"One more warning. The bitch you're after is creating her own get, but feeding them first on her blood. It makes them into a kind of slave, bound to follow her commands no matter what. The only way to free them is by killing her. They can't betray her, so don't even try. Understand?"
Cory nodded. “I guess I'm ready then."
"About fucking time.” Dave surged to his feet. He crossed the tiny cave and swooped down on Cory like a hawk hitting a field mouse. Cory had time for one terrified squeak before Dave's consciousness rolled over him like a fifty ton boulder and he found himself floating alone in a sea of inky blackness.
* * * *
Sunday morning.
The shriek of her cell phone hauled Rachel out of a dream involving caves and her son, though the images vanished almost as soon as she opened her eyes. Christ. What time is it? She snatched up the phone, blinked blearily at the caller ID and felt her stomach lurch. Peabody? At ... 6 AM? What could it be but bad news.
Oh, please, not Cory. Please. She prayed silently to a God she'd long since given up on.
"Yeah?” She answered it, hearing the tension in her own voice.
"Rachel, it's Dr. Peabody. We've got a bit of a ... situation ... here at the lab."
"A situation?” she repeated. What the fuck does that mean? “I was up until three, Jerry. You want to be a little more clear on that for me?"
"Uh ... all three of our victims are gone."
"Gone how?"
She could hear him wince. “Near as I can tell, they just got up and walked out."
"Crap. Give me fifteen minutes. I'll be there."
"Rachel? Big Bean is here. He's not happy."
Shit. She hadn't reported to the Chief before she'd gone home the night before. She'd been distracted by the case itself even before exhaustion had sapped her will to do anything but sit around and chew the details like old gum.
The mayor was sure to be tearing into Big Bean's backside, and she knew all too well how much the Chief enjoyed that novel experience. He'd once compared it to scratching his ass with a handful of razor blades.
He'd already know about Cory, which would motivate him to take it easy on her, but not keeping him up to date on a case as potentially volatile as this one was an act he'd see as passing dangerously close to sabotage.
It was an election year, after all. And Big Bean, underneath his rough hewn charm, was a politician. He wouldn't like the fact that his constituents were getting dead on his watch, but he'd like it less that it might cost him votes with those who were still breathing.
* * * *
She arrived at the ME's office within the allotted fifteen minutes, exhausted, sick with worry, and not in the mood for anyone's bullshit. Which is why when Stephen Pyle, local reporter and all-around pain in the ass, stepped out of a hidden doorway to accost her mid-stride, she nearly belted him one before bothering to recognize who he was.
"Get out of my way, Pyle."
The reporter had the Jimmy Olsen thing going for him, being redheaded, freckled, and possessing the whole hey, have pity on me, I'm just a cub reporter thing down pat, even though he'd been sniffing around Redburn for almost two decades now in much the same form. Rachel was half convinced he'd made a deal with the devil for perpetual youth along with a much-maligned talent for getting information out of the most unlikely places. “Hah, that'll be the day, Flynn. So I hear your kid's missing."
"Probably hanging around with your conscience,” she growled back. “Seen it lately?"
"Hardy-har-har. Word has it might be connected to the ‘Vampire Murders'."
"Vampire what?” she folded her arms and glared down at him. He was at least four inches shorter then she was, but damn hard to intimidate nonetheless.
"Don't bother denying it. Word has it that you've found three bodies drained of blood so far. Any leads?"
"Nothing I'm ready to share,” she said blandly, letting just a hint of her anger and frustration tinge her eyes.
"Fine,” he sighed. “Biggest story of the year and the big boys from big town will probably get it first."
"Probably right about that. They're not hanging around giving me a hard time."
"They don't know enough yet, Detective. Give ‘em a couple hours and they'll be on you like ticks on a dog."
"You'd know all about that, wouldn't you?"
Insulting Pyle was pointless. He honestly didn't care. He was tenacious enough to make vultures look like dilettantes and exactly the last goddam thing she needed at the moment. A bribe was in order. “Okay, Pyle, I'll tell you what ... as soon as I have something I can give away, you're at the top of my short list."
He had to know she was good for it. In a town the size of Redburn, sometimes the only way to keep a secret was to tell no one at all. Something she'd gained a reputation for even as a beat cop. She knew sometimes one had to feed the animals whether you wanted to or not. The trick was, knowing when and what to feed them.
He stepped aside as she marched past, pushing the door open and entering the chill embrace of the city morgue. The receptionist, a matronly woman with white hair in a bun and a pair of cat's eye spectacles, peered at her curiously before her face alighted with a soft smile. “Rachel. I just heard. How are you doing?"
"About as well as you might expect, Martha,” she sighed. “They in the back?"
Martha nodded and her warm eyes followed Rachel as she crossed the room and pushed through the set of French doors leading into the examining area. Her eyes were drawn immediately to the immense bulk that was Chief Roy Bigby—Big Bean. He was truly a giant among those assembled, his height of six-eleven elevating his head so far he had to duck to pass through most doorways. Large as he was, not only in height, but in bulk, he took any use of the word “Freak” as almost a personal affront. It's no wonder he's been elected Chief three times running now. No one in town has the cojones to run against him.
He stood in the center of the room, directly between the two examining tables, massive arms folded as he scowled darkly at everyone in the room with equal intensity. Peabody, sitting in a high-backed office chair, buried his face in his hands. His shoulders were shaking. Is he crying?
She wasn't surprised to see the other Redburn detectives there. Jacob Tooms, the reed-thin import from Jamaica, his ebony skin covered with a thin sheen of sweat despite the coolness of the lab, leaned nonchalantly against a row of file cabinets against the far wall. Deborah Shine, blunt of face, body, and tongue, sat atop one of the examining tables, kicking her feet idly like a child in a seat too large for her.
Binks, looking small and soft next to the Chief, stood a few feet away, staring down at his feet and shuffling them uncomfortably.
Arrived just in time, she thought peevishly. Everyone else has already been chewed out. Guess it's my turn now.
She wasn't wrong. Bigby turned his pale green eyes on her and what she saw in their depths made her shrink inside just a little. The Chief was pissed, and not just a little.
"Nice of you to join us, Detective Flynn."
The sarcasm in his voice seemed tinged a little with something else. Pity, perhaps? She wouldn't have expected it of him. “Yesterday we had three bodies and no leads. Now we have no bodies and no leads. Would you say that about covers it, Flynn?"
"Yes, sir, I'm afraid so.” What else was she going to say? He was right.
"Hmmm. It occurs to me we might have been looking in the wrong direction."
"Huh?” She stared at him in puzzlement.
"I think the seduction scenario threw us off. We're small town people, of course, and we're not likely to consider an outside possibility in a case like this unless we're forced to. We can't find any connection between the three women ... from what we've been able to determine, they didn't even know one another. Am I right? So what man could have met them all?"
None of them were stupid. They wouldn't have passed the Detective exam if they were. They exchanged weighted glances, then, almost in unison, flushed. What if they were
dealing with a woman, not a man?
It made sense. Too much sense to have missed it. Rachel grimaced. “Sorry, Chief. I should've caught that myself."
"Everyone has blind spots,” he rumbled. “Hard to believe a woman's doing this, but it just rings right."
"But what about the missing bodies?” Shine asked. “They didn't get up and walk out on their own."
Bigby seemed to actually consider the possibility before shaking his head. “Unlikely. It's not impossible that our killer has an accomplice. Or more than one."
"What I don't get,” interjected Tooms, “is why she killing ‘em in the first place. What she need the blood for, mon?"
"Maybe she bathes in it,” snorted Shine. She turned to look at Rachel. “Any word on your son?"
"No.” Rachel didn't say anything else. There wasn't anything else to say. They'd called a Crime Scene Unit team in from Bend but CSU hadn't arrived yet.
"We'll find him,” Bigby said confidently. “Binks—I want you to dust this lab for prints. Compare them to what we have on file for the victims, then ship them to the FBI. I want to know if our perp might be on file somewhere.
"Shine and Tooms—canvass the victims’ places of employment and around their houses again. We came up nil for any men sniffing around, so let's just see if we can nail down a female suspect.
"Flynn—go meet the CSU people where your son was taken. I'm replacing you as primary on the vampire case until he's found."
"Sir!"
"Don't argue with me, Rachel. You aren't going to be any good to us with that on your mind."
"Yes, sir. Who are you replacing me with?"
"Myself,” he answered with a challenging look, as if daring her to argue.
She knew better. “Whatever you say, Chief."
* * * *
Tuesday night.
Two nights had come and gone. The CSU people from Bend had also come and gone, uncovering no clues pointing to anything beyond what they already knew.
Rachel stood on the canyon's edge for the second night in a row, staring out at the bleakness that echoed the emptiness within herself. She'd failed everyone. Cory, Mira, and even the three girls who'd been killed by someone they would have never expected. Bigby had been right, it seemed. Their killer was a woman, and, by the description the other detectives had been able to glean from witnesses, not much older than the girls she'd slain.
Rachel's world had collapsed in a matter of days. This morning she'd turned in her badge and gun. She feared Cory dead ... in fact, in her heart of hearts, she knew it to be true.
She heard the car pull up behind her and didn't bother to turn around. Mira. She and Julia had both skipped school the last couple days to stand vigil with her here. That ends tonight, she told herself. No reason for both of them to sacrifice their futures because she had failed.
"Detective Flynn?"
Puzzled, she turned around slowly, watched with disinterested eyes as that hunky doctor—what was his name?—climbed out of an old Camaro and crunched across the gravel toward her. “What are you doing here?” she asked him.
He gazed at her through eyes deep with concern. “The girls told me I'd find you here. I sent them home. They need to be in school."
The fact that he unconsciously echoed her own thoughts from just a moment before he arrived sent a sudden chill through her. “You didn't answer my question."
He licked his lips and frowned. “You need help."
"Help? Are you kidding me? Help with what? Mourning my son?” She gave a brief, bitter laugh. “I'm doing just fine with that all by myself."
"No. You need help finding him."
"He's dead,” she snarled, saying the words that tore through her chest like a thousand icy knives.
"Maybe. But you don't know that."
"Fine. Maybe I don't. But tell me, doctor, how are you going to help me find him, even if he is alive?"
He hesitated, then gave a deep sigh. “I have certain talents that might be of use."
"Certain talents?” The way he used that word made her stomach twist even more. Is he a Meta? She found the thought brought both fear and hope and suddenly felt the urge to vomit. Only she had nothing to purge, having eaten almost nothing since Cory had vanished.
He shrugged, a shift of his shoulders. “Ask me to help you, Rachel,” he murmured, moving close enough she could smell his scent on the night wind. “Ask me to find your son."
She took a step away, eyes flashing. “I don't know who—or what—you are, but...” She couldn't finish the thought. Her throat grew tight and tears welled up in her eyes. “Just go away."
"I won't. I will stay until you ask for my help."
"Damn you! I don't need your fucking help."
"Yes, you do. This town needs my help. It's why I'm here."
"What?” It sounded ludicrous, but somehow she knew, as of that moment, that he spoke nothing but the truth. About that, at least. “Then stop all this mysterious bullshit, Doctor ... Chase, is it? If you can actually help, stop hinting around and just tell me how."
She couldn't really see his face in the dim moonlight, cast by the crescent sliver riding the night sky above, but she thought she saw pain pass briefly across his features. “I wish I could,” he said, “but some secrets must remain for the time being. I can't stand to see you suffering. Let me help you."
She stepped forward, not sure what she was going to do until her balled fist slammed into his stomach. It was like hitting a tree, but he doubled over, retching. She grabbed a fistful of hair and leaned close. “You offer to help, but won't say how. You say you're here to help, but won't say why. How do I know you're not involved in all this?” she asked in a voice like the hiss of a snake. “Why the hell should I trust you, when you can't tell me anything I need to know?"
She let go and thrust him away.
He drew himself up, his shadowed features revealing nothing more than they had a moment before. “Because who else have you got?” he replied through clenched teeth. “I should just turn around and drive away, but I won't. I can't be angry with you just because you're pissed and hurting and can't give a goddam inch. I'm offering something no one else is ... or can ... all you have to do is ask for it."
"Okay, damn you! Help me find my son! Is that what you want from me?” She dropped to her knees in front of him. “Do you need me to beg?"
"Get up,” he groaned. “Don't do this."
She clasped her hands in front of her and stared up at his silhouette in the moon glow. “Please oh, Great and Terrible Oz, help me find my Cory,” she wheedled. “I'll do anything you want, if you'll just find my son for me."
"Shit.” He leaned down and grasped her elbow in a grip like stone. “Get the hell up. I'm not trying to make you grovel, woman. I have no choice—there are rules."
Rules? What rules? Is he some kind of a cop? The notion struck her suddenly, and rocked her back on her heels. “What can you tell me, then? Who are you, really?"
"My name is Gavin Chase. I am a doctor. But that's not all I am. I understand you quit the force this morning. Stupid, but I can see why you did it.
"Tomorrow you're going to go to Bigby and ask for your job back. I can't offer my secrets to a civilian—I just can't. Tell me you will, and I'll tell you what I can."
She met his gaze squarely, and then dropped her eyes. “You can't hold back on me."
He laughed abruptly, a bitter sound with an hint of real humor. “I'll tell you what I can,” he repeated. “Some secrets aren't mine to tell."
She moaned. “All right, damn you. Just talk to me."
Three
The first thing Cory became aware of was hunger. Or was it thirst? It felt all-consuming, mind-battering, a craving so powerful it was like being on fire for something you couldn't live without.
Where am I?
It took him a long moment of digging at his memory to come up with an answer. In a cave, his inner voice finally answered. And I'm undead.
He simply th
ought about moving and found himself on his feet, already emerging from the cave mouth into the moonlight, his predator's senses already filling with a thousand details of the desert's hidden life.
Snakes slept nearby, waiting for the first full rush of spring to emerge from their dens. Their dry, unpleasant scent lying thick in his nostrils. Somewhere to his left, he could smell a cat—a cougar, perhaps—stalking something through the sagebrush and juniper stands. The scent of its blood pumping through its body, along with the throbbing of its feral heart, made his whole face tingle. He recalled Dave's suggestion, to find an animal to feed from first.
The cat caught his interest, but his senses ranged farther yet. He craned his neck, reaching ... The wind, biting with the mid-spring cold, invigorated him. On it rode the scents of juniper, sage, and the distant stink of cars.
Between town and where he was now he could smell—sense—a pack of the wild dogs that roamed the BLM lands of Central Oregon. Dogs. Bred from wolves, and, if given the opportunity or a good reason, return to being wolves.
Before getting Rowdy, who'd made it clear from the beginning that he wasn't going to tolerate other dogs—particularly males—in his territory, his mother had fostered for a canine rescue organization. Shibas, being a primitive breed, had a lot of the social characteristics of the wolves from which they were descended. If he took the Alpha dog—the leader of the pack...
His grin was predatory as he loped toward the east, eating up ground and clearing obstacles like the countless lava formations strewn across the landscape with great bounds whenever the whim took him. It was almost like flying.
He stopped, shook his head, and grinned. Now this was freedom. But a few minutes later, the Thirst drove him on.
Before he'd drawn within half a mile of his prey his mind had dodged ahead, mapping out the terrain through some eerie combination of sight, smell, and sound. It formed an image at the back of his eyes that seemed to resonate on all three levels.
And the fourth, the faint tingle of intelligence that shimmered through the air around the dogs. Not human sentience, perhaps, but a kind of proto-sentience. The beginnings of true awareness. Are all dogs like this? he wondered. If so, humans so misjudged the companions they'd crafted.
Of Man and Monster Page 3