Ria's Web of Lies: A Ria Miller Urban Fantasy (Ria Miller and the Monsters Book 1)

by Nigel Henry

  "And have you met this boy?"

  "Yeah, nothing I couldn't handle. And he passed the holy water test."

  Dad sucks his teeth. "I suppose it couldn't have been that easy."

  "I know, right? I've also tested a few of the teachers. They've all been clean. What if we're not dealing with a monster? What if we're just dealing with a crazy human?"

  "Then they're still a monster, and we have to stop them before they take anyone else."

  "Does that mean I can salt and burn them?"

  "No. It most certainly does not."

  The diner's located on 164th Street and Broadway. It's a busy street, so all of the free spots are taken. I spot Mom's new car out front, and then I spy a metered parking spot down the way. I pull in, Dad drops the cash, and then we're on our way in.

  Mom and Inspector Perkins are sitting in the back. Mom's dressed like she came from work, in a well-tailored black skirt suit and a dark pink blouse. Perkins is wearing a ratty fleece and his head is covered with a baseball cap. I guess being seen in public with his uniform on while chatting it up with the family of a crime reporter would be a bad look. We all exchange pleasantries as we sit down, and Perkins picks up the conversation.

  "As I was telling Erica, the missing student is a senior at Technical Innovation. Male."

  "So he's the same age as Marcela, Camila and Kian," I note.

  "What's his name?" Mom asks.

  Perkins flips open a notebook. "Emilio Castro." He pulls up his phone, taps the screen a few times, and slides over a photo to us. I'm already gagging as I see it.

  Castro's a fairly handsome looking boy. He's got dimples on the sides of his face, and his eyebrows aren't bushy in the way that most boys are. He looks like the kind of guy that would date...

  Shit.

  I look up, remembering what Marisol told me. "Is there any connection between him and the other missing students."

  "You bet," Perkins replies. "Castro and Torres dated for a few months before she went missing."

  "You've got to be fucking kidding me," I groan.

  "LANGUAGE!" Both my parents yell in unison.

  "Sorry!" I say back before returning to Perkins. "My classmates tell me that Emilio here and Mark Bell got into a big fight last year after he started dating Marcela Torres. I hear Bell got the sh...stuffing beat out of him."

  "We know," Perkins says. "That's why Bell is the prime suspect. He's being questioned at the Precinct right now."

  "Are they going to arrest him?" Mom asks.

  "I don't think so. They don't have any evidence. It doesn't look good, but there's no proof he did it."

  "This doesn't make sense," I say. "I was able to beat up Mark Bell with both of my hands tied behind my back. How could he be the killer?"

  "Not everyone's you," Perkins notes.

  "I get that, but why would he be so obvious? Why would he kidnap three people who have direct connections to him? If he's smart enough to make bodies disappear, he's not dumb enough to leave that obvious of a trail."

  "Listen, we see it play out a thousand times with adults," Perkins says. "Kid can't handle a breakup, goes and kills his ex-girlfriend. The new boyfriend confronts him and gets himself killed, too."

  "Except Emilio Castro beat Bell up!" I point out. Something's just not adding up to me. I'm fully willing to believe that Mark Bell is a psychopath who kidnapped his two girlfriends, but how'd he pull that off without anyone seeing him?

  "Let me talk to him," I suggest. "I'll get the truth."

  Perkins scoffs. "What are you going to do that the officers at the 34th Precinct won't be able to?"

  "I'm not a cop," I point out. "He might open up to me. And at worst, I can beat him up until he talks."

  "Absolutely not," Perkins says. "There's going to be officers swarming around him at all times from here on out. There's no way you get near him."

  "You just tell me when he's being released from police custody. I'll worry about getting past your guys and making him talk."

  "I'm not so sure this is a good idea," Mom says. "We're in the business of putting away monsters and revenants. Humans are outside our expertise."

  "Listen, you guys asked me to get to the bottom of this. Isn't that why I'm going to school here in the first place? So let me do my job and find out what's really happening. I promise I'll back off if it really is Bell, but my gut tells me something's off."

  My parents and Perkins look at each other for a moment. Finally, Dad sighs. "I guess we did always teach you to follow your gut."

  Perkins pulls out a pen and scribbles onto a napkin before passing it to me. "This is Bell's address. I'll check in with my guys to see when he's getting out."

  I accept the napkin and nod. "Thank you."

  "Thank us by not getting yourself caught or killed," Mom says.

  "Wouldn't dream of it," I say as I rise to leave. "How would I be able to enjoy my car?"

  TWELVE

  MARK BELL and his parents live in an apartment on West 187th Street, just a short drive from the diner. I park a couple of blocks away and make my way over on foot, my hoodie pulled up over my head.

  Just as Perkins said, I spot an unmarked police car sitting across the street from his apartment. Guess there's no point in being subtle when you think you've got a serial killer to deal with. Still, they're going to make it difficult to get in or out of the building without being seen. Out especially, considering Mark Bell's probably going to be screaming bloody murder after our little chat.

  I hang back a couple of buildings away and look for another way to the building. Thankfully, all of the apartment buildings here have side alleys where trash gets tossed. Even better, they've all got fire escapes. Counting my lucky stars, I climb up a dumpster and jump onto the nearest ladder. It's a bit of a pain to haul myself up, but then I'm in business.

  I scale the fire escape to the roof and walk across the blacktop. I'm not quite so worried about being spotted in the evening light, so I peek out over the edge and take in the scene. So there's the cop car in front of Bell's apartment, then there's a totally inconspicuous buff guy in a hoodie holding a coffee cup at the western corner. Really, dude? You think that's normal? You think people just hang out on street corners sipping cups of coffee at dusk?

  God, I'm so much better at this than any of them are. Remind me to send Inspector Perkins an invoice for my services.

  My phone buzzes. Speak of the Devil, it's Perkins himself. "Bell just left the precinct. If you're going to get to him, you better do it now."

  "Thanks, will do," I say before hanging up. Okay, so the 34th Precinct just so happens to be on 184th Street. That's walking distance. We're a couple of avenues and a big hill over, so I'd say I've got maybe five minutes to get into Bell's apartment. No sweat, right? All I have to do is figure out how to get across two rooftops.

  I walk over to the edge opposite where I came up and take in the distance. Too far to jump. I could aim for a fire escape, but would pretty much eliminate the whole "silent" part of this.

  Then, thank the lord, I spot a ladder laying against the rear ledge. Looks like I've found my way across.

  "Thank you, careless Building Superintendents," I say as I grab the ladder and lean it over the edge. Surprise, surprise, it easily bridges the gap. In fact, it's so perfect that it makes me wonder why it's actually up here. Something tells me I'm not the first person to need to travel across the rooftops here in Washington Heights.

  With the ladder, it's actually pretty easy to get across both alleys and before you can say ninja, I'm on Bell's rooftop. I peek back over and catch sight of Bell and a short, skinny woman that I'm guessing is his mother as they turn the corner onto the block. Gotta hurry now. Without wasting another moment I'm climbing down the fire escape to their third-floor apartment. I try the window and it slides open. No one locks their windows in New York. Inspector Perkins would be so disappointed in the Bells if he didn't already think their son was a murderer.

  With the window o
pen, I slide into Bell's bedroom. It's certainly a boy's room, with posters of basketball players and bikini-clad women up on the walls. Clothes are all over the floor, and a small television and a game console are in the corner. No books on kidnapping or murder, though.

  I hear the sound of keys jingling in a door handle outside, so I duck behind Mark's door and wait. The Bells enter the apartment, and Mark's mother sounds exactly like you'd expect the mother of an accused murderer to sound.

  "...why won't you at least talk to me?" she asks. "I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on."

  "Look, I already said enough for the night," he says curtly. "I'm going to bed."

  The bedroom door opens and Bell walks in. I close the door and step behind him. "Boo."

  He turns and a look of horror draws across his face before I twist his arm and slam his face down against the desk. "You make a single sound and, I swear to God, the cops won't get here fast enough to keep me from killing you. Do you understand?"

  He grunts in pain and nods. "Good," I hiss. "Now, you're either evil and stupid or incredibly unlucky. Which one is it?"

  "I told you, I didn't do nothing," he says through the pain. I twist his arm further, drawing another grunt.

  "And I told you I'd be keeping an eye on you. Or maybe you thought I was lying. Trust me, Mark. I don't lie. You, on the other hand..." I twist his arm. "Then again, maybe you won't have the other hand after this."

  "You're crazy!" He gasps.

  "And you've got a bunch of people who know you that have gone missing. You want to explain that to me or I should I start breaking things?"

  "I can't," he cries. "They'll kill everyone."

  "What are you talking about? Who will kill everyone?"

  "Man, I can't say!"

  I slam his head against the desk. "I promise you that the only thing you need to worry about right now is what I'll do to you if you don't start talking."

  "Okay, okay, fine," he says. "Let go of me." I release him and he reaches into the dresser, pulling out a piece of paper. A message is printed on it in bold as if the writer really wanted us to know he meant business.

  It reads: TALK AND YOUR FAMILY DIES.

  I look up at Bell, who's rubbing his arm. "I found this in my locker after Marcela went missing."

  "And why the hell didn't you show this to the cops?"

  "I'm sorry, didn't you read what it said? I tell anyone anything, and they're going to kill me."

  "Wait, what is there for you to tell? What do you know?"

  He looks hesitant and I take a step forward. "I'm not a cop, Mark. But, believe me, that won't stop me from breaking your face if you don't talk."

  "Marcela said she heard something about Camila."

  "What'd she hear?"

  "I..." Mark says before clamping his mouth shut. I huff and sweep his legs out from under him before stepping on his neck. "What. Did. She. Hear?"

  "Camila was hooking up with a teacher!"

  Well, that takes me by surprise. I ease up. "Which one?"

  "I don't know. She didn't know. Camila wouldn't say."

  "Fucking hell, Mark. You're being set up by a teacher and you're playing along with it!"

  "What am I supposed to do? Who's going to believe me? Everyone already thinks I'm this gang-banging murderer who starts fights in school."

  Fight. That reminds me. "Emilio Castro. You and he got in a fight. What for?"

  "He was being a dick about dating Marcela. Real disrespectful. Every time I'd see them together he'd be all like 'Look at her, Mark. I got your bitch now.'"

  "Oh, grow the fuck up," I hiss. "Marcela's a woman who's capable of making her own decisions. Don't tell me you got in a fight because of stupid guy pride."

  "Look, I don't know what you want to hear, okay? I stepped to Emilio, but it didn't work out. He beat my ass. Would've killed me had Mr. Foster not stepped in."

  "Wait, what?" Foster's name sets off alarms in my head.

  "Mr. Foster broke it up. Hauled us both to the Principal's office. I was pissed at first, but he saved my life."

  I grab the letter from him and take a photo of it. "What you doing?" He protests. "You're going to get me killed."

  "And you not saying shit is going to get everyone killed. I'm going to find out whose behind this."

  "You saying you believe me?"

  "I'm saying I think you're too stupid to be a killer."

  I head over to the window. "Keep your head down, Mark."

  MY MIND IS RACING as I climb over the last rooftop. I feel like someone just gave me several pieces to the puzzle.

  Camila was sleeping with one of the teachers at Tech. That would explain why she vanished. Marcela knew about it, which explains why she was targeted. Emilio sounds like he was taken just to point the blame at Mark. Which would mean that whoever did it had to know that Emilio and Mark didn't get along.

  And oh, hey, there just so happens to be a teacher who broke up their fight: Mr. Foster. Who just so happens to be one of the teachers I haven't given the holy water test to. Then again, holy water only lets me know if you're a monster. It doesn't do anything to alert us to pieces of shit.

  I need to tail Foster. I need to learn more about him. Something tells me he'll lead me to the missing students.

  I'm already formulating a plan as I climb down the last fire escape into the alley. There's two people in the alley, a guy and girl who look like they're making out pretty heavily. The man is kissing the girl on the neck, and her eyes are closed as if she's loving it. It's all pretty intense, but I've gotta get past them onto the street.

  "Excuse me," I say, feeling sheepish. "I just need to—"

  The man pulls away from the girl's neck and his mouth is covered in blood. Her blood. He hisses as me, revealing two very big, very bloody fangs.

  "Holy shit," I exclaim.

  I just met my first vampire.

  THIRTEEN

  WELL, shit.

  The vampire drops the woman and turns to face me. I've got the stake out from my boot before it can take a step toward me, and suddenly we're in a standoff.

  "You took a wrong turn, little girl," the vampire hisses at me, blood dripping from its mouth. So not only are vampires real, they can shit-talk as well. Isn't this my lucky day?

  It looks at the stake in my hand and laughs. "What are you going to do with that? Give me a splinter?"

  Oh, give me a break, buddy. It's not like I planned on running into a vampire on my way back from interrogating a murder suspect.

  He takes a threatening step toward me and I slash the air with the stake while moving back.

  So here's the deal: normally I'm completely game to take on whatever kind of supernatural monster we come across. But that's because my folks and I have done our homework. We know how strong trolls are compared to revenants or werewolves. We know their weaknesses. This thing, I've never seen it before. I've got no idea how to actually kill a vampire. Centuries of legends say that stabbing my stake through its heart should do the trick, but for all I know, that's a lie told by the vamps themselves.

  All of this is to say that I am so screwed right now.

  "How about you put that little poker down, child? I promise I'll make it quick."

  "Oh, just shut the fuck up and attack already."

  He charges at me. I dodge to the side and slash the stake across its arm. That does absolutely nothing, so I kick the vamp's knees out try to bring the stake down on his chest while he's on the floor. The bastard blocks and elbows me in the face. Hard.

  Okay, so that's something to put in the vampire file. Their blows feel like someone's hitting you with concrete. I'll be sure to write that down. You know, if I survive.

  The blow sends me stumbling backward and my mouth fills with blood. I roll over and spit it out.

  "Hey now," the vampire teases, "don't go wasting any of that precious blood. I need it." I really wish I was dealing with a troll. At least those assholes can't talk.

  He trie
s to pounce on me, but I bring my feet up to his stomach and flip him over. I scramble over to the stake and get to my feet right as the vamp comes at me again. Bring it. Let's see how well this fucker can fight.

  He telegraphs a right hook at me. I parry and return a knee to the kidney before sending a jab at his chin. Holy fuck, it's like hitting a brick wall.

  The vampire smiles and headbutts me. I see stars and lose my balance. Shit, he's really strong. Too strong to fight. I've got to get away.

  He wraps his hands around my neck and pulls me in close. I start gasping for air as he licks his fangs gleefully.

  "You should be proud," he says. "You lasted longer than anyone I've come across in the past fifty years. Now, I promise that this won't hurt too much."

  "Yeah, but this will," I wheeze before stabbing my stake into his chest. That seems to hurt him because he lets out of a pained screech and tosses me against the dumpster. I slam into it with a loud thud and collapse on the ground before rolling over to see the vampire as he scampers away.

  "This is not over," he shouts as he jumps up to the fire escape, without the aid of the dumpster. Which means vamps are also able to leap tall fire escapes in a single bound. Good to know.

  "Yeah, you better run!" I shout as I put my hand to my face. I'm bleeding a ton, but I'll live. Then I look over to the girl, who isn't nearly as lucky. I put two fingers to her neck, already knowing that I'm not going to find a pulse. I take in her face. She looks peaceful, her white skin extra pale, and her eyes closed.

  I'm going to find that fucker, and then I'm going to make—

  I hear men's voices coming from down the street and I struggle to my feet, groaning at my shitty luck. What do you want to bet those are cops? And here I am, standing next to a corpse.

  I need to get out of here. Fast.

  I struggle to my feet, take a moment to appreciate that nothing is broken, and then I peek out the corner. Just as I suspected, both of the officers from the squad car and Mr. Night-Coffee are running my way. They’ll be here in about 20 seconds, which means I've got to hurry.