by Luke Arnold
“But.” He sipped again. “The League was only formed two hundred years ago. Before that, the Blood Race was a very different group of beasts indeed. In the real old days, every living creature was fair game. For the most part, hunting was carried out when required. A single kill for a single meal for one lone predator. That was fine for an individual but not all their species lived alone. In areas where large groups of Vampires resided, they would supplement their hunting with other means.” He was on a roll now. The thrill of the puzzle overrode any qualms he had about helping me. “Traps. Utilized mostly, but not exclusively, in rural areas. This was obviously phased out when the League was formed but, in the context of your little game, every Vampire more than two centuries old would, in theory, be practiced in these arts.”
I took a thoughtful sip of my cloudy water.
“Thanks.”
“Does this help your case?”
“If it does, do you want me to tell you?”
He finished his beer.
“No. Thank you.”
18
I went back to the teahouse. The place where two Vampires had been crumbled into dust and one currently unidentified victim had been melted into a puddle of pink goo.
The back door to the storage room was only guarded by police-tape and that terrible smell. The bodies were gone but everything else was where I’d left it. I didn’t need to look around for long. With new information in my head, the evidence was obvious. This wasn’t just a murder room. It was a trap. The thick ropes had been used to restrain whatever creature the melted mass used to be. The metal pole had skewered it and then something had been used to melt the mysterious creature into the watery mess.
The Vampires had lost their lives during the attack, but the ambush had done the job. Whatever creature they’d caught was strong enough to require a whole fruit basket of hardware, but they’d succeeded in turning it into pink porridge. It was the kind of revelation that feels good until you realize it doesn’t get you anywhere.
The sun was coming in through the hole in the roof. In the old days, that’s all it would have taken to kill the Vamps. I had a feeling that however their enemy finished them off, it was something far more brutal.
My mind went back to the first night with the cops and the slime and the piles of sand. No. Not just sand. Sharp fangs that decided to stick around once the rest of the body was gone. Ash and burned cloth but no other bones and no other teeth. It hadn’t seemed so strange before, but now something about it started to sing. The song got clearer as I made my way uptown.
The police station was in a better part of the city than it deserved to be. Some smart mind in the department built the jail down near the slums but kept the offices up on higher ground. It cost them the manpower of shuttling crooks back and forth but it put the cops in a better neighborhood without disturbing the more respectable locals.
I’d never entered that building of my own volition before. Usually, I was dragged in by my heels when they needed my face to mop the interrogation-room floor.
The station was a Dwarven-built sandstone block of pillars and narrow platforms. The doors and windows were thin and tall, stretched long like the tired faces inside. The second floor had a balcony that was built under the pretense that it helped the cops keep watch. In truth, it was only used for cigar smoking and back-slapping when the boys in blue brought home a little extra evidence that never got logged.
A cop was a cop was a cop. Like pieces of fruit; there’s good ones and bad ones but once you smash ’em into jam they’re all the same.
I walked into the building full of pigs with their cuffs and their sticks and their rule-book brains. Those that didn’t know me stared me down and those that did stared harder. The receptionist told me that Richie was on his break so I took a seat in the foyer and waited for him to show.
He came through the doors half an hour later with a large cup of coffee and a sandwich. His tired face was sprouting untrimmed hairs that would burst balloons.
“Got time to talk, Sergeant Kites?”
“Nope.”
“Then you sure don’t have time to say no to me all day.”
He grunted, turned, walked back out and I followed.
It was raining again but it hadn’t gotten heavy.
“Dunkley’s or The Runaway? I’m not going all the way down to The Ditch this time,” he said.
“No drinks necessary. I just have a couple of questions.” He turned back around and a drop of water hit his forehead. “How did you manage to ID the vamps?”
His shoulders relaxed with relief. Not a complicated question apparently.
“They’re ivory, Fetch.”
I didn’t get it.
“What?”
“The teeth.”
“Vampires have ivory teeth?”
“They do now. Just the canines, not the rest. Only took a few weeks after the magic was shattered and the hollow fangs dropped out of their mouths.”
“So, they’re fake?”
“Replacements. Only one dentist in town does them so we got the matches back in a few hours.”
I thought about the sack of bones in the wheelchair downtown and wondered if Fen knew the fangs weren’t real.
“What does a Vamp who doesn’t drink blood want with pointed teeth?”
Kites shook his head like he was talking to a child.
“Imagine you live for five hundred years and then your proudest feature falls out of your face. It’s cosmetic, that’s all. Cheap and easy. The doc measures it up, carves a little piece and bolts it in. All of them do it.”
I scrunched up my face. It was an answer but I wasn’t sure what good it did me.
“What about the other thing? The body that got melted down.”
“We don’t know. It’s in a big metal bucket down at the lab but we haven’t come to any conclusions.”
“Let me have a look, then.”
“What? No!”
“I’ll just get in anyway.”
“I know you will!” He sighed so heavily I thought he might deflate. I kind of hated that I gave him so much grief. “I know Portemus likes you and I know he lets you in, so why are you even asking?”
“I don’t like going behind your back, if I can help it. Plus, Portemus is less inclined to share his secrets now that Simms is rising up the ranks. He’s worried she might tighten his leash.”
“Well, good. Somebody around here should be obeying the rules.”
“I’m asking, aren’t I?”
The rain hit harder and Richie squinted with impatience.
“So, that’s it? You want to see the other body?” he asked.
“Yeah. And tell me who the dentist is.”
He grumbled and took a bite of his wet breakfast sandwich then spat it on to the floor in disgust. He threw the remainder in the trash and settled for his coffee.
“I don’t know what you want with this information, Fetch, but you’re not the only one sniffing around. I’m not even on the case any more. Neither is Simms. Someone has the bosses spooked. They don’t want any of us messing it up and I don’t know anyone messier than you.”
I stood still and serious and waited for his eyes to find mine.
“How about that missing Siren?”
The rock-hard glare on Richie’s face melted like wax.
“Oh shit, Fetch. What do you know about that?”
“Nothing yet, just that her mom doesn’t know where she is.”
“If you know anything, you tell me now. This is a young girl we’re talking about.”
“I know, but I’ve got nothing for you. Just give me the dentist and forty-eight hours. If I can’t clean my case up by then, I’ll read you my whole diary and you can see if it helps you out.”
He was a good cop and he wasn’t as hard as he wanted to be. He chewed his lip like a dog chews a rubber toy, and his eyes were unashamedly tender.
“Blight Rogers on Fifteenth and Nickel. But you tell me the moment you have somet
hing to move on. Even if you don’t, I want you right back here at nine in the morning in two days’ time.”
I nodded.
“Don’t you screw me on this, Fetch. I know you keep your clients clean and all that shit, but this isn’t some con-artist caught up with the mob. This is a little kid, man.”
“I know.”
He looked up at the sandstone walls and watched the rain paint them in polka dots.
“There was a third set of teeth,” he said, like he couldn’t stop himself.
“What?”
“In the other body. The watery one. A third set of ivory fangs.”
“What does that mean?”
“We don’t know. Simms thinks maybe it was hunting Vampires. Keeping the fangs as mementos. Something like that.”
“Did you get an ID from them?”
“No. So, whoever they came from, they’re not from here. Now get going. I’ve already told you too much.”
I left him there, looking up at the building, as confused as I was.
The old boots let the water in but I didn’t mind. The streets smelled different with the rain and, for once, I was sober enough to notice.
19
From the outside, it looked just like any other house on the block. A single-story brick building in the center of shining suburbia, not too far from the Gladesmiths’ home. A green, tin roof rattled with the rain and the steel gates were already open. The brick letterbox was stamped with a plaque that said, Blight Rogers – Dentist.
The doorbell played an old tune at a volume that must have been deafening inside. I shook the rain from my hair as the door opened to a clean-cut Warlock in a light blue shirt. His long fingers wrapped around the doorframe and I tried not to imagine those serpents pawing around inside my mouth.
“I’m sorry,” he said, “I wasn’t expecting anyone. Do you have an appointment?”
I did my best to smooth down my damp hair.
“Sorry to disturb you, Doctor. I’m in the employment of someone who has lost a dear friend. That friend happens to be a Vampire and from what I understand, you might be able to help me find him.”
He retained his businesslike smile but I could tell he was already looking for a reason to shut the door.
“I already spoke to the police.”
“I know you did. The man I’m after isn’t one of the Vampires you identified, but your help might prevent others from ending up the same way.”
“Who is it you’re looking for?”
“Edmund Rye. A professor at Ridgerock Academy.”
He nodded. He knew the name but he was weighing up whether to help me.
“So, you’re not with the police?”
“No. My name is Fetch Phillips and I’m a Man for Hire. Rye isn’t the only person that’s gone missing recently. I need to know whether it’s more likely that the Professor is a perpetrator or a victim.”
That ruffled him the wrong way. Ex-magic folk don’t like Humans accusing their kind of being criminals. Hell, I didn’t like it either. I was much happier when I was taking names in Swestum or kicking the shit out of one of my own. But I had no proof that Rye was off the hook and I’d already wasted too much time with one eye closed.
“Mr Phillips, I’m sure you understand that I am bound by law to respect the privacy of my patients.”
“Believe me, Doc, it is a stance I hold in the highest regard within my own business. So, let me stress how important this case is when I come to you with arms open and no—”
He waved a wide hand to shut me up.
“The thing is, Mr Phillips, you are both lucky and unlucky. Lucky because I am not bound to secrecy regarding Mr Rye’s medical history. That is because he is not my patient. Which, I am sorry to say, makes you quite unlucky; as I can therefore be of little help.”
Great. Kites said this was the only dentist in Sunder who worked on Vamp prosthetics.
“So, you didn’t do his fangs? Do you know who did?”
“Nobody.”
“Was he able to keep his natural ones?”
“No, no. Impossible. Nerves of pure magic thread through a Vampire’s gums, connecting the fangs directly to their brain. Those tissues rotted instantly when the Coda came and the fangs fell out within a few days. I’ve never seen an exception.”
“So, he just refused?”
“Well, he is a rather intriguing person. I met him at a fundraiser for the school about a year ago. A lovely evening up at the Mayor’s house. They had a small orchestra. Quite beautiful. I introduced myself to Professor Rye and invited him here for a consultation. Even offered to do the examination free of charge. He politely declined.”
“Why would he do that?”
A thoughtful smile crept up the dentist’s face.
“I tell you, Mr Phillips, I have pondered that question for some time. You see, the procedure was not just a post-Coda invention. The Blood Race and their fangs have long been torn apart for many reasons. The most common example was when vengeful Humans captured an unlucky Vampire. The first thing the mortals would do was rip out the teeth. But those poor souls would rarely make it back to freedom, let alone the respective comfort of a dentist’s chair.
“I have been told that in The Chamber itself, Vampires who crossed the League could be de-fanged by their own kind. I’ve even known of Vampires who lost control during their thirst, made terrible mistakes, and so tore out their fangs themselves.”
“So, these ivory fangs were already common?”
“I wouldn’t say common, but it did happen. A Vampire is his teeth, Mr Phillips. Within their ranks, a fangless member of the Blood Race is regarded with much disdain and given the name of gum-shark.”
“If that’s true, then it wouldn’t make sense for the Professor to leave them out.”
The dentist’s elongated fingers scratched his hairless chin.
“That’s what I thought. I first imagined that he might be carrying out some form of self-inflicted punishment. Perhaps he had committed crimes before the Coda and saw the loss of his fangs as divine retribution. But he did not appear to be a man in the throes of self-flagellation. He was happy; it seemed to me. He had purpose. After pondering it for quite some time, I have concluded that he just didn’t care.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean he wasn’t worried about looking weak or holding on to a lost image of himself. That’s what most of us are doing, aren’t we? Digging our fingers into former glory hoping to hold off the undeniable end. Rye, more than anyone, seemed to have moved on. He was excited about the future and what his students could make of it. Edmund was too busy building something new to worry about imitating his old, lost self.”
“For a guy who chose not to be your client, you’ve really given him some thought.”
“We all have lessons to learn, Mr Phillips, and now a lot less time to study them. I believe the Professor had something to teach me, so I’m trying my best to take it to heart.”
He looked down at the tips of his stretched fingers and his face twitched a little as if tugged by an unseen fishing line.
“Help me out here, Doc, because I need to know for sure; is there anything you can think of that might have sent him back? He was a killer once. They all were. I get that he’s accepted this sad new world and all the changes in it, but surely something could have set him off. With all these fangs you’ve fitted to their mouths, you never wondered whether it wasn’t just for show? That maybe you were putting weapons in the mouths of monsters?”
The warm glow of his memories disappeared and was replaced by the clinical coldness that came with his work.
“They’re dead men, Mr Phillips. We all are. I only try to give my patients a little dignity before they go. A way to deal with the fact that your kind fucked it up for all of us. They are ornamental, nothing more, and I am deeply offended that you would suggest any different. It’s time for you to go.”
I searched his face to see if he was covering something, but it all see
med real to me. The same kind of pain we were all carrying around. Nothing sinister or twisted or hidden. Just honest, exhausted sadness.
“Thanks for your help, Doc. I appreciate your candor.”
I stepped away and let him close the door on another no-through road.
I pulled the photo of Rye out of my pocket. His mouth was closed, so it was impossible to see if the dentist was right. But why doubt it? If the Doc, Eileen, Baxter and Deirdre Gladesmith were to be believed, then Rye had found a way to look forward. That’s what we all wanted, right?
But I’d found two dead Vampires in a teahouse and a wannabe-Vampire messenger had tried to warn me away. Whatever had happened to Professor Rye, I was convinced that The League of Vampires had something to do with it.
There was a payphone on the corner of the block, so I called the operator and asked to be connected to the library.
“Hey, Cowboy. Any news?”
“Nothing heartwarming, I’m afraid. I just have a couple more questions.”
“Fire away.”
I asked Eileen about the fangs, and she confirmed Blight’s story. Apparently, Rye was happy being a gum-shark. Fangless. According to Eileen, he just didn’t seem to care.
“Did he have any visitors? Vampires, specifically?”
“No, not that I know of. His only connection to his own kind were those flyers.”
“Do you mind if I drop by again? Maybe I should take another look through his mail.”
“I’m packing up here so I’ll bring them down to the bar with me. See you at The Roost in an hour.”
20
The raindrops attacked the street like it was personal and wind pushed the water up at every angle, filling gutters, boots and eyelids. I spent most of the walk downtown waiting under shelter to stay out of the worst of it. Eileen, who needed to open the bar on time, hadn’t had that luxury. She was soaked. But, when I ran up to the bar and found safety under the awning, something close to happiness slid up her face. It was the warmest greeting I’d been given in years.
“Pull up a pew, Cowboy.” She pulled a large envelope from under her shirt. “Kept them as dry as I could. Whiskey?”