The Power

by Cynthia Roberts

  “He said that she had the man off the ground, Jack. His feet were dangling in the air. He said there was blood on her mouth, on her…” Nicole stopped; suddenly she seemed very aware that the two other officers had crept in closer to listen.

  “Her what?” Jack countered, feeling more than a little agitated by such nonsense.

  “Her fangs, Jack.” Nicole finished on an a low whisper. Jack laughed out loud and the other two men joined in at her expense. Her lips pursed with pride.

  “Good one.” Jack said with a nod that meant he was finished with this conversation and then he turned and walked back down the alley to where the other two officers and the short, Hispanic boy stood.

  “Good evening…?” he searched for the boy’s name as the boy’s round, dark eyes shot up and flew open wide on his caramel face.

  “Jose. Jose Gonzales.” The boy replied in a shaky voice as Jack waved the other two officers to back away. “Are you going to call me crazy too?” Jose snapped angrily.

  “Depends. Are you going to insist you saw a female vampire sucking some guy’s blood?” Jack returned sarcastically, flashing an amused grin.

  “Asshole.” Jose returned furiously. “I know what I saw! I’m not loco! She was there, and she was real. She was so strong. She nearly broke my wrist.”

  “Your wrist? Then you had contact with this woman?” Jack was suddenly interested.

  “She walked right by us. She was so pretty, man. I told her I could eat her alive, but it seems she was the one doing the eating tonight, eh?” Jose rambled as if suddenly lost in his thoughts.

  “God help me.” Jack mumbled as he grabbed the bridge of his nose and shook his dark, blonde head. This was getting him nowhere. All this talk of vampires was ludicrous.

  “You should listen to what he has to say.” Dr. Harold suddenly stepped to Jack’s side.

  “What he has to say makes no sense.” Jack returned, clenching his teeth. “Vampires do not exist and no woman that I know of could lift a man of that size off the ground. You ask me, I think Jose here had something to do with it.” Jack accused hotly.

  “Sure blame it on the Mexican. You prejudiced pig!” Jose spat at Jack’s feet. “I didn’t do shit, man. I told you what I saw. Believe me or not, it happened.” Jose’ thick accent seemed to echo off the outside walls of the buildings as his voice rose in extreme anger.

  Jack rolled his soft, amber eyes heavenward. “Take Mr. Gonzales into custody, sit him in a holding cell over night. I’ll see what he has to say in the morning.” Jack instructed the uniforms, and he turned to walk away, only to come up short when Dr. Nicole Harold stepped forward to block his path.

  “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to do?” she demanded in angered disbelief.

  “No. I’m going to order the victim’s body to be taken back to the morgue where you can get your pretty, little hands into it, and tell me how he died, then I’m going to go grab myself a cup of steaming hot coffee and find a place to relax and think.” Jack countered with finality.

  “Some detective! Think?” Dr. Harold mocked loudly in her upset. “Really Jack, is that the best you can do?”

  “That’s what I’m paid to do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Dr. Harold.” Jack made a wide berth around the impossible woman and headed toward his unmarked car, a dark sedan that was in bad need of a paint job. He heard Dr. Harold huff in frustration from behind him, but he didn’t stop and the woman didn’t pursue him. Jack made it to his car and drove slowly away. This was number two, he thought as he headed down Sixty-third and Main. Two victims, both male, both with gaping, black holes in their necks, side by side as if indeed a pair of fangs had sank into their flesh. The first victim had been drained of blood, and Jack had no doubts that this one would be as well, but perhaps the killer had slipped up this time around? Perhaps, he had left some sort of clue on the body or in the alley. Jack would double back after Dr. Harold and the others had gone. He thought better when he was alone with nothing but the scene of the murder to back trace in his mind.

  Chapter six

  The scent was strong and it was familiar to her, but she could not recall where she had smelt it before. It called to her, not because of the hunger that usually led her, but out of curiosity alone. It was mortal, she knew that. She closed her eyes and drew it in more deeply. The manly aftershave that he wore wasn’t what was familiar to her, though it was a pleasant scent, she thought. It was what was underneath: his skin, his blood, his hair…

  She rounded a corner and realized that she was heading back to where she had already been that night. Sixty-Fifth Street was only a block away now, and that was where the familiar scent was coming from. The breeze shifted and she lost the scent, but just for a moment. It was a mortal, she realized, but who was he? She knew this particular mortal, or she had once upon a time.

  The alley where she had made her kill less than three hours ago was just ahead now, and she could hear the slow shuffling of feet within. She couldn’t just go up to him and ask his name, she thought in disappointment. It would be so much easier if she could. That boy earlier had seen her though. He knew her face. What if he was still there? No, the scent of the boy was gone, she realized. No one was around, no one but this strange mortal man, who wasn’t entirely a stranger to her. Leaping, she caught the edge of the stone building at her side, and slowly, gracefully snaked her way up it. Pushing out with her feet when she neared the roof, she leapt upward, and landed in silence upon the peeling rooftop. Without hesitation, she ran with sufficient speed until she reached the ledge of the roof and without pause, she seemed to fly from one rooftop to the next. Landing on quiet feet, she turned and crouched down low on the ledge facing the darkened alley below. Curiously, she peered down at the dark blonde head of the man beneath her. The body of her prey had been removed, but its scent, the scent of death still lingered on. She had put a stop to the man’s evil this night, she thought suddenly. She had kept him from hurting a child and perhaps from hurting many others as well. Yet, the cop down there now thought of her as a murderer. Though, he didn’t think that the murderer was a woman at all. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, none of them anywhere near the truth of what had really occurred there tonight. He was thinking along the lines of a cult. That would explain the strange happenings of this evening, he thought and of… There had been another victim, multiple homicide, she read of his mind. Her pale, slender hands came down on the ledge as she leaned in at an impossible angle to get a closer look at him. She drew in an unneeded breath, taking in the man’s scent and trying to recall where she had known him before, but it still did not come to her easily.

  The other victim had not been one of hers, which meant that there was another vampire in the vicinity. She immediately thought of Gina, though she didn’t know why. She had not seen her dark mother in nearly fifty years. No, it had to have been another, she thought and she wondered if perhaps she should be alarmed. Vampires did not cross each other’s paths often. They were content to exist and let exist as long as one’s territory was not invaded. This was her stomping grounds, but she wasn’t territorial as long as what the other did would not interfere with what she must do.

  She watched as the man below crouched down low and gently ran his fingers across the pavement at his feet. What was he looking for, she wondered, but then she knew: blood. He was looking for blood. He could not comprehend how there was no blood to be found at the scene. It was quite simple really; she was not a clumsy killer, nor was she wasteful.

  The man stood. He was tall, she noticed and broad of shoulders. His dark blonde hair was worn a bit long at the collar, but she knew this was because he had been too busy to get it cut. His head was angled slightly to the side now. His stern chin was held between his thick fingers as he contemplated the events of the evening. He was seeing a big man in his mind, a strong man with a knife, no an ice-pick…No. There would have been blood splattered everywhere. He groaned out loud and the sound of his deep voice caused something to move
deep inside of her. Intrigued, she leaned in closer.

  “Insane. She’s insane.” he mumbled and something inside of her seemed to jump. She knew that voice, but where? Who? Something nagged at her that it was important for her to remember. “But Dr. Harold’s not the one standing out here talking to herself, now is she?” he said in deep frustration, and then he growled low in his throat and began to pace.

  She sat there, perfectly still, perfectly silent as she watched him intently. His gate, his mannerisms, what was it about him that so intrigued her? She could not tear her gaze away from him. Suddenly he stopped and he looked straight up, right at her. She didn’t move. She knew that the night was too black, that he could not possibly see her there. Then why hadn’t he looked away? Those eyes…

  “Who’s there?” he called out, and she backed away on silent feet. A few minutes later, she heard him mumbling to himself once more. “No one’s there, you idiot. You’re letting yourself get spooked. There is no such damned things as vampires!” he growled angrily, and then he was leaving, walking out of the alley. She stood, following by rooftop as he climbed into his car and drove down the street.

  Twenty minutes later, after a trip to the police department, then a stop off at a news stand where he knew the owner by name, he finally came to rest at a coffee shop on Forty-second and Amber Street.

  Lillian watched from the roof of the building across the street as he took a seat at a booth near the window and proceeded to read the paper. Inside the building, his face was illuminated with bright light. He was a handsome man, a very striking man, tall, built well like a tuned athlete. His heart was strong, she thought, recalling the thick, heavy beats from the alley. She made up her mind. and she dropped the two stories from the roof to the pavement below as if she had simply stepped off of a curb and into the street. No one was about as she began to walk toward the coffee shop intent on easing her curiosity.

  Jack Stone glanced up when the woman in black walked in. She was tall, built with slender muscle. Her thick, pale blonde hair hung in one straight length to nearly reach her firm backside. Her trim, athletic legs were incased within a pair of snug, black trousers that seemed to move with her as she approached the counter. They were the only two customers in the place, Jack noted. What was a woman like her doing out at this time of the night and alone? She didn’t look like a hooker or a druggie, he reasoned. No, she seemed very put together and not just physically. Her clothes, though snug, seemed of high quality and there was something about the way that she moved, with such ease and grace that made him think she came from money. The pimple-faced boy at the counter took her order, and she paid him with a twenty before taking her black coffee and turning from the counter to face him. Jack nearly sucked in his breath at the sight of her face, so pale and lovely with high cheekbones, full fleshy lips, and almond shaped, pale blue eyes that were wide and positively breath-taking as they lit upon him.

  “Good evening, ma’am.” he heard himself saying before he could stop himself. His heart, as if it had a mind of its own, leapt and sped away from him, as if it knew something that he didn’t.

  She didn’t respond. Instead, she walked toward him on long, stunning legs. Her breasts, he noticed, were full, not overly large, or overly small, but seeming to fit her slender body to perfection. His breath caught in his throat as the sweet scent of her washed over him.

  “Can I help you?” Jack found himself asking nervously as he sat his coffee aside when she came to a stop before his table.

  “I know you.” she whispered in recognition as she stared at his face as if she did indeed know him, but couldn’t quite figure out where she had met him before.

  “I think I would recall.” Jack grinned suddenly, but those pale blue eyes were still fastened quite seriously upon his face as she studied him.

  “You’re up awfully late?” he put to her, and he motioned to the seat across from him to which she didn’t hesitate to take.

  “Things are much quieter at night.” she said by way of explanation.

  “And more dangerous.” Jack warned.

  “I suppose.” She agreed. “You’re from New York, originally?” she asked, and he couldn’t help but to smile. She really did think that she knew him, but God, he would have remembered this woman, he swore to himself. She looked as if she had been ripped from a swimsuit ad, only she was fully dressed. He frowned at the thought. He was being ridiculous.

  “My name is Jack.” He told her, and her eyes seemed to flare.

  “Jax.” She leaned closer to him, speaking the name like an endearment, as if he were a long lost friend that she had thought never to see again. He smiled awkwardly.

  “No. I’m afraid you got that wrong, ma’am. It’s Jack. Jack Stone.” he corrected, and she leaned back away from him in disappointment.

  “Oh.” she whispered regretfully. and he hated to have let her down.

  “I assume I resemble this Jax person? What kind of name is Jax anyway?” he chuckled gently.

  “It was short for Jackson.” she filled in. “You do resemble him somewhat, but he has been gone for some time now.” she spoke with regret.

  Gone? Hadn’t she just thought that he was this Jax person? Confused, Jack stared at her. She really was quite lovely and he had seen plenty of beautiful women in his life, but this woman… “You haven’t told me your name yet?” Jack suddenly realized. She met his gaze then, and Jack couldn’t help but to feel mesmerized. God, who was she? Why was she out this time of night? Why had she come to him?

  “My name is Lillian Saint Rose.” she whispered, and it was then that he noticed there was a slight English accent to her soft spoken voice.

  “You’re English.” he acknowledged, and she nodded but once.

  “Originally, but I haven’t been back there in quite some time.” She stood to her tall height, preparing to leave. “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Jack Stone.” she said dismissively.

  “This Jax, he meant something to you?” Jack rushed to stand, blurting out the first thing that came to his mind if only to keep her there a moment longer.

  “Once upon a time.” she confessed as if deep in thought, and then she met his gaze once more and nodded as if in farewell.

  “Then it must disturb your senses that I resemble him?” Jack said a little too loudly. She must think I’m a dork, he thought, angry with himself for behaving like some little boy with an impossible crush! She met his gaze once more, and Jack‘s breathing seemed to still.

  “That was a long time ago. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” she turned to leave and it was all Jack could do not to reach out to her, to bring her back to him, for what, he didn’t know.

  “I assure you, ma’am, my time was not wasted. It was lovely meeting you, Lilly Saint Rose.” he called to get her attention. She looked back over her shoulder at him then as if stunned by something he had said, but for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out what.

  “And you as well, Jack Stone.” she bowed before him like some regal lady of old, and Jack didn’t know if to laugh at the absurdity of it, or to chase after her and demand that she stay and talk with him some more. He watched the last of the tall, beautiful woman walking away from him down the sidewalk outside of the coffee shop, and he couldn‘t help but to feel as if he were losing something of value. His heart jumped to pound in his throat. His feet itched to move, to indeed chase after her, but he forced himself to sit back down instead. It took a few moments for his mind to let go of her image and to return to the thoughts of the now two murders that had occurred in the last week.

  It was nearing on sunrise when Lillian Saint Rose walked through the front door of her home. Reginald Baker, her butler and guardian, met her at the door with a sour expression on his eighty-two year old, wrinkled face. Josh and Troy, Reginald’s two grandsons who were training to take over his position when Reginald passed on, flanked the old man with equally sour expressions on their young, handsome faces. Troy was a dead ringer for his grandfather back w
hen Reginald had been young. Josh looked more like his birth mother, a woman that Lillian could barely stomach.

  All three men stood there, staring at her accusingly, and it was then that Lillian noticed the bag of stakes strapped to Josh’s broad back. “Going somewhere?” she asked of him, and he frowned heavily.

  “To find you, but now that that will no longer be necessary.” he growled out, and he tossed the bag of stakes onto a cream leather sofa. Lillian’s pale blue gaze followed. There were at least twenty wooden stakes in that bag, she thought, and any one of them could put an end to her existence. That was, of course, if it was followed by decapitation, she thought, and she met Reginald’s condemning gaze. His fragile heart was beating away from him, but she listened carefully to the blood pushing through his veins and cleanly through his arteries. He was all right, for now…

  Reginald had been in her employ for the past sixty-three years, having been sent to her by her dark mother, Gina, when Reginald had been but nineteen years old. Gina had drunk from the young man, but Lillian never had, despite Reginald’s insistence.

  “We thought you were dead, lying in some ditch somewhere.” Reginald snapped fitfully like a parent that had been worried to death over his child that had missed her curfew. Lillian walked into the parlor where they all stood. Her sharp eyes took in everything that she was so familiar with. The now antique furniture that had been with her for years upon years had been restored again and again over the time. It was lovely and beautifully made. The crystal chandelier that hung over head was massive and had once hung in her mortal father’s home back in London, England when she had been a child. Each piece in the room held some kind of meaning and significance to her past.

  “I am dead.” She said dismissively as she peeled off the black slicker she had worn out that night, and tossed it on the back of a golden lounge chair. Reginald picked up the piece of clothing and tenderly smoothed it through his fingers.