by Mysti Parker
I zipped inside through the glass door that led to the lobby. Zac followed a few seconds later carrying a small duffel bag of his own. Hotel Enigma’s air conditioning quickly cooled my heated skin, except for one spot on my arm, the same spot that Zac had uncovered with his UV light. It didn’t really burn so much as tingle, like an electric buzz. I pulled up my sleeve and stared at the faintly glowing circle.
Zac wrapped his hand over it and shook his head. I took that as a sign that this wasn’t a brag-worthy tattoo like the rest I had. A custodian came by with a dust broom and nodded at us, but his gaze lingered on me as he passed. I pulled down my sleeve.
“Come on,” Zac whispered, and I followed him to the front desk. He flashed a Clark Kent smile at the older black woman working behind the front desk.
Her name tag read Karen, General Manager. “Good morning. Checking out?”
“No, checking in, actually. My wife and I have been driving all night. I hope you have a room available.”
“Oh sure, honey. All I need is a credit card and your driver’s license.”
Though I pretended to be browsing the tourist brochures advertising petting zoos, canoeing, and civil war reenactments, I could feel Karen’s eyes on me. Was I glowing all over or something? Maybe it was my nose ring. She seemed like the Sunday-school-teacher type, not the nose-ring-and-tattoo type.
A couple minutes later, key card in hand, we rode up the elevator to the fourth floor and got off. A whiff of something hit me – like blood, but…dead blood. Like my mother’s had smelled the night she died. I froze in the hallway.
“Come on,” Zac whispered.
I followed him to room 410, where he scanned up and down the hallway before opening the door. We quickly slipped inside. Sunlight blinded me, so I ducked into the tiny bathroom. He locked both the deadlock and chain lock, then ran to the curtains and drew them. Once the sunlight had been drowned out, I emerged and sat on one of the queen beds. The flowery bedspread wafted up scents of human bodily fluids, so I tore off the bedspread and flopped down on the bleached sheets. It wasn’t like I’d die of gonorrhea or something, but…ew.
“What did you experience out there? Feelings? Smells?”
“I smelled blood, but I don’t think it was human.”
“Vampire?”
“Maybe. It was kind of faint. But this…” I pulled up my sleeve and showed him the lightly glowing circle on my forearm. “It seems to be pulsing, actually. And it’s tingling, like a small electrical charge.”
I sat up, staring at the faint pink marking. Zac came over with the UV light and shined it on my arm again. The sting made me wince, but I held still. Adjacent to the first marking was a very faint blue diamond shape, one end of it touching the pink circle.
He turned off the light and nodded. “Perfect.”
“What is it though? What does it mean?”
“It means we’re close. He’s probably been here.”
“The vampire we’re looking for?”
“Exactly.”
“And how will we find him?”
“Just follow the yellow brick road,” he said, pointing at my arm.
****
I slept through the day, cocooned in the sheets and blanket. The only sounds that disturbed me were a few slamming doors, a jackhammer somewhere on the sidewalk below, sirens, and a car alarm.
Zac slept a couple hours in the other bed, then spent the rest of the day “gathering information,” whatever that meant. He returned as I was waking just after sundown and knocked five times - our chosen signal. I looked through the peephole just to be sure. He stood there with a bag of fast food, waving. I opened the door and stood aside to let him in.
“Sleep well?” he asked.
“Like the dead.” I stretched and grinned up at him, fangs and all.
He laughed nervously as he went to the desk and deposited the food. “Nice eyes.”
“Oh, yeah, sorry.” I’d taken out my contacts because they annoyed the shit out of me when I slept. “What did you find?”
“We need to head to the east end of town. There’s a jail there.”
“A jail? Is this guy a criminal?”
“Allegedly.”
Time for another round of let’s extract one-word answers from Zac. “And what exactly did he do to land himself in jail?”
Zac hesitated, slowly removing his burger from the bag. “Murder.”
A cold shiver ran through me. Rabbit ran over my grave, Mama used to say. “And who did he murder?”
“Allegedly murdered.”
“Okay, who did this mystery vampire allegedly murder?”
“I’m not totally sure until I get more information. He may be innocent for all I know.”
I couldn’t tell if he was hiding anything. His expression was set in stone. His heartbeat maintained a clock-like rhythm. “And what business do we have visiting an alleged murderer in jail?”
“We need him, and I don’t think he’s dangerous.”
“Well, if you say so…” I rolled my eyes. “But if he goes berserk on your ass, don’t come crawling to me. Address?”
“That I don’t know exactly. I’ll need you for that. We'll roll out of here a little closer to dawn.”
"Why wait?"
"Don't worry. I have a plan."
"Of course you do." I rubbed my arm, which still tingled. It hadn’t let up, but the sensation had an odd calming effect on me, almost like I’d felt with my mother – safe and at home.
“I’ll hop in the shower while you gnaw on your hamburger.” I had to bite my tongue to keep from adding, Wanna join me? Had I fully trusted him, I’d have no problem riding him for a few hours. No way would I make myself that vulnerable. But…how long had it been since I’d had a good fuck? I honestly couldn’t remember.
****
“Sure you don’t want me to drive?” Zac asked as we got in the car.
“Quite sure, thank you. Nobody drives my car but me.”
“Okay, but you’ll have to pay attention to the mark on your arm so we know when we’re getting close.”
“It’s a game of vampire Marco Polo. I got this.”
“If you say so. Let’s head east on Market and get on the bypass.”
Maybe the sleep and shower had made me overconfident. But I felt pretty awesome in my clean black leggings, black army boots, and black tank top. I skipped the wig, but I wore a fresh pair of green contacts so I wouldn’t totally freak people out.
In the dim car interior, it was easy to see the magic tattoo glowing on my arm. The farther we drove, the brighter the blue diamond became, and the faster the light pulsed.
A weird sense of urgency kept my eyes wide and scanning the road ahead. “If this is a jail, wouldn’t it be closer to town? Or are we talking state pen or insane asylum?”
“No, I don’t think this one is known to the general public.”
We went through an intersection on the near-vacant bypass. The sensation lessened. I hit the brakes and did a sudden U-turn, tires squealing on the damp pavement of a humid Louisiana summer.
Zac grabbed the “oh shit” handle as he slammed against the passenger door. “What the –!”
“Wrong way.” I turned left down a narrow highway with no road sign on the metal sign post. The symbol on my arm grew brighter and buzzed like a tattoo pen on high speed. “This way.”
I stomped the gas, concentrated on shifting gears to keep Birdie growling along the curvy, pothole-scarred highway. Tree limbs draped with Spanish moss hung low overhead. They smacked the windshield as though warning us to go back the way we came.
I couldn’t stop then even if I wanted to. No clue where we were headed, but I knew we had to get there. Up ahead on the right was a scattering of gravel and an opening in the trees. The buzzing on my arm grew almost unbearable, so I stomped the brakes again and pulled just off the highway.
A small gravel road snaked off through the darkness. There were no signs, but a few lights flickered in the distance
. I got out of the car, as did Zac, who still looked shaken up from the wild ride.
“So,” he said quietly, “I take it we’ve found him.”
“Maybe.” I allowed my night vision to light up the dark forested road, detecting both shapes and temperatures. Yellow human shapes moved in the distance, each holding cooler lines the shape of what else? Guns.
“This is no ordinary jail, is it?” I whispered.
“No.” Zac racked the slide of his gun. “You feel like he’s in there?”
“Oh, yeah.” And then a name wiggled its way into my thoughts. “Ashe. His name is Ashe.”
Chapter Four
Ashe
According to the information scribbled on the graffitied desk I sat in front of, Detective Nuyen liked ball. Just one, apparently. That had been written in black ink along the edge, and then carved all through it were the letters A-S-K over and over.
Nah. I was in enough trouble without asking, but I traced the message again and again, avoiding looking up from it. Every time I did, the walls pressed in and threatened to crush me into nothing but blood and bone and just as Fucked as I was now.
I’d never had the pleasure of seeing the inside of a human jail before, but I imagined it was a lot like this vampire-proof one. Peeling paint along the walls, tile floors that were so uneven they’d make you face-plant every two steps if you weren’t careful, and reeking of desperation and someone’s spoiled leftovers in the corner trash. I imagined the only differences were the pure silver doors and heavy window coverings that blocked out all light.
Well, almost all light.
I rubbed the red singe mark on my arm that had only just stopped sizzling a few hours ago. A smug officer had led me right through the thin shaft of light slanting through on the way to this room and didn’t appear to give two fucks about my little sun allergy.
The door to the interview room burst open, and in walked a tall, husky vampire with hardly any eyebrows and even less hair on his head. He wore a blue suit, tie, and matching gloves with which to latch the silver door. His yellow eyes flashed when he turned them on me, tilted upward and cat-like.
Detective Nuyen, I guessed, and no, he didn’t like ball. Sometimes you can just tell, no asking required.
“Ashe Jensen,” he barked and slapped down a tan file folder on the table in front of me.
I wished I could be literally anyone else. My stomach shifted at how badly I wished that, and at how empty it had become. I was used to looking and acting like I belonged anywhere, faking it until I made it, but here? I had to get out.
“No. Sorry,” I said. “Try next door?”
Not even a crack as he settled himself in the metal chair across from me. It was worth a shot.
“Your attorney, Mr. Phillips, is on his way,” he said.
I didn’t have an attorney, not one I could afford anyway, so one had been provided for me. I imagined the worst.
A knock sounded on the door, then an officer let in a madman in a brown suit, his white hair flying in all directions behind him. He clutched his briefcase to his chest like it contained the last fresh blood supply in the world, and judging from the way his yellow eyes bugged, I would bet he hadn’t blinked in years. And his fly was undone.
Yep. Worst. I was so screwed.
“Have you said anything?” he demanded.
“Not—”
“Don’t!”
I didn’t.
He poured himself into the chair next to mine, dropping his briefcase to the floor. What sounded like glass bottles rattled from the inside. Either it really was the last fresh blood supply in the world, or my lawyer had brought his own bar.
“Now then,” Detective Nuyen said. “Let’s talk about what happened last night.”
“These are outrageous charges.” Mr. Phillips fished out a notebook and pen from inside his jacket, then leaned toward me with a lowered voice. “Did you do it?”
“No.”
“That makes my job a hell of a lot easier.” He readied himself to take notes on what I was about to say.
The problem was I didn’t know where to begin, or how much the police already knew. One of them had mentioned a search warrant of my apartment, but there was nothing there that linked me to Devin. The fact that I’d been sitting here for hours stewing in my own guilt even though I hadn’t done anything obviously wasn’t a good sign, but I hadn’t done anything wrong. If I could spin my story to where I hadn’t even thought about doing something wrong, then maybe there was some small chance I could walk out of here. Someday. Eventually.
Detective Nuyen looked at me closely, the fluorescents above his bald head filling the natural dips of his skull. “Where were you between the hours of nine o’clock and midnight last night?”
“Don’t answer that,” Mr. Phillips ordered.
Not answering made me look guilty, and I wasn’t. Not really. I shifted in my chair and shuffled my silver-chained feet, my chest feeling too tight like I’d forgotten to draw a breath for the last thirty years. The police had found my bloodied tux in the plastic bag at my sister’s apartment and had likely seen my face on the security cameras at the hotel, so there was no sense in lying about that part. I just had to spin it right.
“I was at a party with about fifty other people,” I said. “At Hotel Enigma’s penthouse.”
“Who were you invited by?” Detective Nuyen asked.
Mr. Phillips clicked his pen as fast as I fidgeted my feet. “You don’t have to answer.”
I shrugged. “A friend of a friend.”
“Had you met Devin Tallerson, the owner of the penthouse, before?” the detective asked.
At hearing his name, fury from that night six years ago blasted through me once again, squeezing my fists into tight balls. He had broken Jessica’s nose so it sat crooked on her face before her vampire healing had kicked in. How could anyone do that, especially to my sister? Despite her being older and tougher, my sister was still a breakable, little thing.
Mr. Phillips shook his head at me, a warning.
“Yes,” I grinded out. “I knew him.”
“Were you aware that Devin practiced mithridatism?”
Mr. Phillips rocked back into his chair, his jaw lying in his lap. The pen flew from his fingers and dropped at my chained feet.
My skin prickled as I glanced between the two of them. Mithridatism? I shook my head. “I don’t even know what that is.”
Detective Nuyen’s yellow eyes fixed on me, reading every movement as I bent to retrieve Mr. Phillips’s pen. “Over the years, Devin poisoned himself daily in small, non-lethal doses of silver and holy water to protect himself, to become immune to their effects.”
His words shocked over me like a deep, arctic wave. No. No, I hadn’t known that. How would I? If I had known, I wouldn’t have planned on killing him with the vial of pure liquid silver I’d dumped into his glass of blood in his bedroom. He’d never had a chance to drink it.
“Who would do something like that?” I asked.
Detective Nuyen leaned forward. “Someone who thought others were out to get him.”
There had been others, and not just me. You couldn’t shoot yourself through the heart in small, non-lethal doses to become immune to it, and that was how I’d found him. What was left of him anyway since he’d been a pile of goo. I’d found the silver shell casing. So who else had wanted him dead? And why?
“The experts say that mithridatism can change people the longer it’s utilized, make them even more paranoid and increasingly violent over the years.” The detective brought out a picture from the tan file folder and placed it in front of me. “His paranoia may be what caused him to change his appearance, too.”
I glanced down at the picture of a man, a man who looked nothing like Devin. Different hair, different eyes, different eye shape. Who the hell was this?
“That picture was taken close to ten years ago when Devin Tallerson was hiding out and went by a different name,” the detective said. “Did you ev
er hear of any episodes where Devin became violent or paranoid?”
So much blood all over my sister’s face. It mixed with her tears and dribbled down on her fuzzy slippers she wore around her apartment, once white like snowballs, and then crimson.
I shook my head, unable to push out a sound around that memory.
“You own a cleaning service called Invite Us In Cleaners and clean up crime scenes on occasion. Is that correct?” Detective Nuyen asked.
My lawyer looked at me, the doubt in his wide eyes scratching at the inside of my skull. “Don’t say a word.”
But it was too late for that, wasn’t it? The detective already knew. I closed my eyes briefly because I knew exactly how this must look. Murder someone and then use my expertise to clean up thoroughly so no one could tell I’d had anything to do with it. But I hadn’t had time to clean up. I’d been too busy getting staked in the lung after I discovered Devin already dead.
The detective ruffled the corner of the folder, a smug smile flashing across his predatory features as if he were cleaning the bird meat from his teeth with one of its bones. “That was quite a bloodstain on your tux we found. What happened there?”
Beyond being stuck at the wrong end of a stake—wielded by a phantom as far as I was concerned—I understood absolutely nothing about that part of my fucked-up night.
My lawyer shook his head and sighed.
Detective Nuyen opened the tan file folder between us and handed Mr. Phillips a paper. “This is the warrant used to search your client’s apartment.” He pushed several photos from the file toward me. “Is this your apartment?”
Stained carpet, piles of wadded-up clothes thrown in the corners, stacks of mail teetering on my coffee table. Yes, it was my apartment, but… My eyes widened as I stared closer at one of the photos.
“What’s that coming out of the bottom of the coffee table?” I asked. It looked like the corner of a holey blanket. Big holes in a pattern shaped like diamonds.