pocket of the duffel bag. “Also, a vampire never completely heals from a holy water burn. It leaves permanent scars.”

  “Then I won’t use it to give Shane a sponge bath.” I lift the sword from the cabinet and unsheathe its long curved blade. “Ooh, nice machete.”

  “It’s a katana.” David takes it from me, reverentially, both hands on the hilt. He steps into the open area between the dining room table and the living room sofa. “Considered by many to be the perfect fighting weapon.” He assumes a defensive stance, eyes narrowed, ready to strike an unseen foe. “It provides range, control—” He swings it in a whistling arc. “—and power.”

  “What’s it for? “I ask him.

  He blinks himself back into our world and lowers the sword. “Beheading vampires.”

  We look at Travis, who’s turned even paler. He waves his thumb at the hallway. “I better go help Shane with . . . stuff.”

  When he leaves, David resheathes the sword and places it carefully in the duffel bag. It’s too long, so the hilt hangs out of the opening.

  “Do you miss it?” I hand him as many stakes as I can hold. “The slayage?”

  “No,” he says, too quickly. “I like what I do now. I want to keep doing it.”

  Last come the crossbow and quiver of arrows. “Why would she keep these weapons here, when they could be used against her?”

  David takes the crossbow. “She wanted to make the world safe from vampires, not the other way around.”

  “So why would a self-hating vampire start a radio station?”

  David stops, still holding the crossbow. “Because I wanted it,” he says without looking at me. “She felt bad for almost ending my life.” He runs his finger over the trigger. “It was complicated.”

  “Yeah!” comes a voice from the bedroom.

  David stuffs the weapon in the bag. We hurry to the bedroom as Shane opens the door. He shakes the graph paper, which is full of lines and circles.

  “Jackpot,” he says and makes a grand gesture to the bed, where the safe sits wide open.

  Travis is sifting through a pile of papers. He smiles and hands them to me. “Birth certificate, Social Security card, PIN numbers, passwords. Everything you need to become Elizabeth Vasser.” He looks at David. “Didn’t find a will, but maybe Ciara can get a copy from Elizabeth’s attorney. Just in case, I’ll check the other room.” He heads into the hall.

  “Nice work.” I notice Shane’s holding a small black jewelry box. “What’s that?”

  “Oh, it’s just—” He hands it to David. “Sorry.”

  David opens the box. His face goes slack. “She kept it.” He sinks onto the bed. “I can’t believe she kept it.”

  “You two were engaged?” I ask him.

  “For about a week.” His thumb curves around the corner of the box. “Before she turned.”

  “You must have meant something to her if she kept it.” I sit beside him. “I think she’d want you to have it.”

  He takes the ring out of the box and holds it up to the light, which sparks like fire off the diamond and rubies. “What would I do with it?”

  “I could get you a good deal at Dean’s.”

  He looks at me as if I’ve drowned the cat. “You want me to pawn her engagement ring?”

  “Be practical. You could be out of a job.” I hold up the documents. “Elizabeth’s going to help the station from beyond the grave. Let her help you, too.”

  David examines the ring in his palm. “I haven’t been able to afford a vacation in years. Even just to Florida to see my mom would be nice.” He shakes his head hard. “What am I saying? If Elizabeth wanted me to have the ring, she would’ve given it to me.” David puts it back in the box, which he tosses in the safe. He slams the door shut and turns the lock, then stalks out.

  Shane carefully sets the safe back in the closet and arranges the row of skirts to hide it.

  I follow him in and point to the graph paper in his hand. “What’s all that mean?”

  He unfolds the paper. “It’s complicated, but each number of the combination corresponds to a wheel in the mechanism. This one has three. After finding the contact points—”

  “By listening?”

  “Right, like in the movies.” He explains the process, showing me the click points on the graph paper. I don’t catch most of it, but I notice the three numbers: 12, 43, and 61. He’s crossed out the first two permutations, leaving four others.

  “Fascinating. You’ll have to teach me more some time, and I’ll show you how to do a pigeon drop.” I sift through the closet. “They’ll never believe I’m Elizabeth in my Kmart cast-offs.” I pull out an ice-blue suit and hold it up in front of me. “Flattering?”

  “Very.” He nods approvingly at the short hemline of the skirt. “You’re going to steal it, aren’t you?”

  “I’m borrowing it for the meeting. First I have to try it on.”

  “I’m not talking about the suit.” He holds up the graph paper. “I could just
tell you the combination, or I could open it for you if you want the ring that bad.”

  Foiled. I give him an indignant glare. “Why would I steal the ring? I’m not a thief.”

  He brushes his hand against my arm. “I get it, okay? Running a con makes you feel more alive than anything. You feel powerful, smart, superior.”

  “That’s not—”

  “If you want to go back to grifting, I won’t stand in your way.” He steps back. “But don’t ever lie to me, Ciara. Don’t play me.”

  He leaves the closet and shuts the door behind him.

  I mull his words as I whip off my clothes. I can run a con and still be a good person, right? I’m pulling this scam because I’m a good person. How dare Shane get all judgmental when it’s his ass I’m trying to save. He needs a home, he needs his music, he needs a purpose in life.

  And David needs a vacation, I tell myself as I open the safe.

  After I’m dressed—minus the shoes, tragically—I find the men in Elizabeth’s office examining a wall map of the United States.

  Shane looks at me. “And you thought I was weird.”

  Each state has a silver coin taped to it. “So she collected state quarters. Lots of people do that.” I feel sad that she only made it to Idaho before getting staked.

  David hands me a Polaroid photo. It’s a nighttime flash shot of a U-Haul truck. On the side of the truck is a picture of racehorses under the word “Kentucky.” Scribbled underneath in neat Magic Marker are the date and location of the sighting.

  I look up to see rows of U-Haul state design photos pinned to the wall next to the map.

  “Okay, that’s weird.”

  The doorbell rings. We all gape at each other for a long second, flatlining from panic. The cat leaps out of David’s arms and scampers down the hall.

  “The weapons.” I dash for the dining room in my bare feet. The jingle of keys comes from the other side of the door. I grab the duffel bag from the table just as the knob turns.

  The door swings open to reveal a tall, well-built bald guy in a black uniform. He looks unsurprised to find me here. “Evening, ma’am.” He turns and nods to someone behind him in the hallway.

  Through the door steps the white-haired man from Gideon’s complex. He gives me a wide smile.