by A J Brahms
"Uh…yeah? Julie didn't tell you?"
No. She didn't. I sighed. "Was it the victim's ring?"
"It was on her finger, so yeah. It's a Neophyte ring worn by new initiates of, get this, the Church of Paths. What the hells is that?"
I felt Aberdeen's sharp look at me, but kept my eyes on the road. He and I certainly knew about the Pathies—that's what we called their zealots. Founded in the late seventies by a man named Alastair Conway, a Southern preacher who battled a Night Walker for possession of his daughter. He set up the organization a year after she died. Conway didn't understand Night Walkers, or that his daughter had been made into a Ghoul, illegally, of course, by Night Walker standards, and not a Vampire. Conway tried all the wrong remedies on his daughter as he watched her waste away, not knowing the only thing that could help her was a taste of Vampire blood. Because his daughter had been newly made, I'd figured her need for the blood was weekly, and once he wrestled her from the Night Walkers, severing her from the blood that sustained her, he'd sentenced her to a horrible, corrosive end.
Ghouls are transformed by their Master's blood, during a lunar ritual that binds their souls and their will to their Master. Time erodes the starving hunger for the blood. It even lessens its consumption. But without it…a Ghoul has no chance of living.
Conway created the Church of Paths to combat the Night Walkers, only he found it difficult to make his word heard through all the Hollywood movies, romance books about immortal Vampires, and then TV shows, all of which depicted Vampires as not only sympathetic creatures, but tropes of popular culture. They weren't real. Only the truly weird followed the Church of Paths in the beginning, but as time moved forward Conway changed his philosophies and broadened his teachings to include all manner of things that went bump in the night. He'd even managed to capture a Night Walker and torture it, to show his congregation he was right.
Oh how the crazy and the righteous and the crazily righteous flocked to him back then. Conway had actually caught the attention of the local unconventionals. The last thing they wanted was exposure, and Conway was making enough noise—he had no idea how close he came to being put down.
Till he did it to himself.
Right at the high point of the Church's righteous "Vampires Are Real" campaign, a few of his more radical believers captured what they thought was a Vampire and tortured her. She'd been a prostitute, nothing more. A helpless human. Those members were tried and convicted of murder by torture, and the Church's name was front and center. After that catastrophe, the Church moved back into the public's memory and lived in relative obscurity.
But not in ours. No…the community I belonged to watched the Pathies. Always. They were always a danger, waiting to explode once again.
"Ren?"
I cleared my throat. "Uh yeah. I've heard of them. Google the name and look up cases from about four years ago." I waited while I knew he did a search and held up my hand when it looked like Aberdeen was going to speak. We were still on speaker.
Abruptly Luke let out a few swear words. "Shit…yeah. I remember these nuts. Killed that prostitute over in Decatur. Damn…I thought they'd disappeared."
"Well, they did," I said. "But they're still around. If she was wearing one of their rings—"
"Then I should go talk to the Church of Paths."
"Wait until tomorrow and I'll go with you."
Luke paused. "Pick you up at your place?"
"Sure."
After promising to give me a call, I disconnected with Luke and glanced at Aberdeen. "You're thinking what I'm thinking."
"I'm thinking you shouldn't have gotten involved with the Talmadge Family."
True. But here I was. "That's not what I was thinking. I was more wondering if the Pathies know what that building is. I know it's covered by all kinds of dummy corporations and even houses a legit historical society, but given Conway's obsessive nature, it is possible he found out."
"And you think he sacrificed one of his members to set up the Talmadge Family?"
"I think Alastair Conway is capable of anything. Bringing this kind of attention to it exposes that building to police scrutiny."
"Ren…they sell out the building for weddings and parties…how is that not exposing it?"
"Because they can control those events. If the police come in…" I thought of those whispers, the voices, and licked my lips. My mouth was dry. First sign my own feeding was soon. "I need to see Conway's face when he's confronted."
"Ren…" Aberdeen shifted in the seat as he faced me. We stopped at a light and I glanced at him. "You have a heartbeat. You breathe. But you haven't changed. Not in the fifty-two years since the day you were made. You don't sleep and you don't eat in public."
"And your point? You think Conway's going to know I'm technically not human?"
"I think you should not be on that man's radar. Ever. I hear they still send out their hit teams to torch Night Walkers, and they've actually salted a few Fairy Cairns."
"I hadn't heard about that."
"Because you keep a closed ear about the Fairies. You're sleeping with one of them."
The light turned green and I hesitated. The guy behind me honked and I moved forward. "I do not sleep with Jazzi Fitzpatrick. She just gets me some of the cooler gigs in town. For pictures. Nothing else." And that was the truth. As it stood today. Tomorrow? Eh…Jazzi was a fickle Fairy. "She's a cultivated source."
"And so are you to her. Her knowing what you are isn't a good thing. Mark my words." He pointed a long, thin finger at me. "You're going to miss your turn."
And I nearly did, but I saved it last minute and made it into the parking garage of my home. I lived in a penthouse in Midtown. The place had a wraparound balcony. Why a penthouse with a wraparound balcony? For Aberdeen. He loved high places and did, at times, sit on the roof and watch the world. Just doing his thing.
It was a great layout. Two bedrooms, both with their own balconies. I took the bedroom in the back of the place, with two closets. Aberdeen didn't really need a lot of closet space since he just sort of thought his clothes into existence. Of which I was glad. I'd had to think about what our lives would be like if he, like werewolves, shifted forms and didn't have clothes ready. I don't think I could have survived a lot of naked shots of the priest.
Honestly…not even one shot. Ugh.
I'd decorated the place with antiques, something my Gargoyle buddy had an eye for. I'd brought a lot with me through my move from Oregon to Atlanta, since my Master had collected them and I inherited it all. And when Aberdeen found a bargain, he had access to his own card, which he used sparingly.
He liked gadgets too. Aberdeen might look like an old-world scholar with an uncanny resemblance to famous actor, but he was fascinated by technology. He was also the one that found a lot of my antique cameras, which I kept in my office, along with my own computers, table space and servers. I kept my own Cloud and did not use anybody else's. I kept it hidden and off the grid. If you don't know it's there, how can you hack it?
The place had three bathrooms, one of which had been titled a powder room on the floorplan. It was to the left after stepping inside and I converted that into a darkroom. Which is where I spent the rest of the night, developing the photos I'd taken, but not before scanning the images from the polaroids into the computer. I couldn't explain why the scanner picked up the images and two hours later, they faded from the polaroids. They just did.
Once the shots were hung and dripping over the bathtub, I made myself some coffee and stood out on the corner of the balcony around the living room and watched the sun come up. It was a ritual of mine, a moment of appreciation that I hadn't been turned when I was taken. That I'd retained my ability to enjoy the sun.
And that I still lived.
I always used that time to go over whatever puzzle my subconscious was working on. So at that moment, it was the voices, so distinct and individual, as well as the haunting image of that young girl and the thought that she could be one o
f Conway's flock, a sacrificed lamb. But for what? The worst the police could find in the Hall would be old documents, and it was registered as a historic site. What else could be there that he might want exposed? Did it have to do with the voices? Were they real? In my head?
They reminded me of a time when I had so many doubts about who and what I was, a long time ago.
Four
I spread the pictures on the dining room table after the sun came up. Of the twenty-four shots taken on the Pentax, eleven showed me spirits. Essence caught between life and death…
"Oh my," Aberdeen said as he came in through the sliding glass door. He stood beside me, then moved a few of the pictures himself. "Ren…none of these are of your victim."
"So you noticed." He was right. I could make out seven distinct people, a few in period clothing—maybe around 1910. And then there were some in much older clothing. I thought of George Washington's era. And then there were two who didn't belong. Two dressed in what looked like…
"Are they wearing riding leathers?" my friend said as he leaned forward and peered at the picture.
"Looks like it to me." I owned a set of riding gear, though I hadn't touched my Ducati in several years. Made me question why for a second.
"Did you scan in the polaroids?"
"Of course." I retrieved the stack of print-outs from my office and set them on the table. None of the ghosts from the developed shots were in the polaroids and vice versa, though they were taken in the same house. Was it the choice of camera? Film? And who were these other people? None of them seemed to be aware of the other, each looking in opposite directions, oblivious to the spectre beside them.
"This is just damn strange," Aberdeen mused.
"I need you to research that house, Aberdeen. As well as the Talmadge lineage and their connection to it." I looked at him sideways. "Think you can handle that for me today?"
He crossed his arms over his chest and tried to look put out. But I knew him. The scholar in him loved research, finding facts, and dispelling myths. I'd just given him the equivalent of a nice juicy steak…something he wanted on a daily basis but could not eat.
Gargoyles never ate.
I drank a half bottle of water and set it down next to two empty ones. Aberdeen gestured to them. "I would suggest you feed before you go out."
"Not yet," I said. "Can't afford the twenty-four-hour stupor just yet. Too much to do. I'll be fine."
"Uh huh. Have you picked up your latest shipment from Carson?"
Emmet Carson was the local medical examiner. Human, but with a touch of something not-quite-human about him, Carson had cultivated a clientele for the undead. He provided fresh blood to those Vampires wishing to keep their feeding off the radar of the modern world, and Vampire blood to us few rogues who needed it to survive. The Vampire blood was the most expensive stock he kept and it had a shelf life of seven days. When I put in an order, I had four days to pick it up.
I had a day and a half left. I figured I'd go by the morgue tonight and grab the blood, and hopefully tomorrow I could drink it and sleep. But that was contingent on solving this case for the Talmadge Family and the police.
I had a long day ahead of me.
"I could always pick it up for you," Aberdeen said.
"I know." He could try. Carson only sold to his buyers, no middle men. And he didn't trust Gargoyles. Carson was afraid of Aberdeen because whatever it was that made Carson not-quite-human didn't like the priest.
The doorbell interrupted our conversation and we looked at each other with confused faces. I could hear the heartbeat outside the door. Human. And they were nervous. Not afraid nervous, but more of an apprehensive sense.
Luckily, I'd already showered and dressed in jeans and a white hoodie after sunrise. Aberdeen continued looking at the photos as I peered through the peephole.
And I was surprised at who my guest was.
Opening the door, I smiled at Detective Julie Wallace. "Hello there…can I help you?"
She stared at me and opened her mouth, then closed it.
"Detective?"
"Luke said you were coming with us to talk to Conway at the Church of Paths."
"Oh." I raised my brows. "You guys got an interview with the big guy this early? I figured it might take more time."
"Yeah…" She smirked. "Once we mentioned we were bringing you, he was all about it."
Oh. Hells.
"So…you wanna tell me how the leader of the craziest religious zealot cult in the Southeast knows your name?"
"No. I wouldn't." Because I had no idea. "So are you here to fetch me?"
"Yeah."
I stepped back and gestured for her to step inside. "Please then. If you'll give me a few minutes to change, we can get going." I waited for her to step inside before I shut the door and proceeded to the dining room. "Aberdeen…would you get our guest a cup of coffee or maybe a glass of juice while I dress?"
"Oh…no. I'm fine." She stopped just outside of the dining room and stood in the crossroads of the kitchen and the living room. She wasn't looking at me or Aberdeen, but at the view just past the couches and fireplace. I had to admit, it was impressive.
"Go on outside and enjoy," I said as I made my way to my room. There I changed into clean jeans, a nice pair of shoes, a nice shirt, and suit jacket. I grabbed my bag and checked the cameras. I'd reloaded the Pentax and the Polaroid while developing film earlier. I had extras in a black velvet bag, shoved into the side compartment. I also had several small vials of the Sacrament and wolf's bane.
One could never be too careful dealing with the clients I sometimes came across.
But of course, none of these things would work against Conway. Him recognizing my name did alarm me, and I was going into this a little on guard.
Stepping out of my room, my bag in hand, I found the two of them looking at the pictures.
Crap…I forgot the pictures were out. Usually I selected a few of the photos to show Luke and Julie, since a lot of the shots I took aren't exactly…uh…explainable. The dead don't always communicate in a way we can understand. So, showing them a house full of spooks had nothing to do with finding the girl's killer.
Having the two of them see all the shots, like these, could generate questions I didn't have answers to, or answers I didn't want to give.
"Ren…" Julie's voice had a catch to it as I stood at the end of the able. "What the hell are these shots?" She pointed to the larger black and white shots I'd developed from the Pentax. "Who are these people? Is this from a Halloween party or something?"
Like that.
"No, it's not." And I gathered the black and white shots up and handed them to Aberdeen with a glare. "Don't you have something to do?"
"Of course," he said and walked down the hall to my office.
I gathered up the pictures of the victim and stuffed them into my bag. "Let's go."
"You're not going to answer me, are you?" she said as I followed her to the elevator.
I smiled. "No. I'm not."
Julie had a plain white sedan. So plain I wasn't sure what make and model it was. I assumed it was her and Meehan's patrol car because of the mounted laptop between the driver and passenger seats.
She relegated me to the back.
"We're picking up Luke over at the precinct," she informed me.
"Sure." I watched as the rest of the world moved about its business, people going to jobs, coming home from jobs, running errands, never knowing there were creatures like me driving by in an off-white sedan that smelled like…what was that smell?
"Why do you hate me?"
That was one hell of an icebreaker. I faced forward and caught her looking at me in the rearview mirror. "I don't hate you."
"You never talk to me. You don't share what you find with me. And you're always contacting Luke, not me."
I laughed. Didn't mean to, and it was more a nervous chuckle. "Look, I worked with Luke first, that's all. I have a stronger relationship with him."
&n
bsp; "Is it that you don't like women?"
I nearly choked. "Don't like women? You mean as police? Detective Wallace—"
"Julie. I told you to call me Julie."
"—Julie. I do not hate you and I do not hate women." I kept eye contact with her while we remained at a stoplight. Finally, I said, "When you started working with Luke, you didn't believe in what I did. You thought I was a grifter—"
"I did not."
"You called me a grifter—Julie." Grifter. Someone who uses confidence tricks. "When have I ever lied to you, or Luke, about what I see in these pictures? Do you think I doctor the photos to give you what you want? Do you think I'm a charlatan, scaring you and the APD? Scamming you, for what?" Now I did laugh. "You don't even pay me."
"Notoriety?"
"In case you haven't noticed, I only work with you two. No one else knows what capacity I'm there for."
"Which makes me wonder…how is it you can afford such a nice place? I mean…what do you do for a living?"
I reached into my bag and pulled out my Pentax. "I think we've been over this before." I put the camera back. "Why are you grilling me?"
She moved the car forward. "I don't know. I just…" Julie sighed. "Just never mind. I'm sorry I said what I said."
I didn't say anything else as we pulled into the station. Luke was on the stoop and waved at us. He had a phone to his ear as he strolled up. Once he was in the car and hung up, I handed him the print outs of the polaroids.
He sifted through them. "Damn…that's her."
"Any ID yet?"
"Not yet. But I'm sure we'll get it today. Or if not, from Conway," Luke said.
Julie pulled out into traffic.
"Yeah…about that…" Luke turned in his seat and handed me the pictures back. "How does he know you?"
"I don't think he knows me."
"He said no to meeting us until he found out you'd be coming with us. In fact, he seemed more interested in meeting you than helping us find a killer." He frowned. "He doesn't know you're different, does he?"
I didn't know what to say. "I guess we'll both find out," I said and Luke turned back around.