by L. K. Below
With Terrence shadowing her, Lori stepped out of the cab, a lump in her throat. Who would the victim be this time? Not Terrence, obviously. Scissors, maybe, or Andrew, or any of her other friends. Or even Keri. As she stepped up to the yellow tape swarming the scene, the apprehension knotted her stomach. Impatiently, she waited for Garcias to arrive, so they would be let through.
There’d been some mistake. Turning to Terrence, she muttered, “I don’t understand. I’ve never seen him before in my life. What could he be trying to tell me?”
That he would kill innocents? This, she already knew.
“Nothing,” Garcias croaked. “This isn’t a message for you–it’s a warning for me.” When Lori glanced at him, his normally swarthy skin was pale, and he pressed his lips together so hard, he left a white ring around his mouth.
“This–” His voice broke. “This is my baby brother.”
* * * *
Understandably, Garcias needed time to come to terms with his loss. He oversaw the funeral, which Lori didn’t feel comfortable enough to attend. Within three days, however, he returned to the task of finding the killer with a vengeance.
At first, Lori helped in whatever way she could, but she could only do so much. Instead, she stepped back, having offered as much information as she could. The last thing she wanted was to hinder his progress. Although she left him to his work, she demanded he contact her the moment he discovered anything.
He did so a full ten days after his brother’s death.
When Lori called Terrence, he told her he was already en route. Night had descended. As she waited for him on the edge of campus, she stared up at the moon. It was shrouded, hidden by the clouds. Maggots squirmed in her belly, warning her of something bad to come. When she and Terrence reached Garcias’ office, that something became crystal clear.
Garcias was dead.
He sat slumped in his chair, mouth slack, eyes staring. His throat had been slit. Recently. A messy way to go. She pressed a hand over her mouth to stifle the urge to gag.
“Search the room,” she whispered hoarsely. “He found something.”
Taking separate paths and stepping carefully, she and Terrence systematically rifled through the room. She found nothing conclusive on her side–close to the door. Even so, the smell was overwhelming. In the middle of the carnage, Terrence seemed undisturbed. He picked up a pad and angled it under the lamp.
“R-O-S. What words start with R-O-S?”
Lori started muttering R-words under her breath. “Ross…Rose?”
Terrence had the same idea. He caught her gaze from across the room. “Is there a Rose in the Order?”
“Yes, but I’ve only met him once.”
“Him?”
Lori nearly laughed at the look on his face, at least until the smell wafted into her nostrils and she choked. Breathing through her mouth, she told Terrence, “He says it misleads people.”
“I’ll say…” Terrence deftly replaced the pad, no doubt in the same position it had been in when he’d noticed it. “Could he be our killer?”
“It’s possible…” she answered, but she just didn’t see it. This murderer seemed to know her with much more familiarity than she would imagine of The Rose.
“Could he have taken the Spenta Michos?”
Now that was a more difficult question. She didn’t want to pass quick judgment on anyone, especially considering the magnitude of what she might be accusing him of. Did The Rose have the means? Certainly. But did he possess the lack of conscience needed to perform such an act? While she had met him only once, and briefly at that, she had thought him to be as devoted to the Spenta Michos as she was.
To Terrence, she said, “Yes, but I don’t know if he would have.”
Nodding, Terrence picked his way over to her. “Let’s go then. Maybe we’ll be able to puzzle it out on our own.” As he steered her to the door, she glanced back over her shoulder.
“Rest in peace, my friend.”
The note in her dorm room stirred the rage–and the fear–in her chest.
You can’t escape my justice.
Gently, Terrence pried it from her fingers, having read it over her shoulder. Bending his neck, he pressed an open-mouthed kiss to her shoulder. “Are you sure you won’t stay with me?”
She extracted herself from his hold. “I’ll be fine.”
With a last, lingering look, he left her to brood on her own.
* * * *
Lori woke to the sound of her cell ringing. Blindly, she reached for her phone, sliding it open and pressing it to her ear. “Hello?”
“Happy Birthday!” Cedric said cheerfully. Far too cheerfully so early in the evening, at least in Lori’s opinion.
“The big two-four!”
Could it be the end of October already? Has to be, if Cedric’s calling. Groaning, she said, “I think ‘big’ only applies to numbers with a zero on the end. Why are you calling me, Cedric?”
“It’s your birthday.”
“Yeah, it’s also early. I was asleep. Besides, you know how I feel about my birthday.”
“Come on,” her cousin laughed. “It’s six o’clock already. My night and weekend minutes have already kicked it, so don’t you go complaining about how ‘early’ it is! You should be out partying or something.”
At the thought, Lori groaned again.
Unfortunately, Cedric only took that as an invitation. “Look, if you don’t have anything planned, Luce and I can drive down to see you.”
“No thanks, Ced. I’ve got loads planned. In fact, I have to get to it right now. G’bye!” Twisting her mouth in disgust, she hung up the phone.
Although she tried to fall asleep again, every passing second reminded her Terrence would soon come. And she didn’t want to see him–or anyone–today. Levering herself to her feet, she quickly dressed and made her way to Underground.
The club was hopping, everyone present in gothic attire. Thankfully, the plague of Halloween costumes didn’t extend into her favorite bar. As she claimed her seat, she pounded on the counter. “Scotch.”
Scissors, a small black pumpkin painted onto one cheek, sighed. “Lori–”
“Scotch!”
With another sigh, Scissors asked, “Glass or shot?”
While Lori was tempted to ask for the bottle, she settled on shots instead.
The first felt perfect, sliding down her throat and warming her even as it burned. She downed it and held out her glass for a refill. With a disapproving glare, Scissors complied.
By the time Terrence strolled into the club, Lori was on her eighth shot. Mentally, she cursed him for coming. Why couldn’t he leave her alone for a night? Although she was acutely aware of him approaching to stand at her back, she ignored him and kicked back another shot.
Like that had ever worked before.
When Terrence took the seat beside her, Scissors shot him a grateful look, as though he was her salvation.
“How long has she been drinking?” Terrence asked.
Scissors sighed. “About an hour. Maybe two.”
“And I’m gonna keep drinking ’til Ritchie takes me home!” The beat of the music throbbed in her ears, almost drowning out Lori’s voice. But she could still hear the slur in her words. Good, she thought, grinning. She held out her shot glass for another refill.
Gently, Scissors said, “Lori, Ritchie’s dead.”
“I know that.” Lori scowled. If she remembered, she wasn’t nearly drunk enough. She shook her shot glass until Scissors filled it with more of the heavenly amber liquid.
“How many has she had?” Terrence asked, concerned.
“Ten,” the bartender said wearily.
“In an hour? She’ll get blood poisoning!”
Lori banged on the counter, wordlessly demanding her glass be filled.
Instead of pouring, Scissors explained, “She hates Halloween.”
“No,” Terrence said quietly. “She hates her birthday.”
When Lori turned
to look at him, she nearly fell off the stool. The room spun. “How–?”
“Also on your University profile.”
Grunting, she tried to take the bottle out of Scissors’ hands. The bartender held it out of reach. “It’s your birthday?”
Lori grimaced, but nodded her head.
“Enough.” Terrence said, plucking the shot glass from her hand. He looked at Scissors. “How much does she owe?”
The bartender waved off his question. “We’ll settle her tab when she’s sober. Just make sure she sleeps it off.”
“I will.” Terrence’s fingers closed around Lori’s elbow. He helped her to her feet. “Come on, Lori.”
She took a step and the world zigzagged. Fortunately, Terrence caught her before she fell, and lifted her into his arms. With his big, strong muscles bracketing her, Lori didn’t feel much like protesting. Besides, as soon as he deposited her at her dorm room, she would be free to prowl the streets again, searching to drown her misery.
When Terrence hailed a cab, helping her into it, she went complacently. As he settled in beside her, his arm holding her steady on the seat, she turned her head to look at him. His hair had grown in the two months since they’d met. It had developed a wave, which she liked. The black strands gleamed in the city lights. They invited her to touch them, to comb her fingers through them. She reached out her hand.
When she touched him, he turned his gaze to her. His eyes were so blue… She felt as though she could get lost in them. Never before had she seen eyes like his. As she basked in their glow, the corners of his mouth lifted in a predatory smile, showing flashes of his teeth. Of his fangs. She turned away.
The cab pulled to a stop. As Terrence helped, she stared blankly at the building in front of her. “This isn’t where I live.”
“No,” Terrence agreed. “This is where I live.” He swung her into his arms and moved up the front steps to the entrance. He had to juggle her in order to use his keys and let them in. “You can’t think I’d leave you alone when you’re this drunk.”
Sighing, Lori rested her head on his shoulder. He was so, so…unbearable! To entertain herself, she began to blow lightly on his neck. She watched chills spread in the wake of her breath.
“Stop that,” he said gruffly.
He was getting angry with her. She stopped.
Whisking her through the front door, he climbed the steps to his apartment. As soon as he opened the door, he set her gently on the bed. After kicking off his shoes, he knelt before her, unzipping one boot and pulling it off. His fingers brushed the back of her knee. A tingle spread up her legs and between them. Setting it aside, he moved to the next boot.
When she stood, so did he, slowly unfolding his frame. He stood so close, she could feel the heat of his skin. Her eyes locked on his mouth. Kissing him suddenly seemed like the best idea in the world.
As she stood on tiptoe to press her mouth to his, his lips parted, inviting her in. Locking his arms around her, he pinned her to his body, kissing her fiercely. He wanted her just as much–or more–than she wanted him. She tugged on the hem of his shirt.
They made short work of each other’s clothes. Soon he was pressing her into his mattress. His fingers fumbled for the catch of her necklace.
She shifted beneath him, impatient. “I thought you weren’t supposed to touch crosses.”
He smirked. “They only work if anointed by a priest, love.”
“Then why are you taking it off?”
Pulling the chain away from her skin, he set it on his nightstand. “Just because it won’t hurt me doesn’t mean I want to look at it.”
Before she could say anything else, he pinned her mouth beneath his. Then he proceeded to worship her with his body.
Chapter 7
A pounding headache greeted her when she woke the next morning.
When she realized she slept in a stranger’s bed and had no memory of getting to where she was, she rolled over. Terrence lounged beside her, watching her with hooded eyes. Naked.
Groaning, she buried her face into the pillow. What had she done?
“Just the reaction every man likes to get after he’s spent the night with a woman. Real great for the ego,” he quipped.
Frankly, Lori didn’t care if she’d hurt his feelings. This was a disaster. She'd had a hard enough time convincing him she wasn’t interested when they hadn’t slept together!
Drawing in a deep breath, she lifted her head, hoping to nip this in the bud. “Last night was a mistake.”
“More compliments? You shouldn’t, Lori.” Despite her discouraging words, he smiled, thoroughly pleased with himself.
“It can’t happen again.”
The smile dropped from his face. “Why not?”
“Because I’m not interested.”
“You seemed interested last night.” His smirk back in place, he shifted closer.
Clutching the sheet to her chest, she edged away. “I was interested in the sex. Now it’s done. We’re done.”
Instead of leaving her alone like she hoped, he lunged forward, pinning her with his weight. “No.”
“No? What do you mean, ‘no’? Unless you plan on kidnapping me, there’s nothing you can do about it. I say we’re over. We are.”
When he kissed her, it was far from the gentle kisses he usually gave. Lifting his head, he said, “I’ll take ‘interested in the sex’ for now.”
“No.” She knew she wasn’t very convincing, not with the breathiness in her voice. “You had your one night. That’s all you get.” Sliding out from under him, she tried to pull the sheet with her to cover herself, but he refused to budge. With an inward shrug, she dropped it. He had already seen all there was to see, after all. As she dressed, she muttered, “Now that we’ve crossed the bounds of friendship, there’s no going back. Goodbye, Terrence.”
She left without a backward glance.
Thankfully, Terrence didn’t follow her. As she reached her dorm room unmolested, she collapsed onto the bed. She didn’t need him, she told herself. This is exactly why you don’t normally drink. After a while, she rose, stripped away her clothes, and showered. Strangely enough, Terrence still hadn’t come knocking on her door.
It’s better this way, she soothed herself, but when she stepped on a piece of paper, she reconsidered. Glancing down, her heart jumped into her throat. On the floor was a note and a Polaroid picture.
The murderer had struck again.
What, are we back in the ’90s? Lori picked them up with shaking hands. The note listed an address. The picture was of Terrence.
The lighting was bad, his face in shadow, but she could clearly see his fangs and black hair. He was bound and blindfolded. How could she have let this happen? The papers fell from her numb fingers. Like a whirlwind, she dashed around the room, dressing, pulling her hair into a ponytail to keep it out of her face, and thrusting her stake and dagger into her boots.
This was her fault. If she had properly discouraged him two months ago, he would never have been in the killer’s line of sight. She would save him this time, and then she would sever her ties with him for good.
By the time she reached the bus stop, she realized she didn’t have her phone on her. Damn! But she didn’t have time to go back and get it, not with Terrence’s life at stake. As long as the killer didn’t have a gun, she didn’t need backup–from the cops or anyone else. She had her dagger on her, after all.
The address, which she had memorized, led to a warehouse not far from Sharkhouse. It was walled off and gated, but that barely slowed her down. Once she checked for security cameras–seeing none–she picked the gate lock.
After doing the same with the door, she peered into the warehouse. Unfortunately, she couldn’t see much, even by the light of the moon. She left the door wide open and crept forward.
As her eyes adjusted, she recognized Terrence. He slumped against the opposite wall, newly gagged. But where was the killer? As soon as she scanned the room–empty–she crosse
d to Terrence. Kneeling before him, she cut away his blindfold.
She froze. He wasn’t Terrence. She had been tricked.
Like clockwork, the door slammed shut.
Startled, she whirled. Knife in hand, she eased back into the corner, for all the good it would do her. She couldn’t see a damn thing.
As an old, flickering light bulb flared to life, her eyes picked out an empty chair and the form of a gaunt, disheveled man. Light glinted off the steel of a gun as he leveled it at her.
“Rosland?”
He pulled the trigger.
The bullet entered the bound man lying beside her. Gore sprayed her hands, her arms, her clothes. She gagged, but struggled to maintain control of herself, not daring to move.
“You just killed an innocent man!”
Above the ringing of her ears, she heard Rosland’s nasal voice. “He was sacrificed for a noble cause. Come closer, Shade. To the chair.”
Slowly, she walked forward. Horror deadened her reflexes. Would she make it out of here alive? Rosland had gone mad.
He met Lori at the chair, pressing the muzzle of his weapon into her temple. She winced, lowering obediently into the chair. As Rosland pried the dagger from her hands and tossed it away, she whimpered. She didn’t move while he tied her hands behind her. Without taking his gun off her, he circled around to face her.
“Where is he?”
Lori stared at him blankly. What was he talking about? Even as she thought of the question, she delicately tested the rope binding her. “Who?”
Rosland’s lip curled. “Don’t play dumb with me, bitch. The Spenta Michos.”
“What? I have no idea where he is!” All along, she had assumed the killer–Rosland–had been responsible for his kidnapping. But if Rosland wasn’t the culprit, who was?
Snarling, he kicked her shin, bringing her back to the grim present. She bit her lip to keep from crying out over the sting of pain. “I know you took him. I saw you search his house to make sure you covered your tracks. Don’t deny it. Now where is he?”
“Rosland, I didn’t take him. I’ve been looking for him, too.”
He struck her across the cheek with the butt of his weapon. As pain colored her vision, she cried out. If the truth wouldn’t work–he was obviously too far gone to hear it–maybe she should start lying. But how much time would that buy her? She decided to give the truth one last chance.