by A J Brahms
"Go out?" I followed him around the kitchen. "You're going to leave me alone with her?"
"Good Heavens, Ren. You sound like a petulant eight year old being left alone at school. She's a friend, isn't she? Before she ranks as someone who makes you stand at attention?"
I stepped back from him and pointed up at his face. "Don't you dare say that to her."
"Then go. It's after midnight. She should be at home but she's here."
Checking the clock above the stove, Aberdeen was right. It was nearly one thirty. Why was she here? I checked myself, feeling a bit self conscious since I was wearing a blue button down and old tattered jeans. And no shoes. Great. Were my toenails at least trimmed?
With a deep breath I headed into the living room. I smelled her perfume before I saw her.
Julie Wallace—without her usual police uniform of a teeshirt, jeans, boots and jacket—looked even more devastatingly beautiful than ever. She wore soft looking jeans with holes at the knees, a large teeshirt that still clung to her curves, and sandals. Her toenails were painted gold and her hair was pulled back but not in its standard ponytail. Her mocha skin looked radiant in the light and her almond shaped eyes focused on me when I came in the room. "Julie…what a nice surprise."
Her initial smile dropped when she got a good look at me. Yeah, Jed's blood had healed a lot of the major damage his boys had heaped on me, but there were still superficial bruises that lingered. My bet was Jedediah wanted it that way, so I could look in the mirror and be reminded that he could do damage when he wanted.
But the truth was…I had the power to stop him. I just didn't want him knowing that. I didn't want all of them to know exactly what I could do if I were ever properly fed. Because in the game of Ghouls, the weaker you were, the less you were wanted. Even as a former Chevalier.
"What happened?" she came up to me and was inches from me as she put her hand on my left temple. When she touched it, it hurt. A lot. And I wondered if it'd started bleeding again. Aberdeen had mentioned using a few butterfly clamps on it, but then we'd started talking about the Mermaids.
Wincing, I stepped back. "It's okay."
"No it's not. Let me clean that up. Where's your first aid kit?"
Aberdeen appeared then with a tea service and a first aid kit tucked under his arm. "Here, Miss Wallace." He set the tea service on the coffee table, on top of his print outs. Then he handed her the box of supplies. "Would you patch the poor boy up for me? Thank you. Here is tea. Oolong. There's honey and some mint too. Oh and Ren," he looked at me. "Don't use the sink until I can get it fixed."
"Oh I'm good with sinks," Julie said as she opened the box.
"No," Aberdeen and I said together, then looked at each other. "No, it's fine," he said and then headed to the closet and grabbed a coat. "I'll be back later," Aberdeen said and left the apartment.
Left me alone with Julie.
"Come here and sit down, Ren." She patted the couch and I sat beside her. This gave her a good angle on the cut. "Now, you're going to tell me what happened?"
"I was mugged."
"Liar."
For once, this wasn't really a lie. "No, really. I was mugged, thrown into the back of a van, driven off to meet with the Night Walker Prince of Atlanta and ordered to talk to ghosts."
She laughed as she daubed at the cut with alcohol and careful cleaned it, even though I'd showered. "You have a strange sense of humor."
"I try." I licked my lips. "Julie, why are you here?"
"To check on you."
"It's nearly one thirty in the morning. We're supposed to head up to Lake Lanier in the morning."
She sat back and looked at me. "I was worried. I tried calling you, but you never answered, so I finally got up the nerve to come here."
Called me? I thought about my cell and wondered where it was. "I lost my cell phone."
"I found it. It was on the street near the morgue so," she reached into her back pocket and pulled it out. "Here."
I took it. It was warm. "Uh…thanks."
"You really were mugged."
I nodded and set the phone on the coffee table. Then I remembered the tea service. "Tea?"
"Sure. But let me get a bandaid on that."
I waited until she was finished before I served us both tea. Once we had our own cups I sipped mine and enjoyed the warmth of it.
"You did that like you knew what you were doing."
"Oh yeah. I was taught how to serve tea. Make it. Prepare it. English prep, Japanese and Irish."
"How old are you?"
I smiled at her. "You know how old I am. You did the research."
"But that would make you in your eighties, wouldn't it?" She set her cup down on the table. "But you're not a Night Walker."
"No."
"But you're connected to them."
"Yes."
She made a rude noise. It made me fall for her even more when she scrunched her nose. "Ren, you are so damn frustrating. You're this enigma I can't figure out. And I can figure out most of you unconventional conventionals. But a human who doesn't age, yet does drink blood occasionally, and isn't a Night Walker…there's nothing in the books on this."
"What I am…" I shrugged and sipped my tea. "Isn't something that your knowing would be a good idea." I shifted on the couch. "So, what about you?"
"Me? I'm boring. Just a regular human."
"Oh I don't think so." I set my tea down and went over the facts I knew. "You have two siblings, a brother and a sister. You are the middle child, born to a cop in North Carolina. Your mother passed away when you were sixteen and you raised your younger brother because your sister had already left home. You worked three jobs and got a GED, then when your father was shot in the line of duty, you decided to be a cop. Graduated all honors, and made detective in less than two years. You married another cop, moved here and then divorced two years later when he turned out to be…" and here I had to tread lightly. "Something other than human."
She stared at me. And I thought for a second maybe I'd crossed a line. I could see where a female cop investigating a strange man wouldn't be seen as creepy as the same man investigating the female cop. For me it would be called stalking.
Then she looked down. "He was a werewolf. I don't think he knew, really. I learned later that a lot of them don't know. That the animal in them doesn't always waken. The ones who don't turn become the more violent of us in society. The murderers, the crazies, the ones that break down and go on killing rampages. They do this because they can't change, because they can't release what's inside of them." She looked back at me. "When he changed, he disappeared. Never saw him again. Technically we're still married. Another year and I can declare him dead and get that divorce."
"Insurance?"
"A good sum. I've kept up the payments. But that's not why I want that piece of paper, Ren. I want it because I need closure."
I nodded. "I can understand that. It's a good reason."
"But that doesn't mean I like being alone."
I wasn't expecting it when she leaned over and planted her lips on mine. I didn't fight it though. So many times I'd wanted to kiss her, to take her in my arms and tell her all my secrets. And then that old fear of rejection would come up and I'd back away, shield myself. I'd hear my Maker's words. "You're a monster, William. A thing nobody will want. Nobody will care for. You're no longer human, and once they know it, they'll hunt you down and kill you."
But at that moment, none of that mattered as I grabbed her upper arms and pulled her to me. She tasted of honey and tea, and she smelled of jasmine and clover. Her full lips were ripe and swollen before I was through and reality came crashing down when I thought of the carcass in bags in the kitchen, the bones and gristle in the garbage disposal, of the blood pooled somewhere in the pipes and the raw flesh digesting inside of me.
Monster.
Killer.
Ghoul.
I pulled back from her, released her arms and got up off the couch. "Julie—"
But she was already on her feet, grabbing up her purse. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry Ren, I shouldn't have done that—"
"No, no. It's not that. It's not you—"
"Oh please don't do that to me," she said as she nearly ran to the door. "Don't give me the old it's not you it's me speech. I was just thinking things I shouldn't have. I thought…or I hoped that you felt…" and then she was out the door and I was standing by myself in my large apartment with tea cooling in a sixteenth century ceramic tea service and an aching heart in my chest.
Five
Aberdeen came back around six in the morning. I was in my office, scanning the polaroids I'd taken and cataloguing everything I'd learned so far and everything Aberdeen had learned about Mermaids. Then I'd starting Googling Mia Tavern.
Didn't come up with much. There were several Linked In pages with similar names, or exact. Some with pictures. But I didn't know what Mia looked like. Jedediah hadn't given me much to go on. I assumed she was French since her Maker had been, but that wasn't a guarantee.
"Why are you alone?" Aberdeen said when he came to the door of my office.
"I'm always alone. You know that," I said, though I couldn't keep the slight sound of irritation from my tone. My mind kept replaying the events with Julie in the background and no amount of busy work would make it stop.
Aberdeen came into the room and I was abruptly assaulted with the scent of incense. Something spicy, both alluring and repugnant. "Looks like she did a good job with your head wound."
"Christ, Aby—what is that smell?" I pushed back from the computer and then stood, stepping away from him.
"Don't call me that."
"Then tell me what that smell is."
"It's incense."
I coughed and my eyes watered. "That much I figured out but…" At that moment I realized I was having trouble pulling in air. I gasped a few times and Aberdeen left the room. Within a few seconds breathing was easier, but my eyes still watered. It didn't take a scientist to figure out there was something in the incense that didn't like me.
He stood just outside my room, his arms crossed. "Forgive me, Ren. I forgot."
"Forgot what?"
"The subterranean chambers are filled with cones of incense, made by what remains of my old order. They might not believe that it contains powerful herbs in mixtures meant to weaken their enemies, but it does. I'm so used to it, and I don't think of you as evil—"
"Wait…you were at the Vatican?" I coughed once more and took in a deep breath, but I stayed safely in my office.
"I have something for you on the dining table. I would suggest you don't touch it until I get out of the shower." And he walked away.
I waited a few minutes, shutting off my computer before going into the dining room. And there, shining under the lights of the candelabra, was a book. It was large by today's standards, but pretty small when compared to some tomes I'd seen. And as I neared the book, I felt and smelled the over abundance of silver and realized the entire cover of it had either been made of the foul metal or plated with it. Regardless, the stuff made the idea of me touching it a really bad idea.
I made tea and set it on the table just as Aberdeen returned, smelling more like soap than incense. Since he actually conjured his own clothing, me stumbling on his laundry and having a breathing fit shouldn't be a problem.
I hoped.
I made him tea and he gave me a slight bow. "I see by your un-burned hands you took my advice."
"I can smell the silver from across the room."
"The entire book is laced with it. The cover is a silver alloy, but strong enough to repulse even the oldest Vampire." He sipped his tea. "Even the pages are laced with silver. It's added in the paper making process."
"You really didn't want the Night Walkers to get to this book."
"Of course not." He set his cup of tea on the table and unlocked the book. I could also smell dust and age. The pages looked normal enough. Hand made paper, rough edges and hand written text. In Latin, no less. He went to his messenger bag hanging on a chair and retrieved a pair of rubber gloves. "These should make it easier for you to handle," he said, handing them to me.
I eagerly put them on and experimented. Sure enough, the pages didn't burn but the book's cover made my skin crawl. It was also zapping my strength in a slow steady tick. Nothing I couldn't handle, right?
Aberdeen took me on a guided tour of the book, showing me the on-going index up front, and how everything was grouped by years, then alphabetical by name. Night Walker Princes and their covens, as they were called back then, had their own sections, even though each member's details were listed in the index.
I stared in fascination at the names. The records went back as far as the 1400s. These were the more floral pages, with hand-drawn and painted edging. Images depicting Night Walker atrocities. And as the years progressed, so did the style of writing and pages. Once the years hit the 1840s, images appeared. Many of them carefully cut from old photographic paper and glued to the silver lined paper. The silver from the photographs wasn't as powerful, but I knew it was there. Some of the shots were still as crisp as the day they were taken.
From about 1892 forward, where there could be an image, there was. "I guess the old myth about not showing up in pictures was just that."
"I'm not sure how that rumor got started," Aberdeen said as he flipped back to the index and ran his finger down a few pages. "Ah, here we are. Mia Tavern." He then flipped forward to 1845.
She was listed under the Vampiress Countess Angelika Durant. There was no picture of Mia, just a name. But the picture of the Countess was indeed the Night Walker I'd spoken to earlier.
"It says the Countess was born into privilege in 1790 and shared her father's love of archeology. She studied under him and accompanied him on several expeditions well into her twenties," Aberdeen said as he pulled up a chair.
"When was she turned?"
"They have what we called an estimate turn year, or ETY, around 1812. Turning dates aren't always as accurate because the monks and priests doing the investigating had to rely on sometimes..." He made a face. "Less than respectable sources. And unfortunately the Order wasn't as involved or interested in the making of Ghouls until well into the 1900s."
"How come?"
"Not sure why. I believe it was because not much was known about them. Ghouls were always more of a hidden mystery within the Vampire Covens. It wasn't until we learned they were banned that the interest peaked." He moved his well manicured finger along the Latin. "Their guess is the Countess was turned somewhere in 1812 during a dig her father supervised in Brazil." He paused and then said, "Interesting."
"What?"
"Grab your computer, Ren."
I did as he said and brought it to the table and we looked up the Count Bernerd Durant. And there he was, a wealthy self-made and self-taught archeologist. He was known for minor finds here and there, which are still on display in Paris Museums. He had two children, Angelika and Dumas. Dumas went to the Americas to study while his sister accompanied their father on his expeditions. No mention of a wife.
"Damn," I said as I read the information on a Wiki, even though I didn't always trust these pages. "It says the 1812 expedition to Caverna da Pedra Pentada met with tragedy when a cave-in took the life of Count Bernerd, his daughter Angelika and six of his expedition team. The retrieval of their bodies was also abandoned when more of the cave wall gave way, burying their find with it." I sighed. "So apparently, Angelika didn't die in the cave-in."
"Apparently," Aberdeen echoed. "The priest who recorded this record said their deaths were announced in the French papers of the time, and the brother returned home to take over as Count. Angelika resurfaced again in 1830 and was recognized by former house servants. She declared she was not the Count's daughter and vanished again until it was officially proven she was a Vampire in 1839."
"And she created Mia in 1845."
"So it would seem." Aberdeen paused, and it was a long eno
ugh silence that I looked at him and arched my brow. Finally he said, "Do you see the gold star drawn beside her name?"
I looked and there, hand drawn in gold ink, was a single star. "Yeah."
"That indicates a known Promise Dealer. It’s a gift rarely given to others by the Mórrígan.”
"And you said they influenced other people. Not sure what that means."
"It means if Jedediah hadn't given you wormwood, she might have influenced you into doing something you didn't want to do. Most heads of the Provinces, like Jedediah here in Atlanta, would covet a Promise Dealer if they were revealed. Though most all of them liked to hide and live their own lives.”
"Because they could influence others to see things the way the Prince wanted?" I searched his face.
“They also pretty much guaranteed a good relationship with the Faerie Nation.”
"I take it there aren't any left?"
"If there are, they are in hiding. Also," he tapped Mia's name. "If this is indeed a Tier One Ghoul, and she's survived all this time, especially since her Master's death, I'd say you've got your hands full with this one. Especially if she's taken her Maker's telepathic power."
"Telepathic power?"
"As a Promise Dealer."
Oh. I sat back. "The fact she allegedly stole a relic is what's blowing off alarm bells in my head. I don't think it's a coincidence that she was made by an archeologist. And I don't think this Mia would go after a relic without good reason."
Aberdeen retrieved his tea and drank it. "What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking that I need to find out what the relic really is and what it's for. I think Angelika was purposefully vague with me because she was pissed off about the wormwood."
"That could be. Vampire essences like that can't lie to a Whisper. So avoiding an answer would be the only way to be deceitful. And I'm more than sure Jedediah didn't want your thoughts influenced by anyone but his own."
I shivered, not because of her but because of that crap Jed had me drink. "Did the Order keep up with Night Walker relics?"
Aberdeen smiled. "Yes they did. But that's a different book. And I can't get to it just yet. I also need to return this, eventually."