by Linda Welch
We glide along, I because I carry as little mass as possible without losing my clothes and Clide because he is naturally graceful. He whistles through his teeth, a melody I don’t recognize.
“What does Alain want?”
“He’ll tell you.” Clide angles right and heads for West Pattinson.
I trail a pace behind him. “You can’t say? Or you won’t? Or you don’t know?”
He says nothing. I grumble under my breath, knowing full well he hears every word. “Effing vampires. Think they run the effing city.”
He snuffs through his nose and grins, showing fangs again. “Give us time.”
I have never seen Clide irked and the gods know I’ve done my utmost to rile him. Just for the heck of it.
Clide walks me to Alain’s front door, flips his hand to his forehead in a casual salute and makes for one of the other buildings.
Capucine is waiting, and I know something is drastically wrong. Her first words are, “Thank the gods!” and she grabs my hand. Miss High-And-Mighty-Wraiths-Are-Only-Good-For-Wiping-My-Boots-On is pleased to see me. More than pleased, she’s relieved. Full fleshed and not happy about it, I’m dragged along the passage, through the hall and into Alain’s study at a fast trot.
In a smart three-piece russet business suit, he rises from behind his desk. “Rain, you took your time.”
Really? I don’t like his tone; my face is hot, along with my temper. “You know, if you told me why you want me instead of ordering me to come with no explanation, I might be inclined to walk faster.”
Alain gestures at one of the chairs in front of his desk. “Take a seat.”
His voice has never been this cool before and his eyes are no warmer. His tone douses my temper better than a bucket of ice water. I perch on the edge of the seat and trap my hands between my knees.
Alain gives me a considering look and goes to a small oval table which bears an array of crystal decanters and glasses. He pours amber liquid in a rocks glass, brings it to me and settles on the other chair. I can’t help noticing how the trousers hug his thighs as he crosses one leg over the other.
What is wrong with me? I’m ill, that’s it, with an overdose of Alain.
“Thanks.” I take the glass from his warm fingers, sip and make an appreciative noise as fine single malt liquor coats my throat.
We savor our drinks in silence, the only noise the crackle of the fire, but the reprieve is brief. “One of my people has been abducted,” Alain abruptly says.
I hold the glass on one knee. “Who?”
“Who was taken, or who took her?” He hangs one arm over the chair’s back rung, the empty glass held in a limp grip. “Verity. The Greché have her.”
So few words, and arranging them in my mind to make sense takes a minute. I know Verity, a young vampire, half a century at best, a statuesque beauty and Alain’s secretary. Well enough. But the Greché? The Greché are Upside’s single vampire family and are huge.
My tongue is primed with questions, but I decide to listen to what Alain has to say first. “Tell me everything, then tell me why I need to know.”
His nails rattle on the crystal, his expression is flat and hard. “They came Downside and may have specifically targeted Verity or she happened to be the first female vampire they came upon. How did they get in and out? The Station Master looked elsewhere when Gervaise Greché and his henchman came through, and left with them when they went up with Verity. The miscreant is one of their minions. He took the position five years ago after a decade of dedicated service to the city.”
So the Greché planted one of their people more than fifteen years ago. No time at all to vampires.
“There will be an investigation, but it won’t help us get Verity back.”
“How do you know all this?”
“They were seen a moment too late. Verity was unconscious, drugged I suspect. They don’t know they were observed; if they had, the person who saw them wouldn’t be alive to tell us. I believe that works in our favor, they won’t know you are looking for her.”
My eyes narrow. “Who’s looking for her?”
He shrugs shoulders and arms. “We don’t know in which of their houses she is held. Your job is to find her, report back to us and we’ll do the rest.”
It clicks into place. The Greché will soon know should Alain’s people venture Upside in search of Verity. They’ll be alert to begin with. But if Castle and I locate Verity, Alain’s vampires can swoop on the Greché before they know what hits them.
With luck, the Greché won’t know Castle and I are there.
I swirl liquor in the glass. “Why did they take her?”
“They grow weak.” The muscles along his shoulders bunch. His eyes, smoldering, snap to my face. “They need new blood.”
Vampire blood contains parasites which are passed to humans when they ingest a vampire’s blood. The parasites alter their physiology and voila! A brand new baby vampire. A little human blood every now and then keeps the parasites happy and is provided by willing donors. The tiny symbiotes also need to replicate every decade, which entails a blood exchange between vampires who have no blood relationship, meaning another family.
If these conditions are not met, the parasites struggle to keep the body in working condition and producing healthy new vampires is low on the list of priorities. New turns can suffer from morbidity and substandard intelligence; they are weak and dull-minded.
Downside vampires are strong, in part because they share blood with other families. A newly turned vampire who wakes with disabilities is unheard of Downside, but not Upside. Greché need new blood so their little passengers can reproduce, but no Downside family will hand over one of their own.
The Greché had a huge falling out with the other families about fifty years ago and moved back Upside. When Castle told me about it, we couldn’t believe they didn’t consider the ramifications of breaking off relationships, but I guess they did, and planned for it.
My stomach curdles. Knowing the Peraltas will look for Verity, the Greché don’t have the luxury of time. They will share Verity among themselves, they’ll drain her.
“I’ll talk to Castle.” As much as Castle loathes vampires, I know he will take the job. However, I can’t speak for him. “And it’ll cost you.”
“Money is nothing.” Alain smoothly rises to fill his glass with molten gold which cost him a bundle.
He usually tries to keep me here with flimsy excuses, but not today. The gargoyles are still and silent as I cross the courtyard.
Time to pick up my laundry and head over to Castle’s place.
*
Castle dries the last dish and puts it in the overhead cabinet. He rinses out the sink, hangs the dish towel on a peg, goes to the living room and settles in his armchair.
His gaze roams the room. He’s proud of his home. The house is tidy, spacious and comfortable, unlike Rain’s sty. Picturing her studio apartment, he winces. All those bright primary colors. Ugh. He understands why she adopted the garish color scheme when she first moved into the apartment. A desire for color indicates a new wraith’s insecurity as they labor to accept what they are. But it was years ago, she doesn’t need it now, yet he can’t talk her into making her space a little less atrocious on the senses. He rags on her about it, just as she teases him about the house, calling him an old lady. Giving Rain a hard time is one of life’s small pleasures.
She’ll be here soon.
Next week marks her anniversary, five years since he brought her Downside. It calls for a celebration. He’ll take her out to the countryside for a picnic. She’s never been to a picnic. Sitting on the grass with a wicker basket may not sound exciting, but it’ll be new to Rain. She enjoys new experiences when they are pleasant.
He should check his supply of laundry detergent because Rain will forget to bring any. He hauls up from the chair, and feels a presence behind him seconds before a weight slams into his back.
Full flesh pounds into him. He doesn’
t go down, but becomes still when a blade presses to his jugular. The man has an arm around his neck, the other holds his hand twisted up behind his back. A gods-cursed vampire has him.
“We’re going to talk,” says a rough voice he doesn’t recognize. “Be honest and I won’t hurt you.”
“About what?”
“You and your partner have been busy lately.”
“Rain? Whatever you want, leave her out of it.”
“I can’t do that.”
The hells with that. He’s Castle, he doesn’t need weapons to take this piece of shit down. Castle ignores the pain of his twisted limb and grabs the guy’s wrist with his other hand, forcing it from his neck. The blade kisses his skin, but only a nick. He yells as his left shoulder dislocates, lifts his knee and slams the knife-wielding hand down on it.
The vampire keeps the blade but Castle holds onto his wrist. He tosses his head back, it cracks the guy’s face with a satisfying crunch and Castle is suddenly free. He spins and back-steps.
The pain in his shoulder makes him weave on his feet. His assailant wears black head to toe except for a slit baring his eyes. Tall as Castle, thinner, but made all of muscle. He watches the body language and the knife-hand, ready to blink out, which will mend his shoulder and put him in a better position.
The man comes at Castle.
Rap rap rap. “Castle, you in there?”
*
Street lamps flicker as I trudge to Castle’s place toting a huge duffel bag full of dirty clothes. Shadows slither up the street. House lights blink out.
I hope Castle still lets me do my laundry after I tell him about Verity, not a prospect I look forward to. On second thought, I’ll get my things in the machine before I say anything. I’ll have to make another trip with my linens, if I can talk him into letting me use his machines again after tonight.
The porch light is off and also the hall light or it would glimmer through the glass window in Castle’s front door. But light glows faintly from deeper in the house. No sound from inside. He must be in the kitchen. I tap the door three times with my knuckles. “Castle, you in there?”
“He should be,” a voice says, startling me. “He got home about an hour ago. Haven’t seen him leave and his car’s still out back.”
Castle’s neighbor, Jessy, the self-appointed neighborhood watch.
“Oh, okay, fine. Thanks.” I give the nosy old guy a smile and nod as he walks on down the street.
I use my fist on the door this time. “Castle! Open up!”
Maybe he’s in the shower. I sit on the step for what feels like five minutes.
Bother him. I refuse to wait outside all night and will definitely not tote this duffel bag back home. I have a key. I root in my pocket among a handful of coins and a scrap of paper.
After unlocking the door, I heave the duffel over the step, dump it in the hall and push the door to with my hip.
“Castle? Guess who’s here with her laundry?” I sing.
Grabbing the duffel’s handle, I lug it along the floor to the living room. Light shines through from the kitchen. A noise back there, it must be Castle. I open my mouth on a grin to tell him he’s grown deaf in his old age.
Castle lies in the middle of the living room floor in the fetal position, head and shoulders in a pool of his own blood.
I recoil and hit the door frame. The duffle falls from numb fingers. I can’t breathe, yet a moan escapes my lips. No. No no no. He sees me and horrible noises gurgle from his throat. His hands scrabble on the bloody carpet.
Palms over my mouth, I creep in the room and collapse to my knees. I reach for the stiletto in his neck. If I can get it out, he can lose flesh and come back good as new. But he feebly bats at my hand and I know his blood will fountain if I pull the blade. He will be gone in seconds.
I know, and he knows, he will die in moments anyway. I’m too late, he has lost too much blood, he doesn’t have the strength to manipulate flesh. I can’t do anything. My friend is dying and I can’t save him.
I grasp his hand. My mouth tries, but fails to make words. His eyes are wide but placid, as if acceptance has replaced fear and desperation.
Castles smiles as my tears drip on our joined hands, then his hand is lax. His other hand flops on the floor. His eyes are open, staring right at me, but glassy. He’s not here anymore.
My thoughts are confused. It’s not real, it can’t be. I frown at him, a Castle island in the middle of a red sea. I don’t believe he’s gone. Get up, Castle, you ass. You’ve got blood all over you. His skin looks stiff, taut, plastic.
An ache wells in the pit of my stomach. I couch over my knees and keen.
I sit in Castle’s blood with his head on my knees. Blood streaks my face where I swiped at tears, in my hair from when I pushed it off my face, on my legs and knees.
Alain is a shadow in the doorway seen through blurred vision. I called him less than five minutes ago, yet it seems like hours.
“Rain.” His voice echoes as if we stand in a cavern. “A communication from my man in the constabulary arrived seconds after you called me; the police received an anonymous tip, they’ll be here soon. We must get you out.”
Tears still prick behind my eyelids. “What?”
“Someone tipped off the police. They are on their way to investigate. Time to go, Rain.”
I gulp and shake my head. “Jessy. Castle’s neighbor Jessy saw me come in.” I ease Castle’s head to the floor, hating to lay it in the blood.
Alain bends to scoop me up but his fastidious nature intervenes. Rushing into the kitchen, he whips the plastic cloth off the table, dashes back and drapes it over me. He manages to pick me up as he swaddles me. The first time Alain has held me to his body, but I get no pleasure from it. He carries me to the bathroom, avoiding my bloody footprints which lead to Castle’s phone and back to his body.
I’m an automaton on wobbly legs as he deposits me in the shower. I can’t speak through chattering teeth and stand like a package wrapped in plastic. Off comes the tablecloth, followed by my clothes and boots. Folding everything inside the tablecloth, he turns on the water and adjusts hot and cold to a reasonable temperature.
Water sheets over me. I lean on the tiled wall and lift my face to the deluge, but although the water laves Castle’s blood from my skin, I will never be free of it. It may disappear from my body but has left a stain on my heart. My eyes are closed but Castle’s image is embedded on the lids.
Alain steps into the shower. He has removed his clothes. He fills his hands with soap and goes to work on me, scrubbing my skin and hair, using his fingernails to scrape blood from beneath mine, until the water runs pink instead of red. When the last discoloration swirls down the drain, he turns off the water, hooks a towel from the rack and wraps it around me.
Perched on a stool, he holds me on his knees, hugged to his chest. His hand strokes my hair, a soothing gesture I barely feel. I want to cry again but am all out of tears for now, so I close my eyes, numb inside and out.
“Thank you for coming,” I finally manage to say, and look up into his face.
He gazes back with furled brow. A humorless smile pulls the side of his mouth. “Anything for you, my darling.” He dips his face into my wet hair.
My voice is weak as a kitten’s. “You didn’t have to do all that. I could have cleaned myself up.”
“Not in the state you’re in.” He stands and lowers me to the stool, and rubs himself down with a towel from Castle’s stack.
He’s right. I’d still be sitting in Castle’s blood, holding his hand, if not for Alain. If not for the police’s imminent arrival, I’d still be here tomorrow, sitting with Castle, covered in his blood.
The towel slips from my shoulders; Alain resettles it and cups my cheek with his palm. “Courage.”
I nod at the shower. “But why bother?”
“You need your strength and dignity when you speak to the police and it is better the constables believe you didn’t touch him.”
/> Right. I need my wits about me. I will be the chief suspect, a wraith who can force her partner’s flesh while she kills him. Members of the jury, the accused was found covered in the victim’s blood.
My hands clench on the towel. “You didn’t ask if I did it.”
“Any man who thinks you’d harm Castle is a fool. Unfortunately, that probably includes the entire police force.”
Someone called the police. The person who killed Castle? I remember the noise in the kitchen. I barely missed them, and now they are trying to incriminate me in Castle’s death.
I just missed them. A few minutes earlier… .
I totter to my feet and look in the mirror as Alain leaves the bathroom. Damp hair sticks up all over the place, my eyes look hollow. I shed flesh and reform with dry hair which I finger-comb. I didn’t need the shower, I could have faded out and come back clean, except I’m too numb to think of it till now. Wouldn’t have helped with my clothes, anyway. What did Alain do with the bloody clothes? A savvy guy like Alain wouldn’t dump them in the trash.
He never goes abroad alone. He gave my clothes to one of his people.
Dressed, Alain returns with my duffel and drops it on the floor. “I have disposed of your clothes and the tablecloth. Find something which doesn’t reek too badly and put these on.” He presents my red-soled boots. I regard them with horror.
Alain exhales hard. “You must, my pet. Your footprints are all over the living room.”
I swallow the huge knot in my throat and give him a taut nod. Kneeling, I unzip the duffel and take out a crumpled blue tee, navy denim pants and underwear and get into them. I hold the boots but can’t make myself put them on.
Rotating green and yellow lights flash through Castle’s curtains. The constables are outside. The clock shows twelve minutes have passed. I join Alain in the kitchen where he presses me into a chair and eases the boots on my sockless feet.