Once Upon A Midnight

by Stephanie Rowe

  “That man doesn’t like you very much.”

  Eric shrugged. “You’re not wrong.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “He’s been working with the company for eleven years. I’ve been with them for one year. He’s an associate. I’m a new partner.” He shrugged again. “No great mystery there.”

  She leaned back in her chair and took a sip of champagne. “Why you?”

  “Why me what?”

  “Why make you a partner and not him?”

  “Oh, that.” He waved his hand as if shooing a fly. “I’m very good at my job. He isn’t.”

  “Then how does he keep his job?”

  “He’s okay with basic mid-level sales. But he has no vision for the high-end market.” He rubbed his face. “Look, I’m not interested in talking about Samuel Wilson.”

  “But…” Mina shook her head. “Never mind.” Hey, if he didn’t want to talk about it, who was she to push?

  Eric looked relieved. A slow waltz played in the ballroom. He stood up and offered his hand. “Care to dance?”

  Mina was annoyed that he wouldn’t answer her questions, but she found herself moving to the dance floor with him anyway.

  ***

  SHE WAS HERE. For Aalia, that fact overrode all other plans, including those of the Children of Caledon. Ten years ago, killing her twin sister had been a terrible task, but necessary, for her transcendence. Only then could she free her kind from the yoke of this mortal existence. Despite what anyone else thought, her actions had been an act of love.

  Aurals had once been revered as gods and goddesses in Ancient Egypt. They were born to lead mankind, to transform, not to be used as pawns in the power plays of others. According to the Book of Qetesh, a familial blood sacrifice would trigger the second evolution, a true embodiment of Qetesh, the mistress of the gods. That’s why she’d chosen her identical twin. Only killing Malia had not brought the second evolution.

  Through a twisted act of fate, her niece had been presented to her. She thought the child dead, but no, she’d integrated into the human world.

  Mina Vail.

  She watched the young woman dance with Eric Bishop, her smooth, rhythmic movements were utterly graceful. She looked so much like her mother, dark hair, warm brown eyes, and elegant beauty, but she had her father’s pale skin and his height. A knot formed in her stomach, as an overwhelming feeling of loss and regret seized her. She clenched her fist and pressed it below her ribs. Sentiment was the weakness of fools and slaves.

  Aalia would be neither.

  She felt a hand on her back. Aalia turned and masked her annoyance with a smile. “Hello, Samuel.”

  “You are looking particularly lovely tonight, Aalia,” Samuel Wilson said. “I’m a lucky man.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  He glanced at the dance floor, and Aalia knew he was jealous of Eric Bishop. The young man, of leiol origin, had managed to use charm and talent to rapidly rise in the company. Tonight’s party was a testament to his ability. Samuel, on the other hand, was a third-rate lackey, but he’d helped Aalia get close to the money at Samson Technologies. The Children needed financing to take their war against Caledon and its new queen to the next level. War cost more than lives, and Aalia’s ability as an aural and empath had made her a valuable asset.

  She didn’t need Samuel anymore, thank Qetesh. Her human husband was boring and pathetic. Besides, she had another man in the company, one with more influence, on a shorter leash. But Bishop was smart, and he’d already asked about some discrepancies in a few accounting files. She’d already made a plan to rid herself of both men. Mina or not, she would follow through tonight.

  ***

  ERIC DANCED AS IF he’d been born to it—effortless. Mina concentrated on everyone else except Eric to keep her knees from buckling as he held her in his arms.

  Through the crowd, she noticed Wilson at the bar talking to a man in his mid-thirties, early forties, with a white streak going along the right side of his dark brown hair. The man looked scruffy and out of place. Wilson’s face turned red as the conversation grew heated. Mina didn’t know why, but she was intrigued by the scene.

  Wilson waved his hand in a dismissive gesture and started to walk away. The other man grabbed Wilson’s arm. They exchanged a less than friendly look before a woman with long, dark hair to the middle of her back and wearing an ivory dress that complimented her light mocha skin interrupted the pair. Wilson appeared even more agitated, but he backed off. The woman put her hand on Wilson, and his expression relaxed.

  “Earth to Mina,” she heard Eric say.

  “Yeah?”

  “What’s going on? You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

  She pointed to the man with the white streak in his hair. “Who’s that?”

  Eric shrugged. “Dunno. He looks familiar, but not anyone I can place.”

  “And the woman with Wilson?” There was something familiar about her, but Mina couldn’t quite nail where she’d seen her before.

  “Jennifer,” Eric said. “His wife.”

  A man in a white tux, mid-fifties—handsome in that Sean Connery older but distinguished sort of way—went to the bar and began to talk to the man with the white patch. “Who’s that with him now?”

  “Him?” Eric pointed to the white-tux guy. “That’s Tobias Tolliver. He’s one of the senior partners at the firm.”

  Tolliver leaned over and said something into the man’s ear. The man nodded and left the bar.

  Eric swung Mina around then dipped her as the waltz ended, one hand on her back, the other in her right palm, while an invisible hand trailed from the center of her chest to her stomach. It startled her enough that her feet slipped on the floor, but he held strong and leaned close while she was still in a vulnerable slant. “All this attention you’re directing at everyone else is making me feel neglected.”

  She grabbed his arms and pulled herself upright. “Poor baby.” Mina started back to the table. Eric followed. Six women made goo-goo eyes at him before they got back to their chairs. He made eye contact and smiled at every single one of them—the bastard.

  Eric gave her an odd look. “Something wrong?”

  Mina rolled her eyes. “Why me?” It wasn’t rhetorical.

  “Why you what?”

  “Your date canceled?” Mina shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

  He put his hand to his chest and did that little mock surprise thing Mina hated so much. “Are you accusing me of conspiracy?”

  “Possibly.”

  “Would you believe that I’ve had a mad crush on you since the moment I found out girls were spice and everything nice, so I took this opportunity to try and impress you. Are you impressed?”

  She turned her head until their mouths were mere centimeters apart. Mina was torn between wanting to thrash him or kiss him. Okay, more than kissing, but she chose neither. Instead, she leaned back. “Maybe.” She smiled.

  Eric sighed.

  Good, she thought. He’s disappointed. Disappointment is good.

  “I haven’t been able to get you off my mind ever since I saw you yesterday.”

  Mina looked away. He’d been on her mind as well. Charlie will kill me. When she turned back, she wore an appropriately blank expression. Eric looked as if he were about to say more when a waiter approached. “Are you Mr. Bishop?” the young man asked.

  “Yes,” Eric said.

  The guy handed him a folded note. “I have a message for you.”

  Eric looked at it then scooted back in his chair. “If you’ll excuse me for a moment.” He stood up.

  Mina grabbed his arm. “What’s up?”

  “I’ve been summoned by Albright.”

  “You want I should go with?”

  “No, it’s in the… executive boys’ room… If you get my drift.”

  “Ah, the toilet.”

  “Exactly.”

  She got up and started to follow him.

  “What are you doing
?” he asked.

  “I’m going with you.”

  He looked shocked, so she amended her statement. “I have to use the ladies’ room. I’m sure it’s near where you’re going.” When he hesitated, she added, “Don’t worry. I won’t embarrass you around the other boys.”

  He smiled and put his arm out for her. “Thank you, Mother,” he said.

  “Huh.” She gave him a withering look that she hoped conveyed her plan to soundly kick his ass the next time he referred to her as his mother.

  ***

  WHILE MINA PRETENDED to go to the ladies’ room, Eric entered men’s room. After he disappeared inside, she abandoned her ruse and stayed glued to the wall right next to the men’s bathroom. She ignored the people passing by who stared at her as if she were a pervert—or worse, desperate. Looking at her watch, she noted that it had been five minutes since Eric had gone in. She hoped the meeting wouldn’t last much longer.

  The man from the bar, the one with the white patch in his hair, brushed past her and entered the bathroom. Two seconds later he was backing out in a hurry. “Someone call the police,” he shouted. The man, still yelling for help, took off in a sprint toward the hotel lobby.

  Mina pulled her gun from her purse and pushed her way inside. A sour odor hit her nose and she immediately started breathing through her mouth. Eric stood over a very dead Albright. Next to his head, a small amount of blood stained the tile.

  Her mouth dropped in pure shock, and she wasn’t easily shocked. “Eric. What the hell did you do?”

  He looked up at Mina, his face a little green. “Me? Nothing. He was like this when I came in.”

  “So you stared at a dead guy for five minutes instead of calling for help?” She noticed Eric’s tie was loosened. His sleeves were drenched with water, and his hair was wet around the edges. Had he tried to wash away evidence?

  “I was too busy throwing up.” He looked up at her, wide-eyed, like a deer caught in the headlights. “You have to believe me, Mina. He was like this when I came in.”

  The puke smell in the bathroom certainly lent strength to his story.

  She moved closer and bent down, studying Wilson’s face. His eyes were wide-open, his expression one of utter surprise.

  A pen stuck out of the side of his neck.

  If Eric was freaked out about finding a dead body, she had a hard time believing he could make a dead body via a pen strike to the neck. Mina recognized it as the one Wilson had dropped on the table. Crap. The cops would be there soon, and he’d have a rough time convincing them he was innocent.

  “Start from the beginning,” Mina said. “Don’t leave anything out.”

  Eric’s face tightened with stress. “I came in to meet with Albright and instead there’s Wilson facedown on the floor. I saw blood on the back of his head and the pen sticking out of his neck. I turned him over and checked for a pulse, but he was…”

  “You flipped the body?”

  He blinked. “I didn’t know he was already dead, Mina. My first instinct was to help him.”

  She couldn’t blame him. To her mind, Eric trying to help his colleague spoke more to his innocence. But it could also be said that Eric touched the body on purpose to explain away any DNA evidence. He’s so fucked.

  “Crime Scene One-Oh-One. You never touch the body.”

  "I'm in deep shit, aren't I?” He slumped against the wall, looking tired and shaken. Mina put her hand on his arm in sympathy. She didn’t feel fear, disgust, remorse, any of the expected emotions. Instead, she felt lust. Completely inappropriate for the situation, but a leiol tended process all emotions through a sexual filter. It just how they were built.

  “You’ll be okay,” she told him.

  Mina hoped she wasn’t making a promise she couldn’t keep.

  Chapter Five

  THE BOYS IN BLUE had taken the names of everyone at the event and let most of them go home. Most that is, except Mina, though they did kick her out of the bathroom. They’d taken Eric downtown for questioning. Mina advised him to say nothing and call his lawyer. They’d taken her gun, even though she had a license to carry concealed. She’d been hostile about that, but all in all, she tried to be cooperative. A street cop Mina had encountered several times over the past two years in her private security role walked toward her looking none too friendly. He must have been first on scene and in charge of securing the area.

  She put on her biggest, most charming smile. “Patterson. How you doing? Long time no see.”

  “Ms. Vail. Why is it that someone is always getting shot or killed around you?”

  “Now, now,” she said. “Nobody got shot tonight. Which reminds me, can I have my gun back?”

  Patterson grimaced. “I should have your private security license pulled, Vail.”

  “The worst you can do is get me suspended. But even that wouldn’t stick for long.” He glared at Mina, and she decided not to press her luck. “I wasn’t on the job tonight, Patterson.”

  He crossed his arms and scoffed. “You always bring a gun on your dates?”

  “Yes, she does,” a man behind her said.

  Mina turned and saw a not-so-happy-to-see-her Gav Doyle. He stood, badge clipped to his belt, his arms crossed, and his hands tightly fisted.

  “Detective Doyle,” Mina said.

  “Coming to rescue your girlfriend again,” Patterson mumbled.

  Gav gnashed his teeth. He was a shifter, and they had really good hearing. Mina raised her brow at Patterson. The man was living dangerously, and he didn’t even know it.

  Mina gave him her best professional smile—empty of meaning. “As Detective Doyle said, yes, I bring my gun on dates. I don’t leave home without it.”

  Gav moved in between the old beat cop and Mina. “She has a CCW, Patterson. And it was not discharged, so it’s not involved in the crime. Go fetch her piece.”

  Patterson’s snide expression sobered as if an invisible fist had punched off the obnoxious grin. “Go fetch it yourself, Detective.” He turned on his heel. “She’s all yours.”

  Gav waited until Patterson was out of earshot. “So, what happened here?”

  “I already told your boys.”

  “I want to hear it from you.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment in a match of wills, waiting to see who’d crack first. But it’d been a long night and Mina was too tired to play games. She shrugged. “Mr. Bishop went to meet his boss, John Albright, in the bathroom. I waited out in the hall. A couple of minutes passed. Another man goes in. A few seconds later, he’s running out and yelling. I go in. Wilson is on the ground dead.”

  “I thought you said Mr. Bishop went in to meet Albright.”

  “A waiter gave him a note,” she said. “He said it was from Albright.” Mina grimaced. Gav was too good of a detective for her to attempt to hide anything. “Eric and that guy Wilson weren’t exactly on good terms. I could feel Wilson’s hatred from a mile away.”

  “What about Mr. Bishop’s feelings about Wilson?”

  “Nothing. Not even mild annoyance.”

  “Did you see anyone else go in or out of the bathroom?”

  “Other than the guy with the skunk hair, no.”

  “And you didn’t sense anything with your empathic ability?”

  Mina pursed her lips and shook her head. “No. The usual emotions associated with murder—hate, malice, fury—weren’t there. That would make sense,” she offered tentatively, “if Wilson was already dead.”

  “You know better than to form opinions this early in an investigation,” he said. “I’ll follow the evidence no matter where it leads.”

  The disappointment and judgment in Gav’s expression made her heart ache. He didn’t believe her. Did he really think she would cover up a murder? It hurt, more than it should, that he mistrusted her so much. She hated the awkwardness between them. It didn’t help that she could remember the pressure of his hands on her body, the way his lips warmed against her skin, and the way he completely pos
sessed her when they’d had sex.

  “May I have my gun back now?”

  “Sure, Mina.” He gestured to a nearby cop. “See that Ms. Vail gets her property back.” He rubbed his fingers through his short, black curls. “I’m the prime on this case, and you’re my only witness. Stay available.”

  Before she could respond, he walked away. No goodbye. No see-you-later. No kiss-my-ass. Though the last part seemed to be implied. Mina shrugged. She hadn’t felt this defeated in a long time. She pulled her phone out of her purse and made the call she’d been dreading.

  When her call was picked up on the first ring, she said, “Hey, Charlie.”

  ***

  ERIC SAT ON the stone bench handcuffed to a metal loop sticking out between his knees. To his right was a middle-aged man with a paunchy gut arrested on charges of “drunk and disorderly” as indicated by the sour booze smell and the slurred speech. On his left, was a young gang banger, homemade tattoos decorating his skin, and wearing colors. No telling what he was in for, but Eric was hoping he wouldn’t find out. Because he was stressed, he was secreting more pheromones than normal. As a result, the gang banger was giving him the “I’m going to make you my bitch” look, and the drunk kept rubbing his face against Eric’s shoulder.

  “Can I get my own bench?” he asked the intake officer, a tall man with graying hair. He shifted his eyes to the two men looking at him like candy.

  “Shut your hole, mister,” the cop said.

  Eric sighed. Going to jail would be a disaster for obvious reasons. He tried to get the picture of Wilson out of his head—those dead eyes staring in accusation. There’d been nothing Eric could do for the man. Wilson had been past reviving. He’d never seen someone like that before, and he found the idea of murder revolting. It might have been cliché, but Eric was definitely a lover not a fighter. And what of Mina? Would she come to the station? Was she waiting for him? Did she think he was a killer?

  This was not how he’d planned for this night to turn out.

  The drunk’s breath reeked of whiskey and stale beer. A man who liked to mix his poison. He rested his head on Eric’s shoulder. “You shmell nicsh.”