The Bloodline Series Box Set

by Gabriella Messina

  He was startled out of his thoughts by the sound of police sirens.

  “Sam? Sam, we have to go, now. Now!”

  The body shuddered one final time before completely melting away, leaving nothing but a slight sheen on the floor like a patch of oil that has leaked out of a car. Sam shivered as well and looked up at Vincent.

  “Police, Sam, we have to go!”

  Sam quickly scanned the room, looking for an exit. “How did you get in?”

  “The roof.”

  “Nice. Let’s get out of here.”

  The pair headed for the staircase. As they reached the top, Vincent took the lead, turning right and running along the catwalk railing. The railing ended abruptly, nothing but a small door in the wall in front of them. Vincent quickly pulled the door open and they disappeared through it.

  “You all right?” The stairs turned sharply, and Sam was able to briefly glimpse Vincent’s face as he glanced back.

  “You mean physically or mentally?”

  “Both.”

  The stairs turned again. Sam chuckled. “Well, physically I’m a bit bruised and battered, my chest hurts from being body-checked by a pissed-off werewolf and I’m feeling a bit tired. Mentally...” They paused at the top of the stairs in front of a second door. Vincent reached for the door handle, hesitated, waiting for Sam to finish. Sam shrugged, “Jury’s still out on mentally.” Vincent looked at her, searching her face. “What?”

  “I know it’s a lot to take in...”

  Sam held up a hand. “Listen, could we maybe bond when we are not running from the police? How about that?”

  “Sure.”

  “Good. Now... door, open, what do you think?”

  Vincent smiled, popped open the door. Cold air hit Sam like a wall as the night air came whooshing in. The two stepped through the door and out onto the roof of the building. “Shit, you really did get in from the roof, didn’t you?”

  “Well, I was not going to stand on-queue.” They started to walk across the roof. “Not even this face could get me through the hell that was the front door of this place.”

  “That’s not true. Your face would most definitely have gotten you through the line.” Sam smiled. “That coat, on the other hand...”

  Vincent stopped and turned, a frown marring his acutely handsome face. “What’s wrong with my coat?”

  Sam shrugged. “Nothing. Not a thing.” She tried not to laugh as she watched Vincent looking down at his coat. It’s not a bad coat or anything... just old, like maybe thirty years old... I mean, when it comes to thirty-year-old clothing, it could be much worse... something New Wave or... wait a minute... “Um, Vincent?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Weren’t there two werewolves in the club?”

  Vincent hesitated before answering. “Yeah.”

  “Where’s the other one?” Silence. “You know, the one who looked like he was an extra from an Adam Ant video?” More silence. “Vincent?”

  “It got away.”

  Sam was incredulous; “It got away? You have two 9 mill H&Ks! How did it get away?”

  Vincent sighed. “The other one was going to kill you.”

  “Oh.” Sam swallowed hard, nodded. “Okay, thank you.” She felt bad about criticizing his coat.

  She watched Vincent walking toward the edge of the roof, the scaffolding of the fire escape visible ahead of him. His breath was frosting in the cold air and the dampness had caused his hair to curl, little tendrils sticking to the sweat at his temples. A day’s shadow of beard accentuated the cut of his jaw and cheekbones. Damn, he was beautiful.

  Sam suddenly jolted out of her reverie as something hit her from behind... something big that knocked her off her feet and to the ground. What the hell? Sam looked back over her shoulder... and came face-to-face with the Red-wolf.

  “SAM!”

  Both Sam and the Red-wolf looked up at Vincent. He had his gun raised and aimed... one gun. The Red-wolf looked back down at Sam and frowned. She was smiling. It looked down between them... at the second H&K.

  Both guns fired at once, the shots hitting the Red-wolf in the head and torso. A cacophony of sounds erupted from the Red-wolf, growls, wails, howls, as the effect of the mercury began. The body shuddered and convulsed above Sam. She tried to squirm her way out from under it but was trapped by limbs in every direction. The movement stopped suddenly, and the Red-wolf collapsed on top of her.

  Vincent ran over. “You all right?”

  Sam squirmed beneath the body. “More or less.” She tried to slide to one side, then to the other, but remained trapped under the body. “Um, a little help would be nice.”

  She looked up at Vincent... and the H&K aimed directly at her. Sam’s breath caught in her chest. “Vincent? What are you doing?”

  Part of her knew, but if he was going to put her down like this, she wanted him to say it. She wanted him to look at her with those soft brown eyes and say the words with that Irish accent of his.

  “I’m finishing him.”

  There it is... the words I... Wait, what? Sam snapped her attention back on the here-and-now as Vincent shot the Red-wolf point-blank in the head. The body went rigid, shuddered again and began to melt on top of Sam.

  It was over quickly, the body melting into a silvery sheen that pooled on the ground and stained spots on Sam’s clothing. Sam exhaled with a whoosh; she hadn’t realized she was holding her breath until then.

  A hand appeared in front of her. “Sorry about that.” Sam took Vincent’s hand and allowed him to help her to her feet.

  “Do me a favor?”

  “What?”

  “Never. Do. That. Again.” Sam glared at Vincent and he grinned sheepishly in response.

  “Sorry. Just thinking quickly.”

  At that moment, the sky opened, and large raindrops began to pelt them. Sam and Vincent ran for the fire escape, and Sam quickly climbed over the small wall and onto the scaffolding. She started down the stairs but stopped at the first landing. Vincent wasn’t behind her. Sam backtracked up the stairs and peeked around the wall.

  Vincent looked up at the rain, the drops wetting his face. He held out his arms and shook his head, sending droplets flying from the ends of his hair. He was grinning like a kid on Christmas. Sam felt her stomach flutter at the sight of him.

  Vincent shook his head again and ran his hands through his hair and over his face. He shouldn’t feel good after nights like this, but he always did. Maybe it was the endorphins, the adrenalin... it just felt good to bask for a moment in being, well, alive.

  Vincent started toward the fire escape and saw Sam watching him. Her hair was plastered down, soaked with rain. For a split second, Vincent wondered if Ivan still possessed enough strength to kill him if they...

  “I’m drowning here, can we go now?”

  Vincent grinned and hopped over the wall. Together, they descended the fire escape to the ground below.

  14

  LENNY EASED THE BLUE Escape through the crowds that had gathered in the street outside Glow. He let loose a few whines on the siren, something he ordinarily hated to do, but he was supposed to be on his way home now and these people needed to get the hell out of the way!

  Lenny sighed, pulled the vehicle into a small space along the curb and got out. The looky-loos backed away, the crowd shifting slightly as he walked toward the rear of the vehicle. A section near the curb pushed forward and Lenny prepared for the impact, reaching down and putting a securing hand on his holstered gun.

  A darkly-clad shoulder bumped into Lenny; Lenny looked up and noticed a flash of black leather disappearing into the crowd. Black... Black... Lenny shook his head and made for the entrance.

  A rush of cool air greeted Lenny as he made his way through the front doors and descended the stairs leading to the main club area. He ran his fingers over the dark velour-covered walls as his feet shuffled down the stairs to the bottom.

  The rush of softness, the smell of alcohol and a heady mixture of perfumes
and after-shaves brought back memories of his youth. ‘My youth?’ I’m starting to sound like an old man. He chuckled. That’s what Sam would say.

  Sam... Lenny’s smile faded, and a frown furrowed his brow. Something was going on with her and he had a bad feeling about it. There was the stuff with her grandfather, but that had been going on for a while.

  Ivan wasn’t the most compliant patient on his best day and could find ways to get out of eating right, taking his meds and doing anything he was supposed to do with an ingenuity and energy that made Lenny wonder if he was a former spy or something. After her grandmother had passed, Sam had struggled for months, trying to find balance between caring for her grandfather and pursuing her career. Lenny tried to help where he could, but there was only so much he could do... he had a family of his own, after all.

  This... this was different. For the Goth kid to call him up because he was worried... that put things in an entirely different light. To say that he was concerned would be an understatement. Lenny needed to know what was going on and he knew whatever it was, the elusive “Man in Black” was very much involved.

  Lenny slowed at the bottom of the stairs and surveyed the scene before him.

  What once had been one of the most glamorous rooms in Midtown looked like fifty miles of bad road. Broken bottles and shattered glasses were strewn about the floor; tables were pushed aside and over-turned; liquor dripped from the bar into a puddle on the floor.

  “Hey, Len?”

  Lenny turned toward the husky voice. Sergeant James Sidarski, known as “Sid” to all but the greenest rookies, lumbered toward him.

  “Any witnesses, Sarge?” Lenny watched the middle-aged detective run a large hand over his prematurely balding head and grunt as he flipped through his tattered notebook.

  “Plenty. But their statements... I don’t think they’ll be much help.”

  “Meaning?”

  Sidarski sighed, a mammoth heaving of his barrel chest. “Meaning it’s hard to tell where the flowing Cristal ends, and truth begins.” He flipped through the pages, then pointed to the paper with his pen. “One thing they all agree on: four people were involved... a stocky guy, a tall, skinny guy, a woman, and a man wearing a black coat... sorry, a black duster.” He closed the notebook and leaned in confidentially. “The man in black again. Who is this guy?”

  “Moby Dick,” Lenny muttered.

  “Who?”

  “Nothing, Sid. Finish up the statements, okay? And see if anyone remembers well enough to get with a sketch artist.” Sidarski nodded and lumbered away.

  Lenny heaved a big sigh and looked around the room again, his gaze finally lowering to the floor. It was patently obvious to even the least-forensically inclined person that a major altercation had occurred here but no blood. Well, except for the bouncer’s, apparently.

  A uniformed officer walked past Lenny, stirring the paper debris on the floor. Lenny saw something out of the corner of his eye, something silver with a dull sheen on the floor near the end of the bar.

  Lenny pulled a latex glove from his pocket and crouched down, looking at the substance. Lenny frowned and quickly reached into his pocket, pulling out a curette and sample baggie. He carefully ran the curette through the thick liquid, collecting as much as he could in the straw-like tool.

  Upon closer inspection, Lenny realized what it was. He had, after all, aced his high school Chem Lab and, though it had been nearly 20 years since he graduated, he knew exactly what he was looking at.

  It was mercury.

  Lenny’s frown deepened. What the hell, what the hell, what the hell... He looked up at the ceiling.

  There were no fluorescent lights in the area, likely none in the entire club, and the building was controlled by modern digital mechanics rather than the old-time thermostats that might have contained the metallic element. So, we’re looking for a med student who likes to carry old school thermometers around... Lenny chuckled and glanced under the table near the end of the bar, the smile quickly fading from his face. Aw, shit, fuck, damn!

  Sticking out from underneath paper debris and broken glass was the familiar barrel of a Lorcin .22 handgun. Lenny gave a cursory glance around before diving underneath the table and grabbing the gun. He looked at it briefly and knew without a doubt: it was Sam’s gun.

  Sammy, what the hell is going ON! Lenny quickly pocketed the gun and stood.

  He glanced again around the room; no one seemed to have noticed that he had just removed evidence from the crime scene, evidence that incriminated his partner. Incriminated? Jesus, what are you talking about, Len? Lenny took several deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth, slowing when he began to feel a bit lightheaded.

  That’s when he smelled it. As did Sidarski, evidently, as he chose that moment to approach Lenny, his nose wrinkled in distaste. “You smell it too, Len?”

  Lenny took one more whiff and grimaced. “Damn. Why does it smell like dog in here?”

  15

  VINCENT RAN HIS FINGERS lightly along the spines of the worn and weathered books on the shelf in front of him. An eclectic mixture, to be sure, many obvious first editions and old. Quite old. Nietzsche, Aquinas, Darwin, More... The hint of a smile played at the corner of Vincent’s mouth as he noticed a title that didn’t really belong with all the science, history and anthropology tomes around it.

  He pulled out the copy of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice, its faded cover worn at the corners from years of fingering. It wasn’t really that difficult to figure women out... You just had to understand where they were coming from, what they were looking for. And, for the most part, every woman, in one way or another, was looking for Mr. Darcy. Vincent chuckled, replacing the book on the shelf.

  “Hey, Vincent? What was that mark on their arms?” Sam exited the bathroom, her hair damp from the rain.

  Vincent became acutely aware of the wetness of his own hair, reached up and pushed back the damp curling tendrils from his forehead.

  “It looked like a squashed cross or something.” Sam reached back into the bathroom, then tossed Vincent a large bath towel.

  Vincent draped the towel over his head, rubbing gently as he spoke: “It’s a very specific tattoo associated with a group called Organization Werwolf. Nazi guerillas. There are supposed to be only a hundred members left.”

  “They must be having a membership drive.” Sam headed for the kitchen, Vincent trailing slowly behind. “You want something to drink? Coffee?”

  “Coffee’s fine.”

  She opened the refrigerator, pulled out the coffee and a jug of cold water. “What do you want in it? Milk? Cream? Sugar?”

  “Whisky, if you have it.”

  It was quiet for a moment, then Sam looked around the doorway at Vincent. “Whisky. Gotcha.” She disappeared again and the sounds of coffee grounds being scooped, and water being poured filled the silence. That and the sound of the rain outside.

  The easy shower that had begun when they were on the roof had intensified into a pounding torrent, complete with thunder and lightning. Ordinarily, Vincent would have relished sitting by a window, listening to and watching the storm. But under the circumstances...

  “So, this membership drive.”

  Vincent looked up quickly as Sam entered the room. The chemical changes were almost complete, and the pheromones were beginning to calm, which made it a bit easier to be in the same room with her.

  He watched as she crossed the room, passing quite close to him before settling down on the sofa. She pulled her legs up, tucking them modestly under a knitted afghan thrown over the back of the sofa, then looked up at him expectantly.

  Vincent pulled the towel off his head as he began: “They target people they assume no one will notice are missing. Prostitutes, vagrants, drug addicts. Always drug addicts, especially heroin users, narcotics abusers. It’s easy to administer the virus to them.”

  “Ivan never used drugs like that. He’s allergic to opiates.”

  “He’s not
actually allergic. Opiates can trigger the change. Depending on the amount taken, the euphoria stimulated within the body can be enough to start it.”

  Sam nodded in comprehension. “So, he was trying to keep himself from changing.” Silence descended, only broken by the sound of the coffee maker beeping. Sam got up without a word and disappeared into the kitchen.

  Vincent could hear the clink of coffee cups; the splash of coffee poured. Moments later, Sam returned with two cups of steaming coffee. She handed one cup to him.

  “Sorry, I didn’t have Bailey’s or whatever. Not sure what it is, maybe Chivas.”

  “Sláinte.” Vincent took a quick sip of the hot beverage and let the warmth of the coffee and the whisky flow through him. He hadn’t realized how much he needed that until he had it. He glanced up at Sam as she nestled back into her spot on the sofa, pulling the afghan around her and clutching her cup of coffee close.

  She took a quick sip of her coffee before setting it down on the nearby end table. “Is your coffee all right?”

  “Yeah, it’s great, thank you.”

  “Good. Now, are you going to tell me about my grandfather? It’s obvious you know a hell of a lot more than you are letting on, so spill. How did my grandfather become a werewolf?”

  Vincent took a drink of his coffee. She’d been generous with the whisky and the warmth of it was beginning to relax him a bit. Just a bit. “What did your grandfather tell you...? About his time in the camps?”

  Sam took a deep breath: “He said that they took him because he was Roma. They tattooed him with a number and a big letter ‘Z’ so that everyone would know what he was, why he deserved to be there, at least in their estimation.”

  “What else?”

  “They made him work. They made him bury the dead. What does this have to with anything?”

  “Did he tell you about Mengele?”

  Sam frowned, “No. Mengele? No, why?” But she knew why even before Vincent began to talk. This was the “thing” her grandfather had wanted her to understand, that her grandmother had scolded him to conceal from her. This was who they were... and Josef Mengele, Auschwitz’s ‘Angel of Death’, was somehow directly involved in the making.