by Lily Luchesi
“I am sick to death over this! I know it is possible, so why can’t I do it? Mark was so excited about this, you can’t understand how disappointed he will be with me if I screw this up,” Brighton complained.
Angelica sat on the edge of the table before him, smiling. “Mark would never be disappointed in you, Brighton. Never. I have never known a love like what you two share. It is…inspiring. Keep doing your best, and you will please both Mark and I.”
After a pause, Brighton said, “You’re wrong, you know.”
“About what?” she asked.
“Mark never feeling disappointed in me. He could be, given the proper reasons. I will do everything in my power to make sure that that doesn’t happen.”
Danny heard Brighton’s voice in his mind, saying, That’s enough. He watched as the door he’d opened closed shut with a bang, and in an instant he was back, sitting across a table from Brighton, who quickly snatched his hands back. His eyes were wide, surprised.
“That memory was supposed to end after Angelica sat on my desk. How did you get it to keep going?” he demanded.
Danny was a bit discomforted. “What? Look, all I did was what you said. Nothing more. I thought you were the one controlling the memory?”
Brighton stood up, the chair scraping the vanilla tiles. “I was. And then it was like you took that control away from me. You are quite strong, Detective. I am glad that my secrets are so well guarded, or you could have me figured out in a week.”
Danny also stood, going to follow Brighton as he went into the hallway. “What do you mean?”
“Your powers are much stronger than mine. I have spent years getting stronger, and yet you destroyed my mental barriers after less than ten minutes of my training you,” Brighton said. “I need a break. We will continue this soon, and next time I will not leave my mind open. I want to know how long it would take you to take apart my barriers without my help.”
“Okay. Thanks, by the way. I know we kind of got off on the wrong foot when we met.”
Brighton laughed as they got into the elevator. “No worries. I get off on the wrong foot with everyone, it seems.” He paused and then asked, “What happened between you and Angelica?”
“I’d ask how you knew anything was amiss, but that would be pretty pointless, wouldn’t it?” Danny sighed. “Tell the truth, I don’t know. Her turning changed her somehow, and she said she needed time away from me to think. Brighton, do you think I could have lost her?”
The elevator dinged and they got off on the ground floor.
“I can’t read a vampire’s mind, but I can read their emotions. There is no way in Hell Angelica could ever force herself to stay away from you forever,” Brighton said. “If she said she needs time, give her time. I admire her willpower in being able to stay away from you as long as she has. I am more of a danger to Mark than she is to you, and yet I asked him to marry me, instead of running away like any sensible person would.”
“I’m getting kind of sick of your cryptic talk,” Danny commented. “Will you tell me why you say you need to protect Mark, and that you could hurt him?”
Brighton pretended to think about it before saying, “Nope, try again. See you, Detective!”
Danny shook his head and started to walk to the parking garage. As he got into his Caddie, he got a tingle down his spine. Not a paranormal tingle, but a detective’s tingle. A tingle that told him he shouldn’t go home. There was a new restaurant he wanted to try near the House of Blues, so maybe he’d go there till he felt better about heading home. One thing he knew for sure, was that he needed to always trust that tingle.
He found a cheap parking garage and walked over the Marina City Bridge, stopping to watch some boaters on the Chicago River. When he was a boy, he used to love to go there, especially at St. Patrick’s Day, when the water was dyed green. His mother had owned property near there, so he would go in the area with her often. It was always a fond memory, to feel like he could fly as he stood at the edge of the bridge, looking out over the water and the city, wind buffeting his face.
He touched the bridge, and got a flash of a vision.
Angelica, dressed for a concert, walking over the bridge (I guess vamps can cross running water, too, he thought). She looked…stunning. He could hear the metal music blasting from the venue down the street, and she was dancing to it, her black skirt billowing around her. She was smiling, with no worries on her mind. This was about as carefree as he’d ever seen her. He wanted to make her smile like that again. He wanted her to love him again, to laugh, and to dance.
“Seeing anything good?”
Danny jumped, startled out of his reverie by a frighteningly familiar voice. His eyes focused on the tall, lanky form of Leander Price. He was leaning casually against the edge of the bridge, legs crossed, and hair mussed by the wind.
“So, my old hunting partners have come to Chicago, hm?” Leander asked.
Danny reached into his pocket for a vial of holy water. “Stay the Hell away from them!”
Leander held up both hands in a placating gesture. “I’ve no interest in them, now that they’re both on your side. Just making an observation.” He leaned away from the water and stood up straight. “As I recall, we never finished our conversation, did we?”
“There is nothing I care to know unless you’ll tell me where Fiona is so I can cut her heart out.”
Leander put a hand over his heart in mock-fright. “Aren’t we getting vicious? Come, Detective Mancini, come and see how Vincent Cross double-crossed our little team.” Leander grabbed Danny’s arm, and he could not stop the flood of memories from entering his brain.
***
In the library, the four hunters sat around a table with gas lamps lit, studying a vast map of London and the surrounding suburbs. Danny was a ghost, fluttering around them, feeling what they were feeling and somehow knowing their thoughts and emotions. It was that part of his visions that always made him feel ill at ease.
“What is this? What is she?” Vincent asked.
“She is Veronica Delarue, a vampire, in the direct line of Aulus and Liviana. She has lain dormant for over eight centuries, and she has made London her current lair. We must find her and kill her, thus ending that direct line. Once there are no heirs to the Roman line, all other vampires will be weakened,” Leander said. “The Roman line is where they draw their direct power source, and to kill its heir is to kill that power.”
“If she’s so powerful, how can we stop her?” Vincent asked.
“Good question, and one that I, in particular, would like an answer to,” Michael commented.
“Distraction,” Leander said. “We need to catch her with her guard down.”
“If she is reclusive, how can we?” Ben asked.
Leander pointed to him and to Michael. “That’s where you two come in. You’re both respected in London and the people here will trust you with information they would not trust an outsider like myself or a factory manager like Vincent with.
“It is widely known that you work closely with Constable Linwood, correct?”
Both men nodded.
“Perfect. You can say it is for a case.” Leander made a note in a moleskine book. “I am a known hunter, especially in America, and it would be difficult for a vampire to see me and not know what I am. Which leaves Vincent to infiltrate her life once she is found.
“We need to catch her off guard, and vampires do not, as a rule, let people in easily. Vincent, you have that certain charm about you that makes me think that women will flock to you…even Undead ones.”
Vincent held up his hands. “Just one moment! Who says I want to go and possibly become supper for this powerful vampire?”
“This life comes with risks,” Michael said quietly. “We all put our very souls on the line each time we knowingly encounter a monster. It’s something that we all had to come to grips with.”
Ben nodded. “While even I think that this plan is risky, you know that I believe that diffic
ult cases can only be solved by performing daring deeds. This is a sensitive plan, but if you can pull it off, Vincent, I believe that it will be successful.”
Vincent scoffed, shaking his head. “You want me to pretend to be what? A suitor for a vampiress?”
Leander nodded. “A few nights, that’s all I am asking of you.”
“I could be killed after the first meeting!” Vincent cried. “I know I have killed alongside you lot, and that is one thing. That is fighting in a group mentality, as if we were in battle for war. This is suicide!”
Leander’s eyes became sharp, disconcerting. “If you die— and that is a big ‘if’ —it would be a sacrifice, not suicide. Make no mistake, Cross, this is war. It is us against them, and if we do not make the first strike, they will. And by then, it will be too late.
“In war, any war, sacrifices must be made.”
Vincent just stared at him, disbelieving. He was starting to wonder if Leander was even human. How could he speak so callously about human life, which was the thing he had sworn to protect? He was right on some levels, but Vincent believed that there had to be another way rather than walk right into the lion’s den. He just needed to think what it was first. As for right now, his only option was to agree with Leander.
“Fine. I shall do this your way. If I have to die, then I die nobly.” He sat up straight, blue eyes bright. Defiant. He was ready to die if necessary. He just hoped it would not be necessary! Perhaps when he saw this Delarue vampire, he could kill her straightaway. He’d rather die in a fight than by willingly walking into her lair and offering her his blood!
“That’s settled, then.” Leander sat down, a satisfied smirk on his lips. He lifted a glass of wine and tipped it in a salute. “To the impending death of Veronica Delarue.”
It was more than a week later that Ben and Mark burst into the library with large smiles on their faces. Ben was waving a slip of paper that looked like a receipt as if it were a flag. Vincent and Leander had been sitting at one of the tables, sharpening weapons. Over the time they had spent together, Leander and Vincent had grown quite close, despite their differences. One was almost never seen without the other.
“What the devil are you both so bright about?” Vincent asked, moving a lock of black hair from his eyes.
“This!” Ben slapped the receipt on the table for both men to read. It was from a florist and landscaping company.
“‘Garden delivery; various blooms. Cumberland Manor, Leicester Square’,” Vincent read. “You got flowers? What on Earth does this have to do with Delarue?”
Ben’s smile could have lit up the room. “Because that, my dear Vincent, is Veronica Delarue’s home. She procures rare night-blooming flowers from them, and employs them as gardeners twice a month.”
Leander jumped up, clapping his hands in glee as he cheered. For a man of his height and breadth, it looked odd, and Vincent laughed without meaning to. “Don’t laugh, you fool,” Leander chided, but he could not manage to look annoyed; his joy was too great.
“I grew up in Leicester,” Vincent said. “Hence the accent. I can easily find her home.” He looked back down at the receipt. “And possibly convince the owners of the shoppe to give me a temporary position, since I did lose my job at the factory after the werewolf massacre.”
“How can you do that?” Michael asked, his unobservant nature making Ben roll his eyes.
“He obviously knew the owner as a child,” the coroner said, lighting a cigarette, which Leander promptly snatched from his hand.
“You burn these books, and I will add you to my kill list,” he said. Vincent did not think that the hunter was lying.
“I did know the owners. Rather, my parents did. My childhood mate was their son, Devon,” Vincent said.
Michael’s eyes lit up. “Ah, he was the one we spoke to!”
Vincent leaned back in his chair, a satisfied smile on his face. “Looks like the hunt is getting hot, eh gentlemen? Just leave it to me.”
Leander leaned his elbows on the table and said, “If I wouldn’t get thrown in gaol, I’d kiss you, Cross!”
***
Vincent dressed in his finest suit, which was much too fine for a simple florist, and went to pay his old schoolmate a visit. He opened the door to the shoppe and was immediately accosted by the scent of every bloom imaginable. It brought back fond childhood memories for him and he smiled to himself.
At the counter, considerably balder than the last time they had met, was his old friend Devon Fundin. He was bent over a book, possibly a ledger, and was writing carefully. He did not see Vincent enter, and Vincent thought how easy it would have been to kill the man without him ever knowing what hit him.
That thought gave him pause. He had never had a single thought of that nature in his entire life, and now he was murdering on a nearly daily basis. Sure, it was monsters, but who was to say that the love of violence he had discovered buried deep in his psyche would not spread in his mind, and his next victim could be human?
A little tingle of fear for himself went down his spine and made his heart skip a few beats, but he pushed it aside. Leander was born into an entire family of hunters, and none of them (that he knew of) had ever intentionally killed a man.
Vincent cleared his throat, making Devon glance up. “Hello, old mate,” he said, watching Devon’s eyes widen in shock.
“Well, how about this! Vincent Cross, the terror of Turner’s.” Devon walked around the counter to shake Vincent’s hand.
“Been a long time since Turner’s School, hasn’t it?” Vincent smiled.
“Mum was saying she saw you in the North, managing a large factory. Looks like we both managed to get some good out of our lives.” Devon seemed pleased.
“Ah, yes, that was about a year ago, was it not?” Vincent pondered. “I asked after you. She said you were preparing to take over the shoppe so she could retire in peace. That visit is part of the reason I am here.”
“Oh?”
“Did you hear about the factory massacre, where one of the workers killed a number of others at a meeting?”
Devon nodded. “The papers had quite the time with that. The constable and the coroner released a statement. Sounded like a bloodbath.”
“That was the factory where I was employed. It has since been closed down, and I am out of a job. I was wondering if you happened to have a temporary position for me till I can get back out there in a new factory?” Vincent asked. “I know I’ve a lot of nerve asking, since we have not been in touch, but I am quite desperate at the moment.”
Devon clapped him on the shoulder. “Always glad to help out a friend. I know you’d do the same for me. Let’s see…can you drive a carriage? We could always use another delivery chap. Seems like all of London suddenly wants comely lawns!”
“I can handle that,” Vincent said, secretly thrilled. He could very well encounter Veronica Delarue that week.
He left the shoppe with a new work schedule, which included the Cumberland Manor. He returned to the library to find Ben and Leander playing chess.
“Where’s Dr. Finnigan?” Vincent asked, removing his coat. “I have news.”
“Work, of course,” Ben said, as if it were the most normal thing.
With all the hunting, Vincent had forgotten that both Michael and Ben had “normal” occupations.
“I took a liberty in closing my office today. If there is a murder, Constable Linwood will alert me by wire. While corpses can wait, the living who are ill cannot, lest they become corpses.”
“I’d much rather kill than be the one who must dissect the dead,” Vincent said, making a face as he observed the game. Ben was winning by a mile.
Leander looked up at him and said, “Well? Your news?”
Vincent’s fair face split into a smile that made his blue eyes sparkle like sapphires. “I will be delivering blooms to one Cumberland Manor and also collecting payment in eight days. I have no choice but to see Miss Delarue in person.” He waved his schedule before
Leander’s nose. What he did not expect was for the hunter to jump up and enclose him in a strong hug.
“While I like your enthusiasm, it is still but one small step in the process,” Vincent said. “You can’t expect her to immediately fall for me, a simple courier. It will take time for this plan to work.”
Leander sat back down and said, “I’m patient.”
Ben gestured to the abandoned game. “You’re also losing.”
Vincent turned a deaf ear to their playful banter, as he worried about coming face-to-face with Veronica Delarue…
Chapter Nine
“Can I assume that that is where your intelligence ends?” Danny said when the vision dissipated. “How did you know all of what Vincent was thinking, anyway?” Still a cop, questioning perps. This perp was no different…except for the fact that he could kill Danny with a simple snap of his fingers.
Leander wagged a finger at him as if he were a naughty schoolboy. “You know what happens when you assume, Detective Mancini.” He took a step forward. “When I became like this, I learned everything I had ever wanted to know, especially the information pertaining to Delarue and that lying, backstabbing son of a bitch Cross. I know it all, and it still makes my stomach churn to see such a good hunter fall so low.
“It is the same sensation I had when I knew you had fallen for the halfling, bastard child of a monster and a traitor.”
Despite being a demon, he did not know all. At least, he did not know that he was about to get a cracked jaw from Danny.
“One more word, Leander, and I won’t hesitate to burn your skin off with that holy water. You know what I have always been capable of, so I suggest you listen.” Danny’d had no idea that such rage was within him, but his desire to protect Angelica won out over his fear of the demon.
Leander tried to scoff, but Danny could see that he had unsettled the monster. He doubted that anyone had spoken in such a way to him in a century or more. The former hunter straightened up, healing his jaw with the snap of his fingers.