Of Fever and Blood

by S. Cedric

  Eva suppressed a sardonic look. Poor Barbara would not be showing up for the fun anymore.

  “Do you remember the last time you saw her here?”

  The boy thought for a moment. “Last week. Well, this week, last Tuesday. We had an electro ball. I remember it, all right. She was dancing on the stage.”

  Tuesday night, then.

  The same night the killer locked her up in her place.

  It was a good thing she had come here, after all.

  Eva wanted to ask another question, but several customers were waving impatiently at the other end of the bar.

  “Be right back, okay?” the boy said before going over to take their orders.

  Eva took the opportunity to turn around and have another look at the crowd. At the far end of the venue, the stage was now lit up in red, and on the large screen behind the band there was a video of oozing blood. As the sounds of the organ—repetitive and hypnotic—filled the place, the hysterical audience gave the musicians a thunderous ovation. The band members twirled their sweat-drenched T-shirts above their heads before tossing them into the crowd. The sea of bodies dressed in black and metal rushed with renewed vigor against the barriers in front of the stage. They raised their arms, fingers and pinkies extended in the horns symbol, and they let out beastly screams of ecstasy and expectation.

  “We are Moonspell from Portugal!” the lead singer yelled in a voice so deep, it sounded either animal-like or divine. Eva could not decide. His tone became thunderous as he declaimed: “Vampiria.”

  Hundreds of hoarse voices responded in unison: “You are my destiny! My only love and my true destiny!”

  Then the overdriven guitar rushed in, and the vocalist rose again toward impossible zenith. And Eva felt crushed, fascinated, swept away by the music. An invisible burning hand entered her, spreading inside her flesh, wrapping up her heart. She surprised herself by wanting this strange sensation to go on.

  “In a city once named Desire,” the singer chanted, his eyes rolled upward and both arms outstretched. “Dreaming with the entombed dear!”

  And the crowd continued to scream with him in a strange and powerful communion.

  The band paused, and hundreds of hands rose in the air. Ecstatic screams rose from the crowd. Then the avalanche of sound and energy erupted again, coming in for the final kill.

  Fascinated, Eva watched. The gleaming eyes. The screaming mouths. The fists like hammers, and the sight of this crowd in a trance was hypnotic. She would have loved to join them, forget all about the case, just simply ride this gigantic wave of sound, feel her body ripple and dance with the ghosts, add her own screams to theirs.

  But she did not come here for that.

  Whether she liked it or not, for a few more hours still, she was on duty.

  She was here to get information. She would not leave without learning more about Barbara Meyer.

  As the barman set a fresh glass in front of her, she slipped a bill on the bar and leaned toward the boy. Her lips brushed the silky snakes close to his ear.

  “You must know everyone in here, right?”

  “Most of them, yes.”

  “Could you answer a few questions a little later?”

  “Barbie is in trouble?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Eva eluded.

  The boy went over to take an order from a girl with an impressive green Mohawk.

  Eva lifted her glass. She took a sip of deliciously cold vodka.

  33

  “No, really sorry, beautiful,” answered the man in the black latex T-shirt stretched tight against his muscular chest. “I’m not from here. I know nobody.”

  His face glistened with sweat. He ran the back of his wrist across his cheek, smearing his mascara even more. He smiled at Eva—revealing prominent fangs—before walking away from her and diving back into the crowd, into the chaos of music and moving bodies.

  The last band had finished its set awhile earlier, but the decibel level had not decreased, and the Hells Bells was still full. Some unseen DJ had taken over, spinning one hit after another. They were heavy, repetitive songs, and now the ghosts were swaying, their eyes closed and their centers of gravity very low. Like strange and sensual zombies, they were absorbed in their own inner worlds.

  Eva let herself drop on an unoccupied sofa and brought her vodka to her lips. She had lost count of how many glasses she had drunk. But she did not feel tired. She was frustrated more than anything else. All night, she had been observing the motley group here. She had projected herself inside these young men and women, inside their chests filled with wild magic and reckless youth, where there was no such thing as consequences. And the more she profiled them, the more she felt like an intruder. Even here, among misfits, she was the biggest misfit of them all. It was not even irony. It was fact, and it had the taste of despair.

  She thought about the corpses the Salavilles had left behind and tried to establish a link with the profiles of the people here. She found none. The brothers had chosen their victims from a variety of backgrounds. Of the twenty-four, eleven had listened to rock or metal, but that was representative of the general population. Who knew how the killer was selecting his victims?

  She had hoped to find some clue that would help her track the murderer down or at least give her some sort of lead, but she was beginning to conclude that she wouldn’t be that lucky in this club. She would have to start from scratch. Again.

  Lost in her thoughts, she did not notice the two girls coming her way. They were holding hands like a couple, and both of them could have been Barbara Meyer clones. Or Bettie Page. They were slim and no more than twenty years old, with retro bangs and ’50s makeup. Both were in polka-dot corsets. One was wearing a skirt so short, her panties showed. They were pink, with an image of the Virgin Mary on them.

  Amused, Eva stopped staring at the girl’s panties. She realized that she was pulling along her friend, who was really a teenager. Her friend looked sullen, obviously reluctant to be led where she was going. “Hey,” said the girl in the pink panties.

  “Hey,” said Eva, raising her glass. “Good evening.”

  “My name is Marian, and this is Alice,” the girl said, pointing at her sullen friend. “Can we sit with you?”

  “Sure.”

  She waited for the girls to get comfortable before saying, “My name is Eva.”

  “Lobo told us you’re a cop. You don’t look like a cop.”

  “Lobo?”

  “The tough-looking guy, military cut, with a “Front 242” T-shirt? You asked him about Barbie earlier. Is she in trouble?”

  Eva nodded yes. All those nicknames building the mythology of this alternative culture. It was fascinating when you stopped to think about it.

  “You know her well? Barbie?” she asked them.

  “Of course,” Marian said. “She comes here all the time, and we have classes together in college. What’s happened?”

  “She died.”

  “Oh shit,” Marian whispered. “How did it happen?”

  “She was attacked in her apartment last Tuesday.”

  “Fuck,” said her friend, Alice. Her voice was as dull as her face.

  “But we were with her last Tuesday!” Marian cried out. “We came together to the electro ball, and…” She put a hand to her head and said, “My God, it really happened? I mean… Oh, shit… I can’t believe this.”

  Eva set her vodka on the table beside her.

  “I really am sorry. Were you together all evening?”

  “Yes,” Marian said. “I mean, during the time she was here, at least. She left early to catch the last metro.”

  “Did anything out of the ordinary happen? Was anyone hitting on Barbie maybe?”

  “Dickheads are always hitting on us,” Marian said. “This is a club.”

  “There was that weird chick,” Alice said. “The chick with the mask, remember?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Marian said. “She looked real screwed up, that’s for sure. She
spent the whole time in the corner, staring at us. Actually, I think she left at the same time as Barbie.”

  “And she was wearing a mask?”

  “Yes, she was,” Alice said. “One of those white porcelain masks, just the upper part of the face.”

  “I know the kind. So, that girl, you never saw her here before?”

  “Never,” Alice said.

  “No, never,” Marian added.

  “And you haven’t seen her again?” Eva asked. “She’s not here tonight, for instance?”

  Both girls shook their heads.

  “All right. Apart from her mask, what did she look like?”

  “Slim, normal height, black hair,” Marian said.

  “It was a wig, if you ask me,” Alice said. “And she wore a full-length dress.”

  “That’s right, an old-style dress,” Marian added. “I actually thought it looked like one of those period costumes, like in the movies.”

  Eva took in the information. All of it corresponded with the profile. If some psychopath really believed she was Countess Bathory, would she be screwed up enough to actually go out dressed like her? Better not get carried away, though. It might be a coincidence.

  “Listen,” she told the girls, “your testimony could be extremely useful to me. Let me give you my card. I’d like you to think about that girl. If you remember any detail, anything that looked odd to you, or if you ever see that person again, call me immediately, okay? Let me have your phone numbers too.”

  “You think that chick killed Barbie?” Marian asked.

  “I never said that. But you’re saying they left at the same time. So that girl is a witness. That’s why it’s important for me to know who she is. You understand?”

  Marian nodded. She snatched the card Eva had set on the table and slid it into her bra—triggering a glance from Alice and a spark of jealousy in her gray eyes.

  Then she got up and said, “I really need a drink. I promise to call you if I remember anything, okay?”

  Eva watched the two girls walk away, Marian still pulling her girlfriend along. Or maybe it was her little sister, who knew?

  Eva was thinking. A porcelain mask? Anywhere else, the idea was absurd. But here? She could see these young people wearing masks, along with a lot of other paraphernalia making them look like they belonged in a sci-fi flick.

  In here, a masked killer would easily blend with the décor.

  And maybe that’s just what he did—to spy on his prey.

  Eva was thinking that she could do with another drink too, when a slender angel appeared and granted her wish. He set two pints on the table, both overflowing with foam.

  “A little beer to cut the vodka?” The barman blew away the braids that had fallen in his face. “I promised that I’d be at your disposal. You remember?”

  “I remember,” Eva said. “Anthony? Right?”

  “Yes. And you are the police.”

  Eva gave him a radiant smile as he sat down beside her.

  “My name is Eva,” she said.

  “Well, Eva from the police, I just finished at the bar. So I’m all yours.”

  “Now that’s interesting.”

  She picked up one of the pints, and he took the other. They raised their glasses, and the boy downed half his beer in one go.

  “So tell me, Anthony, I was wondering if you ever saw a girl wearing a mask in here. A porcelain mask.”

  He thought about it for few moments and said, “Yeah, last Tuesday there was someone wearing one of those. She was dressed like a flower picker.”

  Eva smiled.

  “An old-fashioned dress, you mean?”

  “Yep. She stayed for a while, but she didn’t dance. I remember her staying near the bar for over an hour, just looking at people, but she didn’t order a single drink.”

  “Did she talk to anybody?”

  “I don’t think so. Anyway, she left pretty early.”

  “Do you think you could recognize her if you saw her again?”

  “Hard to say. There were like five hundred people in here for that ball and lots of new faces. It’s the new school year, you know.”

  “Yes, of course.”

  She took in the scene, the people dancing, some hoisting their beers. Anthony’s life had to be simple. One night following the other.

  Then she looked at him and once again thought he was very good-looking. With the simple, slender beauty animals have. A prince of a young man who knew how to make love, like all young men of his caliber, going home every night with a different girl, only to forget her name before dawn, blending the faces together in a sea of jaded memories.

  “Anthony?”

  “Yes?”

  “You feel like going elsewhere to talk?”

  “Elsewhere? Like where?”

  “Like my place, for example,” she said with a very explicit smile.

  34

  5 a.m.

  Eva turned in her bed and surveyed the naked boy lying next to her. His hair was spread in coils on the pillow and all around his youthful face. His right arm was folded over his chest, showing his round, firm biceps. Eva smiled to herself.

  She ran her fingertips along his arm and then his back, feeling his lean muscles under his skin. She traced the curve of his buttocks. He shivered under the caress.

  He moaned.

  Eva’s fingers made their way slowly up his back. She ran her hand in his braids, savoring the feel of their rough texture, and as she leaned over him, she took in the delectable scents of musk and cinnamon.

  Grunting, the boy finally turned onto his back. Eva caressed his hairless and well-delineated pecs. His left nipple was pierced, and she gently tugged at it, making him sigh again. Her hand ventured lower to his cut abs adorned with the tattoo of a scorpion and farther down still, grazing his flaccid penis.

  Moving down, she blew lightly on it and watched it swell slowly. Then, when it had bulged enough, she leaned forward and took it in her mouth, feeling it growing bigger still against her palate. She licked it gently. Then sucked it even more gently.

  Anthony moaned, fully awake now, and arched his back so she could swallow him deeper.

  Instead, Eva sat up, straddled the boy, and slipped his penis into her wet vagina. He was exquisitely hard and throbbing. She wrapped her thighs around him and hurled him deeper inside her with each blow. Moaning, the boy met her every movement with a thrust of his own pelvis. Eva leaned back, eyes closed as he thrust his long rod deep into and out of her. Soon she felt hot waves rising in the back of her neck and her lower spine, like two opposing rivers of energy rushing toward each other and powerfully converging in the center of her back.

  Finally, she collapsed on him, trembling, shaken by her own climax, as the penis in her also pulsed with pleasure.

  He whispered something she could not understand. Probably a compliment or some thanks, something useless. She rolled to her side, got up, went to the chaise lounge facing the bed, and sat down. She reached for the glass she had set on the table an hour earlier. It was still half filled with vodka, and she brought it to her lips.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Well, I’m waiting for you to leave,” Eva said, her voice very calm.

  “To leave?”

  Anthony sat up and stared at her.

  “But…”

  “You didn’t think you were going to sleep here, did you?”

  He thought about it for a moment.

  “No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I don’t understand.”

  “What don’t you understand? I have to be at work in less than four hours. I really don’t have the time, you know. So, please.”

  “Really?”

  Eva raised her glass.

  “Don’t make me kick you out, okay?”

  Anthony staggered out of bed. He picked his clothes off the floor and started to get dressed. Eva went to the bathroom. She got into the shower, closed the glass door, and let the stream of water cascade over her body.

&
nbsp; As she turned off the water, she heard the sound of the door being closed at the far end of the apartment. The boy had gotten the message.

  She did not particularly like being so direct, but she had long ago come to the conclusion that it was the only way to avoid trouble. This way, at least, she was sure she would never see him again.

  She turned the shower back on to shampoo her hair.

  She spent a few more minutes at the sink brushing her teeth. Then she rinsed her mouth and dried her face with a towel.

  When she came back into her bedroom, she saw a piece of paper on the bed. She picked it up and, somewhat amused, saw that the boy had left his phone number for her.

  It was touching. She balled up the note and tossed it into the wastebasket across the room.

  She felt a sudden draft on her naked legs.

  Deep inside, an alarm went off.

  She turned to the archway that opened to the living room. Lights came from the moving city outside the window.

  “Anthony? Are you still here?”

  She got no answer.

  She crossed the bedroom. No, her living room was deserted. At the far end of the room, the hallway light was still on.

  The door to her apartment was ajar. That was where the draft was coming from.

  Eva relaxed. The idiot had not shut the door properly, and it had opened again after he left.

  She crossed the living room, mumbling to herself. She closed the door and locked it.

  Then she caught the scent.

  It was a light metallic smell that she did not recognize right away.

  She did not have time to think about it. Something was moving behind her.

  She spun around.

  “Who’s there?”

  Nobody answered. She seemed to be alone in the apartment.

  She pulled her bathrobe tighter around her as she tried to get a grip on the danger she was sensing.

  Was she picking up on some sound at the edge of her senses? Like breathing?

  No, that wasn’t it. What she felt was more menacing than simple breathing, and now all her senses were on full alert. The homicide detective, trained and used to facing danger, immediately took up the reins.

  She stepped behind the sofa to use it as a buffer between herself and whatever was there.