by L Ann
He threw a lingering look at the burning structure and shivered. “Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
They walked back to where Fallon and Kane waited.
“Think it’s done,” Kane told them. “I haven’t heard anything for a couple of minutes.” He glanced at the sky. “Sun will be up in less than an hour. If the fire hasn’t taken them, the sun will. There’s nowhere left for them to hide.” He gave Taz and Morgan a critical once over. “Do you want one of us to drive you back?”
“We’ll be fine. See you back at Shadowfall,” Taz told him, then looped an arm around Morgan and moved them both to their car.
~*~
“Anna… Anna…”
Morgan opened her eyes, blinking. “Did I fall asleep?”
Leaning over her through the open door of the car, Taz smiled. “Hardly surprising. I’m only awake because I got an energy boost from you.” He reached across to unclip her seatbelt. “Can you get out or would you like some help?”
“I’m not an invalid, Taz.” Forgetting about her arm, she moved, then hissed and glared at him. “Don’t… say… a… word!” she told him. “Just help me out.”
“Your wish is my command… Butch!” Taz chuckled as he offered his arm and eased her through the door.
“What are the chances of us slipping in and getting some sleep before we report in?” Morgan asked, yawning as she followed him to the elevator at the far end of Shadowfall’s underground car park.
“At any other time, perfect,” he turned to face her, his expression serious. “But this time your first stop’s going to be Doc Chambeau’s med station.” He shot up a hand in anticipation of her protests. “And that’s not negotiable. Necuno or not, you took one hell of a pounding. Dislocated your arm. If nothing else, you’re going to have that looked at.”
“It’s fine. Sore, but fine. You took just as much of a beating as I did and I don’t heal much slower than you,” she argued.
“And I took some of your blood. I’m almost healed. It doesn’t work the other way around,” he countered. Again, he halted her response, drawing two fingers along her cheek. “Look, I’m not asking you to stop for a complete physical exam. Just a few minutes. Long enough for the Doc or one of her assistants to check out that arm. Do it for my peace of mind, if nothing else. Then we’ll go upstairs and call it a night, okay?”
“I’m too tired to argue.” Morgan sighed, almost sagging against him when they reached the service elevator. She would never admit it but it felt good to have someone make a fuss over her. Felt even better when that someone was Taz. Life could be funny.
~*~
They were attended to by a new addition to Chambeau’s staff – a Dr. Allerdyce – who poked and prodded a scowling Morgan for a minute, gave her a syringe loaded with one of Chambeau’s patented concoctions and then sent them on their way.
Entering the suite, Taz was struck by a feeling almost indefinable. A vague strangeness as if he had been off somewhere and was returning after a long absence. Or, as strange as it sounded, that he’d left a part of himself in some distant place from which it could never again be retrieved.
“I need a drink,” he announced and headed to the wet bar where he paused long enough to activate the window’s sun blockers, then poured himself a large tumbler of bourbon. One long gulp finished it and he poured another. “More than one, as a matter of fact.”
Morgan disappeared into the bathroom and a few seconds later he heard water running. Returning to the sitting room, she crossed the room and took the glass out of his hand, placing it back down on the bar top. Tugging his shirt from the waistband of his pants, she then lifted her hands and unbuttoned it. When he tried to stop her by grasping her wrists, she spoke in a gentle voice.
“We’re both covered in blood, we’re tired, we’re hurting.” Se tugged her hands free and slid the shirt from his shoulders. “Come and get cleaned up.” She turned then and, without waiting to see if he followed, walked back into the bathroom peeling off her own clothes as she went.
Taz stopped just inside the bathroom door to watch as she finished undressing. As calm as the proverbial country lake? That’s what it seemed, and he was in awe of it. And of her. It was easy to admit now, inwardly if not aloud, that she was the better professional – quote-unquote ‘the better man’. And, oddly enough, that didn’t so much as put a ding on his ego. In fact, he felt honoured to have had the chance to work with her.
“Taz?” When he didn’t respond the first time, she repeated his name and turned to look at him. He stood, propped against the door frame, his eyes distant. Shock, she thought in surprise. He’s in shock. It made sense, she realised. This wasn’t the kind of job he was used to dealing with. She hadn’t been joking when she’d told him that Zuron cherry-picked the jobs he was sent on – specific jobs that would ensure, to some degree, his safety. She returned to his side and lay a hand on his shoulder, watching as his attention returned to his surroundings.
Without speaking, Morgan finished undressing him and then led him to the bath tub. She waited until he’d lowered himself in, with slow jerky movements, then slid into the water, kneeling to face him. With gentle hands, she washed the blood away from his face and torso.
“What did you do the first time?” he asked. “After you killed the pack the first time. You went in alone, didn’t you? Afterwards, what did you do?”
Morgan leaned back on her heels and looked at him, acutely aware that how she replied would be important.
“I drove into the Nevada desert, far enough so that no one could find or contact me. I holed up in a cabin there for a month. I cried for a week, suffered nightmares for years and then I learned to switch it all off.” She offered him a wry smile. “Doing that brings about a whole new set of problems though, doesn't it?”
“Hamish and Hannah – you never told them about that, did you?”
Morgan gave a wordless shake of her head.
Chances are at least her father understood, Taz thought. He took the washcloth from her and cleaned her own wounds then told her to turn around and pulled her back against his chest. They lay in silence, his arms around her waist, letting the water soothe strained muscles.
Sleep overtook them both in a matter of moments. So quickly, in fact, that Taz could recall the dream. Part of it, at any rate. The basement of the house at Lake Washington, rows and rows of child vampires, and their eyes – glowing and yellow, like animals in the dark. And then the fire… and their piercing screams…
“Taz!”
He sat bolt upright, still immersed in the tub and trembling; though more from the dream than the temperature of the water. Morgan knelt on the bathroom tiles, hands gripping his shoulders.
“Come on,” she told him. “You’re exhausted. We both need sleep.”
~*~
Morgan awoke to Taz nuzzling the back of her neck.
“Time to get up, sleepyhead,” he whispered, when she reached back to stroke a hand down his cheek.
“Not yet,” she groaned in reply, turning in his arms. She blinked up at him, feeling silk beneath her fingertips. “Why are you dressed?”
“Early summons.”
Morgan muttered a swear-word beneath her breath, making Taz laugh before he kissed her breathless, rolled away and tugged her to her feet.
“Get dressed. We’re already late.”
~*~
“What the fuc- Hell?” Taz checked himself, dialling down his language as they entered Zuron’s combination residence and unofficial local House HQ and nearly collided head-on with a wall of bodies. The suite’s main room was almost standing room only, wall to wall and corner to corner with a throng of vaguely familiar personages; separated here and there by the occasionally surfacing tray-toting serving attendant. They milled and circulated in clusters of varying sizes – swilling drink, stuffing their faces, and adding to the clattering babble of commingled voices which almost made Taz long for the chittering sound made by the now defunct ‘child pack’.
One familiar face – and a welcome one – Morgan’s ever-radiant mother, Hannah Satori, parted the grazing herd like a Necuno Moses as she made her way toward them.
“My darlings,” she greeted Taz and Morgan in her throaty accented voice. She gathered her daughter into an embrace and then reached up to press a kiss to Taz’s cheek.
Morgan scowled. “What’s going on?”
Hannah threw a quick and disapproving look into the gathering. “The excuse most of them made was the upcoming All-Houses summit conference, which is still an entire three weeks away – wanting to get an early start, or so they claim. But the truth of the matter is most of them are Rroma advocates. Blood in the water and the sharks are sniffing at Kizzy’s vacated throne.”
“Hell, talk about news travelling fast,” Taz all but groaned. “She’s been dead less than twelve hours.”
“They’re all here to attempt to wheedle an endorsement to the Parliament of Lords from your father,“ Hannah continued. “Because the word is already out that Zuron’s agents,” she nodded toward them with a wry smile, “are the ones who took care of the gang of rogue turnbloods and their horde of kiddie vampires.”
“Excuse me?” Taz did a double-take, brow furrowed in confusion and rising ire.
“Zuron and Hamish will fill you in on that little jewel,” said Hannah, snagging a flute of champagne from a passing tray. “They’re waiting for you both in the conference room.”
There was a tightness, a growing heat in Taz’s stomach as they navigated through the sea of contrived countenances. “I got a funny feeling we’re about to hear something that’ll screw up the rest of the night.”
“You think?” Morgan replied.
The door to the conference room opened wide on his second knock and, as they entered, Taz’s gaze fell on another familiar face.
“Ah, the victorious warriors,” Custos piped up, rising from his chair at the conference table’s far end to approach them.
“Well, I was half right,” Taz murmured, holding up a pair of fingers as he turned his attention to his father. “Two things – questions,” he ticked off the fingers as he spoke. “What’s he doing here? And what is this bullshit we heard about rogue turnbloods?”
“Believe it or not, I came here to congratulate you,” Custos offered.
“Unless my father’s picked up ventriloquism in his spare time, I’m pretty sure I wasn’t talking to you.” Taz snapped at the grinning Cabal cleric.
“Easy, son,” Zuron murmured, taking a quick breath before speaking again. “As Brother Custos stated, he did come to congratulate the two of you on a job well done.” He threw an acknowledging nod to Morgan. “As to what you heard, it’s the official cover story. Something Custos, Hamish and myself wholeheartedly agree on. If the real facts, the true story of what’s been going on – and what happened at Lake Washington – ever became public knowledge… if it becomes known that a member of Custos’ clan was responsible for the death of Queen Qetsiyah and her nephew, there would be bloodshed between the Rromas and the Cabal. A war that would inevitably spill over into the other Houses. Something we would all like to avoid.”
“Actually, it was Ka- us who killed the nephew,” Taz corrected. “After the little SOB iced his own aunt.”
“We’ve already spoken to Kane and Fallon,” Hamish stepped in. “They gave us a report from their perspective. And whether it was you, Kane, whoever that pulled the trigger, the Rromas won’t see it that way. I’m sure we all know none of the Rroma royal registry will shed any tears at her passing. Most of them would have assassinated her if they thought they could have gotten away with it. But that wouldn’t stop them from using her murder by Custos’ people as a lightning rod to take control of her estate and her throne. And a war with the Cabal would be right up their alley.”
“War will be declared, regardless,” Morgan said. “With both Qetsiyah and her nephew gone – and from what I am to understand, she has no children or surviving siblings – there is no clear or legal line of ascension.”
“She’s right,” Taz agreed. “And if I know Rromas, the first shots will be fired in the next day or so.”
“As we all know,” Zuron entered the exchange again. “The difference being it will be a conflict between the Houses of the Rroma alliance with, hopefully, a minimum of collateral damage and no involvement from the other Houses.”
“This is the way the story will play out,” Custos added. “Qetsiyah’s association with a turnblood criminal element turned sour. It is believed that she betrayed them and, in retaliation, they attacked her in her residence, wiping out her personal security and kidnapping her nephew. Qetsiyah came to you,” he nodded at Zuron, “asking for help in the retrieval of her nephew. During the investigation, these criminals learned of the Nikaran involvement and sent a pair of thugs to warn you off.” His gaze touched Taz and Morgan. “The two turnbloods you killed will validate that.”
“Cute,” Taz mumbled. “And convenient.”
Custos continued, undaunted. “During the investigation, it was discovered that these turnbloods had turned, and were using, children as potential agents of chaos, most probably to be trained as assassins and later sold to interested parties. The deaths of several civilians across the city can be attributed to this child cadre; for training and/or demonstration.
“In any case, this band of subversives and their homicidal brood were eventually tracked down. A gun battle ensued, and the provocateurs were eliminated. Unfortunately, Queen Qetsiyah and her young ward were killed during the battle. And that, as they say, is that.”
“Very neat and tidy,” Morgan remarked. She glanced at Zuron. “And who do you have lined up to take the Rroma throne?”
“That will be down to them.”
“Of course it will.” Morgan said dryly. “I don’t believe for a second you will not use this to your advantage.” Her eyes went to Custos. “Either of you.”
“The Rroma Alliance has been the ‘rock in the shoe’ – the pain in everyone’s ass from day one,” Taz added to the commentary. “Kizzy’s House, especially.” He glanced at his father. “Whether you will admit it or not. For all the good it would do, I can tick off at least a dozen of her scams, interferences, and out-and-out rip-offs that have cost Nikaris a very large chunk in dollars alone. Our bookkeepers would sleep better at night if there was someone on the big chair of the House of Camlo you could control.”
In the brief silence that followed, Zuron camouflaged his reaction to his son’s perceptiveness with a quick pull on his wine flute and turned away.
“Not that I could give a shit about that, one way or the other,” Taz resumed, turning to catch Morgan’s eye. “Looks like we’re done here. So, if there’s nothing else?” He waited for a response from those present. When none came, he took Morgan’s arm and led them out of the room.
Morgan shook her head as the door closed behind them. “I need a vacation.”
“You know, I was just thinking the same thing,” Taz smiled, halting long enough to turn her into a loose embrace. “What say we take a week or two? Take one of Kane’s special flights to Vegas; check into one of the big resort hotels? Relive our lost weekend?”
Morgan laughed and leaned against him. “Should I pack my SIG?”
Epilogue
Seattle Police Department
North Precinct
4:30PM
1 Week Later
In her lengthy, if not stellar career as a police officer, Detective Lieutenant Virginia Frost (Jenny to her friends) learned that three things were universal. First, the station/bullpen coffee was always burnt and tasted like shit. Second, no matter where in the department you worked, the air always smelled of burnt coffee, stale cigarette tobacco (regardless of the current directives against smoking inside buildings) and B.O. Third, and unlike the popular television police procedural shows, no case was ever solved and/or cleared up without a trunk load of loose ends and lingering doubts.
Case in point…
The stack of files and folders on her desktop and the large cork display board in the office’s right-hand corner, both containing elements of the case one of the city’s lesser media tabloids had christened the ‘Missing Child Murders’ and her colleagues in the department laughingly referred to as the ‘Rug rat Vampire Massacres’.
And both failing miserably short of the complete and truthful picture.
Truth. Now there was a term that, Jen couldn’t help but smile in ironic amusement, in this case contained an uneven mixture of surrealism, paradox, and headache-inducing incredulity.
The files, for example. Although now joined into a single foot-high collection, they were actually three separate entities. The largest being theirs – Seattle’s, of course – and two others, requested after the transfer of herself and her partner, Detective Sergeant William Moseley, to the Special Crimes Unit. Files sent to them by the Sheriff and Police Departments of Tacoma, Olympia, Longview, Washington and Portland and Salem, Oregon, which chronicled incidents with similar aspects which took place more than three months before the discovery of the DeFrancos in Ravena.
And the board… Jen started to rise, then decided against it, sagging back into her seat instead. Why bother? She thought. The splatter pattern collection of photographed and photocopied bits of crime scene evidence and scribbled notebook observations… speculations, theories and leads (none of which panned out) were pasted to the insides of her eyelids. Some of them had even managed to insinuate themselves into her dreams.
Four months all totalled. The Police and Sheriff Departments of six counties, some thousand-plus man hours into the investigation of sixty-six strange and savage murders and the as-yet-to-be-explained disappearance of more than seventy children between the ages of eight and fourteen. All of which with a small string of connecting links: on-site foot- and/or bloody hand- and finger prints of children and a significant absence of blood in the victims.