by Lexi C. Foss
Rhys was not so disheartened. “Great! That makes it easier for you to work out a deal, get him on your side. A common enemy is a very valuable asset, my dear.”
He was right, and I knew it. But I was still uneasy, and more determined than ever not to let my guard fall around him again. “Okay, okay. I guess I’ve got some scheming to do.”
“You’ll be fine.” He spoke like a father to his daughter on the first day at a new school. “I believe in you, Alex. That’s why you’re the one who’s getting the job done.”
Was I really getting anything done, though? The last few hours before nightfall were spent in intense contemplation, mulling things over until my brain hurt. It wasn’t until I had stepped into the kitchen for a glass of cold water that the two halves of an idea finally clicked into place. As it turned out, the first step was to stop overthinking every little detail.
The water was cold and refreshing, just the kick I needed to jumpstart my mind. I put the empty glass down on the counter, looked out the window at a fiery red-orange sunset over the water, and realized I could start by recreating the scenario that allowed me to meet him in the first place.
Stunned by my own stupidity, I shook my head. So much time tearing my hair out, and all I had to do was get my ass back to the scene of the crime yet again. Maybe he’d gotten whatever it was he had been searching for the first time. Maybe he was done revisiting the spot. On the other hand, maybe he wasn’t, and I had very little to lose.
Abandoning my water cup in the kitchen, I grabbed my things and hightailed it out of the apartment. As per usual, the island streets were chilly, cloaked in a fine, rainy mist. By the time I completed the walk into downtown Langley, my jacket was damp and heavy. The edge of the hood hung down low over my eyes.
Just before the stretch of street where the murder had taken place, a bright flash of light caught my eye. I slipped into the shadows as a police cruiser crept past. Rarely had I seen them patrolling the streets after dark, especially not with floodlights washing the road white in front of them. A chill tiptoed down my spine. They were still scared, even if the papers had moved their stories off the front page.
Once the cruiser’s light disappeared around another corner, I made my way to the far edge of where the yellow-tape perimeter had been established. The bloodstain had been hidden by rainwater dampening the pavement. I stood close to it and looked around. No signs of life. Damien just couldn’t make it easy.
Measuring the volume of my steps, I moved around the edge of the area, honing my senses in the vain hope of picking up any shred of a lead that might have been missed. When my search came up empty, I widened its radius. Still, nothing. I ended up nearly a block away from the epicenter of the crime, empty-handed and fighting back frustration.
Of course the scene was clean. It had been weeks since the murder. People walked over the same spot every day in droves. My best bet was to focus on Damien. I turned around and headed back the way I came, eyes and ears open. No trace of the vamp, but I did catch sight of a newcomer kneeling on the street. Like me, they had taken pains to conceal much of their identity underneath heavier clothes. But a few strands of pale pink hair spilled out, and I knew exactly who it was.
Brina straightened up as soon as she sensed my presence. Her dark eyes probed the dim shadows, searching my face. I kept quiet, held my breath. Let this be the first true test of her prowess.
“Alex.” She seemed to relax upon saying my name. “You scared me for a second.”
I came closer. She tucked the loose hair up under her hat, which bulged slightly with the volume of it all. “What brings you out here tonight?” I asked nonchalantly, though we both knew damn well what we were doing there.
“Same as you, I bet,” she replied. “I just wanted to know if there’s anything I missed.” She turned her attention back to the ground in front of her, inspecting every inch with a keen eye.
I watched her work over the asphalt. In this light, or lack thereof, she seemed even younger than she had at first glance. Her youthfulness overflowed into the meticulous perfectionism of her actions. I recognized the eager focus of a young, up-and-coming slayer obsessed with the quality of her work. Once upon a time, I had been in her shoes. Those early days felt like a lifetime ago now.
“Well, I’ve got nothing,” I admitted, folding my arms. “If the police have more, they’re keeping it close to their chests.”
Brina glanced up at me. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t they? It’d look super bad for them if a couple of girls swept in and solved their case.” She shifted to a new patch of pavement. “Anyway, it’s not their case I’m worried about. We know they don’t have a thing to work with. I’m out here to prove my theory.”
“Is that right?” I pretended to be less interested than I was. “I didn’t know you had one.”
“I mean, I know who did it,” she replied, casual as ever. “But I don’t have the evidence to convince someone else.”
I arched my eyebrows. “Then how can you be so sure?”
Brina stood up and turned to face me. Her brown eyes grew solemn. “Because the Leclairs have been the best killers Whidbey Island has ever seen. For like, two hundred years.” She continued before I had a chance to get a word in. “And they don’t like it when other vamps move in on their turf. Did you know Langley hasn’t had a resident bloodline other than the Leclair family since they made their claim here? They don’t allow that shit.”
I shrugged, refusing to be convinced. “So it could have been someone who got out of Dodge real quick because they knew they were trespassing.”
“No.” Brina shook her head, releasing more of her hair. “If it were that, the family would be on the move by now. Maybe not all of them, but someone. They’re like the mafia. You can’t even think about disrespecting them, and if you do…” She drew a finger across her neck, a motion I found amusingly melodramatic. “There would’ve been another body.”
“Unless they left Langley to get payback,” I suggested. “The perp got out as fast as he could. I doubt he’s been back since.”
Again, she indicated no. “I’ve been watching the Leclair estate for days. I’m lucky if I see a curtain move.”
“Secret passage?” It wasn’t completely out of the question, but at this point I was kind of just messing with her. The fact that she’d gotten herself involved so fast in what I thought of as my case rubbed me the wrong way. I didn’t need some newbie free agent looking over my shoulder while I worked.
“I thought about it,” she answered in earnest. “It would solve the sunlight issue, but they have to come up somewhere. On the beach, maybe. In the water, even.” She pulled out a small notebook and jotted something down. “That’s an idea. I’ll look into it.”
I frowned. “Don’t let me interrupt your work.” Disgruntled and wanting to be alone with my own musings, I began to walk away from her. “And, good luck.”
She looked after me. “We’re not enemies, Alex. If I find anything out, I’ll let you know. Okay?”
“Sure.” I nodded and managed a smile. “I’ll see you around.”
Truthfully, I hoped I didn’t. Brina made me uncomfortable for reasons I couldn’t quite articulate. Who had sent her here? What was her angle? She was certainly eager to pin this murder on the Leclairs. Did she know something I did not? That possibility made me uneasy too. The girl was an interloper, a random agent muddying the field.
I resolved to keep an eye on her, because even as I tried my best to deny it, part of me wondered if she might actually be onto something.
10
Damien
The signal came early in the morning, as Caleb had said it would, in the form of pebbles plinking against my window. Upon opening the casement, I found him clinging to the wall, eyes peering up over the edge of the sill.
“What are you doing?” I stared at him. “How is this more clandestine than throwing it through the open windowpane?” Not that he was in any real danger of being seen; our property was thickly
forested and hidden behind outer walls. He could have walked up the front path and gotten the exact same results.
Caleb scowled. “I never know where Father might be hiding,” he whispered. One hand was curled into a fist. “Here.”
I held out my hand and he dropped a small velvet bag into my palm. It was surprisingly heavy. “What is it?” I asked. “Or do I not get to know?”
He rolled his eyes. “Look if you have to. As long as you don’t tell a soul and keep it behind lock and key.” His gaze kept darting in the direction of the master bedroom, as if he thought our father might appear in a torrent of rage at any moment. “Do what you want, Damien. I can’t stay.” He sighed. “Thanks again. I’ll be back for it. Don’t know when, but I will.”
I stepped back into the room and closed the casement, locking it tightly. Caleb’s shadow skittered down the wall, and a few moments later I saw him steal across the lawn toward the gate. The bag, secure in my fingers, weighed down my hand. Curious, I loosened the drawstrings of the pouch.
A silver medallion lay nestled in the links of its attached chain. It had a lid bearing the symbol of an ornate fleur de lis. Very carefully, I lifted the relic out. The weight of the medallion made it swing in lazy strokes in front of my eyes. In the very front was a tiny keyhole. And in the bottom of the pouch, I found a tiny silver key.
My fingers were almost too big to manipulate it, but after some careful maneuvering, the lock disengaged and the lid popped open. I found myself gazing down at the polished face of a watch. Its hands ticked steadily with no sound at all. The time appeared to be off by a few hours.
“I feel like I’m missing something here,” I said out loud to the empty room. On the back of the watch was an odd little recessed notch meant for winding the hands. Absently, I reached for it, intending to set them correctly.
But something stopped me. Right before my hand touched the back plate of the dial, a strange foreboding washed over the atmosphere. I froze in place, all at once unwilling to mess with the relic any further. Heeding the instinctual urge, I put the watch back into its pouch, dropped in the key, and searched for a safe place to put it. How odd it was that I couldn’t feel its mechanics working, even just a little bit.
Caleb’s relic found a home in the back-most corner of my personal safe, hidden behind some other treasures. I was confident my father would never look in such a place without my permission—he was cantankerous and stern, but he’d always respected our privacy. If he detected the presence of a relic, however, all bets were off. I hoped the ward I had placed on the safe would be enough to deter him from further investigation.
The relic languished there for days, unclaimed but unforgotten. It took on the aura of the tell-tale heart, except that its eeriness was silent. At least once a day, I withdrew it from its dark corner just to gaze at it, though I never again held it bare in my hand. The urge to reset the hands still remained, but I dared not act on it.
No wonder this thing had fascinated Caleb. With some measure of chagrin, I admitted that it was now a fixation I could understand. The watch occupied a place in my thoughts at all times, so much that I soon began to regret the promise I had made to Caleb. I didn’t want the relic anymore, but I had no way of knowing when he would return. The notion of tossing it away struck me as abhorrent; I was still a Leclair.
Caleb had expressly asked me not to, but I could hand it over to our father, or send it to be stowed in the vault. It would be safer there than anywhere in the world, and I’d no longer need to feel the burden of its presence every hour of every day. The more I considered it, the likelier it seemed that Caleb had stumbled on some cursed omen, which he had passed off unwittingly into my hands. Perhaps not altogether surprising, given his history of recklessness and bad luck, but disturbing nonetheless.
But there was one other option that would let me preserve the ill-advised vows I had made, in a manner of speaking. I had a very strong inkling that a certain vibrant-haired slayer would want to know about the existence of this relic. She had been the other concern chiefly vying for space inside my mind, and in the enigmatic watch, I saw my next opportunity to meet with her. No slayer would be able to resist the siren song of new discoveries, especially not if it was the type of revelation that made my kind apprehensive.
Presenting her with potential ammunition against me and my kin was not the wisest strategic move I had ever made. But each thought of her compelled me to reach out, seduced me into believing that this was the better route to take. Besides, it was plausible that she might have insight into the watch that I lacked, and if I played my cards right, she might share such valuable knowledge.
A vague plan started to hatch itself in my brain, a plan that was not without major flaws. Firstly, I had no way of finding her, save for catching a breath of her scent on the wind. And secondly, the act of willfully encountering her bordered on high treason, as far as my family was concerned. Were I to be found out, my father would have no son named Damien. But Caleb wasn’t the only Leclair to have a taste for rebellion.
To that end, I set aside the issue of familial honor and devoted my efforts to locating Alex Brighton. She was not, as I had suspected, listed in any traditional public records; why would she make herself accessible to the prying eyes of her quarry? With the sole intent of obtaining an address to which an invitation could be sent, I made a few tentative forays downtown in the daylight. This was how I learned of her affinity for the coffee shop, and of her friendship with the manager.
But Alex was a difficult person to track. Despite the glaring hue of her hair, she had a peculiar knack for disappearing into the sparsest of crowds. Partially due to not wanting to be noticed myself, I was never able to follow her beyond the center of town. No doubt she’d catch wind of me the moment we were reasonably alone.
In fact, there were some hair raising moments I thought she had done exactly that. Once, she turned around so abruptly I barely had time to duck for cover. Her bright gaze lingered for far longer than I felt strictly necessary, sweeping the vicinity. The look on her face was one of attempting to identify an unfamiliar sound, or of shaking off an odd feeling. Then she went on her way, and I slunk home at the earliest opportunity.
Such was the game we played for a week, until I finally managed to lay eyes on the building where she lived. The house had a certain ramshackle charm, with its creaky porch steps and fading paint. She lived on the second floor, and after her light had gone off for the night, I crept up to the mailbox at the end of the drive.
Brighton, A. Unit Two. That was all I needed.
Back in the safety of my own rooms, I sat at my desk in the comfortable dark. The point of my pen hovered for a second over the blank sheet of paper, and then I touched it down and began to write.
Dear Ms. Brighton.
Absolutely not. I ditched the paper and started anew. Dear Alex Brighton. Still wrong.
The third sheet of paper started with only her name and nothing else.
Alex. I have something you may find curious. Midnight at Boy & Dog.
That was just enough. I read it over a few times, then folded the paper up and posted it, marked with the address I had gleaned. Late the next night, I removed the watch from my safe. It sat like a small boulder in my inside jacket pocket, much less conspicuous than it felt. I carried it as a mortal man might carry a live grenade.
The meeting place was a park on First Street, overlooking the water. At ten to midnight, it was empty, its only occupants the statues I had named as landmarks. I leaned against the fence beside the weather-worn boy and his dog, acting like I, too, was little more than a fixture. Ten minutes ticked by at a glacial pace.
Maybe Alex wouldn’t show. I took a deep breath and wondered what it could mean if she didn’t. Cowardice, or simple survival instinct. She had no idea what it was I wanted her to see. I could have easily set a trap.
The crescent moon sat high in the sky, silver light flooding the path and cascading down the stairs that led to the beach. It c
aught her hair from quite a distance, overshadowing her features. She made her way toward me in no semblance of a hurry. I could see her glancing suspiciously around.
“Relax,” I said, once she’d gotten close enough to hear. “I’ve come alone, and I trust you have as well.”
She eyed me. “This is weird, Damien. You know that, right?”
“I guess. And yet, here you are.”
Alex sighed. “Yes,” she admitted. “Here I am. What do you want?” Her tone was curt, but a curious spark flashed in her eyes. I slipped a hand into my jacket and her gaze sharpened. But I didn’t withdraw the pouch right away. Up until the moment I spoke, I had only the vaguest notion of what would come out of my mouth.
“What I want…is to talk to you.”
11
Alex
“Okay…” I crossed my arms, making it very clear that he had not even come close to earning my trust. I’d had second thoughts from the moment I received his cryptic note in my mailbox. The logical part of my brain said he couldn’t possibly have anything to show that wasn’t meant to harm or otherwise inconvenience my life, but the truth was, I couldn’t keep myself away. Dismissing the chance to meet with him felt like tossing out a unique opportunity. “Let’s talk, then.”
Damien leaned back against the railing, eyeing me as if the meeting hadn’t been all his idea in the first place. His right hand slipped into his jacket and stayed there. We kept eye contact, each waiting for the other to say something. After several long moments of total silence, he asked, “Are you afraid of me?”
The question caught me so off guard that I laughed, which was probably very rude. “Why would I be?” I countered. “If you wanted to try to kill me, you would’ve started by now.” Years in the business had made me familiar with most potentially dangerous scenarios. If he had a bunch of buddies lying in wait, there was no reason not to call them to action during our sixty seconds of awkward staring.