Roaring Midnight (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles | Macey #1)

by Colleen Gleason

  “Anything when taken to the extreme can be a vice.” Chas’s voice was low and gritty. “And there are worse vices than spirits.” He slung back the entire contents of his glass in one big gulp then set the vessel on the counter.

  “You sound as if you speak from experience.”

  “Too much whiskey isn’t my weakness, no matter how it might seem.” He pinned her with his gaze.

  Macey’s heart bumped hard and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. There was something there, dark and tortured, in his Gypsy eyes. Heat, too. Definite heat. She felt tight and warm all over and she hadn’t even taken a drink.

  Sure she’d come to regret it, she lifted the glass and sipped cautiously. Her eyes widened in surprise. Unlike the hooch she’d tried in the past, the whiskey was smooth and tasted just like it looked—like a warm, golden river flowing down her throat. She took another, larger sip and closed her eyes as the heat filled her belly, rolling gently through her limbs.

  When she opened her eyes, Chas was watching her, his lips curved in a pained smile. And when their gazes met, he held hers boldly, allowing her to see the glitter of desire therein.

  “It’s a damned lonely life being a Venator.”

  Macey lifted her chin. “If that’s an offer, I’m afraid I must refuse.” But her insides were shifting and fluttering, and all at once, she’d become acutely aware of him—his fine mouth, his gleaming eyes, the memory of his smooth, lethal attack on the vampires tonight.

  Chas responded by stepping back. “That wasn’t an offer, lulu. But when and if there is one, you won’t have to ask.”

  TWELVE

  ~ A Dark Spiral ~

  The stale scent of death mingled with an unfamiliar, pungent aroma that smelled like a chemical lab. Bare bulbs cast cold white light in an already sterile room.

  Macey held her breath then looked down at the still, gray-faced figure on the table. The glimmer of hope she’d held onto since waking this morning in Chas’s flat burst like a soap bubble. Grief stabbed her hard in the belly.

  “Yes,” she said more steadily than she’d thought possible. “I can identify her. That’s Chelle—Michelle Chautier.”

  “Thank you, Miss Denton.” The morgue attendant swiftly pulled the white sheet back up to cover Chelle’s face. He had been kind enough to keep the rest of the ravaged body hidden, but it didn’t matter. Macey had already seen the horror. “I’m sorry you had to do this, but we thank you for your assistance.”

  She turned away, filled with nausea and emptiness. It had been a small hope, but there had been a chance that she’d only thought it was Chelle in the back seat of Nicholas Iscariot’s auto. A trick of the light, a reasonable mistake due to the shock and uncertainty of the environment.

  Or maybe Chelle wasn’t actually dead, just…wounded. Perhaps there was hope for her.

  But no.

  The body had been dumped, discovered, and was waiting in the morgue to be identified by the time Macey arrived.

  She hadn’t even gone home after leaving Chas’s flat and was still wearing his shirt and a long button-down coat over it like a dress. Her shoes and stockings had made it through her ordeal unscathed except for a few spatters of blood that, in the daylight, looked like mud. No one seemed to give her attire a second look when she made an inquiry at the police headquarters. Instead, the attendant had sent her to this unpleasant subterranean room two blocks away.

  “I’m glad I could help.” She turned to leave, reaching for the door with a listless hand. Before she could turn the knob, the door swung open, and there was Grady.

  He came to an abrupt halt, as startled to see her as she was to see him, and they both stared at each other for a moment. A blossom of warmth pushed away a little of her numbness, and she managed a weary smile at the unexpected but welcome meeting. He appeared exhausted and rumpled, as if he’d not slept for days. Dark shadows curved under his bloodshot eyes, and the expanse of dark stubble indicated he hadn’t shaved either. His tie sagged and the bottom button on his vest was undone.

  “Macey.” Obvious relief showed in his face. “I…” He shook his head and drew in a deep breath. His blue eyes were sober but growing calmer by the moment. “I heard there was another…victim. I came to see if I recognized her.”

  She understood. He’d feared she was the victim, and had come to see for himself. She wanted to touch his arm to comfort him as much as herself, but stopped herself.

  “Miss Denton has already identified the young woman,” the attendant interjected, seemingly oblivious to the undercurrent. “Thanks anyway.”

  Grady’s attention returned to Macey, his face grim. “You knew her? Damn. It’s not your friend, the redhead.”

  “It was Chelle,” she managed to say. “You met her at the Palmer.”

  “Jesus.” His voice was a low, tight hiss. He took her arm. “Let’s go. There’s no reason to stay here then.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Thanks for sending word, Rob.”

  “Any time. Nasty business. Stay out of Capone’s crossfire, boyo.”

  “Always.”

  Macey didn’t mind when Grady kept her arm pressed against his side as they walked down the hall. She needed someone to touch, to lean on, even that little bit.

  Grady led her up the stairs from the dreary basement morgue, then, blessedly, out into a brilliant and sunny spring day. At least there was one thing in the world that was right. Her eyes stung.

  “I’ve been trying to find you since Friday night.” His voice was taut, very near anger, as he gestured for her to sit on a park bench. He jammed a hand through his unruly hair, making it stand up even more wildly. “I thought I was going to walk into that morgue and find you on a goddamned slab! Why did you take off like that?”

  That blossoming warmth warred with guilt and irritation as she looked up at him, forced to shade her eyes against the sun. “I’m sorry you were worried.”

  “Of course I was worried, for God’s sake. You dump a vampire victim on me, then damned if you don’t disappear. What the hell am I supposed to think?” Grady stood over her, looking exhausted and disreputable but oh, so attractive.

  “As you can see, I’m alive.”

  His ire faded. “And just barely from the looks of you.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Have you looked in a mirror?”

  “Have you?”

  They glared at each other, then Macey turned away with a short laugh that threatened to turn into tears. She didn’t have the energy to match wits or barbs with him. She didn’t know what to even think about this man who broke into her flat and expected to be able to find her whenever he wanted, who kissed her in a cabaret booth in front of everyone, who asked too many questions about things he shouldn’t…and who, oddly enough, made her feel warm and safe just by taking her arm.

  She pulled to her feet, suddenly mind-bogglingly exhausted. “I’m going to go home. I’m tired.” I need time to myself. Time to think. The nausea that hadn’t seemed to leave the pit of her belly since last night churned roughly.

  “Macey.” His voice stopped her. “I’ll drive you home. If you’ll let me.”

  “It’s better than taking the bus.”

  Despite her fatigue, her mind raced, spinning in circles during the drive through the busy Saturday streets to Hyde Park. Though she’d lived through it all, she could hardly fathom how much things had changed in less than a month. Just three weeks ago, she’d been on her way in this very vehicle with Grady for lunch—the morning after staking a vampire. And now…

  She secretly touched the vis bulla beneath Chas’s coat and felt the pleasant sting of energy bolt through her. Now she’d embarked on a completely different path.

  And, oh God…Chelle was dead.

  Was she to blame?

  The nausea in the pit of her stomach surged into full-blown illness. Macey swallowed hard and used a shaky hand to push a mess of hair behind one of her ears. She wasn’t ready to think about that quite yet, but she suspected she
already knew the answer.

  “Macey.” Grady had taken his eyes off the road to look at her. “I’m sorry about your friend. Seeing her like that must have been awful.”

  You have no idea.

  They were on her street now, and he pulled the auto expertly into a parking space across from the house. Resting his wrist on the steering wheel, he faced her without turning off the engine. “I’d like to walk you up if you don’t mind.”

  “Yes. I can get you some…coffee.” She managed a shaky smile, suddenly relieved she wasn’t going to be alone. “It’s early enough in the day that Mrs. Gutchinson won’t blow a can.”

  But he didn’t turn off the vehicle. “Is there anyone else who might?”

  “What do you mean?”

  His mouth was a thin line. “You’re wearing a man’s coat. And, as far as I can tell, not a whole lot under it.”

  Oh. Right. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’ll bet,” he muttered, but turned off the auto anyway.

  Macey walked quickly up the walk, and he was right on her heels. All she wanted was to get inside and up to her flat without her landlady seeing her. There was no flutter of curtain at Mrs. G’s favorite spying window, and Macey breathed a sigh of relief when they made it all the way up the first flight of stairs without being noticed. The old woman must still be at church.

  Macey had the key in her hand by the time they reached her landing, and as she fumbled it into the lock, she heard Grady sniff.

  Just as she got the door open, he said, “Wait—!”

  But it was too late.

  Macey took one step into her flat, then froze.

  Blood. Everywhere. The scent was heavy and full and awful.

  And on the bed, soaking in a pool of it, her wrists and ankles tied to the bedposts, was Mrs. Gutchinson.

  THIRTEEN

  ~ The Point of No Return ~

  Oh Jesus.

  Grady tried to stop Macey, but she was already across the room and at the bed. He watched her stark white face as she tore at the bindings on the elderly woman’s wrists.

  “Mrs. G!” The wrought iron bedframe rattled and clunked as she struggled with the ropes. The heavy, sickening scent of too much blood and other bodily fluids filled his nose. “Oh, God, Mrs. G.”

  “Macey.” He pulled her away, looked into her wide, shocked eyes. “Go down and call the police. Have them send Detective Linwood. And Officer Bailey.”

  To his relief, she went, still dazed but moving purposefully. “Linwood. And Bailey.”

  Grady turned back to the carnage on the bed. He’d seen a lot of senseless violence in his life. But the brutality visited on a weak, elderly woman was one of the worst sights he’d ever beheld. Her throat and arms, even one of her thighs, had been mutilated, torn and fed upon in the same way Jennie Fallon and the victims from The Gyro had been. Blood still dripped off the edge of the bed in ominous plops, telling him the attackers hadn’t been gone for more than a few hours.

  And why the blazing hell did they need to tie her down like that? The poor woman hadn’t had the strength of a gnat. He hoped like hell she’d died quickly. But the way the ropes dug into her wrists and ankles, along with the raw chafing of her paper-thin flesh, told him that was a futile hope. Jaw tight, he used his knife to cut her free. When he heard footsteps on the stairs, he grabbed a robe off the chair and flung it over the body.

  “I called from…her telephone.” Macey stood on the threshold of her flat, looking forlorn and exhausted. But the dazed expression had eased from her eyes, replaced by grief—and something else, cold and flat. “They’re coming.”

  Grady wanted to wrap her in his arms, drag her close to him and hold her tightly, bury his face in her soft hair, make her forget, remind himself how easily it could have been her…but there was the matter of that coat she was wearing. He’d seen enough bare thigh through its bottom flap to know she was missing more than one article of clothing. And there were the marks on her neck, faint but unmistakable. He didn’t care for any of the explanations that came to mind. Nevertheless…

  “You can’t stay here. I’ll help you get some things together, all right?”

  “I’ll do it.”

  She dug through her bureau and closet, then went into the small bathroom while Grady took the opportunity to look around the flat for clues. Not that it mattered—by now he had no doubt the perpetrators were vampires.

  At this thought, a chilly string of alarm trailed down his spine. If what he’d read in The Venators was even half accurate, these undead beings were evil beyond anything he’d encountered, even during the War.

  The undead could leave bloodstained fingerprints or even a trail to their lair and it wouldn’t matter. The police—even those few who were actually still interested in carrying out justice—would be ineffectual in tracking down a vampire. Attempting to arrest or incarcerate one would be absurd.

  The sound of sirens announced the arrival of the fuzz, and Grady went to the window to look down. That was when he noticed the rosary, still on the sill. He stuffed it in his pocket.

  The door to the bathroom opened and Macey came out, fully attired at last. She wore a soft pink blouse with a high collar over a taupe skirt that went just past her knees, and a wide swatch of floral fabric tied around her hair. Blue-black curls winged out around the nape of her neck and jaw. Despite her subdued attire, she still looked pale and the tip of her nose was tinged red. She didn’t look toward the bed.

  Grady met his uncle and colleagues at the bottom of the stairs and gave them a brief overview as they climbed up. As a homicide detective, and one of the few honest ones on the force—along with Gern Bailey, who’d accompanied him as requested—Linwood was already sadly familiar with this particular type of crime. Although Grady hadn’t told him everything he’d learned from reading The Venators, or even about Macey and the stake and vampire ash in her flat, he and his uncle had discussed the unsettling possibility that something unnatural was causing these murders.

  When Linwood was introduced to Macey, he flickered a glance at Grady and lifted a brow. Obviously, he remembered meeting her on the street a few weeks ago. Grady gave him a brief nod of acknowledgment and remained silent while his uncle took her statement.

  “I came home early yesterday morning after spending the night at my girlfriend’s house, and then I had to go into work around noon. I didn’t speak to Mrs. G, but I heard her on the phone when I left. I was back briefly last night, around six-thirty. I didn’t see or hear Mrs. G at that time. I haven’t been back since.” She didn’t look at Grady.

  He had just missed seeing her last night, then. He’d arrived a little after seven and spoken to Mrs. Gutchinson at that time—who told him she hadn’t seen Macey for days. That was when the cold fingers of fear began to tighten around his middle. If the nosy landlady hadn’t seen her on a Saturday, that was unusual. And his suspicions were correct: she hadn’t slept in her own bed last night either.

  “I don’t need any further information from you at this time, Miss Denton.” Linwood, a stocky, straight-speaking man, was businesslike but empathetic. He nodded a dismissal to his nephew, then turned to join Officer Bailey and the coroner in examining the scene.

  “Let’s go.” Grady looked at Macey. She didn’t hesitate, but as she picked up a valise with her things in it, she glanced toward the bed. Then, her jaw shifting visibly, she led the way from her flat.

  He wondered if she’d ever return.

  Grady debated all the way to the ground floor what to do next. He knew what he wanted to do…but there were a lot of unknown factors involved. Including the man’s coat she’d slung over her bag and was obviously intending to return.

  But when he settled behind the steering wheel and pushed the ignition, he finally had to ask. “Where to, Macey? Something to eat? A place to rest?”

  “I’m not the least bit hungry. I…don’t know.” She looked down at her hands. “I’m not thinking very straight right now.”

  A
nd obviously she wasn’t intending to return that damned coat any time soon. Grady felt a little more optimistic with that realization. “All right then.”

  He took her to his place. It was, he told himself, reasonable. She wanted to rest, she likely didn’t want to be around anyone who wanted to talk, but if she did, he’d be there. And she hadn’t offered any other option—no other friends or family. No sense in checking into a hotel.

  And maybe, just maybe, she’d finally tell him what was happening.

  ~*~

  Macey didn’t let on, but she was relieved when Grady took her home. She didn’t feel comfortable making the suggestion herself, but it was exactly where she wanted to go.

  Why, she wasn’t completely certain. She kept having to remind herself she’d only known him for less than a month, and had only been in his company a few times. She had no claim on him or his time and attention. Nor could she expend any energy mulling over why she had such a connection to him. She had enough problems and questions tearing at her mind like angry claws.

  Unlike Macey and Chas, Grady didn’t live in an upper flat, but a small, two-story brick twin that took up half a narrow building on a neighborhood street corner. By the names on some of the establishments—O’Brien’s, McFeaster’s, Garrick’s—she figured they were in the heart of some Irish enclave.

  Desperate to give herself something to focus on besides the horror of the last twenty hours, Macey looked around his home with interest. At first glance she guessed it was about three times as large as her flat.

  Bookshelves lined one wall in the living room, which was furnished with two sofas and an armchair. The shelves were filled with books on a variety of topics, and bibliophile that she was, Macey walked over to examine the selection. It was an amazing library, broad in subject and yet filled with depth. Biographies, atlases, mechanical instruction manuals, and books on mathematics, biology, chemistry, and physics—not to mention two shelves of fiction. Including Dracula and Polidori’s short, The Vampyre.