by D. R. Perry
I get out, dry off, dress, and bring the phone and my notebook with me as I go out. In the daytime, I usually like to sleep, but my bed’s occupied, and I don’t want to give Frankie the wrong idea. Or freak him out, which is way more likely. The last thing he needs is another monster invading his physical space.
I get in my comfy chair, drape the plush throw over my legs and check the phone again. No word from Esther on Leora yet, but that’s to be expected. She said sunset, and she’s always on time.
I find a text from Maya, the one vampire I’ve met who doesn’t feel like a perpetual frenemy. She’s asking how my night went because I told her about the Sparky case. I send back a quick reply, then do the redundant thing and ask if I can ask her something. It never hurts to be polite when dealing with other vampires, even if Maya and I get along like tomato and mozzarella.
While waiting for her reply, I check the other one. It’s Scott, apologizing for bailing on me like that. I accept that olive branch and am about to pick up Shadow Over Innsmouth when he replies.
Gramps wants to talk. Can I bring him over?
Only if he’s okay with Frankie being here.
Nope. Better come by here at sunset instead.
Still going to be with Frankie.
Your meeting’s outside, then.
Fine. See you later.
I can’t get my brain around all the cockamamie victim-blaming here. But then again, I’m missing information about exactly what my new friend’s family sacrificed him to and what they get in exchange. Well, I can guess at that. It’s got to be power. I look down at the book in my hand and shudder because an entire flock of geese walks over my grave. Canadian ones. And they’re wicked pissed.
I tap out another text, this one to Maury Weintraub, the Cranston PD Detective I’ve known literally my whole life. I compose it carefully because he knows nothing about the supernatural, and I’m required by vampire law to do everything in my power to keep it that way.
After hitting send, I glance at the evidence bags on my kitchen counter. I’m not sure if I want Maury to succeed in pulling the string that’ll let me get the slimy substance analyzed by Raphael Paolucci, the best CSI in the state. Results will help. Raph getting nosy won’t. But Paolucci’s a busy guy. He probably has no time to do side sleuthing on Maury’s cases.
I hope.
Chapter Six
I can’t send Frankie’s clothes to the lab until I get any ID he’s got in them out first. With gloves from my evidence kit covering my hands, I open the bag and reach in. His wallet is in the front pocket, along with a keyring, the kind that has a church key on it for opening bottled drinks. There’s a phone, but it’s both shattered and waterlogged like it’s been dropped in a puddle and stomped on.
Scott is my tech guy, not because I’m some stereotypical vampire Luddite, but because I’ve never been good at dissecting hardware. I put the phone in my pocket, so I don’t forget to bring it when I visit the Fitzpatrick home later. Hopefully, the kid can either salvage something from it or knows a guy who can. It’s Rhode Island, knowing a guy is just part of how we do things here.
Frankie is sleeping soundly, so I figure it won’t hurt to have a look inside his wallet. Maybe get a little more information about the asshole family who literally threw him to something way worse than the wolves. Scott’s family would never have done something so horrible to this poor guy.
He has a Rhode Island State ID, not a driver’s license. His given name isn’t a nickname, it’s really Frankie. Last name is Pickering, as he mentioned, not that it means anything to me yet. And I was right about his age. He’s turning nineteen next month. There’s an address, of course, in Warwick on the border with Cranston by Pawtuxet Village. In case you haven’t been there, that’s an area that’s heavy on the hoity with a healthy helping of toity.
Frankie’s family aren’t just assholes. They’re rich assholes.
Only one vampire I know has been willing and able to answer my questions about magicians. Raven. But I owe them a ton of favors already. There has to be another way. I flip through my notebook, back to the scrawls made the night I went into major debt with the king’s attaché. And there it is, the tidbit my brain reached for but couldn’t quite find.
Three types of magic.
But unfortunately, my notes don’t name any of them except Alchemy. If I want to know what Frankie’s family is packing in the magical department, asking around is unavoidable. But at least I have a name. I turn around in my chair and snag my laptop off the bookshelf behind me.
Searching the address gives me a map of its location, and checking up on the Pickering family gives me an eyeful. They were one of the first Jewish families in Rhode Island, here even before Esther’s. I read about how they took the name Pickering before coming over from Europe to the Colonies, something that was common enough during the Inquisition. Mundane records on the Pickerings show that they came here to finally live as Jews again and escape religious persecution for being themselves. Ironically, Rhode Island didn’t consider them full citizens until decades after the Revolutionary War.
Italian families like mine went through our share of issues coming to this country. Back in the early twentieth century, immigration got restricted in part because US citizens were scared of organized crime imported from Sicily. Jewish people from southern and eastern Europe dealt with the same sort of bias. Several in both groups became natural associates and later allies. What the Pickerings went through and how they were treated when they got here is depressingly common, even in later times.
But Frankie’s family has no excuse for casting him out the way they did, after emotional neglect and setting him up to be a victim his whole life. A reason, maybe, because monsters are powerful, scary, and their demands seem absolute. But I can’t understand why they’d still shun their kid after the fact, even if he’s not magically talented.
I’m going to have to phone a friend. But this time it can’t be Raven. I can’t afford the price because enough small favors add up to big favors, eventually reaching life-owing proportions. I don’t want to owe the king’s attaché my unlife in my second month of vampirism.
The phone beeps again. It’s Maury, getting back to me. He’ll bring my evidence to the CSI lab, but he wants to know what kind of case I’m investigating. I fire back a message about how it’s an assault, possibly sexual, assailant unknown. A minute later, the phone rings. I get up and take it in the bathroom.
“Tino, is your client a little girl?”
“A kid? No, Maur. It’s a guy, adult even though he’s on the young side. From a wealthy family, too.” I give him that bit so he won’t insist I send Frankie directly to him.
“Okay. Well, no wonder he wants to keep things discreet.”
“You got something about a kid?” I lean back in the chair, knowing that if it still beat, my heart would have skipped a few, worrying about Leora. Why didn’t I insist on Scott walking her home? Esther wouldn’t have had to bust her behind making a tracker from raspberry jam if I’d done that. Apparently I’ve got some work to do in the logistical planning department.
“Yeah, we do.”
“What can you tell me about that?”
“Missing person cases. A mom and her little girl. The landlady reported them missing yesterday evening but thinks they’ve been gone for weeks now. We found the mother’s body, and it ain’t even in the same universe as pretty.”
“Oh, shit, Maury.” I close my eyes, shake my head, do the right thing. “Leora Kupala.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“Yeah. Just did a case for her, found her missing pet.”
“So the girl’s missing, the mom is dead, and she hires you to find Fido?”
“It was a lizard, Maury, not a dog. A salamander.”
“Salamanders are amphibians, Tino.”
“Whatever.” I sigh. “I caught the critter, gave him back, and she paid me.”
“When was this?”
“Um…” I check
the clock and see that it’s five in the morning. “Last night.”
“If you have any of the bills she paid with, read me the serials.”
I do that. As I’m reading off alphanumeric codes, something occurs to me. I stop in the middle of one of them.
“Leora’s not a suspect.”
“Can’t say, Tino.”
“She’s definitely not.” But I don’t really know. I might be able to find out if I can get her mother’s blood. I’ve got a painful but useful ability to see all the gory details about how a dead person met their end by drinking some of that.
“Look, I have information you don’t about this.” Maury’s telling me this because he probably can’t share it, but I take the long shot and ask, anyway.
“So help an old friend out.”
“I’m already helping you by sending your evidence to CSI.”
He’s got a point. I can’t really argue with it, either. The only thing I can do is try to track Leora down and get the story from her before Maury does. But I’m just a nocturnal sap with two weird partners while my bestie has the entire Cranston PD on his side. It’s unlikely I’ll outpace him, especially while I’m protecting Frankie. But I’ll try my best. In fact, I even know a guy who might be extremely interested in protecting a human kiddo from monsters. Well, sort of a guy. But not really.
“Tino? You there?”
“Yeah. You’re right, Maury. Sorry I asked. It’s just a little too easy to forget that our professional relationship has to be quid pro quo.”
“Look, if I were a Captain, you’d get what you want. I’m sure that you’re in business to help people. But I’m just a rookie detective who lost his partner last month. If you need info, you've got to find a different source. You know what I’m saying?” Maury means that he won’t stop me if I try to snoop around at the crime scene. If I can find out where it even is.
“I understand, man.”
“When can I pick that evidence up? And from where?”
I tell him to meet me at my mom's and dad’s house a half-hour after sunset. That’ll work because the Fitzpatricks live right next door.
“See you later, Maury.”
“Later, Tino.”
We hang up. I immediately send a message to Kayleigh Killarney. She’s my ex-girlfriend from high school and also a hunter. Normally that'd mean we’re automatic enemies, but we’ve got a truce going on because I got the bright idea to include protecting the innocent in my Trial ceremony, proving I’ll be a nice, compliant vampire. Oh, also I’m working with Scott and Esther to mix up a magical cure for Kayleigh's fiancé who’s in a coma. Esther says it’ll be maybe another week before it’s done.
My old flame will want to help Leora stay safe for sure. She always loved kids, and as a hunter, it’s sort of her duty to protect regular humans from the supernatural set. But it’s way too early to get in a conversation with a human whose job makes them stay up during my usual hours. She’ll get her rest before getting back to me. And that’s okay.
Back in the apartment’s main room, I listen for any sign that Frankie’s been woken up. There’s nothing but even breaths. I stare at the phone, wishing there was someone I could call at this hour just to hear a friendly voice.
Well, there’s Maya. She’s awesome, but I already sent her a text, and she hasn’t replied. Five in the morning is like two for a vampire. She’s probably asleep. And maybe that’s where I should be, too.
A charging cable for the phone is right on the side table by my reading chair. I set the alarm for a few minutes before sunset and put it down on top of Shadow Over Innsmouth. Pulling my favorite fleece throw around me, I settle into the comfy chair for a nice little sleep. But it’s not restful at all. I have a daymare because, of course, I do.
My dreams are dank and echoing like I’m in a humid drainpipe, or maybe a cave. Then I’m out and soaring through the air. My vision resolves into a reeking low-tide puddle, where I get a bird's-eye view of a body so maimed it barely looks humanoid. Except I know who it is. An old friend.
A squat hut is near her body, its foundation raised slightly off the ground, windows lit and doors closed. I sense that its occupant won’t welcome me, so I drop the item that’ll get the message across where it’ll be seen if I don't make it back. But the dawn is coming and I want revenge, so I swoop down on leathery wings toward the drain pipe.
A hand, webbed and slimed over in something, curls around my fragile body. Wings crushed, I can’t escape. Bones, skin, and hair transform as I change, trying to shock my captor and break free, but that cold grip is like a riptide. I’m a fly in amber as darkness takes me.
In the distance, something beeps. No, not in the distance, next to my ear.
Wakefulness pulls me from dreamscape perdition. I open eyes crusted at the corners with dried bloody tears. Pulling the phone from its charger, I read the name of my savior.
Maya. She’s saying sure, I can ask her anything I want. Is she flirting with me? I can’t tell over text, so I figure a call might be in order, even if I’m totally out of her league. But I have to check on Frankie first. The last thing I want to do is stomp all over the poor guy’s damage by asking point-blank questions about magicians where he can hear. If he’s too messed up to talk about them coherently, he’s too traumatized to listen to that yet.
Frankie’s still out like a light, but he isn’t snoring anymore. He’s moved, too, as though he had a bad dream at the same time I did. To play it safe, I head into the bathroom and close the door before calling Maya.
“Tino, good to hear your voice.” I imagine her smiling, the white of her teeth and fangs like a crescent moon in the dark sky of her face. Yeah, I think I’ve got it bad. “What did you want to ask me?”
Ways to ask her out litter my mind like stars in a clear night sky. But I won’t make any assumptions on how she thinks of me, not over the phone anyway. And I have to figure out how to help Frankie. Right. That was the reason for my call in the first place. Maya’s great, but she sure is distracting.
“I’m trying to learn about magicians who aren’t alchemists. I got a new case, and this poor guy from a magic family needs serious help, but none of his relatives will even talk to him. Do you know anyone besides Raven who’s got knowledge or experience with magicians and their ways?”
“Wow, Tino.” Maya sighs. “Well, I’ve got good news and bad news.”
“Lay it on me, good news first.”
“I only know a little, but I’ll tell it all to you.”
“That’s amazing, Maya.” And it really is, because she didn’t mention a favor exchange at all. “Thank you. You’re the best. Now, what about that bad news?”
“There’s another vampire who’s in the know about magicians, but you aren’t going to be happy when you hear who it is.”
“The king?” I can't think of a scarier vamp in the entire state of Rhode Island.
“No. Whitby.”
“Shitballs.” I sigh. Whitby is a powerful vampire from maybe the Middle Ages with a handful of followers chained to him by blood or debt. Or both. Maya’s one of them, and she’s made it very clear she’s not happy about that. I suspect Whitby’s involved in crimes against both the vampire and human communities. On a personal level, I like Raven way better than him, but so far I don’t owe him anything. If his price for information is too high, I have the right to refuse the deal.
But there’s one factor to consider before making a deal with the proverbial white-suited devil.
“Okay, Maya. Tell me what you know. I’ll investigate what I can on that before deciding whether to go into Whitby’s debt.”
“Sounds like a plan. There are Alchemists, Spell-Singers, and Theophiles.”
“So, what do they all do?” I already know a pretty respectable amount about Alchemy but want to hear Maya’s take. My pen is against a blank page in my notebook, ready to jot down everything she says. I’m forgetful, okay? At least I'm doing my best to cope with it.
“Alchemists m
ake stuff. They do magic by crafting and always need materials and a little bit of time to prepare. Spell-Singers don’t have to make music, but their words have literal power with almost no preparation. They need to be careful with what they say, or they’ll risk an accidental cast. And Theophiles get their magic by paying tithes to magical or divine creatures in exchange for power and good fortune.”
“Divine?” I blink. I’m Catholic, so the idea of gods doesn’t play nicely in my head or heart with my beliefs. “Like classic Greek and Roman mythology? Zeus? Or is it monsters?”
“I’m talking about the stuff of myths and legends here, Tino.” Maya sighs. “Not Zeus. Not hybrid people like us or the werewolves, either. More like Yokai or Dryads. It’s been a long time since the majority of humans believed in those creatures, but magicians do, and that’s what counts. Because the only other thing I can recall about Theophile magic is this; it only works if the head of the family believes the pact is valid.”
“Wow, Maya. Thanks, that’s incredibly helpful.” And it is. Because she’s awesome. But I don’t say it because she’d probably rather hear that from someone cooler than me. Which is practically every other vampire in Providence.
“You coming to the Blood Moot tonight?” The event she’s talking about is a monthly vampire gathering endorsed and enforced by King DeCampo.
“I am now.”
“Good!” She sounds happier about that than I expect.
We say our goodbyes. Maya hesitates over the farewell though I’m not sure why. Once I hang up, I tell Siri to set a series of alarms so I’m not late to the Blood Moot like last time. After that, I settle in for another attempt at sleep. This time, no daymares plague me.
Chapter Seven
The sound that wakes me up this time is not the phone. It’s a hollow thud followed by a short muffled scream. I open my eyes to see Frankie on the floor by the bed, tangled in the curtains and blankets. His arms pinwheel, flailing wildly as he sits up. In half a moment, I’m at his side.