by Tanith Frost
No problem.
St. John’s isn’t a city of high-rise apartments, but mid-level buildings dot its landscape, providing affordable housing for much of the population. A male vampire in blue jeans and a plaid shirt meets us at the door of a white building and leads us up to the fourth floor. The smell of cooking cabbage wafts out from one of the doors we pass, and the sickly, skunky smell of pot from another. A baby cries down the hall.
Sometimes I forget that the living occupy the night just as we do. The humans who live here can’t experience all of this activity as clearly as I do, but I wonder what it’s like to live in a building where people are so closely connected to the intimate details of their neighbours’ lives. Will these people care that their neighbour is gone? Did they ever wonder where she went so many nights?
The other vampire leaves us without a word at the door to the apartment and heads back downstairs. I guess we’re not the only troops Miranda has called in tonight.
Daniel leads us to the bathroom, then pauses in the doorway. His shoulders drop. Just slightly, for the briefest moment. To a living eye it might have seemed nothing more than an inconsequential shiver, but I catch it. He steps in and reaches for a tissue to guard his fingers before he picks up one of the two empty prescription bottles on the counter. Several boxes of over-the-counter sleeping pills are scattered around as well, blister packs exposed and empty.
Our victim—if that’s what she is—lies in the bathtub. If the water was hot enough to steam up the mirror when she ran the bath, that heat is gone now. The room holds the chill of a tomb. Appropriate enough, given the lack of heartbeat among the four of us.
I turn to Trixie. She looks a little green.
I’m not going to ask. It’s not my business, any more than my freak-out at the murder scene was hers.
I look instead to the victim. She’s clothed in jeans and a tight white tank top that shows off both her petite frame and the faint scars on her neck. The wounds we leave tend to heal up quickly, a process aided by flavourless compounds in the little vials we offer our stock. Still, after a few visits, we leave our marks on them. This was certainly one of ours. She stares wide-eyed at the ceiling.
Vomit floats on the surface of the filthy water and coats her chin. No blood. There’s an empty bottle of bottom-shelf vodka on the floor, though.
Daniel leans back against the little counter beside the toilet and folds his arms across his chest. He’s rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt to the elbows, but I’m in no mood to admire his well-muscled forearms. “Well, crew?”
“Suicide,” I whisper. My throat closes. It’s not the how that bothers me, but the why.
Trixie clears her throat. “I’d guess she took the pills over a decent time frame. Got the drugs deep into her system before she could pass out. Drank to make sure they’d do their job. Got into the tub so she’d drown if they didn’t, but asphyxiated first.”
“Should we consider foul play?” I ask, feeling like I’ve suddenly fallen into a crime show on TV.
Daniel shakes his head. “No. This is not unprecedented.”
I look at the victim again. Small. Pretty. Like Daniel likes them. I glance at him and catch the tightness around his eyes.
“She’s the one who freaked out the other night, isn’t she?”
He rubs a hand over his jaw. “She is.” The apartment’s door opens on squeaky hinges. He glances out, motions for someone to come in, and looks back to the body. “It happens when they can’t move past the addiction.”
My skin crawls. We did this. Not directly, but if not for us, if not for our club where we’re so careful to treat them decently and not kill them, she’d be alive.
I step out into the hallway to give myself some space as the most beautiful vampire I’ve ever seen strides toward us. And that’s saying something. Many of us have faces that leave human beauty in the dust, but this one must have had angels for parents. She moves with long strides, hips moving like she’s wearing heels even though her black boots are as flat as mine. Silver hair streams behind her, long enough to graze the bottom hem of her black suit jacket. It’s a stunning contrast to her unlined face. Were she alive, I’d place her at a perfectly maintained forty years old. Given the dark depths of her cobalt eyes, I’m going to guess that she’s been dead nearly as long as Miranda.
A big male vampire is now waiting by the door, arms crossed over his chest, scowling at us. Or maybe that’s just his face. Not everyone is born with the potential for perfection. His bald head shines under the overhead lights, and thick eyebrows shadow small, dark eyes.
I step backward to give the female space to enter the little bathroom. She assesses the scene, then nods to Daniel. “Good to see you again.”
He lowers his gaze. “A pleasure as always, Katya.”
Trixie squeezes out of the bathroom, but her eyes don’t leave the newcomer. I can’t look away, either. Her power is quiet and controlled, but it’s undeniable. Either she can’t conceal hers like Daniel can, or she wants to make an impression on the new kids. I wonder if that’s common among elders—and there’s no question that’s what she is. One of the old ones, the great powers who built our world.
“Nothing unexpected?” she asks. Her voice is silk, silvery and smooth as her hair.
“I don’t think so.” Daniel doesn’t sound broken up by this. That’s as it should be for a vampire, but his indifference is off-putting. The life that once flowed in the dead woman could well still be in him, yet for all I can tell she could be a complete stranger. “We’ll make sure there’s no note of her scars on the autopsy report, but otherwise there’s nothing that should concern us. Looks like she lived alone.”
“Excellent.”
“When did you get back from London?”
I leave their conversation behind to head for the bedroom and push the flimsy wooden door open. The white walls are unadorned save for a couple of band posters held up with blue putty. Someone’s landlord must have been a real treat to deal with. The bed’s made, everything tidied up. A few bright scarves hang over the mirror on the dresser.
I sink down on the edge of the bed and close my eyes. It’s quiet here. No shadows. I’m not freaking out this time.
At least that’s something to be thankful for. But as I look around, I realize how little I’ve thought about our stock. Who they are outside the club.
How did she get there and home? Did her visits to the club affect her daily life, her job?
Not once have I wondered like this about any of them. I’ve never asked their names. I’ve seen them as less than human within the club’s walls, and never even realized it. I’ve cared that they were there by choice, that they wouldn’t suffer permanent harm. Or so I thought.
But when I’ve been there to feed, they’ve only been my prey.
It seems wrong that I have the audacity to care about this one now, or about the victims at the crime scene. I rise and move toward the mirror. It’s a myth that we don’t have reflections. I can see myself clearly now. Pale skin displaying the weakness of my blood, pale eyes betraying how new I am to all of this. I lean on the edge of the dresser and press my forehead to the glass, inhaling the perfume that clings to the scarves.
A shadow flickers in front of me when I close my eyes, as though reflected in the mirror. Fainter than the ones at the crime scene, and silent. I hold still, focusing. It’s gone…but I wonder.
This isn’t a freak-out. I don’t feel like I’m going insane, but the shadows are back.
Trixie’s and Katya’s voices move down the hallway toward the open-concept kitchen and living room at the other end of the short hallway. I walk silently back to the bathroom, assuming Daniel is with them.
He’s not. He’s still standing there, looking down at her.
I touch the bare skin of his forearm. “You okay?”
“Of course.” But his voice catches.
“Daniel.”
He smiles sadly at me. “We have to be okay. Understand?”
“I remember.” It’s a relief to know he feels something. I look down at her. “Can I have a minute alone here? I want to try something.”
“Absolutely. Just don’t disturb anything. I’ll be with the others.”
He’s almost out the door when he turns back, reaches down toward her face, and closes her eyes, resting his hand there for a moment before lifting it, then wiping any trace of himself away with a damp cloth. She looks peaceful now. Not like the rogues’ victims.
Daniel leans in close on his way by me so that his breath tickles my ear when he speaks. “Not a word to anyone about that, Aviva.”
I almost smile. “I’ll assume it was for my benefit.”
“Very good.”
And maybe it was. If I caught the slump of his shoulders when he identified the victim, he surely caught my despair as I did the same. Maybe he did this for me, so I wouldn’t have to struggle with the decision of whether to let myself do it. But maybe he did it for her.
The more I learn about my new world, the less I know.
I close the door behind him. It should feel strange to be alone with a corpse. Creepy. But she’s not bad company, really, as long as I don’t breathe in the smells her death left lingering in the air.
I sit on the closed lid of the toilet and close my eyes again. I reach for the darkness in me, my deepest power, and feel nothing unexpected. No shadows. No ghosts here. And yet I still wonder whether there’s a chance that the shadows aren’t my mind playing horrible tricks, but something else.
The shadows came at the other house when I opened myself to seeing the victims as people, when I let my human emotions take over. I think back to the bright scarves, the perfume. I think of the thin walls and the nights she likely spent trying to sleep while the neighbour’s baby cried and kept her awake. I think of her open, staring eyes, and the darkness. Not the one that fills me. Mine is an active darkness, a void that’s somehow full to bursting with potential. Instead I think of the darkness that led her here, to a pile of drugs and a cheap bottle of alcohol, to a tub where the skin on her fingertips wrinkled as she died choking on her own vomit instead of slipping off to sleep as she likely expected.
The loss she endured, one she couldn’t even remember after the Inferno’s enforcers wiped her memory.
A cool tear slips down the side of my nose as I stand and turn toward the counter without opening my eyes.
A shadow passes in front of me. Faint, disappearing as it passes the edge of the mirror’s frame. It’s not as present as those at the crime scene. Just an impression of movement, and a faint wave of despair that tightens around my heart and tugs. No fear. In fact, there’s something like hope buried in the pain.
I open my eyes, and it’s gone.
“I hope you found the peace you wanted,” I tell her softly. Not that I think she’s around to hear it.
I don’t know why this shadow was softer. Maybe because she didn’t die in terror like the others. Maybe only murder leaves such strong impressions, or maybe it’s vampire involvement that strengthens them. But I’m grateful to her.
I understand now. I wasn’t losing my mind when I got caught up in the screaming, swirling darkness in that kitchen.
Daniel was right about me. My potential goes deeper than either of us understood, and it’s connected to my empathy. I just wish I knew what it meant for the investigation.
When I join the others in the living room, Trixie is listening raptly as Katya tells Daniel a story about the vampires of London. Katya’s bodyguard is sitting on a hard chair by the dining room table, hunched over with his elbows resting on his knees, shooting cold glances at Daniel.
Katya smiles at me, cool and confident. “And you’re Aviva. I’ve heard about you.”
I’m not sure how to take that. So much depends on who she’s spoken to. “Miranda mentioned you to me, as well,” I say, glad I at least have that. I may have my faults, but my memory has improved since I died, and I remember every word of that conversation in the club. “She must be glad you’ve returned.”
Katya’s smile widens. “It seems like things are quite under control, but we’re happy to be here to help, aren’t we, Christopher?”
Her grumpy friend nods reluctantly.
She looks around the shabby living room. “Not here specifically, of course. I think we’re finished, Daniel?”
“Absolutely.”
We take the stairs down. It’s not until we reach the car that I realize Trixie and Katya have fallen behind.
“Hold on. They’ll be a minute,” Christopher grumbles, and heads for a white car at the end of the parking lot.
Katya approaches us a minute later, Trixie trailing a few paces behind.
Daniel gives her a wry smile. “Stealing her, are you?”
Katya chuckles. “You know she’s suited to this work, and ready for far more than what she’s doing now. You’ve been good for her, but she could be learning more from a new teacher.” She glances back at Trixie, who has stopped far enough back to give them room to talk in private. Katya drops her voice to a murmur. “She respects you, Daniel, but she’s overconfident and too familiar with you to want to listen. You know me well enough to know I’ll steer her right.”
“She’s all yours.” He says it loud enough that Trixie can hear, and she lets out a little squeak. He seems relieved. I guess he sees this as better than letting her loose on her own. “Where are you staying?”
“The usual place downtown. I’ll get her a room. There’s no point setting her up anywhere permanent if she’ll be travelling with me.”
My stomach drops. “She’s moving out?”
Katya smiles at me. “Don’t worry, little one. He’ll turn you out of the nest soon enough.” She steps back and looks us over, as though framing us for a portrait. She laughs, revealing her fangs. “Or maybe he’s just been waiting to get you alone.” She strides away before either of us can answer. “Trixie will be by for her things shortly,” she calls back over her shoulder.
“Elders think they’re so fucking smart,” Daniel grumbles, and gets behind the wheel of the car.
As soon as my limbs unfreeze, I take my place beside him.
The memory of the body upstairs fades as the understanding of what’s just happened hits me.
Trixie is moving out.
I’m going to be living alone with Daniel.
Shit.
11
Trixie is gone.
It took us all night to get her things packed. I expected her to take some clothes and cosmetics, things you’d take on any little trip, and come back for the rest when she needed it. Instead, she took it all. Not that we own a lot, mind you. Most of what’s in the house is Daniel’s. But her room is empty save for the furniture. It looks like an empty dorm room.
She’s really not coming back.
I’m exhausted. Packing up her shit wasn’t physically tiring like training was earlier tonight, or as mentally taxing as our brief investigation of the suicide, but I’m emotionally drained. Everything changed tonight. I want to go to bed and sleep the day away, but I’ll have to pass the open door of her room to get to mine, and that’s the most exhausting thought of all.
Instead I sit on the kitchen counter, in the spot Trixie’s big, fancy coffeemaker used to occupy. I don’t know why she would need that at the hotel where she’s staying, but it’s gone. Daniel prowls around the room, opening and closing cupboards. Checking to see if she missed anything, I guess, but we don’t keep a lot in here. There’s not much need for gourmet cooking equipment when you feed on the living.
He glances at me, opens his mouth, and closes it, shaking his head.
I understand. I feel like there are things I should be saying, questions I should be asking, but the words aren’t making it from my brain to my mouth.
I feel like my heart should be pounding as I watch him. My body is certainly responding in other ways. There’s no doubting what I’m feeling now, what I want now that we’re alone.
<
br /> My own body is still a mystery to me. I’m not allowed to know all our secrets. The living have speculated for so long about us that there are a thousand theories and superstitions ranging from horrifying to downright twee, but the reality is stranger than all of it.
I’m dead. And I’m aware. A few hours ago I was shut in a bathroom with a corpse, reflecting on my own culpability in her death, and now all my mind wants to focus on is how Daniel’s body moves beneath his clothes, lean and strong and predatory. Maybe I am a monster, if I can move on so quickly.
I should ask him if he’s all right. Something back in that apartment affected him, I know it did. But I also know he won’t talk about it. We’re not supposed to, and Daniel is nothing if not faithful to the rules.
He looks at me again. My skin prickles as his gaze locks on mine, then trails slowly down my body. I’ve already changed into my pyjamas. The oversized pants are modest enough, but the tight top doesn’t hide much, and I don’t need to look down to know it’s obvious where my thoughts have wandered.
Does he feel the same about me? Katya seemed to think so, but aside from that one kiss that could just have been about teaching me a lesson…
Fuck it. I have no idea. All I know is that I want him. Maybe I always have, but was too scared to realize it. Too respectful. Too distracted by trying to find my place in this new world.
He steps closer, cold hazel eyes shadowed by thick brows drawn together in a concerned frown. “You did well tonight,” he says. I told him about the shadows on the drive back. He didn’t have much to say about them, but he seemed pleased that I’d got something. “Your training with Trixie, the body. You seemed okay with it.”
“Not okay. Just… better.”
He smiles sadly and looks down. “You do get used to it.”
“Daniel?”
“Hmm?”
“I’m sorry I was so cold toward you the past few days. Since our last training session.”
He meets my gaze again. “Was it because I kissed you?”
Direct. There’s nothing coy about Daniel, at least not as I know him. I like that. It’s not like I can trust just anyone these days, but I do trust him. He’s never intentionally misled me. Always tried to help my helpless ass even when it was the last job in the world he wanted to be doing.