by Mysti Parker
“Oh, I didn’t know that.” I didn’t know whether to hug her, squeeze her hand, or make her a latte.
“Why would you?” she asked.
I looked to Marlowe, but he got up, cell phone to his ear, and stepped out of the kitchen. Did he know Elsie Mae was Vivian’s sister? He always seemed to be one step ahead in the information department. Hopefully, he’d be able to confirm more details so we would know when to start ripping off heads.
Vivian pushed play on the video, muted it, and slumped close to the screen as she watched the gruesome news story. She slowed down the video as the camera zoomed into the bodies, then she enlarged the picture on the screen itself.
“That tattoo.” She pointed at it, then covered her mouth with a shaky hand. “The cross on her ankle. Elsie Mae seriously has one just like that.”
I felt horrible for her, but I really wasn’t in the mood for her to launch into hysterics again. Surprisingly, she didn’t. Vivian tapped away at the keyboard, her face wrinkled in concentration.
“What are you doing?” Zac asked, coming to stand behind her. He leaned in over her shoulder.
I still worried about him. He seemed to forget that vampires, even those who seemed unthreatening, could kill him with a single blow if he let his guard down.
But Vivian was focused on the screen. “VTV is headquartered in Atlanta, so it makes sense that the IP address is from there. That doesn’t mean this is where they are. This bridge… I cropped out the image and did a reverse image search, then here on Google Maps, when I zoom down to street view… There, see?”
“Hmm,” Zac said, rubbing his chin dimple, then looked at me. “I was going to do that. I just hadn’t got around to it yet.”
Vivian flashed a smile. “I’m sure. Anyway, this bridge is located in Timberlake.”
“Is that where Ashe went?” I asked Zac.
“I don’t know.”
Marlowe came back in then, cell phone held down to his side, and lingered in the doorway. He’d know. He could have spoken to Ashe and the quadruplets just now. I stood to ask just that, but the look on his face sank me back into my chair.
“I can’t get ahold of them, any of them,” he said, turning away so it hid the unmasked side of his face. “Their phones aren’t showing up on the tracking app, either.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.” Charles took my hand and held it in both of his. “It’s possible they turned them off to keep from being tracked. Isn’t that right, Marlowe?”
“It’s possible,” Marlowe stated flatly, though he didn’t sound convincing.
The panic I’d tamped down earlier now pushed its way to the surface again. What if the tattoo was wrong or it just took a while to burn out when one of the mates… I couldn’t even think the word. Ashe was alive. He had to be.
“I’ll go,” Zac said. “I’ll get there right after sunrise.”
I shook my head. “It’s too dangerous. They’ll be expecting us to investigate.”
“I’ll have daylight on my side in a few hours and some trusted FBI contacts. If I were you, Marlowe, I’d hang tight and keep quiet until I find out something. If your team has been captured, they may be forced to talk. You’ll be safer in here than anywhere else. I’ll report back to you as soon as I can.”
Marlowe opened his mouth like he might protest, but then snapped it shut and crossed his arms, finally giving a firm nod. I gathered he wasn’t the kind to sit tight and wait. Neither was I. At least we had that in common.
“Thank you,” Vivian said. “Seriously.”
“Of course.” Zac left the kitchen to prepare for his reconnaissance mission, which left us vampires sitting there twiddling our thumbs. So much for all-powerful creatures of the night.
I couldn’t leave. I couldn’t help anyone now. I couldn’t lose my cool and give in to worry over Ashe. But I sure as hell couldn’t handle the silence anymore.
“How are you and Elsie Mae sisters?” I asked Vivian. “Wasn’t she turned?”
Vivian got up and downed what was left of the dwindling bottle of whiskey. She hissed and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Her fangs glinted in the fluorescent lights. “Yes, she was turned, and so was I.”
“Wow. How did that happen? Was it just random or…?”
She held my gaze for a moment as though weighing whether she should speak up or not. Then she shrugged. “It’s not public knowledge, but Queen Ravana hasn’t been able to have a child of her own. She’s ‘adopted’ a few children over the years. Like Elsie Mae and me. We were just kids who had nothing. Abusive home, stepdad sneaking into our rooms at night, all that shit. Then here we are, lured into coming to this cult meeting, where this vampire queen shows up. The way she talked about eternal life, riches, and that no one could hurt us anymore… I mean, those kinds of promises sounded really appealing to kids like us.”
“I imagine so. But Elsie Mae ended up more of a servant than a daughter, didn’t she? How did that happen?”
“I hate to say it, but I had the prettier face and could sing like Britney Spears. I’d wanted to be famous since I was little. So, I became another of the queen’s revenue streams. Elsie Mae…well, she was good at cleaning and stuff, so…”
“Cheap labor.”
“Nobody’s ever accused Ravana of being a bad businesswoman. She knows how to make money, and how to use people to make money.”
Marlowe nodded. So he knew Elsie Mae and Vivian were sisters. But how much did he really know about them? Just how loyal was Vivian to the queen? Elsie Mae had already shown her disloyalty to Ravana by planting the listening device on Ravana’s dog. But Vivian had less reason to hate her.
“How do we know you haven’t given away our location to your…adoptive mother?” He slid the laptop over to himself, arms folded over it protectively.
Vivian’s eyes brimmed with tears. Her lower lip trembled. If I had to witness another ugly cry, I was going to lose it.
“She tried to blow me up! I mean, okay, I still think you kidnapping me was seriously rude. But if you hadn’t, I would have died. I’m seeing her in a new light now, you know? Like, whoever pisses her off, she has no qualms about getting rid of them, and anyone else is just collateral damage.”
“Wren would know that better than anyone,” Charles said. He retrieved some blood from the fridge and heated it in the microwave, then handed a package to Vivian. “Drink up. You look pale. Too much whiskey on an empty stomach isn’t good for anyone.”
“Thanks.” She poked a straw in the pouch and drank a few big gulps.
“What do you know about Ravana’s mates?” I asked her. Since she was in a talking mood, I thought we might as well get as much info from her as we could.
“Oh, you mean the ABCs? They’re nuts.”
“Nuts how?”
Marlowe opened the laptop and clicked at the keys.
“Well, there’s Alessandro,” Vivian began, counting on her fingers as she went. “He’s Spanish or something. Speaks it anyway.”
Marlowe’s eyebrow arched at that before he shook his head and slid the laptop to where I could see it. It looked like a criminal profile from the SFBI website. On the screen was a vampire man with a soft, pretty face and shoulder-length dark hair. His name: Alessandro DeCortez.
“Anyway,” Vivian continued, “he’s her favorite. They’re constantly going at it like rabbits. So loud too.” She shuddered and held up another finger. “Then there’s Barthlomew or Bart the Fart, the others call him.”
“Bart the Fart?”
On the screen was a vampire man with bushy curly hair and a shit-eating grin you might expect to find on a used-car lot.
Vivian nodded. “Yeah, he’s gassy. Eats from too many vegans. Watching his cholesterol he said.”
I shook my head - looked like I already had my aunt beat in terms of sexy mates, and I’d been at this for just a few weeks. She’d had years to gather a nice harem.
Next on the screen was a blond vampire man that reminded me of Prince
Charming on Shrek. All swagger and no substance, no doubt. Though he did have a beauty mark on his right cheek and an impressive chin dimple almost as deep as Zac’s.
Vivian sneered as she glanced at the screen. “Cordero is an actor, sort of.”
“As in infomercials or…?”
“Think community theater. Only without the community. He writes, directs, and stars in his own plays. They’re just awful. The only reason he ever has an audience is because Ravana threatens people with high taxes or worse if they don’t come. Not like my concerts, which draw serious fans. Seriously.”
“I remember.” I smiled at her. She blushed slightly and sipped from her blood pouch.
The next face on the screen gave me chills. This one wore a black leather do-rag and black leather jacket. His pale yellow eyes and snarling expression exuded a sadistic sort of evil. His name: Dick Manson (aka Disaster).
“The D one is Disaster,” Vivian said with a shiver. “He’s the newest of the harem. I think he took Devin’s place.”
My eyes widened at that. Devin had been one of my mom’s former mates, and then had switched sides to Ravana before getting himself killed. Maybe Disaster was a better substitute, though he sure didn’t look like it.
“He’s seriously bad. Like worse than my stepfather bad. I moved out mostly to get away from him. He tried to make me give him a blowjob once.”
“Yuck. What did my dear auntie say about that?”
Vivian let out a sarcastic laugh. “She was right there - it was at one of her cult parties. She just laughed when I refused, and then...she made Elsie Mae do it.”
Goose pimples pricked across my skin. Those poor girls had endured so much abuse at the hands of my aunt.
Marlowe flipped to a picture of Ravana’s fifth mate. This one had reddish-blond hair in a shabby chic kind of style. He wore a suit and tie. Upon closer inspection, he also wore a gold chain with a bejeweled cross.
“The E one is Erasmus. Get this - he’s an ordained minister.”
I blinked at her. “How? We can’t go in churches.”
“You can get ordained online nowadays,” Marlowe said.
“Yeah.” Vivian nodded. “He performs weddings and baptisms. Just not in churches. And he’s always spouting scriptures from the Bible that make no sense.”
I sat back in my chair with my arms crossed. “I can honestly say that I am not at all envious of my aunt. I have her beaten in the mate department hands down.”
“Not exactly,” Marlowe said as he logged out and closed down the laptop. “You only have two mates so far. Stupid as they may be, the combined power of Ravana and her mates is immense.”
I stared at him until he finally met my gaze. “I mean to have all of them. Soon.”
He looked away.
Vivian slurped down the last drops from her blood pouch. After wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes turned firm with determination. “I’d love to see you take the throne from that bitch. For what she did to Elsie Mae. And me, if nothing else.”
“Think fast!” Charles hurled a whiskey bottle at Vivian.
She caught it, barely flinching. “What the hell? Seriously?”
“Good reflexes! You know, Wren, I think I might have found my first Royal Knights recruit.”
****
It seemed everyone had something useful to do, except for me. Sitting idly by and waiting wasn’t at all my cup of tea. Charles had already begun showing Vivian a few martial arts moves. Zac was out looking for Ashe. And Ashe was hopefully doing anything but being dead.
Marlowe was doing whatever he did all night in his office. Even Margaret, the secretary, was busy combing through files trying to find possible recruits for the Royal Knights. The custodians were keeping the place spotless.
That left me alone in my mother’s—my—quarters, to search through all the old clothes, magazines, and other items she’d never gotten to use here. I found several boxes of random things tucked back in the closet, took one out, and sat down on the floor to sort through it by the bed. There were card games, a chess set, a manicure kit, several balls of yarn with knitting needles, a few crossword and other puzzle books, and a palette of watercolor paint with paper. I picked up one of the puzzle books and flipped through the pages.
The purpose of these items soon became clear—my mother would have been hidden away in here for a long time—that is, if she had ever made it this far. But she would have needed things to keep her mind occupied when she was left waiting like I was now. Sure, she had a little daughter to take care of, but her mates had been killed. She must have felt so all alone.
But then…I looked down at my tattoo. Ashe’s part of the symbol still glowed faintly. Did that mean that Albert’s part of my mother’s tattoo had never stopped glowing? And if so, did that mean she knew he wasn’t dead that whole time?
I started to return the puzzle book to the box, but something fell out of it. It was a folded paper, ragged round the edges, slightly yellowed. Expecting it to be a receipt or something else just as inconsequential, I unfolded it and scanned over it.
It took a moment for me to realize it was a letter in my mother’s handwriting.
Dearest Albert,
Please get as far away as you can. He knows.
Love always,
Bronwen
“Who knows?” Around every turn were more questions than answers. Looking up at the ceiling, I growled, “If you’re showing yourself to Albert, you could damn well show yourself to me and tell me what the hell I’m supposed to do.”
Someone knocked.
I dropped the letter into the box and slid it under the bed. “Come in!”
The door opened, and Marlowe stepped inside, then shut the door behind him. I stood, feeling that same undeniable tug urging me to draw closer and claim him, but I held to the bedpost and let him approach instead.
He stayed just out of reach. “I got a call.”
“Ashe?”
Marlowe shook his head. “No, it was the priest at St. Francis, calling about Albert.”
My hopes were yet again smashed like the end of a cigarette, the non-eternal flame ones. But I had to focus on the news at hand, like an effective queen should. “The priest? He knows about Albert?”
“Yes, he’s let him stay in the bell tower for years. Father Borkowski is one of the rare religious humans who show mercy to vampires. It’s the last place anyone would think to look for an undead creature.”
“What’s wrong, then?”
“It’s fine. I’ll go to him. He’s having a rough night. It happens every so often.”
“I’m going with you.”
“No. Stay here. It’s too risky.”
Releasing my white-knuckled grip on the bedpost, I walked right up to Marlowe. Though he was a half head taller than me, I held his gaze with an unflinching stare. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he drew his chin back. His nostrils flared, and so did his eyes, for a moment. From him emanated a musky smell I’d come to recognize—desire. And with it, a whiff of raw fear. I didn’t necessarily want him to be afraid of me, but I was tired of him thinking I was a shrinking violet.
Balling my fists, I pressed them to my thighs to keep from ripping off his clothes to claim what was mine. “If I’m not mistaken, no one’s made you king, and though I don’t have the official title yet, I am queen. And if I want to go to my father, or anywhere else for that matter, I will go. And you’re not blindfolding me this time. No more secrets. Is that understood?”
He swallowed hard again, then nodded. “Yes. We can’t stay long though.”
We traveled in the same black SUV, this time without the blindfold. I didn’t recognize the road or the landscape or the town. It was just a tiny little community in the middle of nowhere. Finally, we drove up the long, curvy driveway and pulled up behind the church.
A grey-haired man wearing black pants and shirt with a white clerical collar stood just outside the door to the bell tower. He eyed me warily and made the sign
of the cross on his chest as we got out.
Marlowe greeted him. “Father Borkowski, this is Wren, Albert’s daughter.”
“Pleasure. I’m sorry to have to call you at this hour,” the priest said, but then smiled. “Of course, this is an early hour for you, isn’t it? But whatever the hour, I must protect my congregation. Some of them have heard your father screaming on occasion and swear that we have a demon living in the bell tower. I’ve told them that I’ve sealed the entity within and that no one can go inside, or they risk letting it loose. They’ve gotten more insistent over the years that something be done. We will need to find somewhere else for him to stay soon. I’m sorry. But I’ve done all I can.”
“Thank you, Father Borkowski,” I said, giving him a little wave as he hurried off without another word.
I could hear Albert screaming before we even stepped inside. We zipped up the winding staircase, which was challenge enough in itself, and emerged to total chaos.
Albert had thrown his things everywhere, upturned his table and chairs, broken the few dishes he had, and had thrown a few packets of blood against the wall. The wet, red stains dripped down the aged wood. The smell of blood hung heavy in the air. As did sweat and tears.
Sitting in the middle of the floor, Albert held a canvas to his chest and wailed. The sound ricocheted off the bell and back into my ears as a hollow, empty sound that brought me to my knees beside him.
“Wren, stay back. He could hurt you,” Marlowe said.
At my glare, he backed off with both hands raised, and started cleaning up the mess.
Lightly touching my father’s arm, I began to sing, “You’re a five-pointed star, that’s what you are. A lover, a joker, a thinker, a killer, a thriller. And all the world shall be your stage. Your loving light will guide the way.”
The words had all come back to me that time. And it seemed to bring Albert out of his manic state.
He stopped crying and opened his eyes, blinking slowly as though trying to bring me into focus. His anguished words bit into my soul. “Bronwen’s gone. They killed her.”