Mixed Blessing (Mixed Blessing Mystery, Book 1)

by Nicola Claire

  I took a step out from the shadows, I still held them firmly wrapped around me, but any further and the powerful lights brought in by forensics would rip them away. I took a deep breath in and contemplated using my Sanguis Vitam to shatter the bulbs, but light from the casino windows overlooking the scene would still provide too much illumination. I didn't think I was strong enough to take the city block power grid down.

  I rolled my head on my shoulders and accepted this scene was not appropriate for closer inspection. I could only hope the next would offer a more private setting. I'd save my energy for that. Mark and Grumpy Guts were preparing to leave. I turned back to the shadows behind me, but the smell of caramel and ginger had gone. Aliath had retreated. I spun around and tried to get a bead on where he had gone to, but like the murder scenes before this one, his scent simply disappeared into thin air.

  I wanted that to mean these murders had been performed by a fairy. The disappearing act too close to Aliath's right now to indicate anything else. But I am not naive, even before I had been turned by that Rogue, I wasn't the sort of person to believe in happy endings. Just because I didn't want a vampire responsible for this mess, didn't want Jett to be involved, didn't mean it wasn't so. My father had taught me that lesson when I was only eight.

  Jett was involved to some degree I was sure and sooner or later I would have to confront the Master of Auckland City about my suspicions. But I needed to know more. I cursed under my breath - as I followed Mark towards his waiting vehicle - that I hadn't asked Aliath about the camera footage at SubZero's headquarters before he disappeared. Any additional info right now would be of benefit. I checked to make sure I still had the flash-drive of footage from Alison's apartment in my pocket. I really wanted to determine how involved Jett was. That had become as important as getting Stu off the charges.

  Not that Jett's scent had appeared at Alison's murder scene at all. He hadn't popped up until the bum at Grafton Oaks. Still, I needed something more solid than his scent at the scenes before I approached the powerful vampire. I could still feel his fingers wrapped around my throat from our encounter in his office. Strangely, that didn't frighten me as much as it should. I frowned at the small thrill of excitement that coursed through my veins.

  The next scene offered up almost the exact same scents as Federal Street. The murderer, Jett's and fear and amusement in copious quantities. But I refused to accept anything at face value. I shadowed Mark as closely as I could to the body. This one had been discovered behind an old cargo shed down on Queen's Wharf. As popular as the waterfront space is and especially the nearby Cloud structure, the body had obviously been here longer than the one in Federal Street. It had simply been overlooked. I added up the murders in my mind. Alison's had been the first. Followed by the bum at Grafton Oaks the next night. Then we had missed a night, no bodies discovered, until tonight. The body I was now looking at from the safe harbour of the shadows beside Cargo Shed 10 would have easily fitted into that time slot.

  The murderer had been killing nightly since Alison's death. I wasn't the only one to conclude this.

  "One every night since Friday," Mark commented quietly, as he knelt next to the slumped body of what looked like a man in faded jeans and a t-shirt. Blood had once again pooled beneath his neck, but it had congealed and darkened, having sat there longer than the blood at Federal Street. It smelled old, dead, lifeless. Entirely unappealing to my Nosferatu side as well as the Nosferatin. I crinkled my nose in disgust.

  "Doesn't mean anything. He may have finished what he wanted to accomplish," Grumpy Guts answered, screwing up his face as he looked down at the victim from his full height. No crouching down to get a better look from this guy.

  "Are you really that naive?" Mark asked dismissively. "He's only just started. Perps like this get a taste for it and once that taste has been acquired there's no stopping them. He's killed one a night until tonight, where he's increased to two. This could prove to be Auckland's biggest serial killer of all time. This isn't the last we'll see."

  I didn't disagree with him, but I also wasn't entirely convinced this was your average serial killer, starting out small and increasing the numbers as he gained confidence and an addiction to the taste of watching his victim die. There was a reason this was happening and I knew it had to with Vive La Vodka. Why else was the first murder at SubZero and involved the CEO of the company? Why else did it feature so prominently in Alison Danvers' diary? I just didn't know what connected the other murders to my hunch.

  I needed to talk to Stu. How the hell that was going to be accomplished I didn't know. But Stu worked closely with Alison, his name had appeared beside many of those meetings in her day planner. Maybe the cops hadn't put two and two together yet and asked him the right questions, but I could. I just needed to gain access to a key suspect in the crimes.

  Still, surely they'd be releasing Stu soon, now that the murders were continuing and gaining in momentum. He could hardly be blamed for those deaths since he was imprisoned at Mount Eden.

  "There's nothing else here to help us, lets move on to the next," Mark announced as he stood to full height and brushed down his trousers. They had creased, quite noticeably, he was starting to look tired and well worn and the night was still fairly young. Not long past ten. I took a quick scan around the scene and decided gaining a closer look at the victim couldn't be attained here, the wharf was now swarming with observers, many of which were from the press. Word had got out and now using Sanguis Vitam to shatter the forensics lights had become too great a risk.

  I sighed and followed the detectives as they drove slowly from the scene. Hunger had begun to gnaw at my belly, my fangs were now permanently down. Nothing I could do would make them retract. I needed to feed, but it would have to wait. One last murder scene then I would give in to the Dark Shadow and sate my thirst.

  I don't think I had ever used as much Sanguis Vitam in one night as I had done this evening. First the use of shadows to get from Parnell to the city, then the conversation over the telephone, followed by the influence of the cop at the Federal Street scene, then the use of shadows again to hide myself at each scene thereafter. As well as the speed required to keep up with a moving vehicle as it traversed the city streets. Thankfully, the final murder scene was not too far away. This one was in Albert Park. I couldn't have hoped for a more secluded setting if I had tried. This would be where I got my closer view. I just hoped it was worth using the last of my Sanguis Vitam to achieve it.

  Albert Park is beautiful in the daylight, carefully planted flower beds in a wide open space of trimmed lawn, surrounding a picturesque fountain. I knew how it looked under the light of the sun, I had spent many hours here enjoying the scenery before that night. I would no longer see the whites, pinks, purples and greens as they were intended to be viewed. Night time diminished their wonder, the moon not as worthy an accompaniment as the sun.

  But it served its purpose tonight. The forensic team assessing this scene had placed their lighting around the crumpled body of the victim, the area well cordoned off from prying eyes. A contingency of uniformed officers closing down the park completely from any night time wanderer - or drug dealer. This place now belonged to science and detective work, and my Sanguis Vitam when the time came.

  I decided to give Mark a chance to take in the scene before I interfered. He might see something I didn't. Due to the lack of public witnesses all of those present seemed far more relaxed than I'd seen them at the other scenes. Even a few jokes were being bandied about, granted their lean was more in the realm of black humour, but it surprised me they could make funny with a dead body in their midst. It just goes to show how desensitised you can become to something, if you see it often enough.

  Mark watched the forensic team for a few moments, Grumpy Guts getting in on the odd joke or two, before the lead detective had obviously had enough.

  "All right, all right. Tell me what you've got," he demanded of one of the white crepe coveralled people.

&nbs
p; The laughter died down and a more serious atmosphere replaced the one of before.

  "Same obvious cause of death. Sliced throat, leading to rapid exsanguination of the victim. The addition of multiple contusions across the upper torso, no more than a centimetre in depth and displayed in the same pattern as previous vics. No obvious reason detected for those marks or patterns that we can see."

  "Other than the perp is a pervert and likes to cause pain before he slices their throat," Grumpy Guts offered, Mark scowled. I hadn't seen what the marks on the chests were. I had noticed at the Grafton Oaks scene that Mark had mentioned further disfigurement to the body, but I had never been in a position to see them myself, nor had I heard them described. I now had evidence of them existing on each body so far and the police had no explanation for them at all.

  They discussed a few other points of notice, none of which seemed too pertinent to the cases. No DNA under the nails, no evidence of sexual misconduct, no subliminal message that they could see. In other words no clues.

  After a few minutes Mark and Grumpy Guts concluded their perusal of the body and left the scene. I waited until they had reached their car outside the park's gates and then I took a deep breath in, and sent my Sanguis Vitam out into the air. The loud pop, pop, pop of each of the high wattage lights that lit the scene rang out in the night, followed predictably by the screams and shouts of surprise from those officers and forensic team members left at the scene. I made sure that every light in the area was destroyed and then followed up with a small explosion off to the side by the power transformer for the park. The officers headed in that direction to determine if the Fire Department would be needed and the forensic team all retreated to the safety of their make-shift tent. It was now or never.

  I continued to draw on the now multitude of shadows in the park and glided over to the body. Hardly an ounce of Sanguis Vitam required, which was a blessing, because I was starting to feel a little faint. It took several seconds for my vampire night vision to kick in, the change from powerful artificial light to moonlight requiring a moment to adjust. But before I knew it, I was staring down at the quite clearly dead body of a young teenage boy. Homeless, I would hazard a guess. We'd had executives, to moderately well dressed mainstream city workers, to homeless and a bum. There seemed to be no connection, other than the clean slice to their throat and loss of blood.

  But this kid, and he definitely looked like a kid now that the life had left his shell, was dirty and dishevelled. His clothes hanging off him as though they were two sizes too big, and also in layers. He wore several jerseys, ripped holes in the outer one obvious in the dim moonlight between the clouds above. But I could see at least three more different coloured jumpers beneath the lime green of the one on top. Likewise his trousers were layered over a second pair of jeans. I was sure he wore several layers of socks too. This kid wore his wardrobe on his body, because he had nowhere else to hang his clothes.

  I felt a little sick at the thought that people actually slept under bridges in the City of Sails. We have a social security system that should have made something like this avoidable. Where were his parents? What did he do for shelter? What did he eat? Not much, if the slim build of him was any indication. The smudges under his eyes only adding to the bleak outlook for this boy.

  I crouched down and took a subtle breath in, noting the scents, sifting through them and cataloguing each one. The murderer had been here of course, the kid's own signature scent and a small smattering of Jett's. Faint, overlaid with many others. Not a pure indication that he had been present, but an indication that one of those that had been, had also been close to Jett at one stage perhaps. I couldn't rule out that he'd come this way, that he'd been involved, but I also couldn't confirm it either. Still, any link was not a good link.

  Bitter sweet chocolate. So much I felt saliva pool in my mouth. I can't eat chocolate anymore, but I sure as hell remember the taste and like Pavlov's dogs, my automatic conditioned response is to salivate. But I didn't hunger for the chocolate I could smell, I hungered for the blood that pooled beneath this boy's head. Before I realised what I was doing, I'd dipped a finger in the puddle beside his lilly white neck and brought the blood soaked digit to my mouth. I spat the dead blood out immediately and forced myself not to hurl.

  Get a grip. I focused my attention on his neck as I wiped my finger on my shirt. One clean slice from a sharp knife. There was no tearing, no curl to the flesh that gaped at the wound. It was precise and perfectly placed, as though the killer intended every inch of the harsh slash he had made. I leaned in and sniffed the wound. Nothing obvious sprang out to slap me in the face, just increased bitter sweet chocolate, mixed with bold grapefruit and lime. The kid had been scared and alarmed in equal degrees. Who wouldn't as your throat got slashed. I pulled at the wound carefully, but no matter what I couldn't find evidence of a bite mark hidden by the perfect slice to his throat. If a vampire had committed this murder, I couldn't tell.

  I was stumped, again. Why this kid? By whom? None of this was making any sense. I took a quick look over my shoulder to determine how much longer I had undisturbed. The fire department had arrived to extinguish the transformer fire and the forensics team had started to huddle at the entrance of their 'safe' tent. It wouldn't be long until the cops returned and the lights would be replaced.

  I returned my attention to the torso, pulling the sheet that covered the boy down to his waist, then sat back on my heels and tried to take in what I was seeing. Seven small chunks were missing over his chest and upper stomach. They were balanced, if viewed from the kid's feet. Three on one side in a sideways triangular pattern, mirrored by three on the other, with the seventh directly in between, in the centre of each trio of marks. They could have been made by the tip of a knife, simply dug out of the flesh like you'd core an apple. But something about their placement unsettled me. It took several moments for me to realise what it was.

  I'd seen this exact combination of marks before, just not on the dead body of a person. I shook my head and started to back away. It could mean anything. Their positioning could be random, a coincidence, although the precision of their placement led to anything but. Maybe they represented infinity, the figure of eight on its side. Maybe they had a personal meaning to the murderer, something none of us could possibly understand. It could mean absolutely anything at all, it didn't have to mean what I was trying futilely to ignore.

  Just because Kara and I'd had a secret symbol growing up and that Stu had been aware of it too, didn't mean the murderer was. Just because that symbol we'd associated with our friendship, with the closeness of our bond, matched the placement of each of the marks on the body before me, didn't mean that it was intended in that way at all.

  But no matter what I told myself, I couldn't stop seeing our sign. Right there, carved into the milky white flesh of a young homeless man. A message to whomever investigated these murders or a signature of sorts.

  I wanted to believe the latter, but my gut - or the Dark Shadow in all her perceptive wisdom - did not subscribe to that point of view. The murderer was talking to me, with a near blinding brightness of clarity I shouldn't have felt at all, I knew this.

  And suddenly this game became so much more deceptive, so much more dangerous and personal. First Stu gets charged for the murders, now the murderer is talking to me through artfully placed and macabre symbols on dead flesh.

  I spun on my heels and fled from the scene, dragging the shadows with me and using the last of my Sanguis Vitam to hide from the awful truth.

  I was no longer the hunter, but the hunted.

  And didn't that just suck.

  Chapter 17

  Disappointment

  I'd made it all the way to my apartment before I realised that I hadn't stopped to feed. Too shell-shocked. I stood in the shadows outside the front door to the building, debating the wisdom of entering before satisfying the Dark Shadow's persistent hunger. My fangs were down, my eyes would have been pure red, but the contacts I
still wore hid the horror of what I had become. My stomach growled, matched only in its fierceness by the growl of the Dark Shadow inside. She was hungry. I was hungry. But I couldn't face feeding right now.

  It was too close to my last feed, too soon to the feeding from Samson, and the attempt to feed from Aliath. I had spent the past two months carefully managing my feeding. Once every three days, sometimes longer. I knew the result of using too much Sanguis Vitam, of letting the Dark Shadow have too much rein, but I avoided that usually.

  Until now. Until these murders. Until my best friend's cousin was falsely accused of them. Until Jett pushed me further to solve these crimes. Until Aliath interfered and somehow managed to direct me further down this path too.

  I had never allowed myself to get this hungry before, but then I had never been placed under such stress, had to use so much Sanguis Vitam. I knew how dangerous the situation was, but that stubborn part of me refused to acknowledge I didn't have a choice. That I couldn't control this, manage it, minimise it.

  So, I walked in the door of the apartment building, only releasing the shadows as I stumbled across the threshold of my apartment itself. The door clicked shut behind me and in a haze I headed to my bathroom and climbed under the cold spray of the shower, fully clothed. Then settled down in a crouch, my body closing in on itself, arms wrapped around my knees, face bent to rest on top of them. And let the water pound into me, soaking everything I wore, trying in vain to wash away who I was. What I had become.

  I don't know how long I stayed there, I hadn't used any hot water, just cold, so the chattering of my teeth came on pretty quickly, but still I didn't move. Numbed by the chill, somehow it helped to numb the hunger and pain. Was this my life now? This constant battle for my humanity. What good came out of what had happened to me? I survived, but at what cost? I hate what I am, I refuse to let it overtake me, rule me. But I think I am losing.