by J. A. Saare
Yanking my hand free, I started to tremble—mind blank, thoughts incoherent— caught in something worse than my temper could ever be. I was suffocating in blind terror, unable to breathe. I bent at the waist, gagging and dry heaving. Something touched my shoulder, and I reacted defensively, grabbing the hand and twisting at the wrist. I maneuvered the arm around and up, forcing weight into the shoulder joint, pressing down.
“Rhiannon,” Goose screamed in pain. “Calm down! It’s okay!”
At first, I didn’t hear. My blood was pounding too loudly, chest heaving with adrenaline and fear. Slowly, my ears adjusted, and I could perceive muted whispers. People were watching cautiously, afraid to intervene but too terrified to look away. Goose lay at my feet, his wrist and hand trapped in mine, forcing him to the ground.
I let go and stepped back, folding my arms to mask my trembling. I struggled to pull my shit together, taking measured breaths. Goose rose on unsteady feet, his white shirt stained black from the dirty pavement. His usually tidy hair was uneven and messy around his temples.
“What happened?” he asked calmly, hands lifted harmlessly in the air.
A few witnesses stood around while I collected myself, and realizing the show was over, moved along. I glanced at Baxter. He stood waiting. For what, I had no idea.
After a tense minute, I cleared my throat. My voice came out shaken. “He was alive when they took his heart. He was—fuck, you know what I mean!”
Goose’s eyes widened in alarm. I’ve been around enough people to know spooked when I see it, and he was spooked as hell.
“What?” I barked. I didn’t go through those memories to be left hanging.
“This has black magic written all over it.” He peered at me as he started pacing erratically. “This is not good, not good at all. Harvesting organs while the victim is alive is reminiscent of voodoo magic.”
“You’ve got to be shitting me. Granted, what I’m about to say is very naïve, but voodoo magic? You can’t be serious.”
“How do you think we raise the dead? Do you think that just happens naturally? There’s a structured ritual to follow, and that includes magic. Necromancy is just one of the requirements. Voodoo works the same. There are catalysts to bring forth the magic, but the ritual and powers are still required to make it work.”
“So someone is killing vampires off for their organs? Who would be that stupid?” I was as edgy as hell. The concept of capturing vampires to collect hearts made me sick.
Someone who would willingly go against a force that powerful wouldn’t care if they lived or died.
“We need to go to my office. I need to do some digging and research.” Goose was deep in thought, fingers on his chin rubbing the skin as he contemplated where to start.
“Oh no.” I lifted my hands, stepped back, and shook my head. “I did what I promised. I’m taking my sorry ass home.”
I ran off the sidewalk and across the street. I didn’t stop when Goose asked me to reconsider, and I didn’t look back when he called my name. The constant thuds of my footsteps were the only sounds I cared about as I hauled ass to the L train and went home.
Chapter Six
I arrived to work on the wrong foot. I was jumpy and agitated, constantly watching the doors.
A loud fart would have sent me skyrocketing into orbit.
I tried to focus on the patrons, the music from the stage, and even Lonnie’s fat ass, who as luck would have it, reverted to calling me bartender again. It was grueling and tedious, and I just wanted to go home and climb into bed.
Gathering my few belongings, I hit the door after close. I couldn’t shake touching Baxter, and it wasn’t because of my own personal hang-ups. Embedded in those shared memories was the perception of dread. I could feel his sense of doom, of damnation. He knew his life was ending, but it wasn’t death he feared. He was terrified of what came after, because he didn’t know if he would go to heaven or hell.
I couldn’t move past that. His regret at not knowing if he would gain admittance inside the pearly gates because of what he was.
I was curious about the answer myself.
I exited through the back of the building. Pushing open the door with a heavy scrape of metal, I entered the darkened morning dank with mist. I stared at the ground, too confused to pay attention, and nearly busted my ass when I bumped full speed into a hard body. Strong hands held me upright and I threw my weight back, lifting my arms to protect myself.
“Jesus, take it easy!” Disco spoke softly, letting go. He was in his normal black ensemble, the collar of his trench coat pulled up and around his turtleneck. He didn’t move closer, but regarded me carefully. “Ethan wasn’t exaggerating. You did have a bad day today.”
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” I snapped. Pulling in a ragged breath, I wrapped my arms around my stomach. I was wrong. I wouldn’t skyrocket into orbit. My heart would simply burst inside my chest.
“I wanted to see if you were all right. Ethan said you wouldn’t return his calls.” Disco turned his blue eyes to my brown ones, and they were full of concern, not demands or expectations.
“Look.” I took a jagged breath. “I’m not cut out for this shit. I did what you asked, and now I’m done.”
“He told me what you saw. I apologize. I know it wasn’t easy, and believe me, I would have done it myself if I could. My friends are dying, Rhiannon. You confirmed our worst suspicions. If you walk away, they will keep dying. Can you turn your back and let others be murdered the same way Baxter was? The way Cash was?” he whispered the last part quietly, bright blue irises sparkling beautifully behind sooty lashes.
I ran trembling fingers through my hair. Whoever was behind this wouldn’t stop. The number of missing vampires made that painfully obvious. Could I walk away and save my own ass, turning my back on them and letting it happen because I was too afraid to do the right thing?
Haunted green eyes flashed in my mind.
“No,” I exhaled the word, answering both of us at the same time. “I guess not.”
Disco relaxed, standing tall and straightening his shoulders in one agile movement. “I’m relieved to hear you say that.” He approached, each step calculated and smooth, stopping just inches away. “Are you all right?”
Was I all right? Not really. My nerves were frazzled. My head was killing me. And my brain kept filtering those images over and over—the chains, the shining blade of the curved hunting knife, the blood—oh my God, the blood. And somehow, tied inside those visions, were ones from my own tormented childhood.
No, I wasn’t all right, but I said, “I’ll be fine.”
He moved, covering the distance, and stopped directly in front of me. “That wasn’t my question.”
I tried to step back, but he used his speed to place strong hands on my shoulders, keeping me still. His face lowered until just inches separated us. Up close, I could see how pale and smooth his skin was, like polished alabaster.
“Back off,” I whispered between clenched teeth. Bringing my hands to my chest, I forced them between our bodies. I couldn’t break free, and that knowledge sent my body into unwilling tremors.
“I could be a crass bastard and dig around in that head of yours, just forgoing any manners and say to hell with the impropriety. But I won’t, because I want you to come to me, Rhiannon. One day, you will trust me enough to ease your burden on my ears, and when that day arrives, I will gladly listen.”
His voice was like plush velvet against my skin. I closed my eyes, biting down on my tongue until I tasted the rusty bitterness of blood. When I lifted my lids, all I could see was bright blue, his irises darker on the edge and lightening near the pupil.
I drew in a breath, fighting back panic.
“Answer one question.” His hushed request sent a shiver down my spine. “Would you shy away from anyone’s touch, or do you just despise mine because of what I am?”
“Okay.” I swallowed and cleared my throat. The spark of my temper was small and wea
k, like flint striking a wet stone, but it felt good nonetheless. “If you were anyone else, your nuts would be taking a long vacation, and the destination would be out of your mouth.”
He smiled at that, enhancing his already angelic face. He released my shoulders and I sagged. Righting myself, I shifted my weight to regain my balance.
“Come on, I’ll escort you home.”
“That’s okay, I know the way.” I tried to scuffle past, and he placed his body directly in my path. If not for the ripples of his leather coat, I’d have never known he’d moved. I stood stunned as he stepped in beside me. He reached into his pocket for a cigarette, which he promptly lit.
This time, I didn’t argue. He would do whatever he wanted. I started walking, breathing deeply until I achieved a small level of calm.
“How do you smoke, doesn’t that require breathing?” I finally decided to ask the question. If anything, it would break the ice.
“We don’t have to breathe, but it’s how we form words to speak. It’s the reason we can’t be killed by drowning. We can hold our breath indefinitely.”
“So…your organs function as needed?”
“It depends on the organ.”
“Take your heart for example.” I avoided looking into his eyes. “Does it still beat?”
He turned swiftly, tossed the cigarette, grabbed my hand, and placed it on his chest. His fingers were cold, the delicate ivory coloring matching my own. I flattened my palm over the softness of his sweater, feeling the solid area over his heart and the steady beating coming from underneath.
“Amazing,” I whispered, eyes wide, marveling at the thumping against my fingers. The rhythm was strong and steady.
How could you classify someone as dead when they still had a heartbeat and could breathe?
“We are not so different,” he said softly, answering my unspoken question.
“How is it possible? Does it ever stop beating?” I was mesmerized by the sensation and felt slightly disappointed when he moved away to walk beside me once more.
“It slows when we haven’t fed.” He said evenly, returning to his nicotine fix.
“That’s a nasty habit, you know.” I wrinkled my nose distastefully and pointed at the cigarette.
“I’ll make you a deal. I’ll put down the smokes if you stop speaking so crudely.”
“Fuck that.” I bit my lower lip to disguise my grin.
He sighed and shook his head, but retained the smile. “You can’t say I didn’t try.”
He followed me like a shadow, quiet but ever present. It was strange making the trip home with someone, because it had never happened before. After we exited the subway, we walked to my street in relative silence, and it wasn’t because of my lack of questions. From the moment I’d discovered his heart still beat, my mind went into hyperdrive.
Then, I remembered the female ghost I’d seen, and the question of their crossing the threshold came to mind. I hesitated, afraid to ask initially, but my inquisitiveness overcame logic.
“Is the myth true? Do you have to be invited into someone’s home before you can enter?” I asked the question nervously, fidgeting and staring ahead.
“Are you inviting me inside?”
Shit. I tried to keep my expression blank. That wasn’t the smartest question to ask after all. I clammed up, words escaping me, biting the inside of my cheek.
“Yes, we have to be invited,” he answered, saving my ass from sheer humiliation.
“Ghosts are the same, or I should say, the few I’ve encountered near my apartment stop at the door. I wondered if it was connected.”
“Ah.” He nodded and smiled.
“Thanks for seeing me home.” My smile didn’t reach my eyes. I felt awkward and uncertain.
He gave a mock salute. “Anytime.”
Walking quickly to the door, I yanked it open, stepped inside, and turned to look through the glass. Disco was in the same spot I’d left him, framed by the glow of the street light. I lifted my left hand and swept it up and out in a goodbye wave. He lowered his head in acknowledgement, and I rushed up the stairs, refusing to breathe until I was safely inside my apartment.
Chapter Seven
Goose’s apartment doubled as his office and consisted of a hodgepodge of all things mystical. With walls painted cream, dark natural wood floors, and a random stuffed critter here and there.
Bookshelves lined the walls with bound pages full of spells and enchantments. The titles were arranged alphabetically, and little objects like assorted stones and rocks were placed carefully in front of the spines. In the ceiling above the wooden banisters were various taxidermies, a squirrel and rabbit among them. They creeped me out something fierce, and I couldn’t concentrate knowing their beady little eyes were watching.
I took a seat in the leather chair in front of his desk and settled in. On the edge were several thick books, their pages marked with ribbons of multiple colors. Directly in front was a name plate—Ethan McDaniel, P.I.
I snickered. Goose thought he was a private dick.
I closed my eyes and envisioned him chasing a criminal mastermind through the tough streets of New York. Working for the oppressed and down trodden, his feet are swift and his balls are mighty. The visual worked until the pursuit came to a screeching halt and the criminal revealed his Cletus-like physique. What would Mr. Goose P.I. do? Arrest the bad guy and save the day? Get beaten to a pulp and left for dead?
Tune in next week, kiddies, for the exciting conclusion!
“Here we go.” His voice echoed from the kitchen, and he appeared holding a steaming mug in hand.
Goose was a consummate gentleman. He opened doors. He offered refreshments. And he didn’t interrupt others when they spoke. I was finding it near to damned impossible to hold my previous grudge against him; he was too damned likeable.
“Thanks.” I accepted the hot ceramic mug graciously, smiling at him. He was dressed casually while in the comfort of his own domicile. The baby-blue polo and blue jeans made him appear younger and less uptight.
“Where were we? Oh!” He lifted one of the books off his desk, opened it, and flipped the pages. “Muti is a widely used African term to describe medicine, but in recent years, the word has been associated with the excision of body parts from living people. The belief is that pain increases the potency of the organ, as do the screams rendered at its taking. These organs or body parts are then used in medicines or assorted black magic spells, ranging from ones that heal to those that bring wealth and power.”
“Pain increases the potency? And they want them to scream?” I shivered, momentarily reliving Baxter’s suffering. “That’s sadistic.”
“Indeed.” Goose nodded in agreement and closed the book with a plop. “Which begs the question—why vampires?”
He crossed out of the office and into the living room, drawing the thick curtains closed. A little click sounded and a warm glow flooded the area, courtesy of the Venetian floor lamp in the corner. He walked to a bookshelf and ran his finger along the wood, locating and then removing a volume from the top. The wood creaked under his feet as he walked back and placed the book on the desk. He opened it, revealing a faux cover that hid various glass vials, and pulled one out. The liquid inside was deep red, nearly black in its thickness.
“Here.” He extended the vial and I took it in my fingers, flipping my wrist to study the goopy liquid.
“What is this?” I asked, making odd faces as I imagined the worst.
“Vampire blood,” he answered, reclining against the desk.
It didn’t seem different from human blood, except the color and consistency was thicker and darker. I held it toward the lamp, twisting the vial. The red was more distinguishable in the light.
“Do I even want to know where you got this?” I peered around the glass and met his steady gaze.
He smiled broadly, nodding his head in approval.
Maybe next time I would get a cookie.
“You want to know exactly
how I got that. Vampire blood is huge on the black market. If you drink or inject it, it makes for one hell of a high. It also has the power to heal wounds faster, make you stronger, and does wonders for the sex life. People are willing to pay a high price for what you have in your fingers, and some vampires are always out to make a quick buck.”
I was just absorbing the healing faster and better sex life part when the vampires making a quick buck registered. “They sell their own blood?” I asked, completely grossed out. How did that work? Did they keep syringes on hand for a blood draw?
“They do, and they’re smart about it. They don’t sell directly to seekers. They use reputable underground suppliers where this kind of thing is the norm. They bag it, take it to their contact, swap out goods for the cash, and presto—blood out of body and cash in hand.”
“That’s nasty. You know that, right?” I stared at him, my opinion validated when he nodded. I wanted to make sure we were on the same page. Then I remembered I was holding a tiny glass container filled with the stuff. My eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what are you doing with this?” I lifted the container into the air. “You don’t drink this shit do you?”
“I have before, but not for the reasons you assume.”
He rose, walked around the desk, and plopped down into his swiveling leather recliner. “The blood in that vial belonged to Jacob. Or as near as we can tell, it did. Disco couldn’t get a positive identification from the supplier, so we’re going on assumptions. I tried to use his blood in the hope that I could call him with my necromancy. As you already know, it didn’t work.”
“I won’t tell you how incredibly disgusting I think you are right now. Instead, I’m going to ask you what vampire blood has to do with Muti and vampire organs.”
“I think they’re connected. I also think that whoever is behind the disappearances got their start in the clubs with blood and decided to move onto something bigger and better. It’s that, or a dealer got greedy and started offering new and improved vampire specialties at private gatherings. Either way, our next step is to get invited to a private screening to see what’s on the menu.”