When Vamps Bite: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 1)

by Nicole Zoltack

  The lieutenant rolls his eyes, whereas the head of surgery’s eyes almost pop out of his head.

  “The sooner you can give us the information, the better,” Reynolds snaps.

  He leaves the room, and I trail behind him.

  Once we’re out of earshot, he asks, “Did you have to mention that?”

  “Maybe if either of them would’ve introduced themselves to me…”

  “Yeah, they can be pricks. So can anyone. If you’re gonna have such a thin skin, I don’t see how you can hack homicide.”

  “It’s not that I have thin skin,” I protest.

  “Yeah, yeah. Your vacation hasn’t done anything for you, has it?”

  “Not really,” I mutter as we head down the hallway to the elevator. “Between everything that happened to me and the other victims, and Travis, and…” I bite my lower lip.

  “What else?”

  I exhale loudly. “I think the five new victims are on me.”

  “Did you kill them?”

  “No.”

  “Did you bite them or cut into their throats and drink their blood?”

  “No.”

  “Then how can you think it’s on you?”

  “Because.”

  The lieutenant stops walking. He glances around. We aren’t alone, so he pushes me inside an unoccupied patient’s room. “What aren’t you telling me?”

  “They took Travis. I’m sure of it. When they did, I told them I would leave if they gave him back to us. I bought a plane ticket. They stopped and gave him back, but I didn’t leave. Now, they’re killing again.”

  The lieutenant’s eyes bore into me. “Do you have that much of an inflated sense of worth that you think they’re all doing this because of you?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t know why they’re singling me out. I don’t want to be. I… I never wanted to witness that crime. I don’t know why they don’t just kill me. I would rather that.”

  “And then they would have gone after everyone.”

  “So, you believe me? That—”

  “I believe that there are individuals possibly working together to commit a series of murders. Those murders involve the removal of blood from their victims.”

  You gotta be kidding me. He still doesn’t want to admit vamps are real?

  “By drinking—”

  “Tempest.”

  “—blood and—”

  “Tempest!”

  “Sir, the one who attacked me was super strong. I have footage from that night. You can watch it. He moved impossibly fast. I couldn’t see him move. He was that fast. I don’t want vamps to be real. I don’t. But what I want and what is… I want my parents to be alive. They aren’t. I don’t want vamps to be alive. They are.”

  “Aren’t vampires supposed to be dead?”

  “I don’t know!” I throw up my hands.

  “Go to the station and listen through the call line. We’ve set up a number for tips. And send your footage to the lab to be analyzed.”

  “And what are you going to do?”

  “Get on their asses to give me the names of patients who fit our victims’ profiles. I’m not about to let them throw HIPAA in my face. Too many lives are at stake.” And he stalks away.

  The tip line? Really? All the crazies come out. So many false leads. So much nonsense.

  But I have no choice. I’ll do whatever it takes to bring down the vamps, whether the lieutenant believes in vamps or not.

  Chapter 22

  With a sigh, I head to the hospital’s front door. It’ll take about a half hour to walk from here to the police department. Could be worse. At least it’ll give me some time to think.

  When I reach the automatic doors, a family comes inside, carrying a gift bag with baby rattles on it. I step aside to let them in, and a hand touches my back. Startled, I jerk to the side but then realize it’s only Doctor Dean.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His smile is kind, but his eyes look weary. I know that look. I get it sometimes. Travis, too. It’s the look that says work is wearing you down almost to the point of exhaustion.

  “You’re fine.” I jerk my thumb to the door. “Gotta go.”

  “Hungry for that lunch?” His hand remains on my back.

  “Ah…” I grimace.

  His smile falls. “Of course. You’re here on business. I just saw you here and was about to go get lunch myself, and—”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To Pete’s Hot Dogs.”

  I can’t help laughing. “Aren’t doctors supposed to eat healthy?”

  “Most of the time. Not when you’re having a bad day.”

  Maybe it’s selfish of me. If word gets back to the lieutenant, I’ll be back in hot water, but I want this. I don’t want the vamps to dictate my life, and a quick lunch won’t prevent me from working on the case. Besides, I can pick the doctor’s brain some more. Win-win.

  “A hot dog sounds great.”

  Surprisingly, Dr. Dean’s car isn’t super fancy. It’s a Toyota Prius, not an Audi or another luxury car. He jumps forward to open my car door.

  I’m not used to being pampered. It’s so funny considering we’re just getting hot dogs, but I don’t bother to laugh. Life has been too depressing for a ton of laughter right now.

  We don’t talk much until after we reach the small corner with Pete’s Hot Dog. The familiar rose-colored shingles and the huge sign proclaiming Pete as king and Bethlehem’s best for over fifty years make me smile. My parents used to take me here all the time, but it’s been years since I’ve come here. It’s great to see it hasn’t changed any.

  We both order Pete’s special number two, two hot dogs, three pierogi, and a small soda. If you’re gonna eat unhealthily, you might as well go all the way. We carry our red trays to a booth. I love the booths here. The seats are an artistic design with blues, yellows, and a splash of green instead of a boring solid color.

  “You look like you have a lot on your mind,” I comment before biting into a hot dog. Delicious. The sauce they use is what makes this place the best hot dog joint in the city.

  “A few patients have died lately.” He holds up a hand. “Oh, no. Not related to the others.” Dr. Dean stares at his food.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “I’d… I’d rather not talk about work if you don’t mind.”

  My stomach twists into a tiny knot. I should ask him a few questions about new patients and maybe follow up about Calinda Moore. If he had anything to add, wouldn’t he tell me, though?

  “Of course.” I smile understandably, but I can’t help feeling guilty for sitting here. My next bite doesn’t taste as good as the first.

  We struggle to find things to talk about until I bring up the Eagles. Then we’re talking about football the rest of the time. He’s just as big a fan as I am, but while I’m a four-for-four gal. I’m a diehard fan of not just the Eagles, but also the Philadelphia Phillies, 76ers, and Flyers. He roots for the Yankees!

  “Seriously? They’ve been trying to buy a championship since forever, and it hasn’t worked.”

  “Like you can talk.” He snorts. “How many championships have you won?”

  “Yeah, well, the past is the past, and what matters now is the future.”

  “And the Phillies are set up for a long run next season,” he deadpans.

  I flush, gripping the cool table. “You never know. Philly teams have heart. New York teams don’t. They just don’t.”

  He bursts out laughing. “You’re so intense!”

  “Sports mean a lot to me. My dad used to take me to a few games every year. We would vary the sport. It was always a highlight. I’d find out on Christmas every year what team we would focus on the next year.”

  “That’s awesome. I do appreciate that the Eagles have a lot of female fans. I didn’t realize the Phillies did, too.”

  “Of course! Most true Eagles fans like the Phillies, too.”

  “So I’m not a true Eagles fan?
”

  “Nope.” I wink.

  “Not even though I’m a season ticket holder.”

  I gape at him. “You are? I’ve been on the waiting list for years!”

  His grin finally reaches his eyes. He’s so happy. “Yep.”

  “I hate you.”

  “I don’t mind.” He glances at his watch. “I gotta get back to the hospital.”

  “Any chance you could drop me off at the police station?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “Thanks. And thanks for the hot dogs.”

  “Oh, yeah, because that broke the bank. Next time, we’ll go somewhere better.”

  “Better? What’s wrong with Pete’s?”

  We throw out our trash and walk over to his car in the nearby parking lot.

  “Nothing. I just meant a nicer place for dinner.”

  “I don’t need a fancy dinner.”

  “I don’t mind.” He opens the door for me again.

  I sit down and buckle myself. I don’t understand why I’m making a big deal about this. Yes, he has money. Yes, he works a lot. I work a lot, too, and I’m not hurting for money myself. Maybe that’s what the issue is. I don’t want him to feel like he has to pay for everything.

  “Fine. You buy dinner. I’ll handle dessert.”

  “You don’t have to,” he protests.

  “I’ll bake something. Do you have any food allergies?”

  “Nope.”

  “Good.”

  We’re quiet again on the ride over to the police station. I open the door as soon as he pulls up front.

  “Thanks for the ride. And for lunch.”

  “No thanks required. I do have Sunday off. Want to get together for the game? We can try to work out a date for our dinner then.”

  “Sounds good.” I smile and awkwardly wave before shutting the door.

  I like him. I do. Despite being a Yankees fan. But the timing, the timing feels so wrong. I know I feel abandoned right now. I’m certain Doctor Harris would have a field day with me right now. She’ll be convinced my feelings of abandonment are because of the proximity to the anniversary of my parents’ murders. Combined with Travis getting married and being out of reach and my being surrounded by so much death, she’ll think I’m all isolated.

  But feeling abandoned and alone isn’t the reason to jump into a relationship with any random guy. I don’t know the doctor all that well. Not yet. Considering Travis had been attacked, is it fair for me to put Dr. Dean on the vamps’ radars?

  Maybe I should cancel our plans.

  My cell vibrates. A missed call from Doctor Harris. What, does she have ESP and know I was thinking about her?

  Not bothering to listen to her message, I waltz into the station and take my place at my desk. I twist around so I don’t have to see Travis’s empty seat. I’m not sure what he’s up to or when he’s coming back.

  He didn’t abandon you. And you’re happy for him. Stop being so dramatic, Clarissa.

  Shaking off my emotions, I hand off my footage to the lab and spend the next few hours going through “tips.” Not a single one is worthwhile, and I’m getting a headache.

  I rub my temples.

  “Don’t tell me you’re falling asleep on the job.”

  Panicked, I jerk to a stiff, perfect posture. “Not at all, Lieutenant.”

  He grunts. “Have you found anything worth pursuing?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Keep going.” And he walks away.

  “Did you find anything?” I call after him.

  Lieutenant Reynolds pauses and then jerks his head for me to follow him.

  I trail him to his office.

  “Close the door,” he barks as he walks around his desk and takes his seat.

  I comply.

  “No,” he answers, “and I checked with local blood banks. None have had any raids or stolen bags. I asked the hospital about their supplies, too. These vampire wannabes only want blood straight from the source.”

  “By choice?” I wonder out loud.

  “What do you mean?”

  “If the vamps just prefer fresh blood or if it’s necessary. Biologically. If there’s something in fresh blood compared to bagged blood—”

  “There’s no difference chemically.”

  “Are there chemicals added to preserve the blood?”

  He narrows his eyes. “Yes,” he says shortly. “You mean to tell me that these vampire wannabes… or vampires, whatever… don’t drink bagged blood because of preservatives?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a possibility.”

  “Vampires.” The lieutenant rubs a hand down his face.

  “I know you don’t want to believe in vamps. I don’t want them to be real either. But someone is killing people and draining them of their blood, and—”

  “You think I don’t know that? There’s been another discovery.”

  “What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “I’m telling you now,” he growls.

  I know I’m treading on thin ice, but I can’t help myself. Arms crossed, I glare at him. “Lieutenant, please. I don’t want anything to happen to you and if you snoop around—”

  “You think you’ll be able to keep me safe?” he scoffs. “I’ve been at this for longer than you’ve been alive!”

  An exaggeration, but he does have a point. I understand his macho attitude, but he still doesn’t quite realize what we’re up against.

  “Who was killed? And did you really process the scene without me?”

  His cheeks tinge a little pink. “I was hoping you’d be tracking down a lead of your own,” he grumbles.

  A muscle jumps in my neck from my tightly clenched jaw. “Can I see pics of the victim?”

  “Or you can go down to the morgue and get an update from Henrietta,” he suggests.

  A peace offering? I’ll take it, but…

  “If we’re working this together, it has to be together.”

  His eyes bore a hole through me before he nods once, a jerking movement. “Go now,” he snaps.

  I dart out of there and rush to the M.E.’s office. Henrietta has a body on a table and is snapping on gloves. Her mask covers her mouth, but she lowers it to ask, “How are you?”

  “How are you?” A part of me wants to shy away from the body, but I’m curious too. It doesn’t smell like I thought it would.

  “Great!” she says cheerily.

  Yeah, okay…

  I step forward to get a better look at the vic’s neck. Man, it looks identical to the markings on Jennifer Hamilton.

  “What can you tell me…” I trail off when my gaze shifts to the victim’s face. “Hey, I know her! We talked outside of Into the Myst.”

  There’s no question she’s the same girl. Same short, spiky black hair. Her dark winged eyeliner is a little smudged. She does have a tiny speck of a nose ring in that she hadn’t worn when I met her.

  “Do you know her name?” Henrietta asks. “She wasn’t carrying ID.”

  “No.” My shoulders slump. “Have you made any headway with looking for poison?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t call it poison, but, yes, I did isolate something abnormal from two of the victims so far. I wonder if they all have it.” She leans over the woman and takes a small sample from the neck wound. “I love puzzles. Do you? That’s what each body is to me, a puzzle. If you fit the clues just right, you get a full look at what happened, a full picture, a completed puzzle.”

  “Do you do actual puzzles, too?”

  “Yep! It took me three months, but I completed a five-thousand-piece puzzle of the Sistine Chapel. Oh, look at this.” She leans close and motions me to come over. “So this here? This is where he punctured her. In the middle, not at one of the edges.”

  The more I stare at it, the more I can faintly see larger holes there. “Does that tell you anything?”

  “Not really. I mean, it’s rounded, so it does suggest teeth or fangs versus a blade. A regular blade wouldn’t cut rounde
d, and neither would a serrated blade. It would be jagged. Something circular pierced the skin here, here, here, and here. He got sloppy this time.”

  “Maybe he got interrupted again,” I muse, “but he did it so smoothly when I came across him.”

  “It’s possible he drags his teeth across the skin from the start. Look. It’s slightly off from where he would gain access to her carotid.”

  “Why would he do that?” I’m confused. “He’s probably bitten thousands of necks. He’d be able to hit the right spot every time.”

  “To bite those necks, he must maintain a low profile and conceal his bites in the first place.”

  “Maybe she was wearing a silver necklace. That might explain it.” I shudder. “I wonder how many there are. Why are they hiding? I mean, they’re the top of the food chain. They eat, drink, us. And we don’t know how to kill them outside of using pure silver.”

  I blink. I can’t recall if I told the lieutenant that detail.

  “Actually, I just know that pure silver hurts them. Hopefully, it kills them. So let me know if you find anything else.” I dash all the way back to the lieutenant’s office and don’t even knock, just push the door open. “Lieutenant Reynolds, did I—”

  The lieutenant shimmies the phone by his ear and holds up a finger. “Yes. All right. In an hour. Watch it or I’ll make it two.” He slams the phone down. “Damn media. Wants a press conference. I can’t hold it off any longer.”

  “That’ll be fun,” I deadpan.

  “You’re not going anywhere near them. It’s bad enough they’re calling the killer Jack the Ripper 2.0. If you get it in their heads that vampires are real—”

  “They are—”

  “What is it you want?” he demands.

  He can be so abrupt and abrasive sometimes, but he gets the job done every time. He rides us all, but he produces results. Sometimes I hate him, but doesn’t everyone hate his or her boss at times?

  Quickly, I tell him about the silver.

  The lieutenant pinches the bridge of his nose. “Silver. Pure silver. And we’re supposed to, what exactly? Mold it into bullets?”

  “I know. I know. But my regular bullets did nothing. Look, whether you want to believe in vamps or not, that’s what they are. We aren’t dealing with ordinary murderers.”