by Chanel Smith
“Right inside.”
Melina led the way up to the porch to the door. As they walked in, Raya bringing up the rear, he stopped short just as he stepped into the living room. He stood, sniffing the air, then said “there’s a strange odor in here. Familiar, but strange.” He walked the rest of the way in.
“You saying my house stinks?” Melina responded with a grin.
“No, not at all. Is that your dad on the couch, there?” Raya asked in a whisper.
“That’s Joseph; we don’t know who the heck he is! Petra rescued him from the bayou yesterday.”
Raya’s face cleared as he was overcome with the recollection of where he knew the scent from.
“Damn me for a fool. Cilla! He smells exactly like Cilla does. Melina, do you mind having another guest? I happen to have brought a girl back from Europe who is – well, she must be some kind of relative of Joseph’s, as they smell exactly alike.”
“Sure, bring her. Maybe she can help him. He’s weak, sick and refuses a doctor,” Melina said as she clicked on the television. A commercial was airing, so she and Petra made a dash for the stairs. They returned clothed and with a clean shirt and some cargo shorts for Raya. As the small group sat down in front of the television, Raya made a quick call to Heureuse for someone to bring Cilla over. As he hung up, the news came back on.
***
“And now we’re going back to our story about the girl who discovered a serial killer. Local police would never have known there was a serial killer stalking their town if it hadn’t been for a college student who was working on an English creative writing assignment. Carol Saunders is with us now live in Central Park. Carol, what first caught your eye with these deaths?”
A young, pretty blonde interviewer stood in the park next to a heavy girl wearing an ankle-length dress.
“We were asked to find out about a bunch of deaths and attempt to create a story that could somehow tie them all together and we could just make that part up, you know. Anyway, I set up a Google alert for all the deaths that occurred over a week, and when the emails started to come in, I realized that five men died in two states in a matter of days. I was going to fictionalize their deaths, you know, make them all have died in the same way but then I didn’t have to. Every one of them was strangled and found with a thick chain around their necks wrapped around a tree. They were sitting at the base of these trees, each in a different city. It got me to thinking, where would they be if I mapped them out? So I used their addresses from the news, and this is what I found.”
A map appeared on screen with five stars. The girl’s voice said, “Once I saw these locations, it occurred to me that if I did this,” a ruler appeared on the map, laid on the stars. It was evident that the locations were in a straight line from New York to Pennsylvania. The camera pulled away, and the picture was clear: the ruler stretched directly to New Orleans. “I called the guy the Dog Collar killer and predicted he’d hit again in West Virginia, and not even an hour ago I got an alert that another guy had been found, chain and all, in Huntington. Our outlines were due about an hour ago and my professor said I should take it to the police. I did, and they kind of laughed at me. So I called News 5 and here I am!”
“You’ve done a great job and you deserve an Eyewitness Award. There’s a five thousand dollar reward coming your way, young lady! Now in other news…”
Raya muted the TV. “Dog Collar killer, eh. Not too far off from wolf killer, is it now?”
“Not at all,” Petra said slowly. “You know, I just wonder if...”
There was a knock on the door. Melina stood, and went to admit Cilla. The girl walked in, smiling shyly, until she got a look at the couch and its inhabitant. She froze, then approached the sleeping Joseph.
“What’s his name?” She asked Melina.
“Joseph.”
“Thanks. Hey Joseph, you OK? They said you’re some kind of relative of mine,” Cilla said to the motionless form.
He groaned.
“Don’t have any relatives. Who are…” He opened his eyes and looked at Cilla. Instantly he struggled to sit up, moaning from the effort of the sudden movement. “Thank the gods. Can I feed from you?” he asked, reaching out for her.
Cilla’s eyes widened and she immediately backed away from him.
“What are you talking about? Feed from me?”
Joseph’s energy ran out and he slumped back onto the couch. “I didn’t mean to scare you. You don’t know what you are… what we are, do you?”
“Uh, no.”
“We are the second oldest two-legged species after man,” he said with pride. “We’re called Specius Vampirata. The humans call us ‘vampires.’
Melina let out a shriek of fear as Raya leaped in front of Petra: all of which happened as Cilla stood transfixed next to the couch in complete confusion.
“What’s a vampire?” she asked.
“We feed on blood and we don’t die, for the short version. I have no more energy,” Joseph said apologetically.
“Damn bloodsuckers,” Raya spat. “I thought your kind was long gone.”
“We harm no one,” Joseph said. “We only feed on each other. I’d have thought your kind would know that.”
“That’s not always true! I had a friend killed by a vampire,” Raya said with fury.
“Must have been at birth, then. The only time we can feed on humans.”
“Excuse me,” Cilla said. “How much blood do you need?”
“About half a cup,” Joseph said, and it was apparent he’d said all he was able to. He fell all the way onto his back and closed his eyes.
Cilla sighed. “All right. What do I do?”
“No,” Joseph whispered. “Not like this. Not unwillingly. It’s special between us, the act of feeding. It should never be done with an unwilling participant.”
“You don’t look too good, though,” she said.
“I’m not, but that doesn’t matter,” he said.
“Yes, it does. Come on, tell me. I don’t mind. I can’t stand the thought of not helping someone who’s as sick as you.” She went and sat on the edge of the couch. “Here I am. Go ahead.”
He wheezed a laugh. “Never have I had such a welcoming offer! If you’re certain, then please hold your wrist to my lips. I’m afraid I can’t move, myself.”
Cilla obligingly held out her wrist to the old man’s dried-up lips. He lifted his head slightly, opened his mouth and bit. She squeaked, but then fell silent, her eyes widening.
For several moments, the room was completely silent as the old man fed. Cilla noticed first. “Holy shit, look at him!”
Petra stood and moved around the girl to get a better look.
“This is impossible,” she whispered, in shock.
The old man wasn’t old anymore – not by a long shot.
Chapter Seven
Melina’s living room was a scene of absolute bedlam. Raya was shouting in disbelief, Petra was nearly on top of Joseph, poking and prodding his muscled chest. Cilla was crying with delight, while Joseph himself just stood in the midst of it all and grinned.
Raya’s phone rang. Instinctively, he patted down his pockets, but of course, he didn’t find it. He looked down in dismay at the borrowed clothes that he wore and wondered where the ringing was coming from. Suddenly, Cilla snapped out of her bewilderment and dug into her pocket, producing the instrument and handing it to him apologetically.
He pressed the green button, put the instrument to his ear and listened. He grunted and hung up.
“Shit. A friend of mine in the customs department at La Guardia Airport says that a bunch of known Rats flew in three days ago. Four of their lead guys arrived Friday. USCIS lost track of them; no one knows where any of them are at the moment.”
“What are Rats?” Petra wondered.
“A bad pack out of Europe,” Raya informed her. “Not a normal pack, either. It ranges from twenty members to over a hundred.” At her puzzled glance, he added, “Normal packs have eight members.”
<
br /> “What do you mean by ‘bad’?” Melina wondered.
“Mercenaries. They sell their services to kill and rob, for starters.”
“You think they’re coming after your pack?” Melina asked.
“Actually, I have no doubt about that.”
“But why? If they’re so large, and your pack has the required 8 members… I don’t get it.”
Raya cleared his throat.
“Well, that’s true about Pack Lupein, my pack. But there’s another consideration. I am the Trans-Alpha: I rule over all of wolfdom. All packs.”
“Didn’t know I was in the presence of royalty,” Melina cracked.
“Which explains why you haven’t kissed my ass at least twice today out of the recommended five,” Raya deadpanned.
“I use Botox to hide lip lines. Sorry, no puckering up,” Melina threw right back.
“That’s it. You’re out. In for half an hour and already out – you may have set a record there.”
“When am I going to remember any of this?” Petra said in a small voice.
She was getting more miserable by the second. These were facts she should know. To make things even worse, this was her mate beside her, evidently. She could tell by his actions, no matter how restrained, that they’d been close. Very close.
When Raya walked by her, his arm would jerk as if he wanted to reach out, but stopped himself. And she often caught those burning eyes watching her with a deep longing. She did feel something, a strange kind of pull. But that was it.
“I don’t know,” Raya interrupted her thoughts. “I need to do some research on memory loss. Never heard of it happening to one of our kind, but perhaps even Itchiko could be of some help.” He paused for a moment. “But there’s absolutely no time for that now. We need to alert all the packs from New York to New Orleans, have them consider evacuating the coast until things cool down and we know what the Rats are after. There’s just such a plan in place, and a location that’s been set up for nearly a century. But we have to get the word out. Let’s get back to Heureuse.”
“Anything I can do to help?” Melina offered.
“No, but as a newborn, you need to be with us. This isn’t the best time for that either.” He glared at Petra.
“I don’t want my babies in danger,” Melina agreed. “I’ll wait here for word. Someone needs to keep an eye on them two anyway,” she motioned at the two vampires.
“We’ll be along shortly,” Joseph spoke up. “We have some catching up to do.”
“Please do come as soon as possible,” Raya told Joseph. “You must have ended up here for a reason. If nothing else, you will be remarkably useful if anything bad does come to pass. Everyone else, load up. We’re off.”
Chapter Eight
Back at Heureuse Manor, Raya told his second in command, Itchiko, to implement the Red Alert plan for all packs along the New York to Louisiana corridor. They were to evacuate to Inconnu within three days, at most.
“What’s Inconnu?” Petra asked.
“Come this way,” Raya said and led her to his office at the back of the large mansion that served as home base for the pack. He walked to his desk, opened a drawer and she heard a click. An entire bookcase swung open several inches.
Behind it was a large, cold room packed with computers, monitors and various other electronics. On the wall was a large Google map which overlaid a normal map of the world.
He touched it and zoomed in on the USA, then the Florida area.
“See the Bahamas? The islands are only about seventy miles from Miami. Back in the early twentieth century, we bought a deserted island that’s a couple of hours by boat from the Bahamas. There’s a tiny village there; they fish for a living. We brought electricity to the island, but they’re not aware of what else we brought. Three rings of security that start a mile out, satellite technology, you name it. Accessible only by boat. Oh, and another nearby island we use for storage.”
He moved his hand on the large screen, and another, smaller island zoomed into view. This one had no trees, no greenery. Truly an arid wasteland. One tap, and the screen filled with nine camera views. Included was an underwater view of three submarines, large enough to carry six people each. Another room held weapons: so many that Petra was in disbelief.
One large room held a jet!
“Where is that plane?” Petra had to ask.
“Underground,” Raya said. “Push a button and the doors open, up it goes.”
“Incredible. You are ready for a war.”
“You’d better believe it. Our texts and emails are out now, telling the packs to get to Harry’s. Harry’s is a place outside Miami, where everyone meets to fly to the Bahamas and then pick up boats to head for Inconnu.”
***
“Boss, the members of our New Orleans packs are going to have major trouble leaving the city,” a girl with glasses said from behind a long, computer-laden table.
Raya frowned.
“I’m not going to like this, am I?”
“Probably not. There’s been an outbreak of some new flu – it’s dropping people in droves. So far it’s only in New Orleans, so the CDC took urgent precautions and put the entire city under quarantine. No one in: no one out.”
“You have got to be kidding. Can they even do that?” Raya asked.
“They already did it,” the girl answered calmly and turned back to her machines.
“Well, that’s just peachy, and just when the damn Rats hit US soil! Itchiko, we need information about those Rats. They have to be behind the killings we heard about on the news. We need to know how many they are, who is in charge and what their goals are.”
The thin Japanese warrior frowned.
“As I recall, as of about a decade ago, Petra still had a friend in the Rats. The name was Elinor something.” He looked at Petra with hope.
She shook her head helplessly.
“Name doesn’t ring a bell.”
“We need her back, goddammit,” Raya snarled with frustration. “We’re at war and too much is happening. We need you to get your memory back and functioning well. Any ideas?”
“There is one possibility,” Itchiko said. “I was waiting for a good time to discuss this. When you guys showed up this morning, I did some fast research on memory loss. It turns out there’s a guy who has made some large steps forward, but his work is unconventional.”
“Can you get him here?” Raya snapped.
“I took the liberty of doing just that, and our one stroke of luck is that he landed forty minutes ago in New Orleans. Just before it was shut down.”
Raya whipped around and faced Itchiko, his entire heart in his eyes. The other man didn’t say a word; none were needed. He simply executed a slight bow.
“What’s unconventional about him?” Raya asked.
Itchiko grinned so slightly that Petra would have never seen it if she hadn’t been watching him closely.
“He uses both unconventional medicines and procedures. He claims brain cells are unlike any other. They don’t reject it if you put strange ones in. That’s not exactly what he does, but close. He injects a patient’s hippocampus with a mixture of stem cells from a fetus’s hippocampus and a grown person’s. The adult is usually a member of Mensa. Doctor Kyger insists that the patient’s IQ rises by a minimum of ten points, as well as getting their memories back.”
Raya frowned.
“I don’t like the sound of that, not even a little bit. The fetal cells are one thing, but cells from some guy with a high IQ? Can we leave that part out?”
“Hell, no,” Petra said with determination. “If there’s a chance my IQ goes up, I want it.”
“This likely hasn’t even been tested,” Raya said, his voice tight. “You’d be taking big chances, and on your damn brain. This isn’t shooting something in your arm. This is your brain, Petra.”
“And a good thing it is, or the procedure wouldn’t work at all!” The retort came as a surprise to them both. Across the room, a s
mall man came toward them. He was only 5”5” and weighed less than Petra did if she had to guess. His dark eyes were smiling behind thick glasses.
“Dr. Kyger, at your service.”
“Hi Doctor, I’m Petra… the one with the lost memory. Do you really think that you can help me?” Petra asked, worried. If this didn’t work, she was screwed and it would hurt the pack in the long run if she couldn’t understand the dynamics.
“I truly believe that I can, my dear. It is true that the procedure works eighty-five percent of the time and rises statistically to ninety-five percent in female patients,” the man said.
“Right. Let’s do it then,” Petra said, drawing in a deep breath. “You need my blood, right?”
“When Mr. Itchiko contacted me yesterday, I took the liberty of checking several hospitals in your area. Found a blood sample, which they overnighted to me. I took it to the lab first thing this morning and built you a little cocktail.”
“God,” Petra gasped. “You mean you’re ready to do this to me right NOW?”
He grinned, showing a set of charming white teeth. ”Yes, if you’re ready, we are.”
“Us?” Raya asked.
Kyger pointed out the door. “Traveling clinic. It’s right out front. It isn’t our own, but it functions well enough.” He walked to the door, opened it. “After you.”
Petra walked out, closely followed by Raya. She exclaimed at the sheer size of the vehicle. It was about as big as two large RVs.
“It has to be this big,” Kyger explained as he opened the back door and ushered them into what looked like a typical examining room, table and all, “if all the work that needs to be done and all the people needed to do that work are to be accommodated. This was kindly donated by the government to the Louisiana Department of Health and Human Services, courtesy of Hurricane Katrina,” Kyger said. “Petra and Raya, meet Jane. She’s been my assistant for years. She was CDC at one point.”
A small, gray-haired woman looked up from her equally small desk.
“Hi, there y’all,” she said in a delightful Georgia drawl. “Doc, we’re ready to go. The cells were done about the time the door shut behind you.”