The feeling of something wrong came over her as her feet hit the concrete of the front walk. She could not place what it was, just that a feeling of something horribly wrong was settling over her. Lucinda crouched down, all thoughts of the nosy neighbors fled from her mind.
Lucinda looked intently at the door, not more than a dozen feet away. That has to be it, she thought. Something or someone is waiting for me. But who? She sniffed at the air, trying to pick up the scent of her foes. But nothing would come to her senses; nothing that would tell her what might be waiting on the other side of the entrance to her home.
The vampire looked again to the sky. She really couldn’t tell if the clouds were any lighter, but the contrails of a jet shown pink higher up in the atmosphere. No time, she thought, looking back at the door as she reached her hand toward it. The nearest alternate lair was at least fifteen minutes flight away, and she could feel the sun closer to the horizon than that. She tried to quell the panic as she felt trapped between the intruders in the house and the burning death outside.
That death would almost be welcome, she thought, looking again at the door. Whereas I might be fighting for my life within the house, and taking the lives of the mortals within, if they are mortals. She placed the key within the deadbolt’s hole and turned it over, still trying to sense what might be within the house.
But as she struggled with the dilemma in her mind, her senses again focused on the sun, which was just over the horizon. The clouds were very pink now, and her hand reached for the knob of its own volition, to place the key in the lock and turn it. Her instincts were driving her toward the path of greatest survival, and she had no choice as she turned the knob and pulled the door open.
Her instincts forced her to hold for a moment as her eyes scanned the inside of the living room and she brought the air into her nostrils. No one here, she thought, feeling the tension flow out of her muscles.
A ray of light struck the top of the house, blindingly bright to her supernatural eyes. She jumped inside the house and pulled the door closed behind her, thumbing the dead bolt back to the locked position, then turning the door lock.
Faint light was now coming through the cracks between the heavy drapes. Lucinda moved as fast as she could, now limited to the speed of a mere mortal, into the hallway, pulling down the stairway to the attic. Up the stairs she went, sensing the rising light outside, and the plywood and shingles overhead that separated it from her and her true death.
Pulling open the coffin, Lucinda climbed in a fast as humanly possible, hitting her head on a rafter in her haste. As she lay down she thanked the God she normally cursed for the unyielding nature of her undead flesh. There was no pain, and she knew there would be no bruise when she awoke later in the day.
Lucinda felt her eyes grow heavier as the drowsiness came over her. The last thought she had before sleep claimed her was that the feeling of dread she had might be a precursor to an invasion that would come this day, while she was helpless in the coffin. Then she lost consciousness and became like a sleeping infant in her coffin.
* * *
Marcus could feel her presence just before the coming dawn. But it was distant, as if the coffin was calling to her and her link to it. But not here, he thought. She was going to another lair, one he didn’t know about, yet.
The curtains lightened as the sun came up over the horizon and flooded the outside. Marcus walked to the curtain as he gripped one of the panels, slightly opening the curtain and moving his other hand into the beam of light. The ray burned as it touched the flesh, a pain such as the elder vampire hadn’t felt in ages. He focused his will power onto his own flesh, as smoke began to wisp away from his hand. It threatened to burst into flames with the killing power of the day star.
The smoke stopped as pain began to fade. I am in control, he thought. I will be the day walker. The one who brings the terror of the darkness to the light.
The pain roared back as the smoke reappeared. Marcus dropped the curtain back into place just as the hand burst into flame. Roaring his agony he backed away from the window, waving the flames out. He looked in horror at his hand, at the seared flesh and scar tissue that it had become. He clutched his hand to his chest as he fought against the pain with his mind. He felt the agony turned to pain, then to ache, then to nothing. He looked at his hand, to see the scar tissue had faded back to vibrant looking flesh.
“One day,” he said to the empty room. “One day I will be old enough and powerful enough to keep anything from harming me.”
One day, he thought, I will become the Emperor. And the world will be mine, to do with as I please.
* * *
“No killings last night,” said Smith, waving his report in the face of DeFalco. “I thought you said she had to feed, every single night.”
“She does,” said DeFalco, looking the Detective Lieutenant in the eyes without flinching from the anger revealed. “Just because your department has yet to find the body doesn’t mean there isn’t one. After all, she seems to be getting smarter.”
“And I thought she was some kind of beast,” said Lowrey, scowling at the FBI Agent as well. “Unreasoning, unthinking, operating only on instinct.”
“She will be nothing like that,” said Tanesha Washington, looking from DeFalco to Lowrey’s face. “She is the spawn of the dark lord, and will have his cunning within her.”
Washington nodded her head at Lieutenant Smith. “She will be pure evil, with the strength and intelligence that only the purely evil possess. A gift of the dark lord Satan.”
“I don’t see it,” said Justine DeBarry, looking at Washington. “I mean, wouldn’t a totally evil creature be out there killing the good of the world? And she goes and kills the scumbags we are trying to get off the street. Wouldn’t she at least be taking out the innocents of the world, and turning them into her kind? Swelling the ranks so to speak.”
“Vampires aren’t like that,” said DeFalco, looking at the disbelieving faces of the people around the table, and the oh too believing face of Tanesha Washington. “They kill at random, whoever happens to get in their way. They are pure but unreasoning evil.”
“Then again,” said DeBarry, “how do you explain the fact that in a number of cities across the east coast this one vampire you have chased after has never killed anyone who at least didn’t deserve it?”
“So you’re defending her?” asked DeFalco, shaking his head. “You’re for allowing a criminal to walk the streets, a vigilante killer who takes the law into her own hands?”
“No,” said DeBarry in a loud voice that startled the tired people in the room. “I’m not defending her. And I think we need to take her off the streets. But maybe killing her isn’t the way. Maybe we should try to apprehend her, and bring her to trial. We are, after all, the police, and it is our job to catch people suspected of crimes alive if at all possible.”
“But she’s not alive in the first place,” yelled DeFalco, slamming his hand on the table. “She was pronounced dead by a Philadelphia Coroner, for Christ’s sake. I don’t think the writers of the Constitution were thinking about the undead when they wrote that document. And she would burst into flames while she was sitting in the courtroom, so a trial really wouldn’t help at all.”
“If she really is a vampire,” said Smith, glaring back at DeFalco, “And not just some crazy murdering bitch on PCP or something?”
“I didn’t think we had to go over this again,” said DeFalco, lowering his voice. “You saw the video. You saw how she did not appear on the tape of Giovani’s murder. How do you explain that, huh?”
“Something Giovani’s men faked,” said Lowrey, nodding his own head toward DeFalco. “Maybe one of them killed him, to take his place, and planted this special effects sci-fi masterpiece in the hope that a crazy fool like you would believe it.”
“This is nonsense,” said DeFalco, slamming his own hand hard onto the surface of the table. “Don’t tell me you believe a crazy story like that?”
> “No crazier than a fucking vampire,” said Smith. “Besides, it’s a moot point. Padillas’ lawyers filed a motion with the judge, stating that we were harassing their client. The Commissioner doesn’t want us anywhere near his house unless we have some kind of verifiable proof that something is going on there. Something that warrants the attention of homicide.”
“I still say that’s crazy,” said Washington, looking around the table. “We’re trying to protect him. So why does he want to get rid of us?”
“Because he’s a crime boss,” said Sanchez, speaking up for the first time. “Because he’s uncomfortable with having lots of police, and the FBI,” Sanchez nodded at DeFalco, “watching his house and possibly listening in on him.”
“Maybe he trusts his own security more than he trusts the police,” added DeBarry. “After all, we haven’t brought her to justice after Giovani’s killing. So why would he think we could protect him. Instead we’re hanging around his neighborhood, making the neighbors nervous, making him nervous.”
“Sure,” said Washington. “That all makes sense. But I think a man like Padillas has something else in mind. Like making his own deal with the devil and all.”
“Now what would he want with another stone cold killer?” asked Lowrey.
“As I was saying,” said DeFalco, “she’s not just an ordinary killer. He might see something in her that he thinks he can use. But believe me, she’s not going to let anyone use her, and he doesn’t know what he’s messing with.”
“Well, he’ll have to deal with her without our interference,” said Smith. “The commissioner was very plain in what he ordered. And I, for one, want to make it to retirement without having to write parking tickets or go on patrol in Podunk.”
“His order means nothing to me,” said DeFalco, jutting his jaw out in defiance. “As far as I’m concerned he can go straight to hell, or to Podunk, or to writing his own tickets out on Dale Mabry. I will do what I feel I need to do to get her.”
“I’m sure the Commissioner will be glad to talk with your boss as well,” said Smith, looking at the Agent. “If you push him. But if you want to go off on your own and be the Fearless Vampire Hunter, that’s up to you. Just don’t get any of my people involved.”
“If you think for a moment,” said DeFalco, standing up from his chair.
The door flew open to the conference room and a uniformed sergeant poked his head in.
“If you detective types don’t have anything better to do,” said the rough voiced veteran, “they have an actual killing for you to consider.”
“What?” said Smith, getting out of his own stair as everyone in the room started to move. “Where? What happened?”
“An anonymous call came in,” said the sergeant, “so we sent a blue and white to the house in question. They found a body there, and called for homicide. So I guess that means you, Lieutenant.”
“Let’s go people,” said Smith, walking toward the door as the sergeant moved out of the way.
“Can I still come, Smith?” asked DeFalco, following after the Homicide Detective. “Or am I barred by the Commissioner and Padillas’ lawyers from investigating something not in his neighborhood?”
“You can come, DeFalco,” said Smith, as he headed toward his office to grab what he needed for the road. “But just remember that this is our bailiwick. And you can ride with Sanchez.”
DeFalco nodded his head as he turned to follow the Latino detective, listening to Sanchez mumble in Spanish about Gringos and their crazy ways.
* * *
Lucinda flew toward the third safe house lair, after having checked out one other and finding nothing. But she remembered the feel that something was wrong with her dwelling, that intruders had entered her space. And she knew she had to find out what it was that had triggered that feeling before it came to call at the house where she was staying.
The giant bat passed over Bush Boulevard as she headed north, looking down at the heavy flow of traffic on the thoroughfare. She could see the beginning of the lower scale retirement neighborhood ahead, while the thunder of a jet coming into Tampa International drowned out her hearing for a couple of moments. Sending her senses ahead she could feel the presence of intruders in the house in the middle of the neighborhood. Who they were she could not feel, but the aura of trouble surrounded the house.
Lucinda knew who they were as she came within blocks of the house. The flashing blue and red lights lit up the street, as a couple of more blue and whites pulled onto the street, followed by the boxy shape of an ambulance flashing its red lights. The siren of the ambulance was piercing to her animal hearing, and she flew around the block in confusion. She kept circling the house as a trio of unmarked cars with blue lights flashing on the dashes pulled onto the street and raced for the house.
The doors to the unmarked cars opened and men and women in suits got out and headed for the house. Lucinda brought their scent into her nostrils, as the short fur on her body stood up in recognition. The people, she thought. Those from the police department who had been dogging her trail over the last several days. Those who had been standing watch around the house of her primary target. Which meant the primary target was unwatched, unguarded.
Letting out a screech of triumph as all thought of what was going on below fled her mind, Lucinda wheeled in the sky and headed to the east. Toward the target she had been stalking for the last three days. The target that was at the head of the heap of scum who preyed upon the city. The reason for her being here, and the reason she could leave, once he was taken care of.
* * *
“What do we have here?” asked Smith as he got out of the car and approached a pair of uniformed officers in the front lawn who were keeping the curious at bay.
“What the fuck,” said Lowrey, stopping in his tracks and looking up to the sky.
“What the fuck what?” said Smith, turning around before either of the uniforms could speak.
“That was the biggest fucking bat I ever saw,” said the detective, pointing to the sky.
Smith followed the finger, but could see nothing in the sky that was obscured by the bright lights of the city.
“Come on,” said Smith, turning his attention back to the people on the ground. “This isn’t the nature channel.”
Smith walked toward the house as the rest of his people fell in behind him. A black man in uniform with lieutenant bars in his collar tabs came out of the house and intercepted the homicide detectives, holding his hand out to Smith.
“Hey Johnson,” said Smith, grabbing the man’s hand and shaking it quickly. “Haven’t seen you in a dog’s age.”
“Yeah,” agreed the shift chief for North Tampa in a rumbling voice. “I wish we could meet somewhere a little more savory, like in church.”
“Just haven’t had the time,” said Smith, shaking his head. “Not that brother Johnson is not a dynamic minister and all,” he said, talking over his shoulder to his people.
“Well,” said Johnson, “God still loves you, whether you have time for him or not.”
“What we got inside?” said Smith in an uncomfortable voice.
“A dead woman,” said Johnson, leading the detectives into the small house. “Doc says she's a little light in the blood department. Sound familiar?”
“Yeah,” said Smith. “Too familiar. Must be the same psycho we’ve been trailing across the town.”
“I heard she was more than a psycho,” said Johnson, as they walked into the living room and to the hall.
Smith looked at the body that was lying half out of the hall closet, and the forensics people who were taking samples of everything. The head pathologist looked up as Smith stopped in the hallway and hurried over to the detective lieutenant.
“What do you have so far, Doc?” asked Smith, pointing at the body.
“We have a forty-three year old white female by the name of Jane Martin,” said the Forensics Chief. “We’re estimating the time of death as somewhere between seven and ten
PM last night.”
“Cause of death?” asked Smith, looking into the wide, staring eyes of the dead woman.
“The only wounds on her body are two puncture marks on the left side of her throat,” said the Doc, moving toward the body as he leaned over and pointed at the dried and crusted blood on the neck. “She appears to have bled to death. At least that’s the preliminary finding. We’ll have to wait for the autopsy to be sure she didn’t expire from other causes.”
“It had to be her,” said DeFalco, coming up behind Smith and looking over his shoulder.
Smith turned to one of the uniformed officers and wriggled a finger at her. The small blond haired woman came over to him, looking down at a legal pad that she had been taking notes on.
Doesn’t want to look at the body, thought Smith, glancing again at the corpse half crumpled into the closet. Can’t really blame her there.
“Officer,” Smith said, looking at her nametag, “Garcia. Kind of a strange name for someone so fair skinned.”
“Married name, sir,” said the petite woman as she found herself drawn to looking at the body, a look of revulsion on her face.
“What do we have on the woman, Officer Garcia?” said Smith, drawing her attention back to him.
“She is, or was, a real estate agent working out of an office on the south side,” said Garcia.
“Any known criminal involvement?”
“No sir,” said the officer. “A couple of political rallies that got kind of out of hand. One arrest for refusing to leave the scene of a protest. But otherwise as clean as could be expected.”
Smith turned to DeBarry and looked her in the eyes.
“Kind of ruins the avenging angel angle, doesn’t it?” he said to her, then pointed back at the woman. “Here’s one that was a productive member of society. No involvement with organized crime.”
“I can’t believe it,” said Debarry. “I’ve looked over all of the files on her, and she’s never done anything like this.”
The Hunger Page 15