by C. J. Pinard
“No! Don’t do that!” Kathryn yelled, bounding over the sofa at Jonathan to get his phone.
“Everyone, calm down,” Thomas said. “Let’s call some other Immortals. They will know what to do.”
Jonathan blew out an exasperated breath. “Thomas is right. You guys are right. Kathryn, do you still have Andrew’s number in L.A.?”
Kathryn walked to the dining room table and pulled her cell phone out of her purse. She read Andrew’s number off to Jonathan and he dialed the number.
Thomas was now pacing. He went into their custom kitchen and rested himself against the brown and tan granite countertops and cracked open the plastic water bottle cap. He looked at the stainless-steel appliances, the custom sink with the top-of-the-line faucet, the built-in wine chiller, the bamboo floors… what were they all so afraid of? Losing their immortality? Growing old and dying? No, not him. Thomas realized his biggest fear was truly for Serina’s life. She shouldn’t have to die because they became lax in their policing of the Fae. He enjoyed his long life but it had been a lonely one for him, if he were truthful with himself. That being said, he knew the immortality was important to Jonathan, and as much as he had hated Jonathan in the beginning, which had faded over the years, and they had vowed long ago that they would always have each other’s backs. They really did need to find a way out of this. A small part of him was terrified he would let down Malina, also. He really needed admit to himself how he felt about her, but that thought was quickly pushed out of his mind. They had real work to do. He took a swig from his water bottle when an idea popped into his mind.
“Andrew, this is Jonathan Murphy in Portland. We have… a situation here. Call me back immediately at this number,” he recited his cell number then pushed the end call button a little too harshly. He ran his hand through his wavy hair and let out a heavy sigh. He walked to the credenza and pulled the scotch bottle back out.
Thomas walked up and put a hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “I think I know what to do. You were right to call Malina. I’m sorry I stopped you. I think some advice from the other Immortal covens will be good, but will also be a humbling experience. In the meantime, I have an idea.”
∞∞∞
The thumping bass from the two large speakers cradling either end of the dance floor was deafening. The bar was lit up with alcohol brand advertisements, as well as patrons, talking, drinking, and gyrating to the music. Their heads blocked the view of the green, blue, and red colored bottles of alcohol sitting on clear glass shelves behind the bar. A string of neatly-placed red circular lights lined the bar, DJ booth, and dance floor. The DJ wore a backwards cap and a TapouT tee shirt, and was definitely a vampire, as he spun the records with his fangs out, rocking his head back and forth to the beat. He was quite amused with himself.
She stood in the shadows of Portland’s biggest nightclub, Night Crawlers, holding a cranberry and vodka, two thin black straws peeking over the top of the sweating glass. She put on her best club wear and had her bright red hair lying lazily over her shoulders and she had amped up the black eye makeup. She was very curiously watching a large group of vampires sitting in the VIP lounge section on the balcony of the club that overlooked the entire establishment. Their faces glowed crimson in the reflection of the red lights that were strung along the balcony railing and looped around the handrails.
She recognized Pascal, Portland’s vampire clan leader. His curly black hair was freely flowing to his shoulders, and even from her vantage point, she could see his haughty, piercing blue eyes in the dark. He looked about twenty-one, but she knew he was much, much older. The only thing visible in the dark was his red shirt, standing out against the black suit and skinny black tie. Pascal had his second, Darius, sitting next to him, a beer in his hand, his dark African skin barely visible under his black clothing. A gorgeous female with platinum hair, big boobs, and a leather-clad body was perched on the arm of Pascal’s chair. She was fairly sure that was Angel, Pascal’s mate. Angel had on very high black pumps that had a flourish of tiny red rhinestones encasing the heel. There were a few vampire foot-soldiers standing and sitting around casually.
To the oblivious human observer, who thought this club was just some Goth wannabe vampire joint, they looked like normal people, just out for drinks on a Thursday night. But she knew better. She was a ninety-six-year-old Immortal out of the Los Angeles coven, and her name was Lillian Griffiths.
Lillian was a long-time friend of Jonathan when he was part of the Los Angeles group. She wasted no time coming to Portland to help Jonathan when Andrew asked her to investigate what was going on. Having received the gift of glamour with her immortality, Andrew knew she could appear to be anyone and blend in with humans. She had the amazing ability to fit in anywhere and fool almost anyone, even vampires. After ninety-six years of life, she often got bored with her appearance and would spend weeks or even months looking like someone else completely. Sometimes she would glamour herself to look like the local mob boss and bilk people out of large sums of money in poker or pool games. A few times she had glamoured herself to look like an Asian or Irish prostitute and demand the money up front, before knocking out the john and taking his money without performing a service. She laughed at the memories, shaking her head. Thankfully, other Immortals always knew who she was, as she had very distinctive lavender-colored eyes and a unique voice. Tonight, though, she decided to just be herself, as she knew no Fae in Portland, and no Fae in Portland knew her. She also knew everything there was to know about vampires, as she used to date one when she was human.
Her choice of transformation to Immortal instead of vampire did not make her then-boyfriend, Peter, very happy, but it wasn’t as if she had a choice; she was dying from a rare form of leukemia at age twenty-two and the attempted vampire transformation hadn’t worked, as her blood was already too toxic with the cancer. Peter turned in a favor to an Immortal whose life he had once saved, and she was given some Enchantment to save her. Sadly, things ended between them for obvious reasons.
She very well couldn’t police the Fae and date one at the same time.
Lillian peered around the club and spied many a couple engaged in kissing and make-out activities in the deep, dark recesses of the club. To the humans, it looked as if everyone was having a good time, with probably a little too much alcohol involved. But she knew better. Those were feeding vampires and their victims were too strung out on endorphins to care. They appeared to be truly enjoying themselves. Lillian sighed with nostalgia as she reminisced about those feelings, then quickly snapped out of it when she remembered the pile of dead bodies she would often find at Peter’s door. How she never succumbed to death by exsanguination when she was human was beyond her. She surmised that she was just probably destined for something better.
Perhaps the leukemia was actually a gift that had saved her now-immortal ass.
If she were honest, it was more than the endorphins that made her lust for the bite. It was the taste of blood she found herself sometimes craving. This had been going on since her immortality began, but she had never given into it – nor had she ever told anyone. The only thing she could work out was that perhaps her attempted and failed vampire transformation did something to her blood. She was just glad she never grew fangs and could still go to beach barbeques on the Fourth of July.
Glancing back up at the balcony, Lillian could see Pascal, Darius, and Angel now huddled somewhat closely. They seemed to be deep in conversation, and it was then she decided she needed to hear what they were saying. That may be the key piece of information she had come for. Her stilettos clacked over the wood dance floor, which had been painted black with white stars. They glowed bright in the black-light as she sauntered over to the spiral staircase and climbed up, making a beeline for one of the soldiers.
“Hi, I’m Lilly,” she said, smiling, offering her hand out to a vampire with dirty-blonde hair and anxious green eyes.
His eyes grew wide, and then he withdrew his surprised reaction, tryi
ng to play it cool. “Joshua, nice to meet you.”
Another vampire, a tall, scary-looking guy with a shaved head and a goatee walked up to her. “Miss, you can’t be up here, this is the VIP section,” he boomed in a deep voice. He started to grab her arm, but she looked him straight in the eye.
“Oh, I’m so sorry. I was just about to tell Joshua here that I came up to meet the club’s owner. Some of the gals down there,” she said, pointing to a random group of girls, “told me the owners hang out up here. I just wanted to congratulate them on their success,” she finished with a smile.
“I got this, Mike,” Joshua said, holding up a hand.
Mike said nothing and walked back to stand beside Pascal, his arms folded over his large chest.
Joshua lightly touched her elbow and led her over to the edge of the railing of the balcony, but did not take her downstairs.
“Thank you,” Lillian said, flirtation dancing in her eyes as she sipped her drink.
“No problem. You’re much too pretty to be escorted off by Mike the Meathead over there,” he said, jabbing a thumb in Mike’s direction while giving her elevator eyes. He took a step closer then sniffed her neck in a very subtle way, thinking Lillian was human and wouldn’t notice.
Oh, she noticed.
She was very intuitive and deduced that Joshua was not only a very newly-made vampire, but he was also not very bright and probably overly horny. She decided to change the subject and started asking him questions about himself, but she really wasn’t listening. She was honed in on the conversation going on between Angel, Darius, and Pascal. She nodded occasionally to pretend she gave a crap about Joshua’s classic car hobby.
“I don’t know what they’re gonna do; I don’t even think they know what they’re gonna do with her,” Darius said in hushed tones.
“They’re calling the Immortals’ bluff is what they’re doing, Darius,” said Angel.
Pascal sat up in his chair and leaned in closer to the group. “Well those Immortals are in the shit now. They have seriously screwed up letting the shifters get their hands on a sylph. Do we know if they’ve asked for a ransom or anything?” he finished, a strong British accent still evident in his speech. Pascal had lived in America over one hundred years, but Lillian knew old accents died hard.
“I think they just want to negotiate a new Treaty,” Angel said. She pretended she was guessing, but she was secretly friends with Sheena the panther, and was told this first-hand.
“That’s an interesting bit of information, Angel. What makes you say that?” Darius asked skeptically, leaning back into the chair and folding one long leg over the other one.
Angel eyed him curiously before answering. “I really don’t know. If they just wanted her blood, they would have drained her by now and we’d have it on our doorstep, along with a bill,” she finished.
“That would be delicious,” Darius said. “Damn, that stuff is so good. Plus the high you get from drinking it is like, out of this world,” he said dreamily.
“And then after you get done drinking and getting high, you have an Immortal cop so far up your arse, you’ll lose your buzz,” said Pascal, resisting the urge to smack Darius on his afro.
“True ‘dat,” Darius said. “Anyway, I’d rather get my hands on some Enchantment. I’d kill to go to the beach at high noon,” he said mirthfully.
“Now, we don’t know if that will work, you guys, it’s just an old wives’ tale, as far as we know,” Angel said in a scolding tone. “Besides, since when is the sun ever out at the beach in Oregon anyhow?” She laughed at her own joke.
Pascal sat still for a minute and contemplated his next thought. “I think I just figured out a way to get our hands on some,” he said. “Come on, we are going to pay a visit to the shifters. Angel, darling, stop by the house and grab fifty-grand out of my safe and meet me at that dreadful downtown warehouse in an hour,” he said, getting up out of his seat.
Lillian pulled herself back to the conversation with Joshua and said, “Wow you are some car expert. Hey, if I give you my number, will you call me?”
His eyes widened again and he adjusted himself with his hand outside his pants and answered, “Sure!” he pulled his cell out and typed in the fake number she recited to him. He licked his lips as he was imputing the numbers.
“I need to go now, thank you for letting me in the VIP lounge, I’ve never been in one before. You’re too sweet,” she finished by batting her eyelashes and kissing him on the cheek. She set her drink on a nearby table, walked carefully in her stilettos down the spiral staircase, and out the front door of the club. She looked over her shoulder to be sure nobody could see, then ran at supernatural speed to her rented sports car and took off on two wheels around the corner, headed to Jonathan’s flat.
∞∞∞
San Francisco – 1947
Joseph was sitting at a desk in the police station, tapping his pen. His brain was in a fog; he couldn’t think. How could there be no records of Jonathan Murphy beyond fifteen years? He was determined to find out. He was convinced this man had something to do with Thomas’s disappearance. He decided it was time to take a trip to see him. Even though the detective on the case had already spoken to Mr. Murphy, Joseph just had to talk to him himself.
He grabbed his policeman’s cap and went out to his squad car in the police department’s parking lot and drove over to the Hyde Street bank building.
Entering the building, he walked to the pretty blonde receptionist and informed her he was there to see Jonathan Murphy. She smiled sweetly at him and pointed him toward the elevator, telling him to take it to the sixteenth floor.
As soon as the elevator door closed, Kathryn’s smile faded and she picked up her clunky black phone, dialing Jonathan’s office phone.
“Hey, it’s me. There’s a cop here to see you. His nametag says ‘O’Malley’ on it. If you have Tom up there with you, you better hide him,” Kathryn finished, trying to contain her panic.
“Okay, thanks for the heads-up. Did you get anything from him?” Jonathan asked quickly.
She took a deep breath. “Nothing audible. Just anger and a lot of sadness surrounding him,” she answered.
“All right, thanks.” He hung up.
“Tom! Come here, now!” Jonathan yelled as he got up from his desk. Thomas came barreling around the corner into Jonathan’s office.
“What’s the matter, boss?” Thomas asked nervously.
Jonathan grabbed Thomas by the arm and ushered him into the supply closet, and as he was closing the door, he said in hushed tones, “Your cop father is on his way up here. Do not say a word and stay in here until I tell you it’s safe to come out. Do I make myself clear?” Jonathan’s panicked gray eyes drilled into Thomas’s blue ones.
Thomas just nodded as Jonathan closed the door. He could feel tears brimming in his eyes and was glad for the darkness. He couldn’t believe his father would be just on the other side of that door in a matter of seconds. It had been almost a year since he had seen his parents and he was horribly homesick, but not once had he disobeyed Jonathan. It was drilled into him the importance of leaving his old life behind and policing the Fae. He was told what an honor and privilege it was to become an Immortal. The physical power and money that came with it was beyond prestigious. All of this was told to him over and over. Disappearing and losing his family was just a small price to pay, he was told. But was it? Now that he knew his dad was going to be right on the other side of the door, he wasn’t so sure. His stomach churned with nerves and he wiped the tears from his eyes, grateful Jonathan couldn’t see them.
Joseph exited the squeaky elevator and put his hand on the baton that hung tightly on his hip. He walked down the hallway until he found Murphy Architecture and knocked on the glass door. A tall man with wavy blonde hair answered the door.
“Hello, sir. My name is Officer O’Malley with the San Francisco Police Department. May I come in?”
“Of course. Please, have a seat, Officer” Jon
athan said, indicating a sofa which sat in the small lobby area of his office.
“I’m afraid this is a bit of a personal as well as professional visit on my part,” Joseph started, his Irish brogue as heavy as his heart.
At Jonathan’s nod, Joseph removed his policeman’s cap and set it on his lap. “About a year ago, my son, Thomas, came home from work and told me he had received a job offer from you here at your architectural firm. Is this true?”
“Yes, it is. Thomas used to make deliveries here all the time. I was very impressed with his professionalism and attitude so I offered him a job. I know not everyone can afford college, so I thought I would take him under my wing to learn the trade. My business was and is growing and I could have used an apprentice,” Jonathan said with a smile.
“Okay. Well just a couple days later, my son went missing, as I’m sure you know. He was on his last messenger job and he never came home. Can you please think very hard and try to remember anything he might have said that would have indicated that perhaps he was going somewhere, or doing something later in that week? Anything he may have said, no matter how insignificant, could be helpful.”
Jonathan knit his eyebrows together as he pretended to try to remember. “No, Mr. O’Malley, I’m sorry. Just like I told the detectives who came to see me a year ago, ours was a simple conversation. I offered him a job on a Monday, he accepted, and then I hear by Friday, he’d gone missing. That’s all. We had no further contact. I didn’t know him at all.”
Jonathan paused for a moment, then continued. “May I ask you a question?”
“Of course.”
“What do the police think happened to Thomas? I mean, it seems a bit odd for him to just disappear into thin air like that, right?” Jonathan asked, genuinely curious as to what the police knew.
“Well, his bike was found in an alley in the Mission District, and a smattering of blood was found nearby. Not enough blood to indicate death, though. We think he was injured then dragged off somewhere against his will. We just cannot figure out who would want anything with a twenty-year-old bike messenger. He had no money on him except a small amount of his tip money. If they wanted to rob him, I don’t understand why they didn’t just do so, then leave him be.” He finished with a shake of his head.