by T S Paul
“Rage? That’s all they could come up with?” I asked.
“These are medical professionals, not detectives. We use them to get into the mind of a killer, not track them down. That’s what you and the others are for,” she replied.
I shook my head. “Why pay them then? If we’re going to use them, they should do it all, be trained to do it all. Can you imagine what a whole team of trained professionals could do? Suggest that to the Director sometime.”
“Let me tell you a little secret about J. Edgar. Ideas like that have to come from him before they are enacted. Look at your position. How’s your assigned staff working out?” Ana said with a smile.
“Gotcha. I get it. What can you tell me about Vampires? How would you track one down if you could?” I asked her.
Anastasia leaned forward in her chair, placing both hands on the desk and staring at me. For just a split second I could’ve sworn her eyes flashed at me. “We are an ancient people. Older than most recorded history. For us, the powerful rule the weak. Like Witches, we have a few mental powers as well as extended lifespans. Planning plays an important role in everything that we do as both individuals and a species.”
“What kind of powers?” I asked.
“Persuasion, telepathy, and necromancy are just a few. It depends upon who brought you across and when. The older a Vampire is, the stronger they are. To stay hidden like this, I suspect we’re dealing with an old one,” Anastasia explained.
“Why do you say that? The murders that have happened could’ve been caused by either a human or a Were. There’s nothing so remarkable about them that they scream Vampire deaths to me. Half the Were I know could do the same,” I explained to her.
“There’s an aura about them.” She paused for a moment. Rubbing her hands together, she looked me in the eye. “I can feel him. It’s so hard to explain. It’s like...I know, you spent a lot of time out West. Did you ever go hunting? Hunting for something other than a prey animal?”
“On the reservation, I helped track down a cougar once. It had killed some of the local tribe’s sheep and our Alpha volunteered us to hunt it down. The local tribes out there have a knife-edge relationship with the Were Packs. They don’t like sharing what little government resources they receive, and they constantly accuse one another of wrongdoing.” I shook my head as I remembered that hunt. “We set out early, the six of us. The Alpha chose only the strongest of the boys to hunt. His instructions were to chase it down and either bring it back alive or mostly intact to prove it wasn’t one of his people. I went along as both a witness and a test of loyalty. They may have gone into battle with my father, but I wasn’t him.”
“Feeling another Vampire’s aura is very much like that feeling you get hunting a predator,” Ana said. “It’s that small itch right between your shoulder blades that’s screaming at you. Someone or something has you in their sights. It’s when the hunter becomes the hunted. I know he’s out there because I can feel it.” She thumped her chest. “I can feel it right here inside me.”
I let out the breath I’d been holding in. Licking my lips, I asked my real questions. “That feeling I know. Can you tell where he is? Who his companions are? Maybe how old or what part of the world he comes from? Just how accurate are your feelings?”
Ana chuckled. “That’s one of the things I like about you, Jack. You’re straight to the point. He’s old, older than me. The powers of the Elders are beyond most Vampires. As I’ve said, depending on lineage, our powers increase with age. If he’s one of our ruling classes, then he can do almost anything. All the powers are open to him. But he doesn’t… taste… that way to me. His psychic imprint is familiar, but not. I’m sorry I’m not much help here, Jack. I just know he’s here. And he’s dangerous.”
“How old are you?” I asked her.
“Don’t you know you should never ask a woman her age? It’s just not done, Jack,” Ana cocked her head and smiled seductively.
“Seriously, your file doesn’t say,” I explained.
Her eyes widened just a bit and she nodded her head. “Impressive, Jack. I didn’t know you had it in you to track that down. Personnel files for those working directly for Mr. Hoover are kept under lock and key. I’m not going to ask how you did it. Everyone is allowed a few secrets, especially in our business. I’m just a bit over a two hundred. If you have my actual file, you’ll see I’ve worked for the bureau since 1945.”
I nodded back. Much of what I’d been able to find was redacted, but she’d been a huge help to the FBI since she joined. “Why’d you stay? Even at a couple of centuries you must have hidden wealth beyond what was destroyed in California by the Demons. Why stay with the bureau?”
Ana stirred in her seat. She seemed to shift her weight back and forth as if considering both sides. “I made a promise to someone.” She held up her hand in a stopping motion. “Don’t ask me who, I won’t answer you. The FBI was a means to an end that led to a very nice career. I’ve met good people here in America. People who’ve gained my trust and respect. My interaction with humans was much more limited before I came here. We Vampires are the ultimate loners. It’s the right fit for me.”
“So if I find this creature, what happens? Do I call in support or what?” I asked her.
“No. As I said before, this is Magical Division only. If and when you find his lair, you are to contact me and me alone. Trust me on this, Jack. You are not capable of taking him down by yourself,” Ana explained. Once more I caught a slight flash from her eyes. “Are we clear?”
“Understood. You never said how you’d track him, though.”
“Oh, that’s simple. Look for the places he’s not. They’ll feel silent, almost abandoned to a human. You’ll have the strongest feeling that you need to be somewhere else, that you’ve forgotten something important. It’s very similar to a repulsion spell. For Vampire Elders, it’s just another tool. A way to protect their lair. Find that feeling and you’ve found him, or at least you’ve found the general area. Fifty yards is about the farthest we can project. Once again it depends on age and strength,” Ana explained.
So that’s how I found myself tracing back and forth, on foot, the areas between all the deaths, looking for those “dead” spots.
“If the Lincoln Memorial is there…” I traced my hand across a map the Park Service gave me. Contrary to what Chief Sylvester’s people had, all the deaths were in sort of concentric circles around the park. They were using math and logic, while I was using Magic and guile to figure things out. Much of what I did as a Magical investigator relied on gut and instinct. It’s how I’ve been able to stay alive this long doing this solo.
Well, that and certain gifts from the Gods, I said to myself as I stroked the necklace I’d been given.
Magical amulets of any sort were extremely rare. They existed, everyone knew that. Finding the ones that actually worked the way they were advertised was the big trick. Lots of shysters and con men out in the world. Which made me question the one I’d been given by the old man. The old man I suspected to be Odin.
“Keep your distance from those beings of power, Jack. The Gods are fickle and cruel. They play games only they understand.” That one bit of wisdom from Marcella Blackmore stuck in my head. Witches were the minor leagues when it came to divine beings, and they knew it. The thing I didn’t get was why they were helping me in the first place.
And not only the Gods. Why were the Witches helping me as well?
I was deep in thought and muttering to myself when I felt a strong hand grab me by the shoulder and spin me around.
Suddenly I was face to face with two uniformed police officers. Dropping his hand, the officer who had grabbed me asked, “You Dalton?”
Reaching up, I brushed off where he’d touched me with my hand. “FBI Special Agent in Charge Jack Dalton. Who wants to know?”
I suppose it might’ve been my lack of the standard black or grey suit or even my demeanor, but both cops could only stare at me for a moment.
“You boys forget how to speak?” I asked. Carefully, I reached into my shirt pocket and pulled out my credentials. I flipped them open and displayed my badge and identification.
Exchanging meaningful looks, the two men took a step back from me before responding. “Chief Sylvester would like a word, sir.”
“Ok. Do you know what it’s about?” I asked.
The first officer looked both left then right before saying anything. “Some people were killed last night, and we think they’re related to… Well, you know.”
I pointed toward my van just down the street. “There wasn’t anything on the radio or reported to our offices.”
“We’re keeping this one quiet. Or trying to.” He motioned for me to follow them.
“Fine, have someone keep an eye on my rig over there. I’d rather not lose it. How far away is this?” I asked, even as I climbed into the front of the old patrol car.
“A couple of blocks over in Foggy Bottom near the river.”
We headed down Constitution and turned onto 26th street. Police and emergency vehicles filled the streets. Figures were moving in and out of a group of run-down buildings. “All this out here is either unclaimed or government property. The Saudi Embassy is a bit farther down on the right. Just across the river is Mason’s Island.”
Tapping on the bars separating the seats, the officer in the back tried to get our attention. “We’re supposed to call it Roosevelt Island now, remember?”
The driver, whose name was actually Smith, let go of the wheel for a moment. “Fine, what he said. Some do-gooders bought the place up some years ago and want to build a monument to him.”
“And this helps me how?” I asked the both of them.
“Just passing the time. The chief told us to find you after what we found…” pulling out onto the road, Smith drove up to the first barricade. “You get out here. We’ll wait for you.”
Surprised, I asked, “You’re not coming with me?”
Smith snorted. “And see that mess again? No freaking way, buddy. I can still smell it on me. You’re on your own here.”
“Fine, thanks for the ride.” I climbed out and scanned the crowd. Government officials and cops were everywhere, but no FBI were in sight. I flashed my creds and was passed into the interior of the scene.
“Good, they found you,” Chief Sylvester remarked the moment he saw me.
“Chief, what’s happened?” I asked him.
“We think we found more victims. Or what’s left of them. They don’t resemble the other kills, though. These are…I need to show you, hope you have a strong stomach.” Sylvester led me through the crowd of cops to an open doorway into a half-ruined brick building.
Peering into the dark doorway, I could feel eyes on me. Pretty sure I wasn’t a sacrificial victim being fed to a bunch of lions, I walked up the steps and into the building.
The air was thick with the smell of decay and rot. A miasma of vomit and other unsavory smells hit me like a rogue wave. Initially it was all I could do to keep my insides in. Sucking it up mentally, I relied upon my training. Now wasn’t the time to put on a show for the locals. The dark hallway led to a great room that might have once been offices or something. The entire area along the river was filled with ruined warehouses and old industrial buildings, some left over from the War Between the States.
Lying in heaps, bodies or parts of bodies were everywhere. Small groups of gowned doctors were poking and prodding the deceased. “Who were they, do we know?”
Looking up from a mangled corpse, one of the white coats caught my eyes. “And you are?”
“Dalton, FBI,” I answered.
“Well Mr. Dalton, these used to be members of one of our city’s finest Rotary clubs,” he explained. “We’ve found at least ten so far.”
“You’ve already identified them?” I wondered how. Some of the piles were of just arms or heads.
“I’ll show you.” Introducing himself but not shaking my hand Doctor Fenn, a coroner working for the city’s morgue system, directed me to a small ruined desk along the wall. A camp light hung above it with medical tools and things on top of it.
Pulling the cloth off one of the lumps on the table, the Doctor revealed a man’s forearm. “Do you see the rings?”
Looking closer, I could see the hand wore two rings. Both gold.
“The one on the left is from West Point, class of 1920. The other is only given to state senators or representatives. Add in the age of the arm and this can only be former State Senator Todd Manderle from Texas,” the coroner explained. “We checked his house and spoke to his wife already. The group were supposed to be surveying the land all weekend.”
Tuning the man out, I ran both my hands through my hair. This was bad. Really bad. Doctor Fenn was still talking, though.
“...hotels in the area. When they didn’t return, alarms were raised. At first, we thought animals had gotten to some of your creature’s kills but there’s no way one man could do all of this, Vampire or not! And we don’t have major predators in this area, haven’t for at least a century. Did you see the forearm? It might be wild dogs.” Doctor Fenn held up the ragged end of the arm so I could see.
Ignoring the really strong smell of ammonia, I looked closer at the bite wound and cursed as all the details clicked in my brain. “Damn.”
“What is it? Do you know what did it?” Fenn asked me.
“First thing, has the Secret Service been called, as well as the local FBI? We’re going to need resources only they can provide,” I said.
Fenn covered the arm back up. “Chief Sylvester is in charge of all that. Why?”
“The ammonia smell is what gave it away. A Vampire may have killed them, but it was something much, much worse that did all of this,” I said as I subconsciously reached for my pistol. “We need to get your people out of here right now.”
“We have evidence to gather, and all of these poor souls need to be recovered,” Fenn protested.
“None of that matters a damn bit right now. Ammonia plus carnage and death only means one thing. Ghouls,” I said. “Somewhere around here is a pack of Ghouls. And they’re hungry.”
“Ghouls? Are you completely sure, Agent?” Chief Sylvester asked.
“Pretty sure. To be completely sure, we’d have to dig down into the basement here, but I wouldn’t recommend doing that at all. They’re extremely dangerous,” I explained.
The chief’s men had been busy the whole time I was inside. Local FBI and Secret Service were now on the scene, as well as a small group of Army National Guard. And all of them were yelling at each other over jurisdiction.
“We need to get a handle on this first, though.” I waved at the mass of law enforcement personnel. “See if you can get all the leaders or highest ranks all in one place for me.” I pulled out my keys and handed them over. “Can you have one or two of your officers go get my van for me? Smith had me leave it.”
Sylvester delegated, and within the hour had all or most of the bodies and coroners removed from the scene, as well as the locals gathered. Cracking my file cabinet, I pulled out the congressional finding and the president’s orders relating to my job. Better to be over-armed than not at all. Another one of my stepdad’s sayings.
Wheet!
Pulling my fingers out of my mouth, I smiled at the group’s reaction. Shock and surprise seemed to be the best way to describe it. That was before I started yelling. “My name is Special Agent in Charge Jack Dalton and I’m taking over.”
Chief Sylvester, standing right next to me, rounded on me first. “Oh hell no! This is my investigation and my town. You came to me, remember?”
Holding up the papers I’d gotten from my van, I explained. “Both Congress and the president approved my appointment to head of the Magical Division of the FBI. You may outrank me, you may have more experience, you may even be able to get me fired, but right here and now, I’m in charge of this circus.” I pointed to the building behind me and continued, “That bui
lding, and possibly others, have an infestation of Ghouls inside them. The government of this county put my division in charge of all things paranormal and Magical. So unless any of you know more about the critters in there than I do, step out my damn way!”
“Now see here! If any FBI is going to be in charge, it will be us! Your group only has you in it!” A man dressed like I was supposed to be dressed pushed through the crowd.
Looking down at his shiny shoes and immaculately pressed suit, I shook my head. “Nope. Do you even know what a Ghoul is? Do you know the best way to kill one?”
Puffing up his chest and looking down his nose at me, the Agent responded, “My men are some of the finest trained in the FBI. Director Hoover will hear of this insult, sir. You aren’t even in uniform!”
Even as I dealt with the self-important Agent in front of me, I’d been watching the sky. Complete darkness was almost upon us. Lifting my head up a bit, I sniffed the air.
“Wearing a suit in the woods doesn’t make you a better agent. In fact, it makes you a bit of a liability. But as you’re about to discover, all the crime-stopping training in the world isn’t going to do you a damn bit of good when the perp is trying to eat you,” I responded.
The suit threw up his hands. “Eat me? Are you on drugs or something?”
Pointing behind the crowd I replied, “Not me. Them.”
Several shaggy creatures were in the process of rolling out the doorway as everyone turned to look. Ghouls are like cockroaches. If you see one, there are always more about. Dozens more of the creatures emerged. I could see their green gleaming eyes from where I stood.
Officers near the building yelled “Halt!” as shots rang out. The group surrounding me scattered like a covey of startled quail. Local cops dove for cover among the scattered Federals. Even the National Guard boys hit the ground running as the gunfire increased.