by Mark Henwick
“Familiar?” she said, returning to her seat and leaving the angoisse on the table.
My fingers passed over my neck, feeling the phantom pressure of the barbs and the old memories of fangs biting. I shivered again.
“The deepest lesson, that few really wish to learn,” she said, “is that when that special desire comes, that overwhelming desire that will not be denied, the angoisse will not stop you doing what you truly wish. Whatever the cost.”
We drained our wine and walked to the door.
“Whatever gods look down on you, Amber,” she murmured, as if in prayer, “may they guide your steps, and your hand.”
Chapter 10
Back at my apartment, the whole day seemed to recede into a dream.
The colonel had organized a data library on the internet. I accessed it from my laptop and started to upload the security footage from the club. The connection was lousy and I distracted myself by trying to write a report of what had happened. I was bone tired and my mind was fuzzy. In the end I kept it to a link to the footage and one word—call.
Lying back on my bed, waiting for the upload to complete, I reached out and picked up Tara’s plaque from the bedside table.
Tara was my twin sister. She’d been stillborn. No one understood why I kept her plaque with me, or why I’d had it made, back when I was still at school.
People who lost loved ones sometimes had a photograph. I’d seen ones with birth and death dates on them. Tara had none of these. She’d never really been born, or died. There were no dates. There was no photograph. Others had tried to make out that she didn’t exist because of that. Maybe I was the only person who still thought of her.
I held her plaque. It was so glossy that I could see myself in the reflection. I didn’t need a photograph. This is what she would look like now.
“Tough day?” she said.
“You could say. Found the vampires though.”
“Tell me about it.”
It seemed easier to tell her than it had been to write a report. Of course, there were things I’d wanted to downplay in the report that I could just say to my twin.
“If there’s a chance those three vampires were involved in the murder, then it’s going to have to fall under the colonel’s jurisdiction. How are you going to handle that with the police?”
“I don’t know, at the moment. That’s got to be something the army will have to handle. But will I be able to stay in the PD afterwards? That’s another concern. The army won’t keep finding me jobs, and if they stop doing that, how am I going to argue against going back to base?”
“So vampires can alter people’s memories,” she said. “Cool. That would be a real neat trick to be able to do.”
I could hear her unspoken comment—it might not be so bad being a vampire if there were benefits like that.
“I don’t want to become a vampire, Tara. I don’t want to end up back in that cell.”
“That’s if the army could find you… When they can’t even find vampires without your help.”
I frowned. That was one way to think of it.
“But the footage shows vampires lose control sometimes. Is that what’s in store for me?”
“Why would you think you would lose control like that?”
I lay back and tried to evaluate that objectively, but Tara wasn’t finished.
And hiding details about Valerie for her safety? Nothing to do with the fact that she’s the one person you’ve met who can point at you and say ‘vampire’?”
Sure, getting Valerie back to Nebraska and hiding her location was for her safety. But I couldn’t lie to my twin. Tara was right; I’d actively moved to hide Valerie from the army, and the reasons were complicated.
I refused to follow that line of thought. I wasn’t a vampire. I wasn’t becoming a vampire. I just didn’t want to risk Valerie confusing the issue with the army. There’d be some way for me to stay out of the Obs cell and live here in Denver.
I fell asleep telling myself that.
Chapter 11
SATURDAY
Fangs, just outside of my view, poised around my throat, pressing, gradually changing into the cold, metallic embrace of the angoisse. The taste of blood in my mouth. My cell phone woke me from another nightmare.
I knew who it had to be, and that was better than icy water in my face.
“Morning, Colonel.” I tried to sound as if I’d been up for hours, as opposed to asleep for three.
“Sergeant.”
“That lead on Club Agonia was good.”
“That security video is from the club?” I could hear the tension in his voice—and maybe some subdued excitement. If I’d started to doubt myself, he had to be several steps beyond doubt. And now, suddenly, there was evidence.
“Yeah, but the vamps aren’t a club thing. The club’s just a sex club with the accent on kinky. There weren’t any real vampires there at the Blood Orchid last night. Those three guys were visitors earlier this week. They’re the real thing.”
“How do you know? Did you make a positive ID? The video looks right, but it could be faked.”
Knowing that this would put wheels in motion made me hesitate, but I couldn’t duck the question.
“I didn’t meet the vamps. I spoke to the girl. I could still smell them on her. And that was before I saw the video.”
The colonel hesitated too. I could imagine the thoughts going through his head. How much could he trust me, or my sense of smell? What if I was wrong? Maybe he was even concerned how it would look on his record, not that he’d ever given that impression when we were both in Ops 4-10. But he was in the same position I was. He had to take it seriously. This was the whole reason for the Obs unit—find out if vampires exist in the US and then assess the threat.
“Where is the girl now?” he said.
I swallowed. “I’m not sure, sir. She’s not at the club anymore from what I understand. Worked there under a false name.” Right up to that point, I hadn’t known which way I would go. I’d just stepped across a major line in my mind. The gap between my present self and the old Ops 4-10 Sergeant Farrell widened into a ravine.
How the hell did I think I was going to get away with hiding Valerie from Obs?
“Do you know where these three are then?” He was concentrating on practical matters.
“No, sir. There may have been a sighting of them in the vicinity of a murder later on Thursday evening. That murder’s also raised a flag in my mind, but I haven’t had time—”
“Is the murder connected to the club?”
“I don’t know, sir. The neck wounds looked right, but I didn’t get any time to check. As a rookie in patrol, I can’t ask questions without people wondering why I’m trying to get involved. Even the little I’ve asked has caused some problems. I’d need to have access to someone senior cleared by you.”
He was silent for a moment.
“I’ll put together a squad,” he said finally. “We’ll be there by early afternoon Monday.”
“Colonel, we know they must normally make a lot of effort to remain hidden. That video shows one or maybe two of them losing control, big time. What if that’s a problem that escalates? Three of them go rogue in downtown Denver? I know we don’t have a specific location yet, but, with respect, sir, I think we need a rapid reaction force here today. And we need to figure out how to coordinate with the Denver PD.”
“I hear you, Sergeant. First off, I have to remind you, I no longer control 4-10. I’ve got channels to go through.”
I couldn’t believe my ears. The colonel had to requisition troops?
“If we need to discuss this with the police when we arrive, we have a list of possible contacts in the PD to go to. It’s got to be someone senior enough to keep it under wraps, but not so senior that they’re political. One person. What we can’t do is start spreading the knowledge around.”
“Uh. Okay,” I said. He hadn’t asked for my input, but I was the one on the scene. “I’d recomme
nd Lieutenant Morales. He’s tipped to make Captain of Major Crimes soon. He’s good.”
“I’ll take that on board,” he said. “And Sergeant?”
“Yes sir?”
“Calling me sir is something you tend to do when you’re really stressed. I need you operating clearly and efficiently.” He paused to let that sink in. “Get a lead on those three before we show up and maybe we can keep this out of the police altogether.”
The line went dead.
Shit.
He was right. Ops 4-10 wasn’t a unit where you used ‘sir’ a lot. On ops, we hadn’t even used ranks. But how exactly did he expect me not to be stressed? I was allowed out of the Obs cell on the basis I didn’t turn, didn’t leak, supported myself and did the jobs the army threw at me. If I did the job and identified vampires in the US, I made myself redundant, or the police threw me out, or I got classified as a vampire anyway. Or all three. Every route seemed to point back to the Obs cell.
I wasn’t going back there willingly, whatever happened. And I wasn’t going to send anyone like Valerie there on just the suspicion they might turn.
That was all to worry about later. The three vampires had to be caught. First step, I had to find a lead.
Guess I’d have to skip the repair of the fuel pump on my car and head downtown instead.
Shit again.
My car decided that wasn’t a good plan. I made it to Rom’s garage at midmorning, only thanks to his tow truck.
I already had the new fuel pump, and the cost of hiring Rom’s car bay and tools was nothing compared to getting a garage to fix it, even after the cost of having it towed here.
The reason for that cost, however, was the job was a stone bitch. The fuel pump lived in the fuel tank, so everything had to be taken off and then reassembled.
Rom grinned and dived back under the hood of his current job, a BMW.
I pulled on my coveralls and got on with it.
After half an hour, Jo came in, wearing old clothes, and helped. Balancing the time spent answering her questions and the instructions I had to give her against how much time I saved doing the job myself was a close thing, but we spent half the time laughing. Jo couldn’t have realized it, but it was exactly the distraction I needed.
Rom came and helped with the last part when Jo had to leave.
Afterwards, I let the engine run while I cleaned up.
Rom was leaning against my car, wiping his hands while he listened to the steady idle. I’d kept my shirt on, but he hadn’t. My eyes roved. He wasn’t my dream man, by any stretch, but he had pretty ripply bits when he moved around, and that dark wavy hair went so well with the gypsy brown eyes.
I sighed. The colonel would spontaneously implode if I somehow infected anyone else with prions, and his medical team wouldn’t rule out what they tactfully called ‘intimate contact’ as a method for infecting other people. So, the rules said no touch. But they didn’t say no look.
“Work out okay at Agonia?” he asked when I rejoined him.
“Yeah.” I rolled the coveralls into a plastic bag and tossed it in the trunk.
“It really not for fun?”
“Not for fun at all. Apart from my entrance, thanks to you.” I reached into the car and blipped the gas pedal. The engine revved up with no hesitation. Woo hoo.
He shrugged off the compliment. “You a PI?”
Rom didn’t speak too well, but that didn’t affect my judgment on his brain, and yeah, what I was doing for the colonel was closer to a sort of exotic PI job than police work. Except maybe the undercover stuff the DEA did. Allegedly.
“Yeah, something like that. Some of the time.”
Rom got the hint and backed off from asking about my work. I didn’t want people to know I was in the police. Not for any feelings on my part, but I didn’t want people reacting differently to me.
He stuck his hands deep into his pockets and eased his weight from one foot to the other.
“This been good for Jofranka,” he said finally. “She needs something to help her feel okay about herself. Strong. Smart. You know?”
I nodded. Helping people find their potential was something I enjoyed and I knew he was asking about that in his roundabout sort of way. Jo didn’t need a lot, she had a quick mind and a thirst to try things. But I could hardly recommend myself as a mentor—or friend. Not with the doubts hanging over me.
“I’ll think it over,” I said. “I’ll keep an eye open.”
I’d heard my cell ring a couple of times while I was working and I picked it up now to check who’d called. The number surprised me; it was a guy called Greg Whitman who I’d worked with at my last job.
I walked out of the garage to call him back.
When I’d managed to get out of the army’s laboratory, they’d recommended a safe, steady job. Some high watt light bulb decided that meant accounting. I was in no position to argue, and if spreadsheets and learning financial regulations was my ticket out, I was going to take it. The big thing going for it was they’d found me a position in a company here in my hometown of Denver.
It had worked out better than expected, right up until I blew the company apart by exposing the criminal behavior of the CEO. In the resulting chaos, Whitman had taken the best of the staff and the best of the clients and set up on his own. You could say I’d helped him, but I wasn’t expecting any calls from him, and I wasn’t going back to being a trainee accountant or bookkeeper.
“Amber! Thanks for calling back. How are you?”
“I’m good, thanks. I heard your new company is going great. Congratulations.”
“Ah, thanks. Look, Amber, I don’t want to take up too much of your time on the weekend. I’m due at the golf club in a few minutes, but do you think you could make time to come in on Monday and have a talk?”
“What about?”
“Well, y’know, what you did impressed me, I’ll say that. And it impressed a lot of the old clients, too. Turns out, there may be a business in there for you.”
“I don’t follow, Mr. Whitman. What kind of a business are you talking about?”
“Private investigations for commercial clients. I know,” he hurried on, “PIs are a dime a dozen, but listen to me, the clients need someone who understands financial information.”
“I don’t know, I have a job. I’m a policewoman.”
“Yeah, and cops are great. Look, give it some thought over the weekend and call me Monday. We can talk it through. Gotta go now. Talk Monday. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I ended the call, and briefly indulged in a fantasy of running my own little PI business, before squashing it. Whatever he said about commercial clients, PIs make their steady income staking out lap dancing joints in divorce cases. I’d call and turn it down on Monday. Anyway, the colonel would go ape-shit if I tried to pull something like that.
No, I needed to take police work more seriously, stop daydreaming, stop shooting my mouth off, develop respect for the positions of authority, the rank and not the person, yadda, yadda, how hard could all that be? I did it in the army. Except then, I really had been a rookie. Now I had more experience in crisis situations than half the Denver PD put together, and I still didn’t get the respect I’d had in Ops 4-10.
The opportunity to spend some time trying to find a lead had gone when my car refused to start this morning. I only had an hour or so before I needed to show up for the Saturday night shift on patrol. I would have to try again tomorrow.
Meantime, I had a session booked I didn’t want to miss. I’d laughed some of my frustrations away with Jo earlier, now maybe I could burn the rest of them out.
Chapter 12
“You are focusing too much on me,” Liu said. “Loosen your mind, perceive everything.”
I snorted. “Last time, Shi Fu, you were telling me to focus on your eyes.”
“And in contemplation of the contradiction, your mind will approach the ideal.”
Liu didn’t smile much, but I had a feel for hi
s sense of humor. Our one minute breather over, we lifted the padded gloves and closed again.
I took great care when I sparred with his other students. On top of ten years studying martial arts, my strength and speed had increased since I was bitten. I didn’t want to break someone’s jaw accidentally.
This was not a concern with Liu. Despite being older than me, he was startlingly quick and elusive. I got a real thrill out of landing more than a couple of blows on him in a sparring session like this one, where we were essentially boxing, limiting ourselves to punches.
It focused me. It helped force me to put everything else aside and concentrate on hitting that weaving target without picking up too many hits myself. That would be good at the moment—I could come back fresh to the problems of what to do before the colonel arrived on Monday.
Liu enjoyed it as well, usually.
He called an end after the next flurry of blocks and jabs. We’d worked up a sweat, but I had expected a couple more rounds.
“Come,” he said, stripping his gloves and head protector off. He walked to the corner of the Kwan. “Follow me in the form.”
He started to move through one of the standard forms. My body hitched onto the muscle memory and I flowed along with him without having to think about it.
“Good,” he said. “The body is engaged. The small mind is engaged. The large mind can roam free.” He sank into an asymmetric stretch. “And you can tell me what is bothering you.”
“Huh?” I missed a move and had to catch up.
“You’re never fully absorbed in the moment, Amber,” he said, spinning on the spot and blocking attacks from imaginary assailants. “You always hold a little back. But today, you are holding a lot back. Why?”
We stepped back in sync. “I’m bothered by things at work.”
“This is seldom so. What bothers people may be rooted in work or fed at work, but more often it is simply that it remains unresolved in the time spent at work.” He crouched and came up smoothly on one leg, held it perfectly still. “What is work?”