Black Market Blood (The Lazarus Hunter Series Book 2)

by Cas Martin

  The phone rang again and she jumped. A splash of wine joined the blood on her blouse. ‘For God’s sake Dennis,’ she muttered as she picked it up. She looked at the screen. The call wasn’t from Dennis. Monica almost did a double take. ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello Monica?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It’s me, Garth.’

  There was an awkward pause. Monica didn’t know what to say. There was only one reason she could think of why he would call. Something had happened to Elizabeth. ‘Is everything okay?’ she asked, trying to keep her tone even.

  ‘Um, I’m not sure. Can you talk?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay. Cool. I thought I should call. As a courtesy.’

  ‘That’s okay Garth. What’s going on?’

  ‘I know we haven’t spoken since, well, you know when. But things have got a bit, well, weird lately. There’s something going on. Something that is making the other families, I dunno, weak? Yours could be next.’

  ‘When you say weak, do you mean sick?’ Monica sat up on the edge of her seat, gripping the phone tightly in her hand.

  ‘Kind of, why? Does that mean something to you?’

  ‘Not until about thirty minutes ago.’ The various strands of her life began to converge, the threads forming themselves into a knot. ‘Shit.’

  ‘I didn’t know whether to call. But you saved my life and you saved Elizabeth’s as well, so figured I owe you that much.’

  ‘Have you spoken to her? Elizabeth?’

  ‘No. Not since she left. She wanted a normal life. You can’t blame her for that.’

  ‘No, I don’t. I just wondered, that’s all.’

  ‘So do I, sometimes.’ For a second, the voice on the other end of the line became that of the boy Garth never had the chance to be.

  ‘Are you free tomorrow?’ asked Monica. She wouldn’t get sentimental for the time they’d all shared. It was hardly a high point in their lives.

  ‘I can be if you want.’

  ‘Where?’ Monica was keen to give him the option of neutral ground. You didn’t win people like Garth over once. You had to make the effort every single time. She looked at her empty wine glass. She didn’t even remember finishing it.

  ‘I know a coffee shop that stays open late. Down on Lafayette and Spring Street. We could grab a booth. That should be private enough. Just don’t come dressed like you’re ready to take on Wall Street or something.’ For a second he sounded like a teenager who didn’t want to be seen with an embarrassing parent. Monica was offended.

  ‘I can do casual.’ She looked down at her current attire. Okay, so it might need some work.

  ‘Really?’ he sounded dubious.

  ‘I’ll meet you there around seven-thirty?’ She cut off the conversation about her wardrobe before he really pissed her off. ‘Am I okay to bring Dennis?’

  ‘Sure.’ She could almost hear the shrug of his shoulders.

  ‘Thanks. And Garth? I know you don’t have to do this, but I’m glad you are.’

  ‘You kept your word to me, I’ll keep mine to you. See you tomorrow.’ He hung up without saying anything else.

  Monica stared at the phone in her hand. She should never have allowed herself get lulled into a false sense of security. In her life, there was no such thing as a quiet time. Or coincidences.

  Once again, she found herself staring down the barrel of a gun. This time, she had no idea who had their finger on the trigger.

  7

  The warehouse had a perpetual chill that made her stiff to the bone. Jet didn’t complain. It was a job working for the family and that was all she needed. There would be time to make something more of herself once she had grown used to the ways of America.

  She moved the boxes from the loading bay to the chiller cabinets that lined the walls. The family blood supply. Each day, she was to unload the latest supply and process it according to a flow chart her boss had printed out for her. Late one night, with the help of an old battered dictionary found in the corner of the office, she had translated it into her native tongue. No one had complained about her work, so she assumed it was close enough.

  The large clock on the wall told her it would soon be time for her break. Moving the boxes of blood was hard work, especially for her small frame. She was strong, so that was not the problem. She had worked hard for many years in her homeland before finally winning her petition to move to the family branch out in America. The land of the free. The land of the biggest opportunities.

  The land where she did not have to worry as much about human customs. She had seen the American women. The way they talked, the way they dressed. They seemed free, on the surface at least.

  For five months she’d walked the streets at night in her strange new home. She’d ventured into enemy territory to see the bright lights of Times Square. She’d watched the crowds spill out onto Broadway. Jet saw that all freedom came with a price, as she had been warned it would.

  It was a price she was willing to pay.

  Occasionally, as she moved the boxes from one side of the room to the other, struggling with their width rather than their weight, she would catch sight of her reflection in the stainless steel doors of the five new chiller units, still shining from lack of use. The shock of pink hair would make her start and do a double take. No one from back home would recognise her now. She liked the thought of that. How long before she even forgot the name she had arrived with? The one she had been born with. A fresh start with a new name. Jet sounded interesting. Dynamic. As she had once imagined her new life here would be.

  So she wasn’t quite there yet. That didn’t matter. It would take time and at thirty-four she was a fledgling adult. There were another hundred years in front of her before she needed to worry about things. Her fake American driving license told the authorities she was only twenty-one. A necessity to make people less suspicious of her. She hoped never to have to show it.

  Too many lies to remember after the shelter and safety of home.

  The final box sat on the pallet. Time was of the essence to get the blood stored and frozen after delivery. Only then could she do the paperwork.

  It was a lonely job most days. Jet never dared to ask who had done the job before she arrived. It still amazed her how their leader could believe they needed so much stored blood. Back home they had much less for many more people, the ones who had chosen to stay where they came from. Here, their numbers were less, as was their power, but the blood requirements seemed tenfold.

  So much blood, she wasn’t sure anyone would even miss a whole container's worth if it went missing.

  After week three, her boss had stopped checking her numbers. She had no idea where he went now, but he left her alone. Jet was more than happy with the arrangement. With her wages she had purchased a phone that allowed her to fill her ears with nothing but American music and language programmes. She would be fluent before the year was out.

  Plus the music was cool.

  She closed the heavy steel doors on the final box of the day. A rhesus positive according to the label. Jet could never taste the difference, but some older vampires swore they had their favourites. It was best to keep them happy. Over here, some of the old ones had been born in the homeland. The first pioneers to come to the new land and take advantage of the bounty to be found here. No one ever mentioned that they had failed to become the most powerful. It wasn’t talked about, but Jet wasn’t stupid. It had been a bitter blow for some of them. A question mark that would always hang over their leadership.

  The contents of the steel cabinets reminded her that power manifested itself in many ways. When she took her break, she would go outside and watch the darkness set in. The faint pale final sliver of the sunset would still hover far on the horizon, but it wouldn’t be enough to burn her skin. She would sit on the pallet stack, eat her apple and look towards the town sprawled around her. The sign on the building indicated they were a wholesale meat company. It wasn’t too far from the truth, she supp
osed. A truth that would horrify all those people out there in their homes and offices working late.

  Jet had already worked out what everyone else assumed she was too stupid to understand. No one needed this much blood unless it had value. Value beyond its simple life giving properties. If blood was a currency then her family was stockpiling gold in advance of a market crash.

  Yes, power manifested itself in many ways. Despite being at the bottom of the ladder, overlooked as the newcomer by everyone, Jet already understood how power worked. It didn’t matter that no one would think to teach her.

  Jet would make sure she learned everything, with or without their help.

  8

  Monica spotted Garth the moment she walked into the coffee shop. He hadn’t changed much, but he no longer had that dyed orange-red hair. He’d lost the beret as well, but she guessed that was more to do with growing up than no longer needing to blend into the night.

  He looked older. Closer to the twenty he must now nearly be. He looked hardened. She remembered him as a tough skinny scrap of a thing but now he looked like a man. The loss of David had been the final blow to whatever innocence he had left.

  She pushed the thought to the back of her mind and walked over to the booth, Dennis in tow. She knew Garth had already spotted them. He didn’t look up. He was a master of seeing things from the corner of his eye.

  She sat down and let Dennis go to the counter to order them both a coffee.

  ‘Hi Garth.’

  ‘Hi Monica.’

  ‘Long time no see. Do you need Dennis to get you another?’

  ‘No thanks, I’m good. I see you managed to do casual after all.’ He pointed at Monica’s jeans.

  ‘I’m a woman with many skills.’ She tried to look comfortable. It wasn’t easy. It was like stepping back in time to a place they’d all rather forget. ‘Thanks again for getting in touch. Hopefully between the three of us we can come up with something.’

  ‘That would be good.’ Garth opened the tattered notebook on the table in front of him. A combination of scribbles and doodles that meant nothing to her. ‘I’m not sure how much help I can be. It’s nothing definite. Just patterns so far.’

  ‘I’ve not been in contact with the other families about this. I thought we should keep quiet until we know what we’re talking about.’

  ‘I don’t think it matters,’ he paused as Dennis sat down with two Americanos. They nodded at each other by way of greeting and then Garth continued. ‘Most of the other families already know something is wrong. They’ve been meeting almost twice as often as they used to. I’ve been keeping track of the dates.’ There was a touch of pride in his voice at his own efficiency.

  ‘Surely they should have mentioned something by now? If there is some kind of epidemic going on…’ she trailed off, trying to think through all the implications.

  ‘I’m guessing they’ve all been too worried about themselves to think about anyone else. No one is going to risk having another family take advantage of their weakness. Not since what happened with Elizabeth’s Pop.’

  ‘I suppose that makes sense.’

  ‘Some of them have been hit pretty hard. I’m not so great with numbers. But I’m guessing twenty-five per cent. Going on a Saturday night figure. I generally do that. You’re kinda creatures of habit. Saturdays are the night when you all like to, um, you know.’

  ‘I know,’ Monica shifted uncomfortably. Why did she feel embarrassed? The man-boy in front of her had seen the very best and worst of her people. Of her, personally. It wasn’t like she had anything to hide from him. ‘It’s a good way of coming up with the figure.’

  ‘But,’ said Dennis, taking a sip of his coffee, ‘why is everyone else more affected than us?’

  ‘As of yesterday, I wasn’t aware of you being affected at all.’ He shrugged, waiting for the quid pro quo.

  ‘One of our Elders is,’ Dennis lowered his voice to make sure the barista at the counter couldn’t hear them. ‘I’ve asked around and there are at least ten other people who have been feeling a little run down over the past week. Like they’re coming down with something.’

  ‘I thought your kind didn’t get sick like that?’ Garth looked confused at this new information.

  ‘We can, and we do. It’s just not as often. Where our common DNA intersects, we can get the same things. We have stronger immunity but the Spanish flu epidemic years ago hit us as hard as it did you. That was what my father always said at least.’

  ‘It could be something like that,’ Garth agreed. ‘But if that was the case, then surely there’d be something on the news by now? If it was dangerous?’

  ‘Most likely. Monica, what do you think?’

  ‘If there was a common link then they would have suffered with it first, and suffered with it worse. That’s the way it’s always been. The doctor said Lawrence didn’t have much time left. Feeding didn’t produce any kind of results. Normally, that’s the advanced stage of the decline. Old age gets us all in the end,’ she said, more to Garth than to anyone else.

  ‘That’s what I would say from what I’ve seen,’ he nodded. ‘An acceleration of the ageing process.’ He flipped the pages in his notes, but whatever he’d written remained illegible to her.

  ‘So we don’t know what the cause is,’ Monica turned around as the door opened. She told herself to stop being paranoid. ‘At the moment we only know the effects. Once someone shows the symptoms it’s already too late. Doc said there was nothing she could do for Lawrence. She was going to try extreme measures. Even dig around in the folklore and see if there were any old wives’ tales that might give her some kind of clue. It pained her to try the non-scientific approach, but she was willing to give it a go.’

  ‘I think we need all the help we can get. If that comes out of a nursery rhyme then I don’t care,’ Dennis rubbed his hand over his chin. He had his weekend stubble thing going on, Monica noticed. Normally it made him look even more handsome, but with the tiredness in his eyes it made him seem more exhausted. He looked at her pointedly.

  Everyone at that table knew one expert in the kind of folklore Monica was talking about. No one wanted to say the name out loud.

  For the first time in a year, Monica felt the heavy burden of leadership on her shoulders. It wouldn’t be long before the rumours became fact. Monica would be in trouble if she didn’t have the answers to quell the panic when that moment came. With Elizabeth’s help unavailable to them, there was only one other route. ‘Okay boys, I know what I’m going to do. Let’s treat this like any other disease. We have to be smart about it. MaxiData Corp invests in a biochemical research. It’s not pharmaceuticals, but it could be close enough. I have someone who could help.’

  ‘Who?’ Dennis watched her, caution in his eyes.

  ‘Harlan Austin. A family member. Out into the Pacific Northwest. He approached me when I became head of the family. He wanted to work in the industry. Had a passion for what he does. Of course, he needed my help to make sure his working conditions were right. We concocted a cover story for him and he got the job. He spends half his year at a small research outpost. I had to make sure he was trustworthy and discreet. He is.’

  ‘What’s your plan?’ Dennis stretched and took a careful sip of his coffee. He never trusted her to make the plans.

  ‘I’m going to need a blood sample. I’ll courier it over to Harlan to take a look at.’

  ‘What about his day job?’

  ‘I should be able to pull enough strings to free him up for a while. One of the company directors had a daughter with a terminal genetic illness. He was willing to pour some of his own cash into a two week program to chase down some ideas he'd read about on the internet. So they kitted out a lab. By then he was desperate enough to try anything. Sadly, nothing came of it. Harlan told me it’s still there, with all the equipment. Like a shrine.’

  ‘That sounds good.’

  ‘It’s our only option. Lawrence knew it was over for him. When I called, he said
all the right things, that it had been a pleasure to serve for me on the council etc etc. He knew.’

  ‘Did he say anything else?’ Dennis swirled the remains of his coffee in his cup before knocking it back. He wanted to get out of there, she could tell. He wanted to be doing something.

  ‘No. He said he hadn’t done anything out of character in the past few weeks. He hadn’t been foolish or tried anything new. He wanted me to know he hadn’t done this to himself by any kind of reckless behaviour.’

  ‘Did you think that would be the case?’

  ‘In all honesty, no. Maybe some of the younger family members, yes. But not Lawrence. He was a good man to have on the council. Solid and sensible. He came into his own after Ivan was gone.’ A look passed between her and Dennis as she mentioned Ivan’s name. They couldn’t help it. Even after all this time, the mere word sent a shiver down their spines.

  Garth cleared his throat. ‘In that case, your scientist guy might be our best shot. How quickly can you make that happen?’

  ‘I’ll call as soon as I get home. He’ll probably be in the lab anyway. Like I said, he loves the job.'

  ‘How come I’ve never met him?’ Dennis was casual. Too casual. His trust issues never lingered too far from the surface.

  ‘I can do some things on my own you know.’

  ‘I know. But getting one of our own a job in the company? That’s a PA job. On both fronts.’

  ‘I didn’t need your help. I already knew him from before.’

  ‘Oh, when? I didn’t realise that we’d had any business dealing with him?’

  There was a pause while Monica groped for the right words. Garth rolled his eyes and leaned forward to Dennis. ‘Dude, she slept with him. I’m guessing you don’t PA for her when it comes to that, right?’

  Monica felt the blush rise up on her cheeks as Garth stood and pushed his chair back. He smirked as he shoved the folded notebook into the back pocket of his jeans. ‘Thanks for the chat guys. I’ll be in touch if I hear anything else.’