Blood Law

by Jeannie Holmes

  All movement ceased, and silence descended once more. She looked up at the stone that had risen beside her. It had effectively boxed her in with the corpse.

  “Alexandra …” the corpse wheezed.

  “Who are you?” she asked, picking herself up off the ground where she’d landed on her knees. “What do you want from me?”

  Shadows appeared in the makeshift room’s corners. Time skipped, and the shadows slithered forward. A high keening wail pierced the silence, forcing her to cover her ears and close her eyes. The keening softened gradually, fading to a fluttering of invisible wings. When she looked again, the original corpse had been joined by two more.

  Alex stepped back in surprise. All three were nude and had gaping wounds in their chests, which rose and fell in time with the sound of air whistling through the ragged openings of their necks.

  Staring at the lead corpse, the one she’d first encountered, she no longer felt overwhelmed by fear. A feeling of recognition and kinship had replaced her terror. “What do you want from me?” she repeated.

  Whispering voices rose from the trio.

  “We …”

  “… are …”

  “… trapped.”

  “Trapped where? Why?”

  “Void …”

  “… limbo …”

  “… forgive.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Alexandra,” a voice called from behind her.

  She turned and gasped. Before her stood a tall vampire, his nearly snow-white hair short and neatly styled. A streak of bright copper, the only remnant of his original hair color, slashed through the silver bangs above his dark-green eyes. Stubble from a beard that would never grow softened the squareness of his jaw.

  “Daddy?”

  “You shouldn’t be here,” Bernard Sabian said. “You aren’t ready.”

  “How is this possible?” Numbness crept into her limbs, and she felt heavy, as if an immense weight was bearing down on her shoulders. “What’s going on here?”

  “Go home, Alexandra.”

  Darkness closed around her, stealing the light. It devoured the headless corpses and nibbled at her father. She felt the shadows pulling her into their embrace once more. She reached for the light, trying to hold on to it, on to her father. “Daddy!”

  Her father and the light vanished, and she fell screaming into emptiness.

  Alex lay motionless on the small paisley couch in the morgue’s employee lounge. All color had drained from her normally pale skin. Varik watched as Dr. Hancock finished his exam and rose to face him.

  “She passed out,” he said, and removed his glasses to wipe his brow with a handkerchief. He replaced his glasses and blinked. “Want to tell me what the hell was going on in that room?”

  Varik shrugged. “You were there. You know as much as I do.”

  “Seemed to me that you know more than you’re letting on, though.”

  “Will she be okay?”

  Dr. Hancock sighed. “Keep her warm and she should come out of it soon. You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

  Varik moved to the couch and draped his denim jacket over Alex, tucking it under her chin.

  “Right,” Dr. Hancock mumbled, and shuffled to the door. “Let me know when she wakes up.”

  Varik placed a chair from the single table in the room next to the couch. The chair creaked as he sat down and brushed a stray lock of hair from Alex’s face. His fingertips traced the line of her jaw. “I need you to wake up, baby,” he whispered.

  He could feel her mind pressing against his. The blood-bond they shared, though weakened from time and lack of contact, had become more noticeable since his arrival. He was certain that with minimal effort he could slip into her mind, share whatever dreams were plaguing her. He settled for holding her hand.

  Sharing a blood-bond with Alex wasn’t something he’d planned. It’d been an accident, the result of primal instinct overtaking the rational consciousness, and not a day passed that he didn’t regret his inability to control himself. He’d seen nearly two centuries pass. He should’ve known better. He’d been stupid and careless, and he’d lost Alex because of it.

  But what was done was done, and he couldn’t alter the past. He could only hope to improve on the future.

  The loud techno beat of a cell phone echoed through the room, jarring him from his thoughts.

  Varik pulled the phone from its carrying case on his hip and checked the caller identification. “Not now,” he groaned. He answered the phone as he walked toward the door. “I’m not alone. Hang on a second.”

  With a final glance at Alex, he stepped into the hallway. “Go ahead,” he said into his cell phone.

  The deep voice of Damian Alberez rumbled through the phone. “What’s Sabian’s status?”

  Varik rubbed his forehead with his free hand. “The investigation is progressing normally.”

  “Bullshit. If it were progressing normally, I wouldn’t be hearing reports of seven dead humans and six others wounded, including one Enforcer.”

  Varik closed his eyes and mouthed a silent curse. He should know better than to lie to Damian. The man could smell a lie told two states away. “There’s been a complication.”

  “You call a mass shooting a complication?”

  “No, of course not, but the Nassau County Sheriff’s Department is handling the shootings.”

  “I wanted to have the best investigator in the Bureau on these murders. Now I’m beginning to question my decision to pull you out of retirement. The lead Enforcer in a murder investigation is gunned down in broad daylight, and you just hand it off to the nearest human!”

  “There’s no evidence to suggest that Alex was the target or that the shooting is in any way connected to our murdered vampires.”

  “Find a connection!”

  “And how do you suggest I do that? Pull a shiny object out of my ass to distract these dumbass rednecks while I poach their case?”

  “I don’t care how you do it. I only care about the results.”

  “Then fuck off and let me do my job!”

  Damian didn’t respond, and Varik inhaled deeply, trying to rein in his temper. “There’s something else,” he said slowly. “Alex has been …” Varik’s voice trailed off.

  “Has been what?” Damian grumbled.

  “Affected by the investigation.”

  Damian was silent for several seconds. “How badly?”

  “I don’t know yet.” Varik propped his forearm on the wall and rested his head on his arm. He briefly explained what had happened during the autopsy review.

  “Is she still unconscious?” Damian asked.

  “Yes.”

  A heavy sigh filtered through the phone. “I hoped it wouldn’t come to this.”

  Varik shook his head. “You can’t do it, Damian. Don’t make me do it.”

  “If Enforcer Sabian isn’t able to continue, then you’ll have to take over as primary investigator.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “I’ll send someone else.”

  Alex resisted his involvement, but anyone else would have twice the resistance and the case would suffer until Damian was forced to replace them both. He couldn’t allow that to happen. He had to find a way to keep her on the case.

  Damian’s voice softened. “I know how you feel about her, Varik, but policy is policy.”

  “I know.” He pushed away from the wall and paced down the hall.

  “Just be glad things aren’t like they were back in the old days, before all this bureaucratic crap.”

  “Don’t go there, Damian.”

  “If a Hunter was compromised back then, he’d be dead before the next sunrise.”

  Anger chilled his words. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

  “I’m trying to set things into perspective.”

  “You’re doing a lousy job.”

  “I don’t expect you to revert to your old methods—”

  “Good.”r />
  “But I do expect you to relieve Enforcer Sabian of her duties, if she should prove incapable of continuing this investigation.” Damian’s tone shifted back to one of authority. “Am I making myself clear, Enforcer Baudelaire?”

  “Yes, sir, perfectly clear.”

  “And I expect regular status reports on your progress with Sabian.”

  “Yeah.”

  The call ended, and Varik slipped the phone into its carrying case. He’d known Damian for a long time, well over a century, and considered him a good friend. However, he thought Damian still had a lot to learn about relating to others.

  When vampires announced themselves to the world, their Hunter division was quietly absorbed into the Special Operations unit of the FBPI. Varik had been made director of the unit when Damian was promoted to Chief Enforcer.

  Damian knew of his and Alex’s prior relationship, knew that Varik would be able to determine better than anyone if she was reaching a breaking point. He could see the logic in Damian’s decision to send him to Jefferson. He’d been a Hunter of Hunters. Now he was being forced into a similar role, and he hated it.

  He scrubbed his face with his hands and breathed deeply. The lingering scent of jasmine and vanilla, Alex’s personal scent, on his hands brought a memory to the surface.

  It was August 13, 2003. He and Alex had been together for several years, and he’d finally worked up the courage to propose. A knot had formed in his stomach, twisting his insides and making his heart race.

  Alex was asleep, lying on her stomach with her left hand resting on the pillow beside her head. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and his hand. He slipped the two-carat pink diamond ring onto her finger. She mumbled something in her sleep and her hand closed, clenching the pillow, but she didn’t wake up.

  He snuck out of the bedroom they shared and walked down the hall to the kitchen. The knot in his stomach refused to go away as he began cooking bacon and brewing coffee. Questions ran through his mind: Would she say yes? Would she say no? Would she want scrambled or fried eggs for breakfast?

  Several minutes passed before he heard the floorboards in the bedroom creak. His hands shook as he tried to pour the coffee. He had once been capable of killing someone without batting an eye, but proposing marriage was turning him into a nervous wreck.

  Quick footsteps in the hall announced Alex’s approach. She entered the kitchen wearing a faded red terry-cloth bathrobe and holding her left hand in her right. The pear-shaped diamond sparkled as brightly as the captured tears on her lashes, but she was smiling.

  “I made coffee,” he said, offering the mug with the most liquid.

  She took the cup and set it aside before she jumped into his arms. She wrapped her own arms around his neck and her legs around his waist. He stumbled back with the force of her attack and crashed into the counter, knocking jars from the spice rack beside the stove. Her breath was warm on his ear as she spoke. “It’s beautiful.”

  The knobby terry cloth felt rough against the palms of his hands as they cupped her bottom, supporting her weight. “The coffee?”

  “The ring, you jackass.”

  Varik smiled, and the knot in his stomach eased. “So, can I take this as a ‘yes’?”

  A scream erupted from the employee’s lounge.

  “Alex!” he shouted in return, and sped down the corridor.

  ———

  After talking with Stephen, Tasha had returned to the Municipal Center, intending to speak with Harvey, only to be told he wasn’t there. She’d turned over her notes from her interviews with the victims at the hospital to Deputy Case. When she asked for an update, he’d evaded her question, saying they’d “be in touch” if they required any more assistance from the metro police.

  Fuming at being shut out of the shooting investigation, she went to her office to review the items gathered from the Eric Stromheimer scene only to discover the two forensic techs Varik left in the mobile lab had commandeered all evidence from Stromheimer, Grant Williams, and John Doe Vampire. They’d cleaned out the temporary command post Alex had established in one of the police department’s interview rooms and had even grabbed the photos and files Tasha had on her desk.

  Her fuming exploded into rage. She’d been halfway across the Municipal Center’s parking lot when her cell phone rang. The precinct’s radio operator had patched through an urgent call from Joe Parsons, the night-shift foreman for Morrison Distribution. He’d stated he was concerned about a missing employee—a vampire named Gary Lipscomb—and asked to meet with her. She aborted her encounter with Varik’s Enforcers in favor of pursuing a potential lead, which was why she now sat in Parsons’s office, waiting.

  Tasha rocked back and forth on the uneven legs of a threadbare office chair. The glassy eye of a largemouth bass, frozen in mid-struggle, seemed to bore a hole into her forehead as she stared up at it. Dust covered the fish’s back, and a spider had made a small web in the corner of the gaping mouth. She hated animal trophies, but at least the fish kept her from staring at the deer-head-turned-hat-rack mounted on the wall beside her.

  A short, wiry man entered the office along with the sounds of diesel engines, the high-pitched warning beeps of forklifts, and the shouts of warehouse employees. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Lieutenant,” the loading dock supervisor said as he closed the door, effectively blocking out much of the noise. “Can I get you anything? Coffee? Water?”

  “No, thank you, Mr. Parsons.”

  He sank heavily into the tufted imitation-leather executive’s chair behind the battered desk. “Now, where were we?”

  “You were telling me about Gary Lipscomb.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, Gary’s been driving a forklift for about six months, since he moved here from Natchez, and he’s always been a model employee. At least he was until about two weeks ago.”

  “What happened two weeks ago?” she asked, scribbling notes on a small notepad.

  “Gary began acting strangely—coming in late, taking long lunches, leaving early. I tried talking to him about it. He said he was having a lot of personal problems. I asked if there was anything I could do to help, but he shut down, refused to talk.”

  “Do you have any idea what these personal problems may have been? Trouble at home? Work?”

  “I don’t know about his home life. Gary wasn’t the most talkative guy, but then again, he’s a vamp. One thing I’ve noticed about them is that it’s easier to squeeze blood from a turnip than convince them to share information.” Parsons chuckled at his own joke but quickly sobered when Tasha didn’t react. He cleared his throat and continued. “As for work, he’s not the only vamp working here, but we’ve never had any major problems. The occasional flare of tempers, nothing unusual about that.”

  “No threats?”

  “No, no, I can’t—wait, there was an incident about a month ago.” Parsons sat forward. “Gary was loading pallets on a truck. He was almost done, only had a few left, when the truck’s driver started raising holy hell.” He ducked his head. “Pardon my language. Anyway, he ranted about a ‘damn bloodsucker’ loading his truck. The guy stood on the dock and blocked Gary’s lift, wouldn’t let him finish. I had to get one of my other guys to do it.”

  “What did Mr. Lipscomb do?”

  “He shrugged it off and went back to work. He said he just wanted to forget the whole thing.”

  Tasha scribbled more notes. “Do you know the driver’s name and who he works for?”

  Parsons nodded. “Oh, yeah. He’s a regular through here. Name’s Owen Gibson, hauls for Fast Freight Trucking, an independent company out of Natchez. He’s in here five or six times a month.”

  Tasha nodded. “When was the last time Mr. Gibson picked up a load?”

  “Been a couple of weeks now, I guess.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  Parsons shrugged. “Can’t really say. Sorry. I just assumed he was on vacation or assigned to a different route.”

  Tasha made a few more notes. “
Has Mr. Lipscomb ever called in sick?”

  “No, never. I mean, he’s a vampire, right? They have pretty stout immune systems, so it’s not like he’s going to catch the flu or anything.”

  “Mr. Parsons, what you’ve told me is interesting, but I don’t see why any of this would lead you to believe Gary Lipscomb is involved in these murders.”

  “Well, that’s it, Lieutenant. Gary hasn’t shown up for work in several days. When that body was discovered last night, I feared the worst.” He opened a drawer and pulled out a small zip-top bag. “I heard you’d identified the body as this Stromheimer guy. That’s when I got really concerned.”

  “Why is that?”

  “I checked Gary’s records, and he listed Eric Stromheimer as an emergency contact. So, when I heard the news and Gary still didn’t show up for his shift today, I searched his locker, thinking maybe I’d find something to explain his behavior, and found this.” He dropped the bag on the desk in front of her.

  Tasha stared at the small vial. Dark liquid coated its sides. Some of it had leaked around the cross-threaded cap and dried in a corner of the bag. She plucked a tissue from the container on Parsons’s desk and carefully used it to lift the bag. She turned it so she could see the vial’s top. A crudely drawn teardrop superimposed over a crescent moon adorned the cap. “Midnight,” she muttered.

  Parsons was nodding. “Morrison Distribution has a zero-tolerance drug policy, and we randomly test employees every month. Gary’s presented clean tests four times. That’s why I was shocked to find that in his locker.”

  “You said he began working here six months ago. He was randomly selected four times?”

  Parsons flushed. “Well, uh, as I said, the tests are random. I don’t, uh—I mean, the orders for who is tested and who isn’t come from the manager. I’m just—I just follow—”

  “Mr. Parsons, save your breath. I’m not interested in Morrison Distribution’s drug-screening selection process.”

  The foreman slumped in his chair, looking both relieved and guilty.