by Lexi C. Foss
“It would be appreciated.” I sucked in a giant breath and let it out slowly. “I should say I’m sorry too. I don’t mean to be short with you.” The truth was, I liked her. She reminded me a little bit of myself, and not just because of the hair. The kid sister I never had.
“I think you’re entitled,” she responded. “They had you in there a long time. I’d be cranky too.”
“Exactly how long were you waiting for me?” I wanted to know.
Brina shrugged innocently. “A few hours. Just so I could pick your brain before I have to clock in for the night shift, if you know what I mean.”
“Good luck with that,” I told her. “I’m hoping all will stay quiet for at least a couple days. We need time to figure out a plan. And, you know, a theory of crime.” It bothered me that twelve hours and a homicide later, I still had basically no more info than I started with. Was this killing the result of a hair-trigger feeding frenzy? Had the victim and the attacker gotten into a personal altercation. Or was there something else involved? A relic, for instance.
“I don’t know, I’d kind of like it if he came back to the scene.” Brina tossed her hair back. “You wouldn’t think vamps feel guilt or anything like that, but I guess they do.”
“It’s either guilt or massive ego,” I replied. “Or they get off on it.”
She made a face. “Sick. I wouldn’t be surprised.”
We fell into a contemplative silence after that. I decided not to fill her in on the detail about the relic. Primarily because its existence had yet to be confirmed by anyone. But I’d be lying if I said I trusted this girl with my life. She was a college student, for God’s sake, hunting monsters on the side. Ambitious, for sure. Automatically worthy of trust? Not quite.
The quiet persisted until we reached the head of my street. I paused on the corner, beneath the glow of a streetlamp. “This is my stop,” I told her. Implied, politely but firmly, was the sentiment, this is where you split. “Thanks for keeping me company.”
“No problem.” She grinned. “It was nice to meet you, finally. Thanks for being forthcoming about all of this. Mostly.” Her grin never faltered as she shook my hand. “Don’t be a stranger, okay, Alex? I think we could really help each other out.”
“Right. Have a good one.” She strolled off down the street, flitting from lamp to lamp like some sweet, cotton-candy-colored moth. The palm of my hand flushed with a tingling warmth. Upon inspection, I saw a phone number traced into my skin. She had punctuated it with a little smiley face.
“Of course.” But I smirked in spite of myself. And as I wheeled my bike the last two blocks to my apartment, I tried to remember if I had actually ever told her my name.
6
Alex
Predictably, the Mystery Weekend murder languished in cold case territory before long. I had grown all too accustomed to watching various Whidbey Island police departments put cases like this quietly on the shelf, baffled. The worst part was, it wasn’t even their fault. How can a cop catch a killer when they don’t even know the killer exists?
To its credit, the Mystery Weekend case hung on longer than most. Local media took the story and ran, plastering the front of every paper with feature after feature. The inside pages were flooded with op-eds and letters to the editor, demanding answers, demanding action. But the officers had no action to take. Leads had been scant from the beginning, and those that cropped up died out almost immediately. As the investigation ground to a painful halt, media scrutiny faded.
It was hard for me to watch; I couldn’t get the damn thing out of my head. Instead of sleeping at night, I laid restless in my bed, taunted by visions of misty yellow eyes. Too many pieces of the puzzle remained missing. I knew of two vamps in the Langley area at the time. Were they both involved, or just the one? Could they be related somehow? Where was the runner taking off to?
All questions, no answers. The frustration was enough to drive me up the wall. It bothered me enormously to feel so useless. I hadn’t even been able to confirm the involvement of a relic! The scant details of the incident rattled around in my brain, trying in vain to piece themselves together. What I really needed was official documentation—an autopsy report, eyewitness accounts, photos and video footage from the countless cell phones that had been in the vicinity.
But those things were on a strict need-to-know basis, and as far as the cops were concerned, I was just an unlucky civilian who happened to be within spitting distance of an awful crime. And the Org would flat-out refuse to get mixed up with regular law enforcement. Maintaining total confidentiality was our cardinal rule. There could be no revealing of mystical truths in the “real” world, accidental or otherwise.
I understood that. Really, I did. The importance of secrecy was practically written in my last name. The Brighton bloodline was distinguished among slayers, a historical pedigree. My ancestors’ deeds peppered the pages of slayer history. We had, in fact, preserved much of that history ourselves, by gathering the relics of the underworld and keeping them safely out of the wrong hands.
That was why I absolutely needed to figure out what the hell had happened during Mystery Weekend. It seemed like my whole family’s storied reputation hinged on whether or not I’d be able to put this situation to bed. Watching it sort of slip through my fingers amounted to pure mental agony.
“We’ve got to have something on the guy.” Mid-March, desperate to get the ball rolling again, I’d broken down and called Rhys for help. Reaching out was more of a blow to my pride than I wanted to admit; I liked to think I was competent enough to move on my own most of the time. This, however, was different. “Anything. I need, like, a single crumb.”
Rhys chuckled dryly. “Funny you should bring it up. I’ve just gotten the database results back from a run of that original photograph.” I heard clicking and a few keystrokes in the background.
My heart leaped in my chest. “And?” He didn’t answer right away. I held my breath.
“And, nothing.” Rhys’ tone was grim. “Not one match. He’s good at staying out of the limelight.”
“Shit.” My face contorted into a scowl. It wasn’t uncommon to see “new” faces, especially on Whidbey Island. The vamps were always moving, always circulating. Swapping out their hunting grounds for fresh new territories. And of course, most familiar faces in this line of work tended to meet a violent end.
“If something comes up, you’ll be the first to know,” Rhys promised.
That was the last straw. I muttered my thanks, ended the call, and got dressed to go out. It was past time to accept the fact that we currently had nothing, and that if I wanted to get anywhere, I had to do some serious legwork by myself. When I left my place, the sun was just dipping below the horizon, illuminating everything in a wash of deep reds and oranges. By the time I got downtown, it would be night.
Perfect. In the interest of stealth, I left my bike behind. The streets were quiet and empty, as they had been almost every night since the murder. Never had Langley seemed so bleak, so unwelcoming. It felt like a completely different town, which only fed my burning determination to make things right.
The crime scene had long since been cleaned up—most of it, at least. The chalk was gone, and so were the lines of tape and the evidence markers. A faint, rusty stain lingered in the area where the body had lain, but only if one knew where to look. I stared at the remnants of that gruesome stain for a long time, then closed my eyes and rebuilt it all in my mind.
The bracelet on my wrist pulsed with energy. I was back there, gazing through my eyelids at the downtown street scene on that Saturday afternoon. The victim lay sprawled on his back, blood soaking through the themed costume he wore. One step at a time, I began to circle around his final resting place.
The wound in his neck was starkly visible, dark and brutal against the field of his exsanguinated skin. Carefully, I knelt at the young man’s side to get a better look. Two punctures bookended a short ribbon of torn flesh, disguised by the messiness o
f the gash. I’d seen almost everything on the job, but the sheer boldness of feeding in public on a crowded weekend afternoon still shocked me. Either this vamp had been utterly destitute, or something had gone very wrong.
“This sucks.” I sighed, wishing I could close the poor man’s eyes and wipe away his frozen expression of abject fear. The thought of what he might have seen in his last moments of life made me shudder. “Don’t worry,” I murmured. “I’ve got your back.”
The reconstruction flickered. I felt the uncomfortable tug of my awareness wanting to return to the present. Something was happening around me in real time, disturbing my simulation. With a deep inhale, I snapped my eyes open. Every muscle tensed in preparation for fight or flight.
All that met me was cold, damp, early-spring stillness. A misty fog was rolling in from the sea. I glanced around, edged a little deeper into the shadows. No sound. But I was never pulled from my trances for no reason. Don’t let your guard down, Alex.
I decided not to dive back in. The atmosphere had shifted almost imperceptibly while I was under. The smallest of sounds along the deserted street hit my ears like a backfiring engine. I stood still for a moment, just listening. That was when I heard the footsteps.
My head snapped up at full attention. They were leading away from me, in the same direction the suspect had fled before. Up ahead, a murky form glided through the shadows. I picked up my pace.
“Hey!” The sound of my voice shattered the silence. “Stop moving.” As I issued the command, I expected the mysterious figure to dart off the road, or break into a run. To my surprise, it obeyed the order, stopped, and started to turn back toward me. It was tall, lean, melting into the night. The only thing that stood out was the face, on account of its striking paleness.
I sucked in my breath. Could he have been so stupid as to return to the scene two weeks later? The black hair and searing yellow gaze matched my fugitive perfectly, but he seemed oddly serene for a murderer who had cut and run so fast. I paused, recalling the now infamous vamp from the photograph. Maybe I had somehow managed to find him instead.
Neither of us moved for a good minute or two. He watched me calmly, hands in the front pockets of his sweatshirt, face expressionless. His skin gleamed in the moonlight, as if he was carved from marble instead of flesh and blood. I moved forward slightly.
“Who are you?” The question had lived in my brain since the first time I’d asked it and received nothing in return. It felt so good to put it out into the air again. The vampire’s gaze never wavered; it was nearly tangible in its intensity.
He shrugged. “Who cares?”
“Don’t give me that crap.” I took another step. “We both know a murder happened here. Tell me why you’re creeping around the scene.”
He arched his eyebrows. “I could ask you the same question.”
I folded my arms. “Yeah, you could. And I wouldn’t have to say jack shit.”
“Neither do I.” His pose remained nonchalant. We might as well have been talking about the weather. “And yet, you seem concerned.”
“Look, I know a vampire bled him out, okay? I’m not a rookie, and it’s not exactly a subtle injury. So you can stop playing dumb whenever you want. All I’m asking is for you to level with me.”
The ghost of a new emotion briefly clouded his countenance. I tried to pinpoint it with limited success. Chagrin? Annoyance? Regret?
“I can’t help you, except to proclaim my own innocence.” His tone turned flat, a shade away from boredom. “I am not the one who did…that.” His eyes flicked toward the empty former crime scene behind us.
“Are you sure about that?” I inched a little closer.
He stared me down. “I’m sure you aren’t foolish enough to call me a liar.” Every time he spoke, the ambient temperature seemed to drop a few more degrees.
“And I should hope you aren’t foolish enough to lie.” I refused to be the first to break eye contact, but hated that I still had to blink twice as often. The vampire smirked. I hated that, too.
He looked me up and down. “I suppose you think you’re clever, having ‘caught’ me here. I confess, I’m not sure how to convince you that I’m really not your mark.” For the first time, he turned his head away, glancing out toward Langley’s border.
“That’s precisely what a guilty man would say,” I told him.
He faced me, visibly exasperated. “Oh, please. Why would I lie? I’d wager the man you seek is long gone by now.”
7
Alex
I narrowed my eyes. “And I’m just meant to believe it’s someone else and you’re not pulling one over on me?”
He was a little put off by my skepticism. “We’re averse to sunlight, not honor. I have nothing to gain by lying to you about this. Anyone who would take such a reckless risk as killing a human in the middle of the day probably deserves to be culled. We’ll only be endangered by an idiot like that.”
It was a perspective I hadn’t thoroughly considered. Still, I noticed that the troubled cloud returned to his face. An expression other than stubborn stoicism shone fleetingly in his gaze. He continued to hold his ground.
I had always been taught that the vamps were little more than super-intelligent beasts. Time after time, I was warned never to trust them, nor to allow a chance to be subjugated by the tantalizing force of their will. This one’s charisma, in the form of his meticulously chosen words and his smooth, silky voice, was the very thing that made him dangerous.
Imagine my dismay, then, to realize that I actually believed him! Despite understanding the inherent underhandedness of vampires as fact rather than opinion, I couldn’t deny he appeared to be utterly sincere. Had that ever happened before? I didn’t think so, and yet, my suspicion remained reasonable.
“This doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.” I glared to emphasize my point. “Not at all. And if I find out this was all a ruse, there’s going to be hell to pay.”
He smiled. “I can afford it.”
The laugh came out before I had a chance to quash it deep down in my gut. Mortified and angry at myself, I swallowed it back as fast as possible, but it was too late. The vampire’s face lit up. I pressed my lips together. “Don’t take that as a compliment.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He winked.
I’d never more disliked or been more fascinated by anyone in my entire life. The fact that he had chosen not to engage with me aggressively was so unlike the experience I had come to expect from dealing with vampires. Rather than immediately establishing himself as an enemy, he had become a potential resource. Not that I enjoyed the notion of spending more time with him. Of course not.
I pointed back toward the site of the killing. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. All of it. You’d better hope I don’t see your name attached.”
His smile reappeared. “I doubt that very much, but the attempt ought to be worth some amusement. By the way, what is my name? Do you know it?” The way he focused on me was both unsettling and, in a strange, distasteful way, thrilling. No human, mortal man ever looked at me the way this vampire did.
“Should I?” I shot back. “I’ve never seen you before.”
“I know.” He rubbed his jaw. “You would remember me otherwise.”
There was at least a kernel of truth in what he said, and I suspected he knew it, which irked me. I rolled my eyes and tossed my hair. The longer I spent in his company, the more simultaneously pissed off and intrigued I grew. How could a person elicit this sort of internally polarizing reaction?
Shaking my head, I started to turn away. “All right, I think we’re done here. Let me know when you’re ready to talk about anything other than yourself.”
“Wait.”
The one word made me stop in my tracks, ears perked up. I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking like I was paying attention, but my whole body was tuned to whatever he was going to say. “This better be good,” was what I said out loud.
“I w
ant to give you some advice that’s sound, if unsolicited.” His expression was solemn now, a stone mask. “You would do well not to pretend you care about the nature of this crime. It’s not the killing that bothers you, is it? It’s that you lost what you were looking for.”
“Dude.” I gave him a look. “Here’s the truth. I don’t know your name. I have no idea where you came from. I don’t know what you want. And I sure as hell don’t know what you’re talking about right now.” This was all a front, obviously. I was tremendously bothered by my inability to prove or disprove the rumored relic. But I would’ve died sooner than telling him.
The vampire chuckled. He regarded me once again, thoughtfully. “Damien Leclair.”
“Oh really?” It was my turn to smile. His surname struck a chord I wasn’t quite able to place. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Nothing.” He shrugged. “Only that I suspect I haven’t seen the last of you.”
I stood quietly, mulling over my options. He had created an imbalance of power in my favor by revealing his identity, maybe assuming I’d follow suit. If I chose to withhold my name or give him a fake one, I would ostensibly have the edge in whatever weird game we were playing. But then again, what did it really matter? Doubtless he’d do some cursory research either way, especially because we’d met face to face.
And who knew what consequences there might be in the event that I was caught lying to him?
“Can’t argue that. I’m Alex Brighton.” I kind of regretted it as soon as my name left my lips, but it was too late. His brow quirked upward very slightly at the mention of my surname. Great, I thought. He definitely knows who we are.
As usual, Damien neither confirmed nor denied my newest suspicions. He simply nodded his head. “Let us consider this an even footing on which to start.”