by L. A. Jones
“Vampires are patient beings, Aradia.”
“Look, are you trying to convince me it was a vampire that is responsible? Because if you are, I might have to rethink this whole dating thing.”
“Perhaps I am merely testing your open-mindedness.”
“Stop being so contrary and agree with me!” She playfully stomped her foot for emphasis.
Dax chuckled. He was amused by Aradia's thinking and wasn’t nearly as confident of her conclusions as she was. Still, he had to admit that what she said made sense.
“In truth, the alternative conjectures I offer are less than likely.”
“There we go, that’s closer to agreement,” she said, sliding her hand back into his.
The two of them just stood looking at each other in silence on their deserted, windy road. They forgot their debate about murder and suspects, and they stood again completely entranced. Aradia leaned in closer and raised her head up to his. He leaned in toward her, but at that moment Dax remembered exactly why he had asked her out.
He quickly shifted his face away from hers.
Aradia looked at him in shock. “Dax, what's wrong?”
He sighed, looked at her out of the corner of his eye, and said, “We must get you home.”
They walked the rest of the way in silence.
Chapter Twenty
"I hear you've been hanging out with Dax lately," Roy remarked to Aradia.
His timing was just as awkward as ever. He and Aradia shared a long art table with Rhonda, Calvin, Frank, Billy, Al, and D. This is exactly the kind of conversation I want to have in front of most of the people I know in this school, Roy. Thanks for that.
Al and D were two of the only non-freshmen in the room. According to them, when Aradia had asked why they were taking the class, they needed an art credit, and metal shop had been full. Roy had a different take, suggesting it might be due to the fact that for two consecutive years they’d failed the class.
Either way, they all sat at the same table at the back of the room, wearing smocks and attempting to paint half-decent still lifes.
Aradia had enjoyed the company of Al and D quite a bit since she and Roy had outted each other’s hiddenness. Quite of their own accord, they’d taken on the role of her bodyguards. They knew perfectly well that she could handle herself in a fight, but when she pointed this out, Al had replied, “This is high school, Aradia. It’s your reputation that needs protecting.”
Truth be told, she had noticed that ever since the older guys had started hanging around, no one had bothered her or her friends.
She had to wonder if that was their only motivation. Even if they’d heard how she’d bested Roy in his wolf form, and on a full moon at that, they hadn’t seen her in action. Plus, several dangerous accidents had happened to her over the last couple weeks.
At the track, while running relays, Aradia had grabbed the baton from her running partner, only to discover it was badly damaged and painfully jagged. It gauged deep into her palm where she’d taken it. Her partner had been deeply apologetic, and Aradia was sure she’d had no idea.
The next day, in a stairwell, Aradia was heading down amid the crush of students changing classes. Another student, on his way up, tripped and his books went flying. Aradia, caught off guard, slipped on one of his textbooks and stumbled down half a flight of stairs. She was fine, but bloodied her knee pretty badly.
Another time, a fellow student had bumped into her while she was cutting a canvas with heavy scissors. The unexpected shove knocked her off balance, and she had sliced a thick bloody cut across her hand. It was after the scissors incident that Roy and his brothers had started guarding her.
She did feel touched by Roy's concern for her safety, but she worried he might interpret it as a sign that they were more than friends. Her concerns were emphasized when, in front of everybody, he brought up her dating Dax.
On the one hand, she wanted to snap at Roy that it was none of his business. On the other, the mixed signals Dax was sending made her want to spill her guts so Roy might beat the crap out of him.
It was true she and Dax had been hanging out a fair amount since their first date, but it was always casual. In fact, whenever she tried to be more intimate with him, whether it was an attempted kiss or even something as minimal as placing a hand on his shoulder, he would grow cold and hastily take her home.
"I’d focus on my painting, Roy," Aradia said, dipping her brush in the water. “Maybe you can break your family legacy and actually pass this class.”
“Not cool, Rai,” D said with a reluctant smile on his face.
“Hey, Al,” she asked, attempting to change the subject Roy had so awkwardly raised, “how’s your arm?”
He glanced at the cast on his arm and shrugged. “Doctors say it is a clean break, no complications. Another month and I’ll be good to go.”
Lowering his voice so the humans at the table wouldn’t hear, D whispered conspiratorially, “Ready to go show that punk clan of fledglings what happens when you mess with the SilverMoon pack. Not to mention what happens when you mess with my bro.” He and Al gave each other a pound, then blew it up.
Aradia glanced around nervously. Even if Rhonda or her human friends did overhear, they probably wouldn’t make too much of that. She commented, “I think it was that attitude that got your arm broken in the first place. Look, guys, this whole thing hasn’t spiraled completely out of control just yet. At least don’t spur on the violence, okay?”
That was basically the end of that conversation.
I’m not doing so well with any of the Morales brothers today.
Roy just moped in stony silence. He slid his chair closer to hers, propped his chin onto his hand, and looked at her. After a few minutes of his intense silent scrutiny, Aradia got up.
"Where are you going?" asked Roy, grabbing her hand.
Aradia snatched it away and snapped at him, "I’m going to get more paint. Is that okay with you?"
Realizing people were staring and that he was being really weird, Roy backed off and turned back to his own painting.
She couldn’t take any more of his staring, but she really did need more paint. She opened the cupboard and perused the various bottles and colors.
Painting had proven to be a real outlet for Aradia. Firstly, it was a subject she found she excelled at. The instructor, Mrs. Mancini, gave the students just enough guidance, but plenty of freedom. Aradia liked the mix. Moreover, though, she found it therapeutic. She’d even picked up a starter kit of acrylics and an easel for her home use.
Today, though, she just wasn’t feeling the art. Thanks to Roy’s prodding, all she could think about was Dax’s distance, Roy’s jealousy, and the unsolved murder.
Of the three topics, the Vampire Murderer weighed upon her most heavily. He or she had been plaguing her conscience since day one. She knew she could help, but she’d so far been unable to convince her father to let her in on the investigation.
Now the murders were creating tension amongst the factions of the hidden community. Tension was always high, Aradia had determined, but the murders had pushed things to a breaking point. Packs of werewolves were beginning to act on their feelings, engaging in acts of vandalism and violence. So far, there had been no vampire retribution, which Aradia suspected was because they seemed to be slightly more organized and a hell of a lot more patient. She knew the situation could easily get much worse.
She’d even complained about the state of affairs to Tristan, who had explained that gang-like fights between the hidden races were not uncommon.
“In fact,” he’d said, “what you call justice is rare among our people. Secrecy is part of who we are.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t have justice,” she’d replied.
“It’s not about justice, simple girl. When an offense is perceived, you retaliate. If you fail to strike back with sufficient strength, you will be hit again and again and again.”
“That’s the way you see it, may
be.”
“That’s the way it is. The only way a major conflict could be resolved is for the culprit to be found and put to death. Until that happens, the violence will continue. It’s not unheard of for whole clans or packs to feud practically to extinction. More often the pack gets wiped out. Vampires are cold bastards, but they know how to wage war. Whoever wins, though, as long as they leave the humans alone, no one will stop them.”
Aradia did not know what bothered her more: the fact that such behavior was considered acceptable in the hidden world or the fact that she’d spent so little time trying to fix it and so much time fretting about boys. She found herself torn somewhere between guilt and the incredibility of the whole matter.
As if on cue, who should glide up to her but Dax. She was holding a bottle of red paint. She had opened it to see the paint itself. He surprised her with his stealthy approach and said, "That’s a good color. It is the color of love and passion."
"Huh?" Aradia said, startled. She was so surprised that she dropped the bottle. Dax not only managed to grab the bottle midair, but also grab the lid that she’d set on the countertop. He screwed it on tightly and held it out to Aradia, smiling. This he all did without spilling even a drop.
Aradia was not impressed.
"Yeah, well," she said as she grabbed the jar from him. "Red may be the color of all that, but I think it's also the color of dishonesty."
"No, that's yellow," Dax countered, still smiling with irritating charm.
"So what are you, then? Red or yellow? Passion or dishonesty?"
Dax was no longer smiling.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Aradia threw him a sarcastic look and said, "Dax, I like you, but I’m getting the feeling that the reason you are hanging out with me is not because you like me back."
Crap, Aradia thought, I really didn’t want to have this type of conversation in art class!
"I like you, Aradia. Of that you can be certain."
“That doesn’t exactly answer my question. I want you to be honest with me, Dax. What exactly do you want from me?"
"Do you really want to know?"
"Yeah, I do," Aradia replied.
"Well," said Dax as he leaned in seductively. "The truth is, what I really want from you Aradia, is to know all of your secrets."
"You want to know all my secrets, Dax?" she finally asked him.
"More than you know," Dax replied.
Despite his eagerness, he maintained his seductive tone.
"Well," Aradia began as she lowered her voice and leaned in towards him. She brought her face right next to his chest and tilted her head to look up at him. She appeared as innocent and naive as a baby lamb. "I don’t have many secrets, but I do have one that I guard with my life."
"What is it?" Dax asked his voice now low but positively tingling with excitement.
"My biggest secret is..." Aradia paused for dramatic effect and then rushed on to say, "I think you have a staring problem."
Dax’s jaw dropped open. Aradia turned on her heel and sauntered back to her table.
Chapter Twenty-One
If there was one thing the conversation with Dax accomplished, it was to expose to her how truly trivial the whole situation with him and Roy really was. The unsolved “vampire” murders had weighed increasingly heavily on her mind for over three months, and the police had not so much as a person of interest. In fact, according to her father, the probability of solving the murders was growing increasingly slim.
The poor victims would never get justice. Kaiser, fueled by his rage, was that much closer to becoming exactly the type of criminal he so despised. Yet what bothered Aradia the most was the sad truth that if this person got away with the murders, there was an alarming chance that he would kill again.
And what if the killer really was trying to send a message, like Dax had proposed? To get the message across, who might they kill next?
As she dabbed some more red onto the gala apple in her still life, she vowed she would postpone her boy troubles and focus all her attention on solving the murders. Unsolved isn’t unsolvable, Aradia quoted one of her father’s favorite sayings.
“Dad,” Aradia said the moment her father got home. She ambushed him in the garage; he hadn’t even gotten out of his car yet. “I want you to take me to the crime scenes.”
Aradia figured most fathers would either scoff or explain in a parent-to-child way that it was not possible, or too dangerous, or some other such response. Ross Preston, however, did neither.
They’d had the discussion more than once. Aradia knew all of his concerns, and Ross knew all of her arguments. This time, though, he could tell something was different. He was seeing in her his own relentless determination to come as close as possible to righting a wrong. For whatever reason, he replied, “Alright. Tell your mother where we’re going and put on something warmer. It’s chilly.”
First they drove by the second crime scene. It was a law office. “A place of business,” Aradia muttered. “No invitation required.”
She’d told her parents everything about the hidden world. She also impressed upon them the importance of keeping what they knew as closely guarded of a secret as they’d ever held.
Ross grunted.
The office was part of a small strip center, wedged between a kids’ shoe store and a Quiznos. “The Quiznos has actually benefited from the murder, from what I understand, between the police, the press, and the onlookers.”
“Possible suspects?” Aradia asked.
“Nah,” her father replied. “Too Daphne du Maurier to be a real suspect. Or maybe Scooby Doo. I looked them up all the same. Straight as arrows.”
“You know what arrows are good for,” Aradia said.
He smiled darkly, but shook his head.
“Well, let’s go take a look around.”
“Take a look around?” her father asked somewhat incredulously.
“Yeah. See what I can see. So to speak.”
Again he shook his head. “No can do, firecracker. This crime’s too recent.”
“Dad,” she said, “you know I can help.”
“The first scene’s older. The police have given up on finding anything new there. Let’s swing by.”
On their way to the scene of the first Vampire Murder, it struck Aradia that she didn’t even know which victim was Kaiser’s dad. She’d seen the victims’ names in the headlines, of course, but she only knew the feisty werewolf as Kaiser. She had no idea to which victim he was related.
She brought her concern up to Ross. “His father was the second victim.”
So if I’d gotten involved right from the start, he might still have a dad.
“And Kaiser’s his real name, alright. Kaiser Wilhelm Hitzig.”
“Kaiser Wilhelm?” Aradia asked.
Ross shrugged. “Distant family relationship. I didn’t make much of it. You, ah, think it means something?”
“What?” Aradia replied. “Oh! You mean something hocus pocusy? Like he’s a reincarnated German leader?”
Ross didn’t reply aloud, but he gave a meek nod.
She smiled weekly. “No, I definitely don’t. Just curious.”
Aradia recognized the hardware store from what she’d seen on the news. Ross parked around back. It was a two story facility. The first floor was the retail store, and the second was a storage area which had been converted after the fact into a suite of adjoining apartments.
It had been cleared of investigation equipment, and the crime scene tape had vanished as well. It was still private property, so they had to be very careful when they broke in. With his flashlight in one hand and his daughter's hand in the other, he lead her up the stairs.
Aradia looked around. It was obviously a bachelor pad. She was surprised to see that, considering the grisly nature of what had happened, the apartment was remarkably clean. It had been cleared of decorations like pictures and rugs and the assorted chachkis which build up over time, and Aradia found herself w
ondering who had taken those things. The furniture remained. The place looked Spartan and spotless.
"They’re planning on renovating," Aradia's father explained.
"They want to renovate a place where a guy got killed?" Aradia asked, sounding shocked.
Ross chuckled darkly and said, "The victim didn’t have any family nearby. His closest relatives are cousins in Baltimore. They were the only ones named in his will. They plan to sell the whole place, including the hardware store. The renovation is to make it sellable after what happened."
"Who could blame them?" Aradia asked her father as she tiptoed around the apartment as softly as possible.
Ross wasn’t quite as supportive. "The first thing I ask when I look into a crime is who benefits most.”
“You think these Baltimore cousins did it?”
“Not by their own hands,” Ross said. “Ironclad alibis. They were at some kind of architecture convention at the time of the first murder. One was a keynote speaker.”
“What about the second? The Hitzig one?”
“That one’s a little fuzzier, but the distance involved makes it unlikely.”
“Doesn’t mean they weren’t involved somehow,” Aradia muttered. She hated having to be suspicious of people who, for all she knew, were right that very moment mourning the loss of their cousin.
“I hate to see them sell it,” Ross said, surprising Aradia. “The victim probably intended to have kids someday and pass it on to the next generation. It was his legacy. The store has been in the Stanley family for years.”
"Yeah, well," Aradia said with a shrug, "Mr. Stanley was also part of the Stanley family for years."
Ross became silent but after staring at his daughter for a few seconds, he used his flashlight to find the light switch to the apartment and flipped it on.
"Power’s still on,” Ross said, clicking off his Maglite.