It had to be enough. She had killed vampires before. She knew they were tough, that sometimes they seemed bulletproof, but she also knew they weren’t invulnerable. Do enough damage to a vampire’s heart and he’ll stay down, permanently.
She had killed him. That was what it looked like. That was what it felt like.
So why couldn’t she believe it?
In life Arkeley had been a tough bastard. In undeath he would be ten times as difficult to kill. She had killed vampires before, sure, but this one—this one was different. She had to be certain.
Stepping forward, she kept her feet apart. Steadied her weapon with both hands. He lay at her feet, unmoving, apparently immobile. She couldn’t see the wound on his chest, not in the near-utter darkness, but it had to be bad. She thought about firing into his heart again, just on principle. The idea sickened her. It felt like desecrating a dead body, she thought.
Jameson Arkeley, vampire hunter, would have done it anyway. She lined up her shot carefully, took her time, fired again. The body didn’t jump or twitch. If he hadn’t been dead already, she thought, that would do it. That was enough.
The second she lowered her weapon he was up on his feet, grabbing her up in a bear hug with one arm, slapping the pistol out of her hand with the other. Her wrist bones shrieked as her hand flew away from the blow. She didn’t see where the pistol went. She didn’t see anything but his teeth. They were huge, and jagged, and stained with clotted blood. They were inches from her eyes.
His breath stank. His breath stank of his own brother’s blood.
“Kill me,” she said. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—couldn’t even be afraid, her brain wouldn’t let her. She knew that small mercy wouldn’t last. “Just do it quickly. You owe me.”
He chuckled, the fetor of his breath filling her nose and throat and making her twist her head around, making her wriggle in his grasp. “I owe you a lot more than that,” he said. “And I intend to repay you in full.”
He yanked her head up, the fingers of his good hand digging into the flesh under her chin. He was so strong that she couldn’t resist. Their eyes met and every thought went flying from her head like bats from a cave at dusk.
Time stopped—and when it started again she was lying on her back in the snow, staring up at dark blue sky and silver stars. So many stars—
She sat up, clutching at her head, forcing herself to focus. Looked around, looked everywhere. There was no sign of him, not even footprints in the snow.
But—she had hit him! She had put a bullet right through his heart. How was it possible he had gotten up again and run away?
12.
Hours later. In the east, a pale smudge of red stained the horizon. Just a few minutes before the dawn. She started to feel safe again, a little. Yet when Deputy Marshal Fetlock came up behind her and tapped her on the shoulder she still jumped.
“I’m sorry, Trooper, I didn’t mean to—”
She held up one hand and looked at her shoes until her heart had stopped thudding in her chest. “It’s alright. They told me you were coming in. I should have been ready to greet you.” Slowly she uncoiled her arms. They had been wrapped tightly around her stomach. She held out one hand and the Fed shook it. “It’s just—it’s just been a very long night.”
“I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me,” he said, smiling patiently for her. “I’m sure you’re busy.”
She shrugged. She’d been busy an hour before, coordinating the police response, securing the motel, and leading a team of troopers who dragged the field looking for any sign of Jameson. When nothing turned up she’d eventually decided she could go home, that there was nothing more for her to do at the scene.
Then Fetlock had called and asked for access to the crime scene. The timing was lousy—it was six in the morning; she hadn’t slept all night and she just wanted to get home. She’d thought about making him wait until she’d had some rest, but he assured her it was important, that he really needed to see the crime scene while it was fresh. Caxton had been a cop long enough to know how the hierarchy worked. Nothing good could ever come from saying no to a Fed. So she had been stuck at the motel while she waited for him to arrive. She had no idea what he wanted. He’d come to her briefing of the SSU but then left without saying anything, and now he was muscling in on her investigation. None of it made sense. “It’s not that I’m not glad to see you,” she said, “but maybe you could explain your imperative interest in this scene. Especially at this time in the morning.”
He smiled broadly. “I guess I’m just a morning person. As for my interest, it’s purely informal, I assure you. If you’d prefer not to meet with me now, I’ll be happy to get out of your way.”
She shook her head. She’d worked with Feds before and she knew that was likely all the explanation she would get—at least until he wanted something from her.
“No, no,” she said. “I’m just not sure how I can help you.”
“Why don’t you tell me what happened here?”
“It started with a routine interview. I’d made an appointment with Angus Arkeley, who was Jameson’s brother, and we were chatting. Then the situation deteriorated.” She filled him in briefly on the night’s events, omitting only her mental state—the doubts she’d felt, the moments of panicked fear, the blank spots when Jameson had hypnotized her.
When he’d heard her narrative—he declined to comment on any of it—she started showing him what remained behind.
When Jameson had left her, when she’d recovered enough to stand, she had made her way back to the front of the motel. The ambulance she’d called for arrived first, but the paramedics hadn’t known where to start, and she had to explain that the corpse in the parking lot wasn’t their patient. It should have been clear, she thought. The remains of the half-dead stank like they’d been moldering in the ground for months and there was so little left of its musculature and internal organs that she could have easily picked it up in one hand. The paramedics had eventually put up caution tape around the body and then just thrown a blanket over him. Now, as yellow light crept across the parking lot, she twitched the blanket back so Fetlock could see what he looked like.
The Fed winced visibly. Maybe at the smell, maybe at what the half-dead looked like. “It’s going to be hard to make a positive ID on that,” he said.
“You’re not kidding. The skin’s too degraded to get prints and his teeth are all broken up, so matching dental records is out. There’s no wallet or any kind of identification on him or in the car. I already checked.” That had not been a lot of fun.
“So Angus kicked him to death?” Fetlock asked. “That wouldn’t explain the decomposition.”
Caxton shook her head. “Angus was pretty hard on him, but I think he would look like this anyway. No, he died of old age.” Fetlock frowned at that, but she just shrugged and went on. “Jameson must have raised him from the dead more than a week ago and he’s been rotting away ever since. This guy wasn’t a threat to anyone. He couldn’t even stand up, much less hold a weapon. I think that was intentional.”
“What do you mean?” Fetlock asked.
“Jameson must have known how little life his servant had left in him. He could have sent a fresher corpse to bring his message, but if he had, if the half-dead had lived just a few hours more, I could have interrogated him and learned where Jameson’s lair is. This guy won’t be telling me anything.”
She pulled the blanket back over the half-dead’s face. Supposedly a hair and fiber unit was coming from Harrisburg to take a look at him, but she doubted they would find anything. The body was still decaying at an accelerated rate, and by the time they arrived he would probably be nothing more than stinking goo and splintered bones.
“That might explain why Jameson came here so early. The half-dead was supposed to arrive at midnight to get Angus’ answer, but it was closer to six P.M. when they arrived. I think Jameson didn’t expect his servant to last until twelve.”
�
��You mentioned that before. That Jameson had approached his brother with some kind of offer and that Angus refused it. You didn’t say what the offer was.”
“Well, nobody got around to telling me, either.” Caxton led the Fed toward the motel room. A pair of state troopers stood outside the door, guarding it, while a team of photographers worked inside, documenting the place of Angus Arkeley’s last moments. “Angus intentionally lied to me and didn’t tell me anything about the deal. It sounded like Angus felt this was family business. That he thought he could take Jameson down himself. Come on in, I’ll show you what that got him.”
They squeezed into the small bathroom, ejecting a photographer and a corporal who was in charge of maintaining order on the scene. Caxton pulled back the shower door and let Fetlock look into the tub.
It was empty, or at least there was no body in it. The paramedics had taken Angus away, pumping him full of plasma and trying to keep his heart going until he could reach a hospital. It had been no use—he’d been pronounced dead en route, inside the ambulance. The body was in the hospital’s morgue now under careful supervision. Jameson had the power to bring his brother back from the dead—in the form of a half-dead like the one out in the parking lot. Caxton had no reason to think Jameson would do that—it would only give her a chance to question Angus again—but she wasn’t taking any chances.
“Jameson dragged him in here, mostly to get him away from me. He had about five seconds alone with his brother before I broke in and started shooting. What do you see here?” she asked.
Fetlock turned his head to one side. “I see strawberry jam. About a gallon of it.”
Caxton let herself smile a little. She was starting to dislike the Fed. He kept his cards too close to his vest when they were supposed to be helping each other out. “That’s coagulated blood, of course. Angus’ blood. What I see when I look at this is a vampire who had already fed last night.”
“That’s an interesting conclusion.”
She nodded. “A hungry vampire would have found a way to drink more of the blood. He would have seen every drop as precious. This is just thoughtless waste. Jameson didn’t bring his brother in here to feed off of him, he brought him in here to murder him. Plain and simple.”
“His own brother. Why?”
“Because he said no. You asked me what Jameson offered Angus and I told you I don’t know for sure, but I think I can guess. A vampire only has one thing he can give you, which is his curse. I think Jameson Arkeley offered to make his brother a vampire. He gave him twenty-four hours to think it over, and maybe Angus was even tempted—eternal life must sound pretty good to an old man, even if he knows what price he’s going to have to pay. When Angus said no, Jameson killed him before he could say one more word to me.”
For the first time Fetlock showed a little surprise. His face paled a shade and his eyes opened a little wider. “He wanted to make his brother like he was. If he couldn’t do that he wanted to keep him from talking to you. And he intentionally used a moldering servant so he couldn’t tell you anything.”
“Yeah, that theory looks good,” Caxton said.
“Then he’s afraid of you.”
She actually laughed at that. “Yeah. I’m his biggest threat.” She led Fetlock over to the toilet and showed him the window that both she and Jameson had crawled through. “Out there,” she said, “I put two nine-millimeter rounds in his heart at point-blank range. Then he stood up again, incapacitated me, and fled the scene completely unscathed. Sure, I’m a real threat.” Fear surged through her again and she couldn’t help but shiver. Fetlock must be able to see how terrified she was, she thought. She couldn’t hide it anymore.
Fetlock shrugged. “Of all the people in the world, you’re the one he has the most to fear from. You’re the one who knows him best. You know his strengths, that’s something. And you know more about killing vampires than anyone else alive.”
But not necessarily, she thought, anyone undead. Jameson had taught her everything she knew. Now he was proving he had some secrets he hadn’t shared. “Thanks,” she sneered. “It’s nice to hear that.” And yet she realized she sort of meant what she’d said. It did help to know someone believed in her. “Now. How about you tell me why you’re actually here?”
“Alright,” he said, sitting down on the toilet. “I’m here to offer you a star.”
13.
“A star,” Caxton said, scowling. “You want to give me a star. What, like a teacher gives a good student a gold star?”
“This one’s silver, actually.” He reached inside his jacket pocket and brought out a lapel pin in the shape of a star inside a circle. She recognized it instantly, of course. Fetlock was wearing one himself. Jameson Arkeley used to wear one, too. Special Deputy Jameson Arkeley of the U.S. Marshals Service. “I’m authorized to temporarily deputize any law enforcement officer I choose into the Service, for as long as I see fit.”
“What, like a sheriff rounding up a posse of cowboys?”
“That’s about exactly right,” he said. “The Service is the oldest branch of the Justice Department. We were originally organized to clean up the frontier. A lot of cowboys were Marshals—Wyatt Earp, Bat Masterson, Bill Hickock.”
She shook her head. “I’m not a big fan of Westerns,” she told him.
“Frederick Douglass was one of us, too. Later on President Kennedy had us on the front lines of the civil rights movement and desegregation. We’re the white hats,” he said, his eyes twinkling.
She stared at the pin in his hand but said nothing. What the hell was this about? she wondered.
When she didn’t take the pin immediately, he closed his hand around it but didn’t put it away. “You’ve asked why I came down here. You probably wondered what I was doing at your SSU briefing. I was sent by the director of the Service. He’s very concerned about your investigation and he wants us to help you any way we can. Maybe I should start by giving you some background information, tell you our side of this. Where I come in. At our headquarters in Arlington, Virginia, on 21 November, I was asked to gather all of Jameson Arkeley’s old files from our archives. I was supposed to make photocopies of everything we had and send the originals on to you. The online catalog showed there wasn’t much—a few notebooks, a couple of case jackets and his personal dossier. None of it was digital, which meant I had to go down to the stacks in person and find the paper documents by hand. When I attempted to do so I made an unnerving discovery. Every single folder I was looking for was missing.”
He studied her face, but she refused to give anything away. She wouldn’t even shrug, not until she’d heard more.
“My next step, of course, was to find the Service’s librarian and check the circulation records. The files I wanted had all been checked out at the same time and then never returned. They’d been signed for. I bet you can guess whose signature was on the sheet. Jameson Arkeley’s.”
Caxton let herself blink, maybe too rapidly.
“Sounds absurd, doesn’t it? This was all well after he became a vampire. More than a year after he retired from the Service. He would have needed a photo ID to check out those materials. He would have needed ID just to get into the building. I checked with the unit that issues those ID cards and they told me that they’re supposed to destroy the cards once a deputy leaves the Service, but that sometimes people don’t turn in the cards when they clean out their desks. Sometimes they want to keep them as souvenirs of their old jobs, and sometimes they just forget. The ID unit never bothers to check if a given card has been turned in and destroyed or not. Well, they will now, I am told. Somebody down there is probably going to get fired over this.”
“Videotapes,” Caxton said.
Fetlock watched her as if waiting for her to say more, but she figured he knew exactly what she meant. “You mean, is the entrance to the archive under electronic surveillance? Of course. I watched the footage myself—it’s not actually on videotape, you understand. It’s all in compressed files on our ser
vers. I watched the six hours before and after Arkeley supposedly signed out those files. If you’re wondering if I saw a tall albino with pointed ears and no facial hair, no. Nothing of the sort. He might have sent a half-dead in his place, of course, but the librarian would probably have noticed someone coming in with no skin on his face.”
“A human associate, then.”
Fetlock nodded. “Has to be. That person’s identity remains unknown at this time. When I presented the director with the story I just told you, he made a decision very quickly. We couldn’t take that kind of security failure lightly. Maybe you’re thinking that the theft of a few library materials is no big deal, but it demonstrates something much more frightening. It shows that he knows all our tricks—and how to get around them. Jameson Arkeley conspired to trespass on Service property, in addition to any other crimes he might have committed. He is now considered a rogue deputy of the U.S. Marshals Service. That means he goes to the top of our Major Cases list—our version of the FBI’s most wanted, I suppose you could say.”
She wondered why the Service really wanted Jameson so badly. Maybe Fetlock was just gunning for promotion and wanted to take credit for closing up some unfinished business. Maybe it was just bad PR. After all, an ex-deputy turned mass murderer would look very bad for the Service. Or maybe the director was just truly concerned about public safety. Based on her experience with federal cops she kind of doubted that.
Fetlock raised his closed fist and rattled the pin around the way a gambler rattles his dice before he throws them. “While he still hadn’t hurt anybody we kept his name off the website and out of the media, but after what happened here last night I doubt that remains an option. We’re committed to catching him. We’re going to put every resource we have behind that. We want you to be one of those resources.”
She shook her head. “I already have a job.”
“And you would keep it,” he said. “This is strictly a temporary deputization. It’ll last just until you catch him. Then you’ll go right back to what you were doing before you started fighting vampires.”
Vampire Zero: A Gruesome Vampire Tale Page 6