by Gaja J. Kos
“Chernobog take you! Where the fuck did you get the idea that panicked vamps talking was a good thing? This isn’t some bloody support group!”
Rose snickered to herself; Zarja’s talent to shake someone down never faltered. She was certain Lado would think very hard before making another mistake ever again in his prolonged life.
She turned around, moving through the room towards the rest of her pack. They had managed to put a lid on the worst of the outbursts before Rose arrived at Mora, but the vampires were far from being at ease, their raised voices clashing inside the small space. She flashed her teeth at some of the patrons who appeared to be more wound up than the rest of the group, the gesture effectively toning down the display of uncontrolled emotions.
“If you won’t shut up, we won’t begin.” Mark’s voice carried across the crowd, the unusual presence of irritation speaking of just how bad the situation must be if it affected the usually level-headed werewolf.
Rose pushed through the crowd of vamps, following the sound until she saw Mark standing by a table at the far wall of the bar, his impressive form fitted into a pair of dark blue jeans and a fleece checked shirt, which gave off a serious lumberjack vibe. His ruffled brown hair showed a few more strands of gray, but the addition only succeeded in making the were even more appealing. Evelin stood by his side, her black hair pulled into a tight ponytail that showed off the no-nonsense expression fixed on her face. A simple charcoal woolen dress hugged her slender body, effectively masking just how lethal she truly was.
Rose had almost reached the pack when Mark growled under his breath, cutting through the chatter. His words were spoken with nothing but the most absolute clarity that carried easily through the small space. “We can lock you in and leave you to your headless babble for days to come, or you can close your mouths shut until it’s your turn to speak, and we just may all be able to get our asses back home before dinner.”
The vampires quieted down, and to Rose’s surprise, some of them even decided to occupy the chairs scattered around the tables. She observed the umbrage disappear from Tim’s face as he took in the sudden change, saw it being replaced by a single raised eyebrow. The werewolf appeared to have been sitting at the table alongside Mark and Evelin from the very beginning, and judging by his reaction, this must have been the first time Mark’s words produced any serious effect. Rose stalked over to the empty chair beside Tim and bumped her shoulder against his in salutation.
“The Double Js said vamp murder. Is it true?” she whispered, careful to remain out of earshot from any of Mora’s patrons and their stellar hearing. Wound up as they were, even the mere mention of murder could set them off anew.
Tim ran his hand through his hair, ruffling it in the process. His lips were pulled into a tight line as he nodded in response with a single dip of his chin. Feeling somewhat grim, Rose leaned back and let out a sigh. She could understand why the vampires were rattled.
Vampiric deaths were rare; an odd one occurred every few years, but all of those were isolated cases, and the victims were without exception traditional vampires, the ones who continued to abide by older customs and strove to hunt humans under the cover of darkness. In those cases, nobody was particularly upset when they heard someone decided to do them in. If anything, they were doing the wider community a favor.
But judging by the looks of the vampires packed inside Mora, and the fact that they had all come here during daylight—as bleak as it was—the victims must have been twentyfourhourlies. And as far as Rose knew, the civil vampires were well accepted within the human society and careful enough not to show their vampirism around groups or individuals with questionable morals. If it hadn’t been for her keen sense of smell, even Rose wouldn’t have been able to differentiate them from regular humans.
They were safe, or as safe as anybody could be from outside threats, which made the event of someone targeting the twentyfourhourlies all the more unexpected. Rose wanted to confirm her suspicions with Tim, but Mark’s voice spilled across the room, grabbing her attention.
“First of all,” the were said, his authority so strong it was almost dripping from his words, “which one of you came up with this brilliant idea of a meeting?”
A silence so thick filled the room that Rose caught herself trying to hold her breath, afraid to disturb the stillness. After a few moments that seemed to stretch on for a lifetime, a thin vamp who couldn’t have been over thirty-five in human years stood up. He was wrapped in a dark brown, oversized woolen cardigan pulled tight around his body, huddling himself in the garment’s comfort before he shifted on his feet and began to speak.
“I did,” the vampire said in a weak voice, his short black hair nearly matching the dark shade of the circles lingering under his eyes as he looked at the werewolves.
“And you are?” Mark asked, but his voice was somewhat softer, more understanding than before.
Mark had a special talent for reading people, which is why Rose never doubted that his decision to work part-time as a social worker was the right one. As difficult as it was for werewolves to keep steady jobs, Rose was glad the older werewolf did. Mark’s work wasn’t simply a job. It was a calling. He was undoubtedly one of the best counselors in the city; and judging by the sudden change in attitude, Rose knew Mark had anticipated what the vampire’s answer would be even before the man had a chance to reply.
“I’m Alex’s husband.”
Mark motioned him to come forward and offered him a seat at the table. The rest of the still-standing vampires compliantly sat down one by one, obviously not wanting to miss any part of the conversation. But despite the calm appearance, Rose could nonetheless smell the panic boiling just underneath the surface of their skin, ready to erupt at even the smallest trigger. She wondered if this was the calm before the storm… And if the vamps’ sudden sympathy would turn into an outburst.
“What’s your name?” Mark continued once the vampire took the offered chair next to the werewolf, wrapping the cardigan even more securely around his body.
“Dragan.”
Rose watched how the strong warmth of sympathy flowed into Mark’s features, transforming them into the face of someone you wanted to share all your troubles with. The werewolf was good, and the display of compassion never crossed the line, never struck her as pushy. Probably because Mark actually cared for the people who came to sit opposite him, be it in his office or during spontaneous encounters such as this one.
“Tell me about Alex,” he said softly.
Dragan stifled a sob, but was unable to prevent his eyes from becoming watery. “He is—was—such a darling...”
The vampires in the room stirred, the seemingly bottled emotions racing. Rose’s body tensed, prepared to intervene at the first sign of an outburst, but none of the vamps acted upon the impulse, frozen right at the very edge of their control. She relaxed slightly, but kept her gaze on the crowd, not trusting them to handle what Dragan had to say.
“We went to see a play yesterday evening. It was the opening night, so it was a little over midnight when we came back to the house. You know how it is, a discreet sip of blood, a few conversations with old acquaintances. You lose track of time quickly when the atmosphere is nice and you’re with the people that matter the most. I didn’t even notice how late it was until we decided to leave...
“Alex was perfectly fine when we got home. He said he was a little tired… But it had been a long day, so I didn’t think much of it.” Dragan paused to wipe away a sole tear that rolled down the flawless skin of his cheek. “Even vampires get tired, you know. We’re not machines...”
“I understand.” Mark’s expression never faltered, the empathy on his face sincere. “What happened afterwards?”
In between the waves of silent sobs, it took Dragan some time to pick up on his recollection. “We had our standard cigarette before bed, a nighttime routine of ours, and we discussed the play for a few more minutes. Then we turned in for the night. He... He kissed me go
odnight, fell asleep in my arms...”
The vampires stirred again, but Rose shot them one of her cold glances, effectively stopping the rallied crowd. At least for a short while.
“I woke up around five, I—” The sobs were more violent now, but Dragan did his best to compose himself.
Rose had to admire the vampire; his whole body screamed of the hurt locked inside him, but still he kept on.
“I heard Alex groaning, curled up on the other side of the bed. I reached out to him, asking what was wrong...” His voice broke, and this time even the vamps remained still, the room dipped in complete silence except for the breathy sounds of Dragan’s grief.
Rose couldn’t understand how Mark composed himself enough to face such sorrow on a regular basis; the lamentation coming from Dragan was so strong that it coated her tongue, the empathy threatening to prickle at her eyes.
She cleared her throat to wash away the uncomfortable sensation, striving to make as little sound as possible as she pulled herself together. Although the patronage of Mora shared her sentiment, she needed to remain on her guard.
“He couldn’t answer,” Dragan finally said, his words revealing he was on the very edge of breaking down. “He kept clutching his hands around his chest, shaking. I went around the bed, turning on the light as I made my way towards him... Once I could see him… Belobog help me. Alex was in such pain, his body convulsing as he struggled to breathe. I kneeled next to him, but he could barely keep his eyes open. When he finally managed to look at me... I saw the agony. I saw...”
Dragan let go, the tears running violently down his cheeks, his slumped shoulders shaking. “I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t move him. I couldn’t do anything...” The words were barely recognizable as he gasped for air, yet the vampire fought to continue. “I held my love in my arms as he died...”
Nobody said a word. Rose almost forgot to keep her gaze fixed on the room packed with vampires, but it didn’t matter. Neither moved, their bodies perfectly still as they observed the heartache tearing Dragan apart, his thin frame almost disappearing inside the oversize cardigan. The sight of someone so struck with grief pinned them to their seats, likely forcing them to fight the lumps in their throats and their own tears.
It was Dragan’s voice that cut through the silence, mournful but strong. “Someone poisoned my love.”
Chapter 4
“You already talked to the M.E.?” Mark asked, a hint of surprise lining his words.
Dragan shook his head and shrugged. The motion buried the vampire’s body deeper in the oversize cardigan until only his head from the chin up remained visible. “No, not yet. But aside from someone getting our hearts or executing a clean decapitation, poisoning is the only manner of death that remains.”
Rose appreciated the sheer strength the thin vampire displayed. Despite the heartache persistently gnawing at him, he managed not only to keep himself from breaking down, but was able to provide the werewolves with desperately needed information.
Rose wasn’t certain she could have done the same in his place.
She thought of that battlefield in the broken land of Mračaj, thought about the silver-winged simargl that gave his life to save hers… And Rose remembered the pain, the fury that had risen inside her at the sight of his dying body, releasing an obliterating amount of energy from her core. As much as she wanted to believe otherwise, it had been the gentle creature’s death that had brought upon the destruction of Mračaj, the grief tearing down any boundaries Rose might have held on to.
She looked at the vampire.
No, the kind of strength he showed was extraordinary.
And Rose was grateful for it.
Being part of the supernatural community didn’t automatically mean you knew the weaknesses of every race in existence. And the amicable relationship between the werewolves and the twentyfourhourlies meant that they weren’t particularly interested in learning about the various means to end their friends' lives. Because as far as the traditional vamps were concerned, an iron stake through the heart took care of them in most cases. And if that failed, decapitation always did the job.
It hadn’t even crossed Rose’s mind that someone would set out to poison vamps, although, reflecting upon it now, the approach made sense. Despite the calm nature of the twentyfourhourlies, they could be just as lethal as the traditional vamps if the situation called for it. Even a regular werewolf would think twice before engaging in one-on-one combat with a representative of their race.
Incapacitating the vampires with poison was the perfect solution if you lacked the strength or the skill; it kept you at a safe distance while still offering the realization of murderous intentions.
“It has got to be poisoning,” a female vampire said from the crowd in a gentle, yet firm voice, snapping Rose out of her thoughts. The vamp stood up, her chestnut curls framing her delicate triangular face, which carried the lines of genuine concern. “Especially since two people who didn’t know each other and weren’t even in the same social circles, as far as I’m aware, died in a nearly identical manner. If it weren’t for this meeting, I wouldn’t have even known about the second victim… Poisoning simply doesn’t draw as much attention as a stake through the heart does...”
Evelin motioned the vampire to continue, unspoken questions dancing in the emerald green of her eyes.
“I work with the first victim’s spouse,” the woman answered. “We… We’re friends. I spent a lot of time with them, dinners, drinks... We even went on vacation together once. I know Damir. I know who his acquaintances ar—were. And the vamp community is just large enough to have its own social circles within it.”
Dragan nodded in agreement, some color returning to his cheeks. “She’s right, I didn’t even know about Damir’s existence until the police told me there had been a similar death two days ago... And I’m certain Alex had never met the deceased. We’ve been together for such a long time, the people we know are basically the same, especially the vampires…”
Mark cast a glance towards Evelin, and through the bond of The Dark Ones, the whole pack understood his intentions. They had more questions to ask, but to do so in front of Dragan or any other vampire who had been close with the two deceased vamps would be nothing short of cruel. Although they didn’t trust the crowd’s seemingly passive state, the need to search for answers was greater.
The tall werewolf stood up, his muscular frame impressive as he took a step forward and placed a comforting hand on Dragan’s shoulder. “Thank you, for now. You should go home and rest, call someone to stay with you. The pack will talk to the police and the M.E., and we’ll contact you as soon as we make some progress.”
Mark’s words were directed at the vampire who continued to sit slumped in his chair, but by the way they were spoken, Rose knew he had intended for all of the gathered vampires to hear. Luckily, the vamps were just rattled enough not to think about the disquieting fact that the pack had zero authority to speak to the police, since their existence was still kept hidden from humans.
But they accepted the offer, and although Mark may not have spoken the whole truth, he hadn’t lied either. The pack had their own ways of obtaining information.
The vampire-filled room remained silent, yet they showed no intention of leaving. It wasn’t outrage or some demand for blood. No, it was fear that kept them huddled together under the pretense that there was safety in numbers.
It was Dragan who moved first, uttering a barely audible “thank you” as he made his way towards the crowd, a small, plump female vamp coming to walk by his side as he stalked towards Mora’s exit.
Once the door shut behind them, Mark turned towards the rest of the vampires, his voice loud but reassuring. “The police are doing what they can, but we will conduct our own investigation. Law enforcement doesn’t understand the depths of the supernatural community. Errors might happen on their part, not out of malice, but ignorance. So we will work from the shadows, and we will get justice for the tw
o victims.
“We understand your grief and your concern, even your fear… But if you ever decide to cause a riot because of it, you just may find our sympathy lacking. Am I clear?”
The vampires remained silent, but none of them argued either. Rose decided to take it as a good sign.
Evelin pushed up from behind the table and took her place by Mark’s side. She kept her lethalness well hidden, yet her voice didn’t leave room for any excuses. “Contact us if you remember or learn something that could be of importance. Some of you know us personally. As for the rest, Mark will leave his contact information.”
Her gaze traveled across the crowd, and several vampires nodded in compliance, the resolution on their faces firm.
You’re good, Rose thought to Evelin, sending her words through the ever-present bond. The smallest of tugs played at the corner of Evelin’s lips, revealing that she had received Rose’s compliment.
The crowd of vamps began to thin out as they realized the werewolves were done talking. Mora’s door opened and closed in regular intervals to let the small groups exit, but not before they picked up Mark’s calling card from a wooden ledge near the door.
The chestnut-haired vampire who had spoken earlier approached the table where the four weres remained to oversee the calm dissipation of the meeting. She pulled out a business card from her cobalt blue purse and placed it in front of Mark. “I’ll be staying with Lara for a while. I would appreciate it if you’d call my number instead of hers when you decide to question her.”
Mark nodded in agreement. There was no reason to upset the deceased’s loved one further. “Thank you. We’ll be in touch shortly.”
Without unnecessary words, Katja, as the name on the business card stated, turned around, her cascade of chestnut curls gracefully moving in tune with her body as she walked out of the bar. When the vampire left, Zarja glided over to the werewolves’ table, seemingly unable to wipe the smug satisfaction from her face.