The Turned

by A A Mize

  My depression and anxiety were huge reasons things failed with Owen, at least, from his point of view. Not that I don’t understand. I totally get how annoying I can be, but I also can’t stop myself, either. When I’m level, everything is great. But from what Owen said when I crash I tend to get clingy. I fear losing people that I care about, so I text or call them too much. Funny how hard that habit is to break.

  Sophie jumped when she heard a knock on the door of the cabin. Who was coming around that early? Better question, who knew she was there other than her family? Heart in her throat, she stood, pulling her curly brown hair into a ponytail as she approached the door.

  Through the peephole she could see two police officers standing on the porch. As far as she knew, she hadn’t done anything wrong since she had been at the cabin. Perhaps it was a mistake. There had been some issues with people breaking into vacation homes while the owners were away. If that was the case, she would just have to let them know that she was in fact welcome here and send them on their way.

  “Hello, officers. Can I help you with something?” she greeted from behind the half-open door, giving them the once over. There was no way to tell if they were real cops or just a couple of guys up to no good.

  “Ms. Sophie Daines?” the first officer asked, removing his hat to reveal salt-and-pepper hair. The man was obviously in his fifties, with expressive blue eyes, surrounded in the creases of wrinkles. His partner was a younger man, possibly in his early thirties. The second officer realized his superior had removed his hat, and he followed suit and Sophie couldn’t help but notice his thinning black hair.

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m Officer Thompson, and this is my partner, Officer O’Riley. I know it’s early, but we need to speak with you about your cousin, Ms. Rachel Summers. Do you mind if we come in?”

  Sophie remained still in the doorway. The officers didn’t have to tell her anything. Between their presence and acting the way they were, she knew something terrible had happened to Rachel. Eventually she nodded and moved aside for them to enter, motioning toward the cozy living area where a fire blazed, filling the room with warmth. Sophie couldn’t feel the heat at that moment. Every ounce of warmth had been sapped from her body when the officer had spoken.

  In the living room, the men waited for her to sit down before taking their places on the couch across from her. O’Riley fidgeted with the brim of his hat and Officer Thompson took the lead again.

  “We received a call yesterday from the New Orleans Police Department. They found the body of a woman with no ID in the city park. So far, they’ve taken a Mr. Dustin McCain into custody for the potential murder, and because he’s a suspect, they won’t let him identify the body. We went to your last known address and were informed you had moved out and could be found here. By then it was too late to come all the way out here, so we decided it was better to come first thing this morning. Now, they don’t have a positive ID, so they can’t say for sure that it is your cousin, but apparently Mr. McCain stumbled into the NOPD claiming that his girlfriend had been missing and by his description they linked him to a Jane Doe they had been found New Years Day. I know this is a lot to take in at one time. I can’t begin to imagine what this must be like for you, but the NOPD have requested your presence at the earliest convenience. If you need us to, we can arrange your transportation. It’s only a few hours and wouldn’t be any trouble at all,” the officer offered.

  Sophie could tell that he was sincere, but she was in shock and didn’t respond at first. No tears came, and her mind simply could not process that Rachel was gone.

  There was a chance, right? A chance that the body wasn’t Rachel’s. Maybe she had just gone off on her own and...and... There was no good answer to that. If she really was missing, as Dustin claimed she was, then where was she? The possibilities were endless and far more stressful for Sophie than the thought that her beloved cousin was gone forever.

  It wasn’t until Thompson spoke again that Sophie realized she had practically crossed the room and was bracing herself in the doorway.

  “Ms. Daines, we realize that this is incredibly distressing, but we want you to know that our department extends its deepest regrets for your loss and we really will do all we can to help you. Would you like us to contact anyone to come and sit with you for a while?” he asked gently.

  “No. I need to go to New Orleans as soon as possible. Rachel’s parents have been dead for years. Car accident. My mom adopted her, so I only need to tell this to my family. You haven’t told my mother yet, have you?” Sophie asked, concerned that her mom had already been told. It was a sensitive subject and Sophie didn’t think her mother would have handled it well if she were told by a stranger.

  “No ma’am. Mr. McCain told the NOPD that you were the closest one to the victim, and since you used to be her roommate, we thought it best to come to you first,” Thompson said.

  Sophie inhaled sharply, relieved that her mother hadn’t had the same experience she was currently having. Even though the officers were kind and gentle, it was still a terrible shock. With that relief came the ache of figuring out how to tell her mom and sister.

  The police officers stood and expressed their condolences once more, offering their assistance in her journey, which she thanked them for before letting them out. Sophie listened at the door until the crunch of the gravel drive under their tires could no longer be heard before she sank to the floor, cell phone in hand. Tears choked her in her very first sentence.

  “Hey, Anna. I need you to meet me at Mom’s house. It’s about Rachel.”

  9

  Roberts rounded up Kincaid as soon as she arrived at the station and the two of them headed straight for Walker’s office. She knocked on the door before entering, Kincaid in tow. The pair had hardly slept the night before in anticipation of handling their first case involving the Turned. They had stayed up late reviewing the information they had on protocol for handling the creatures in the field. Kincaid had gone home a little after midnight, but Roberts couldn’t sleep. She went over everything one more time before tossing and turning in bed until just before dawn when sleep took over. Even running on just a few hours of sleep, the officers weren’t tired. They were ready.

  Lieutenant Walker was leaning back in his chair, photos from Rachel’s case file littered the desk before him.

  “Sit,” he demanded. “I got word a little after dawn that her cousin had been notified of her death and would be arriving some time during the day to identify the body. I’m pretty sure our Jane Doe is indeed Rachel Summers, but I want an official answer.”

  “What’s Homicide think about it?” Kincaid asked.

  Walker glowered at him before passing a picture across his desk. Roberts picked it up and observed it. The photo was of a massive man, skin dark as coal and eyes like liquid gold. He had high cheek bones and a ridged jawline outlined by a well-trimmed extended goatee. Thick dreadlocks with gold beads hung around his shoulders like a mane.

  “Who’s this?”

  “That is Artashir. I want you to go to the Iron Lotus and talk to him. See if he knows anything.”

  “Alright. It’s in the Quarter, right? We’ll call Rowan on the way.”

  “Yes, it’s in the Quarter and no, you won’t be contacting him,” Walker said, pulling a new cigar from the redwood box on his desk.

  “With all due respect, sir, I thought protocol was that we contact the Leader and they interrogate their own?” Roberts asked. Then she remembered Walker had ignored protocol about contacting Homicide to fill them in with their leads, as well as hiding their involvement from the higher ups in their own department, so why not continue the trend with ignoring the rights of the Turned Leaders?

  Walker’s eyes shot to Roberts and he removed the unlit cigar from his lips. “A Turned killed a human in cold blood. That makes the son-of-a-bitch who did this a Rogue. We don’t need permission to hunt down a Rogue.”

  “But sir, without Rowan—”

&
nbsp; “You have your orders, Roberts. Now get out of my office.”

  Roberts and Kincaid took their leave in silence. Roberts knew they were still learning the rules for encountering Turned, but she also knew the Leader needed to be contacted before they could question anyone under them. The Turned had their own laws to abide by and the Leaders were there to make sure that all under them followed those laws. Without the Leader, the Lessers might not answer any of the questions the officers had, and although Walker thought Rachel’s death was the work of a Rogue, there was no evidence for that theory. As far as she knew, any Turned in question was to be considered a Lesser until proven otherwise.

  “What should we do?” Kincaid asked his partner as they walked to their patrol car.

  “I don’t know. We’re more likely to get the info we need if we contact Rowan first, but Walker’ll have our asses if we disobey him.”

  “But if we don’t we could seriously piss off monsters that could eat us.”

  Roberts rolled her eyes at her friend, but she wasn’t completely convinced that he was wrong. “They won’t ‘eat us’ for not talking to their Leader first. That’s illegal and they would be labeled a Rogue and hunted by both sides. We’ll just go to the Iron Lotus, ask some questions about a missing person and say she was last seen in the area. Keep conversation minimal and don’t make it seem like we know a Turned was responsible.”

  “I don’t like this.”

  “I don’t either but what bothers me the most is how Walker is keeping everyone out of the loop. The victim didn’t have any ID on her. It might take Homicide time to figure out who she is.”

  “Well do you want to call them and let them in on what’s going on?”

  “Honestly? I don’t know what to do. If we call them, Walker will have a fit. But we’re toeing a line here. One that could get us in deep with Homicide and the Turned.”

  “I just wish I knew what we were risking it all for.”

  “Same.”

  The partners rode in silence to the bar, which was empty so early in the day, and found a bouncer standing in the shadows of the door, smoking a cigarette. The glow from the cherry reflected in his beady black eyes. He had a bald head, small flat nose, and skin that was unnaturally pale.

  “Officers Roberts and Kincaid,” she said, introducing herself and her partner. “We’re looking for Xavier Knox.”

  The bouncer chewed his cigarette, eye shifting between the officers. “What do you want with him?”

  “We’re just looking for information on a missing woman. That’s all,” Roberts responded calmly.

  The bouncer took a long draw from his cigarette before snuffing the butt out on his forearm and flicking it at the officer’s feet. Roberts knew that without Rowan, there was little the human police had rights to do to him. It was merely their fortune that the bouncer invited them in and with a jerk of his head he led them inside.

  As the door closed behind them, Roberts realized that the windows across the front of the bar had been painted black and the fleur-de-lis and cross had been emblazoned in white spray paint on the inside of them; the same as the stamp on Rachel’s hand.

  During their late-night cram session, she’d read that it was a marker separating Turned territories within the city. All Turned Leaders in New Orleans had their own unique symbol and the fleur-de-lis and cross marked Rowan’s territory and places that were owned by Turned under him. His most loyal followers wore it in some form of jewelry and the more ornate the piece, the closer the follower was to his Leader. The symbol on the windows served as a reminder to Roberts that they were breaking protocol.

  All was dark in the bar, the only light in the place was above the bar and did little to illuminate the rest of the room.

  “Boss. Company,” the bouncer called, his gravelly voice summoning a man from the back room.

  Xavier’s muscled arm swept aside a beaded curtain before the man ducked through the doorway. He was absolutely massive, his sleeveless shirt stained and nearly ripping across his chest. Trinkets hung from his belt: thick clumps of shrunken heads, herbs, and talismans. All in all, he looked like a walking voodoo shop. A gold pendant with red inlaid gems hung around his neck with the same fleur-du-lis and cross design that was painted on the windows. Immediately Roberts knew he was among the most loyal to Rowan and would most likely inform the Leader of their presence as soon as they were out the door. Still, they had come for a reason and it was too late to back down now.

  “Xavier Knox?”

  “Artashir,” he corrected.

  “Artashir,” she repeated slowly.

  “What do you want?” the man growled, his fangs glistening in the dim light.

  “I’m Officer Roberts and this is—”

  “I didn’t ask who you are. I don’t give a shit. What do you want?”

  “We’re looking for a missing person. She was last seen headed in this direction early New Year’s morning,” Roberts stated quickly as she held out a photo of Rachel. Of course, it was a lie. The stamp had led them to his door, but he didn’t need to know that. Artashir stared her down for a moment before his golden eyes shifted to the picture.

  “Yeah, she was here,” he said, turning his back to them to go back where he had come from.

  “Wait, what was she doing? Did she leave with anyone?” Roberts took a step toward Artashir, but nearly jumped out of her skin when he rounded on her.

  “You asked if she was here, and I answered your question. You didn’t bring Rowan, so I can only assume that means he has no idea you’re poking around. Be glad I told you anything at all.”

  The room fell quiet, then Artashir passed through the beaded curtain and into darkness. Roberts knew they couldn’t get anything further from him.

  Once they were back outside, Kincaid exhaled deeply. His face was white as a sheet. “Let’s never do that again.”

  “Officer Roberts?” a voice called from behind.

  “Oh crap,” she mumbled before turning around with a broad smile. “Good morning, Lieutenant Miller.”

  The Homicide Lieutenant stood in the middle of the sidewalk, smoking with the bouncer who looked rather amused that the officers had been caught. A man stood with them, shading himself with an umbrella that was grasped delicately in his gloved hand. His sharp features were emotionless as his face turned toward her. Dark sunglasses obscured his eyes and long black hair framed his pale face. Rowan.

  Roberts had seen him around the department a couple of times when she’d been working late but it was always from a distance. She’d never been this close to him before and with such a clear view of his face. Most of the officers on the day shift never saw him but they’d heard things from those that were on duty at night.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked with a tilt of his head, drawing her attention back to him.

  “Just following up on a complaint, sir.”

  Miller nodded slowly but she could swear she saw Rowan’s eyebrow quirk over the rim of his sunglasses, but he said nothing. Instead he passed Miller and the bouncer to disappear through the door of the bar, leaving his umbrella outside.

  “Very well. Off you go then. Oh, and tell Cora I said hi,” Miller said, flicking his cigarette away before disappearing into the Iron Lotus.

  “Cora must have called them,” Roberts said quietly.

  “Good. Means we don’t have to.”

  “But he also knows I just lied to his face.”

  “Maybe we should back off and let them do their thing. I mean, we didn’t exactly learn anything new.”

  “Yeah. We’ll just tell Walker we didn’t find anything and that Homicide’s on it. Maybe that’ll get him off our case.”

  “Hey, who do you think that guy was?” Kincaid said, opening his door.

  “That was Rowan,” the bouncer said before Roberts could respond.

  They turned to see the him in the shadows of the side alley. He motioned them over to him and glanced around before speaking in a hushed tone. “That
girl was here all right. She didn’t stay too long. Left alone but she was picked up outside by some guys I kicked out for gettin’ too rowdy. I dunno all of ’em. Just one. Name’s Michael Valentine. You want answers? Go ask him.”

  “Why’re you telling us all of this?”

  “Why not?” he shrugged. “Look, there are Turned that cause trouble. They get the right to be disrespectful little shits just because of who their Mentor is.”

  “Sorry, I don’t follow.”

  “You will,” he said, waving them off.

  “Thanks for your help.” Roberts nodded a good-bye and got in the patrol car, Kincaid having already beat her there.

  “Like I said. Never again,” he reiterated, clearly shaken.

  “Let’s get back to Walker and tell him what we found,” Roberts said as she put the car in drive, also wanting nothing but distance between them and the Iron Lotus.

  A meltdown was expected but it wasn’t what they got, which was more concerning. Walker’s face turned an unhealthy shade of red and he snapped his cigar in half, but he didn’t yell. He slowly lowered himself into his red leather chair and took a few deep breaths.

  “So, Cora Jones called them?” he asked evenly.

  “I have to assume that, yes,” Roberts answered. “He said to tell Cora he said hi and she’s the only one I know of that knew we were snooping.”

  “We were not snooping, we’re investigating. And you’re sure that was Rowan?”

  “I’ve never seen Rowan before but if I had to guess what he looks like, I’d say ‘creepy guy in a trench coat with an umbrella in broad daylight’ would be it,” Kincaid said, surprising Roberts with his sarcasm toward Walker. It was unlike him, but she let it go and so did Walker.

  “I’ve seen him from far off and the bouncer said it was him,” Roberts said. “They’re handling it now anyway. We can let them know what we have and hopefully they’ll forget we were involved and we can all move on from there.”