Blood Trouble

by Connie Suttle

  "I hope so. I don't want to dig through the entire sewer system, searching for a separate cache."

  "How much time has he had to dispose of bodies, you think?" I looked at Bill over my coffee cup. I'd killed the San Francisco vampire before going to Somalia. If his death triggered this rash of murders, then a second vampire had weeks to kill.

  "We have at least twenty missing women reported, since the disappearances in San Francisco stopped," Bill lowered his eyes and studied the dark brown liquid in his cup. He took it black. Plain—just like his office.

  "These bodies were found south and west of the Eleventh Street Bridge," he pushed a map toward me, showing outfall points along the Anacostia River. The outfall circled on the map wasn't far from the Anacostia Riverwalk Trail, so I assumed the bodies had been found by someone walking past.

  "A jogger spotted the body near the outfall," Bill confirmed my guess.

  Twenty minutes later, we were in a car with dark-tinted windows, driving toward the Eleventh Street Bridge. After parking, we were led to a spot where a boat waited, and Bill and I climbed aboard the small craft. The boat's driver maneuvered us toward the outfall entrance where the first body had been spotted. A warning sign was posted near the square, concrete opening, declaring it a combined sewer overflow discharge point, and stating that pollution might occur during rainfall.

  "We've checked all the other outfalls, and there weren't any bodies, plus we've had boats out, looking for more. It may be just a fluke that the two we found washed over the dam inside the combined sewer." Bill looked troubled, his brown eyes raking my face before turning to study the water outside the outfall. It hadn't rained in the past two days, so no water came through.

  "Can we get closer?" I asked.

  "Are you sure?" Bill asked. "It's far from clean." He studied my clothing and shoes. I wasn't really dressed to go traipsing into a sewer. I was prepared to do it anyway.

  "Let's go," I jerked my head toward the entrance.

  We ended up hunkered over and wading through shallow water, and I knew the shoes and jeans I wore would be thrown away afterward. Bill, before we scrambled inside the sewer, called someone and asked for extra clothing to be brought for us.

  "It doesn't smell good," I mumbled once we got inside. Bill had to duck farther than I did to fit into the drain, but both of us saw the concrete dam that stood about half the height of the combined sewer section.

  During dry periods, the water stayed below the level of that dam and nothing flowed over it into the river outside. Rising waters in the sewer from heavy rainfall would cause the water to pour over the dam and wash toward the outfall.

  Discreetly I sniffed through the combined outfall and even walked in to peer over the dam. The water level behind it was far below the flood range. No bodies were near, and hadn't been, in my estimation. The two girls had been swept from another part of the sewer.

  "How far have you searched into the sewer from here?" I asked, turning toward Bill.

  "Pretty far, and we didn't find anything," he replied, toying with his phone. "See—absolutely no signal, and we're barely inside the pipe." The phone was held up for me to see.

  "That's odd," I shook my head. "Is something jamming it?"

  "No idea. I'll ask for a sweep of the area, though."

  "Are there any places above ground—an opening or something, where bodies can just be dropped in?" I asked.

  "Not an official opening," Bill hunched his shoulders. "There are several locations where something might be dug, but then a hole would have to be punched into the roof of the sewer to drop bodies inside."

  "I think that's what we're looking for," I said. After all, the San Francisco vampire had gotten past the police to drop his last victim; therefore, it only made sense that he had a private entrance somewhere. All the other entrances were staked out, watching for his return. "Ready to go?" I asked.

  "More than ready," Bill agreed.

  * * *

  At least I was clean again and smelled infinitely better when Bill took me to lunch near his office. He was eating vegetarian at a specialty restaurant, which only served vegetarian and vegan items. He even said he enjoyed his tomato soup and veggie burger lunch. I smiled foolishly at Director Bill and accepted his lie as I ate the same thing.

  "We've got a lot of ground to cover if we're looking for a hole where bodies can be dropped into the sewer," Bill sighed as we left the restaurant. "It could be covered when it isn't used, making it more difficult to locate."

  I nodded as Bill buttoned his coat against the chill—D.C. was downright cold in December and snow was threatening later. Christmas was only three weeks away and I could tell Bill wanted this out of the way before the holidays.

  "Bill," I sighed, hunching my shoulders, "what do you know about vampires?"

  * * *

  "You found something?" Ross Gideon leaned back in his leather chair, making it creak softly as he spoke to Bob Sullivan, his private detective.

  "I have a lead," Bob acknowledged over the phone. "If it pans out, I think you're really gonna like it. How close are you to finishing that bio on Everett Williams?"

  "It's almost done. Most of the chapters have gone to the editors," Ross replied. "Only need to tweak the last chapter and approve the photographs. Why?"

  "Because we may have a juicier fish on the line," Bob chuckled. "If this is what I think it might be, you'll like it for sure, but old man Rome will absolutely love it. He may have to grease some palms to get the best stuff, but it's looking awful good right now."

  "Who?" Ross straightened up in his chair, his booted feet hitting the floor of his office with a thump.

  "Joyce Christian," Bob said.

  "Are you shitting me?" Ross was on his feet in a blink. "Rome will pay whatever it takes to get dirt on her."

  "I think we may be able to accommodate him," Bob laughed.

  * * *

  Breanne's Journal

  "That's your theory—that vampires are doing this?" Bill didn't know what to think, I could tell. He didn't deny their existence though, and that was a good thing. At least I trusted him to keep the information to himself—if the vamps learned I knew about vamps, they'd probably send somebody to place compulsion. Or, if Bill trusted me enough to introduce me to vamps, they'd either scent me as one, or, if I shielded myself, would be mighty concerned that they couldn't get a scent off me, likely resulting in the same thing. If they ever learned that compulsion didn't work, well, I envisioned a rather protracted fight with the vamps.

  "I think—yeah. Bill, I really think it's vampires." I was afraid to tell him it was vampires with an obsession—I was treading unsteady ground as it was.

  "I can assign teams to track open ground over the sewer system, but that'll take a lot of people and possibly a long time on top of that," Bill shook his head. "I have limited resources in the country at the moment, and most of those are dealing with other problems."

  "I can help," I said. I could, and I'd smell vampire before any humans would, that was a given. "I just need a map of the sewer leading away from the outfall we looked at earlier. I can do this without any help."

  "Bree, there's no way I'd send you out there by yourself," Bill protested. "I have one person I might pair you with, but I warn you, she is really tough and not so talkative."

  "That's okay. I'm usually not a chatterbox either."

  "I know. It's just that she scares most of the men she's been on assignment with. If you go out with Opal and she upsets you, then I expect you to tell me immediately. I'll put her with somebody else."

  "Sounds fine," I shrugged. I didn't tell him that I could place compulsion just like any self-respecting vampire could, and we could have cooperation, one way or another. "I've always liked the name Opal," I added. "It's pretty."

  * * *

  Forcing myself not to stare rudely, I read Opal Tadewi as quickly as possible. Bill didn't have a clue that not only was she Native American, she was also a very rare shapeshifter. He knew
she was a shapeshifter, but not how rare she was. Opal didn't know that Bill knew (sort of) what she was. Bill thought it was funny and never called her out on it. Currently, I stared at a four-hundred-year-old shapeshifting velociraptor.

  Opal had the uncanny, unblinking dark eyes of her alter ego as she sized me up. I'd already thrown up a shield—she was getting no scent from me and that puzzled her greatly. I knew, too, that velociraptors, when they roamed the Earth, were only three feet tall or less. Opal, like many shapeshifters (especially werewolves) was much larger than that. While the normal velociraptors resembled big chickens, Opal was bigger and scarier than that—I could read it in her easily.

  * * *

  "I found three," Q'Ind Ribalo nodded to Hordace Cayetes. "Three pretty little girls. Two six turns old, the other five. They'll be ready in three years."

  "Good. That's when the ones we have will turn fourteen," Hordace thumbed through his comp-vid. "Completely trained when we get them, as usual?"

  "Yes."

  "Perfect. What's your brother up to?"

  "He's looking at information on Keef. Says he may be able to use intelligence he's gathered to track him. Keef might not be one of your primary targets, but he's still a big fish."

  "Good enough. My sources say Keef is Wyyld's heir. That ought to be enough to unbalance the Reth Alliance founder. Maybe we can get to him if we kill his successor."

  "Sounds good—my brother is especially motivated on this one."

  "What about Kalia? Any news on that little bitch?"

  "Not yet. Even the information we've intercepted from Keef indicates he can't get to her. I have no idea what that means," Q'Ind held up a hand to hold off further questions from Hordace. "I hear she's on Avendor somewhere, but that's where the trail ends."

  "I should have killed her when I killed the others her age. It's just that," Hordace sighed.

  "She could sing like the angels," Q'Ind agreed. "Nobody could resist that."

  "If I'd known that Iversti was paying Cull for her services after Cull married her," Hordace growled. "I told my idiot cousin that she had to stay with him."

  "He tricked you into giving her to him. She should still be here with us. Iversti could have had her anytime."

  "Cull knew he could sell her, and that's exactly what he did. Iversti had to pay top credit for her."

  "Iversti made sure his marks were on her when he sent her back to Cull the first time," Q'Ind observed. "Cull realized his mistake—nobody else would touch what Iversti claimed for himself."

  "Too bad Iversti died when he did," Hordace pointed out. "I was ready to send him after Cull. Cull was a liability by that time, and Iversti would have brought Kalia back here."

  "Rezil is prepared to go anytime if we find out where she is," Q'Ind snorted. "He knows she was there when Iversti went down. He wants to ask her how his brother died before he kills her."

  "Killing her is the easiest way," Hordace muttered. "Although I would like to hear her sing again."

  "Too much trouble for us if she lives," Q'Ind agreed.

  * * *

  Lissa's Journal

  I hadn't sat on top of the palace dome in a long time. That's where I'd settled to get away from everything for a while. More and more I considered sending mindspeech to my sister up and down the timeline—I'd looked forward to meeting her—talking to her. Asking about her life and sharing stories. I worried that she'd been bullied so badly by Gavin, Gavril and the palace staff that she'd never come back. I'd found her, only to lose her before we'd had a chance to connect.

  "Beloved," Belen settled beside me in a muted flash of light.

  "Belen?" I looked up at him—he'd dimmed his light greatly so he wouldn't appear as a beacon to those who wandered below us.

  "I believe your sister killed the Sirenali who placed obsession on Cheedas, but I cannot determine how the obsession was eliminated in your Chief Cook. A Sirenali's obsession outlives the Sirenali, if it is not removed by the one who placed it before their death."

  "That's not scary or anything," I mumbled, hugging myself. Did it frighten me that my body had died after Cheedas staked me in the chest? More than a little. I often woke from sleep with that memory—my heart pounding and my breaths fast and trembling. Several times Karzac had been summoned at the most inopportune moments, just to deal with my panic attacks. "Trevor, Norian and Kooper are still attempting to discover how the Comet's Tail exploded, too."

  "I believe the two are connected, but I will not speculate."

  "Then I won't spread that rumor. Norian can find out for himself," I grumped. I'd sent him packing—straight back to his suite and his office on Wyyld. I didn't care if the ASD remained headquartered on Le-Ath Veronis—I liked Kooper well enough, and he was in charge here more often than not, since Lendill had taken to spending most of his free time away from Reah with his father, Kaldill Schaff.

  Time moves differently for those in Gaelar N'Seith, and I had no idea how long it might take Kaldill to hand the rule of the Elven lands to Lendill. I didn't ask Lendill, either, what he might be learning from his father to prepare him for the Kingship.

  "Belen, I'll admit that I'm scared to death over these sandstorms. I thought they might be over when things happened as they did with the Dark Worlds. Now it looks as if they were just toying with us. That they want us to know they can destroy everything, and we have nothing in our arsenal to stop it."

  "Yes. I found myself trapped by that same power, and it took someone with great strength to allow my escape."

  "You don't think it was—you know?" I didn't want to say Ashe or the Mighty Hand aloud. Who knew whether someone was listening? Nexus Echo was much too common among the powerful.

  "No. Certainly not that one," Belen employed his knowledge of humanoid gestures and shook his head.

  "So," I sighed. It could have been my sister—it could have been. I wanted to ask Belen if he thought she knew what she was. Certainly, the power she'd employed a time or two indicated it, but did she even know about the Mighty? Something in me—a feeling, perhaps—said she didn't. That frightened me. I wanted her beside me so I could tell her. Not only what she was, but to be wary. Someone or something hunted her, as it did all of them, and anything with enough power might destroy them if they weren't careful enough or watchful enough. I sighed a second time.

  "So much hinges on their safety," Belen rumbled. He'd picked up my thoughts.

  "Yeah. I wish there was something I could do."

  "I as well. So far, I have only managed to be captured as bait."

  "Not good," I frowned. "I worry that my sister won't ever come back."

  "I know." Belen rubbed my back with gentle fingers. "Had I not been captured, I might have done something. As it was," he didn't finish.

  "I know. So many people slink out of my way, now, because they know they screwed up. At least Skel Hawer didn't survive."

  "One of the few things that went the proper way," Belen agreed. "I hear he provided a meal for Plovel."

  "Good for Plovel."

  * * *

  "According to Trina's stalker app, she's still in D.C." Jayson handed his phone to Hank, who sat at his favorite booth in Bogey's.

  "I should have set up the same thing," Hank mumbled. "I never thought to rape her cellphone in that way."

  "You're calling it rape?"

  "What would you call it? Trina didn't ask."

  "I don't know. Molest, maybe?" Jayson settled on the other side of the booth. It was after midnight, Hank had left the club in his assistant's hands and left to get a sandwich.

  "Either way, her cellphone was fucked," Hank muttered his thanks to the waiter, who set a sandwich and a fresh old fashioned in front of him. Jayson gave his order and waited for their server to walk away before continuing the conversation.

  "I need to get an email to her; the old man wants to run that excerpt in the magazine about Everett Williams. He wants to use the story Bree told Gideon, and he needs a release signed. Mom asked me to run
a story on Mercy Crossings in the magazine and put Bree's photograph on the cover."

  "I don't know whether Breanne will agree to be on the cover," Hank said, pointing the two thin, red straws from his drink in Jayson's direction. "Although you'd sell plenty of copies, just for her photograph."

  "I know. Plenty of people would love that—I know what my preferences are, but she's beautiful, there's no doubt about that. If she's not on the cover, then she needs to be on the first page of the article so we can run ads," Jayson breathed a frustrated sigh. "Mom never asks for something like this, and I owe her for fucking up the anniversary party. She says Bree is the prettiest woman I've ever dated."

  "Then email the stupid form. See if Bree will sign it—for your mother. And you're not dating her, remember? You're just using her."

  "Look, I realize that. Maybe I will try emailing the release form," Jayson leaned back as his sandwich was placed before him. "I don't know what she's doing in D.C. Mercy Crossings works outside the country."

  "I get the feeling this is something else," Hank said.

  "Another volunteer job?" Jayson lifted an eyebrow at Hank.

  "Maybe. I'd ask, except she's not answering my calls," Hank pushed Trina's phone toward Jayson. "Don't fuck with Bree. Mess this up for me and I may strangle you. Really."

  "What—the detached and objective Hank Bell gets emotional?" Jayson bit into his sandwich.

  "Fuck off, Rome."

  * * *

  I wanted to throw my cellphone at the wall. I had six email requests from Jayson, all of them with a release form attached. Opal was scheduled to come by the hotel and pick me up at nine, and I'd been awake since five, fidgeting.

  Bree, the first message read, Mom wants me to commission an article on Mercy Crossings. We already have permission from the Director, and he also wants your photograph on the first page. Dad wants an excerpt from Ross Gideon's book in the magazine, too, which includes the story you gave Ross. Both those things require a signed release. Please sign a hard copy and mail it to my office. Please.

  Five other messages, relaying roughly the same request, followed that one. If he thought he'd wear me down by sheer numbers, he was right. I was sick of getting his crap already. I'd already called the front desk downstairs—there was a charge for printing, but I could print the damn release form, sign it and then pay a little more to have it mailed to Jayson's office. If I didn't, he'd just keep hounding me until I did. Sighing, I jammed the phone into a pocket of my jeans and headed for my hotel room door.