by E. A. Copen
Next to her stood Morris Quincy, Tindall’s longtime partner. He was an apple-shaped guy, an honest to God, gun-toting, steak-loving Texan, and proud of it. He tipped his plastic cowboy hat to me and flashed a smile, adjusting the bolo he wore in place of a tie over his white button-down. A lotto scratch-off card was sticking out of his shirt pocket.
Two uniformed officers, Jenkins and Galloway, stood in the corner with Tindall, all three sipping at their coffees. Father Gideon Reed wasn’t there.
In a hopeful tone, I asked Tindall, “Did you call Reed?”
“I left a message on his machine,” Tindall said. “He didn’t pick up.”
Dammit. Strike one for the home team.
I went to the head of the table with my stack of papers. “Well, can we get started, then?”
Everyone took their seats, and I passed out the papers. The conference room door jerked open. All six of us looked up as Gideon Reed stepped in. Broad-shouldered with the build of a pro-athlete, he kept his auburn hair trimmed and styled above the ears. It somehow gave him an innocent yet powerful look. Instead of the black cassock I’d often seen him wearing, he’d donned a pair of blue jeans, a long-sleeved black button-up, and of course, the stiff white clerical collar.
He didn’t hesitate at the door or wait to be invited in, not even against the glares of everyone else in the room. Reed just slid in and sat in the first empty chair, the one closest to the door.
“Better late than never,” Quincy mumbled.
“Welcome, Father,” I said in my most professional voice as I stepped around the table to offer him a paper personally. He said nothing as he took it. Awkward silence filled the room as I made my way back to the front.
“Okay,” I said once there. “I’m sure you’ve all heard the news about the murder in Eden. I’ve taken over the case looking for the killer. That’s going to go a lot faster and a lot smoother the more hands I have on deck and the more boots I’ve got on the ground. That’s why you’re here. I’m hoping at the end of this meeting, you’ll make yourselves available to participate in a task force to help me put this case to bed fast and easy.”
I raised a copy of the paper I’d passed around. “The paper in front of you is a dossier on one of the victims, Harold Hardrata, AKA Harold Continelli. He’s one of two things that make this case special. How many of you are familiar with the structure and hierarchy of European vampire clans?”
Daphne alone lifted her hand after some hesitation.
I nodded. “That’s okay. It’s why we’re here. One of the two largest and most powerful European clans is the Stryx. They control most of the local vampire covens in western Europe. The family in power among the Stryx at the moment, the Continellis, has been in power since the mid to late seventeen hundreds. As you’ll find on your dossier sheets, Harry wasn’t in line for succession to the title but, rather, was a cousin to Crux Continelli, who also happened to be the last person to see Harry alive. Consider him vampire royalty, albeit of the extended variety.”
Quincy raised his hand.
“Yes,” I said. “What is it?”
“While I appreciate the history lesson, darlin’,” Quincy drawled. “What’s that got to do directly with this dirtbag?”
“Do you know how the first world war started?”
“Archduke Ferdinand of Hungary was assassinated by a Serbian nationalist secret society,” Daphne answered. “The Black Hand.”
“Right,” I said and turned, searching the whiteboard tray for a dry erase marker. I found one and immediately began scribbling on the board. “The Hungarians implicated the Serbian government and demanded the Black Hand be brought to justice or else Serbian sovereignty would be nullified. Serbian ally, Russia, was insulted by the move and declared war on the Austria-Hungary empire. At the same time, Hungary secured an alliance with Germany, who was also forced to enter the war. It became Russia and Serbia against Germany and Hungary. France, bound by its treaty with Russia, was obligated to enter the war and declared war on Germany and Hungary. England, who was France’s ally, came to France’s defense against Germany along with all of their colonies. Japan had a military agreement with England, forcing them into the war, too.”
Quincy began tapping his fingers on the table. “I still don’t see how this is related.”
“The assassination is known as the shot heard round the world for a reason,” I answered, finishing the drawing. “The death of one man, perpetrated and carried out by just one other, activated a domino of global treaties and alliances, forcing the whole world to war.”
I stepped back from the drawing and pointed to the balloon I’d drawn in the center filled with Harry Continelli’s name. “Harry is our archduke. The Stryx are bound by ancient rights and customs to declare a blood debt.” I slid the marker up a connecting line to Kim Kelley’s name. “Kim Kelley is being implicated, not just by witnesses, but now on television by Sheriff Maude. That’s a fire we didn’t need since the Kelleys owe money to…” I slid the marker up another line, “the Upyri Clan based in Eastern Russia. They also owe money to the Stryx.”
Tindall let out a quiet curse. “If that goes public, it could ruin her.”
“If the debt doesn’t ruin her first,” I pointed out. “But it creates a potential powder keg situation. The Stryx have agreements with clans and covens as far away as Peru. While the vampires don’t have political lines and centralized governments to wage an organized war, they aren’t known for their knitting circles, people.”
I leaned on the table to drive the point home. “We need to find this killer, and we need to find him fast before this can spiral out of control. With your help, I can close the case faster, with more efficiency. I’d like you to come aboard and work together to help me close this as part of a cooperative task force between civilians and the Paint Rock PD. So, what do you say?"
A few of them shifted in their seats. I wasn’t sure if my speech had gone over as well as I intended. I should have opted for the slideshow instead of crude drawings on the board.
Daphne smoothed her hands over her yellow sundress and leaned forward, speaking first. “It’s not that I don’t want to help you, Judah. But between the volunteer counseling I’m doing at the hospital, my classes, and the upcoming full moon, I really don’t think I can commit.”
Tindall shook his head and lowered his hand onto the table from his chin. “I hate to say it, but with the election and everything, I’m overloaded. I’ll help when I can, but it’s just a fact. I can’t be here twenty-four/seven anymore.”
“And, well, I’m about to take my vacation, see?” Quincy fumbled. “I can’t just cancel my reservations. They’d charge me anyway.”
Jenkins, the young guy to Tindall’s right, added, “I’d love to help, but I’m not sure what Galloway and I can do on our own.”
I sank down into my chair, feeling the lack of sleep catching up to me. “You’re right, Jenkins. Two cops, a priest, and a federal agent don’t a task force make.”
Father Reed cleared his throat.
“Don’t tell me you’re backing out too, father,” I said.
“I came because Detective Tindall indicated you had some papers for me to sign,” said the priest, folding his hands on the table. “Given our past history, I’m not sure working together would be of mutual benefit for either of us.”
I locked eyes with Reed briefly before he turned his attention to the surface of the table. “I see how it is,” I said, addressing everyone in the room. “You guys all have your own lives and your own problems. I get it. But this is bigger than any vacation or personal vendetta. And Daphne, I’d only need a few hours of your time. Surely, you can spare a few hours.”
Daphne refused to look at me. “I’m sorry, Judah. I just can’t.”
And then it hit me. This wasn’t about vacations, elections, or being overloaded with school and work. If things went south, they all wanted to be as far away from it as possible. Kim Kelly wasn’t the only one who would get ruined if s
he meddled in the ancient rites and customs of the Stryx. Standing between Crux and the target of his declared blood debt could be deadly. Like rabbits before a forest fire, they were all ready to turn tail and run.
On some level, I’d expected their hesitance. I understood why Daphne didn’t want to. As an outsider with nothing at stake, her brother had helped me and almost lost the use of his legs. Quincy, he was just lazy, and his reaction wasn’t unexpected. I had thought Tindall would spur him to action as he normally did. I certainly didn’t expect Tindall to back out. Until just a little while ago, he was as gung-ho as me to put this to bed. The detective owed me nothing, though. He’d helped me far more than he had to.
Reed, his reluctance surprised me the most. All our differences aside, and even though he’d taken Zoe’s baby and hidden her away, I still believed him to be a good man at the core. All this time, I had reasoned he must have done it for a good reason. Reed was a good man in a bad situation, able to look past petty disagreements in order to pursue the greater good. No matter how I felt about Reed, he had to be a good man with good reasons. I just didn’t see them.
I stood. “Alright. If you’re not available, I can understand. Thanks for coming. No hard feelings. You can all show yourselves out.” Reed stood and moved as if to bolt for the door. “Except for you, Father. You and I need to talk.”
Reed remained beside the door as everyone else filed out. Once they were gone, he slid around to the end of the table opposite mine and said, “If you’re going to ask me again about the child, you know I can’t give you the answers you want.”
“You could at least tell me why.”
Reed shook his head.
“Why the hell not? And don’t give me that greater good bullshit. I work for the government. I know a copout when I hear it.”
He wrapped his fingers around the top of the chair. “I’d think the answer would be straight forward. If I’d left the child in your care, what would have happened to her?”
I didn’t answer him because it was a rhetorical question. He and I both knew the child would go into foster care. As a baby, she had a high chance of adoption. She also stood a high chance of inheriting her mother and father’s condition. She was going to grow up to be a flesh-eating monster, a wendigo. The first time her hunger kicked in, someone would get hurt.
“I could have taken her,” I volunteered. “Or placed her with someone who’d take care of her.”
“We both know BSI would find out eventually, just as they’ll find out about Hunter.”
I stood up and growled, “You leave my son out of this.”
“I’m only stating a fact. The rules that BSI has set down for these people are wrong. It’s no life for a child, no good way for her to grow up. I know you know I’m right. Why else would you go to such great lengths to skirt the law for all the illegal things that go on around here?”
I stared down at my hands. “I still believe in the fundamental good that the law stands for. Change takes time. It has to be done through the right channels. You can’t just start kidnapping babies and smuggling them beyond BSI reach because you think it’s the right thing to do. You think you’ve saved her. You’ve just put other people in danger.”
“Believe me,” the priest said, rolling his shoulders back and standing straight again, “where she is, she’s in the safest possible place receiving the best possible care.”
“You said you answer to a higher authority, there were certain truths you weren’t allowed to reveal. Who are you working for? Who’s behind this?”
“Judah, why can’t you just accept that the child is safe, cared for, and loved instead of being dissected in some BSI lab?”
I slammed my hands down on the surface of the table. “I never would have let that happen to her!”
“You wouldn’t have been given a choice!” Reed closed his eyes and let out a sigh. “I don’t want to fight with you. But I am a man of God. I cannot look the other way while anyone oppresses the weak. Perhaps BSI is doing so with a velvet glove, but it doesn’t change what’s happening. If BSI had their way, they would eradicate every supernatural, herd them into more reservations like this, forcing them into poverty and sub-standard living. And whenever they discover something new, they will continue to deny its existence publicly while dissecting it privately. That is the truth, and like it or not, you’re part of it.”
I shook my head. “I’m trying to change things. I’m not the enemy, Reed.”
“I know,” said Reed in a gentle tone. “You’re no more responsible for the damage here than the average German soldier in Nazi-occupied Germany. You mean well. I believe someday you’ll understand true change will only come with subversive intention. That’s why I came down here, Judah. I came to sign your affidavit. You need to do your job. I won’t stand in the way. But I won’t support the agency you work for. Not anymore.”
I fished the affidavit out from my pile of papers, stormed down to the other end of the table, and slammed the page down with a pen. “Do you know what I’m hunting, Reed?”
Reed cautiously took the pen, glanced over the page, and affixed his signature on the appropriate line. “I’m sorry, Judah. I don’t.”
“I’m going to find her,” I said quietly to Reed.
“No,” he said, clicking the pen and dropping it on the table. “You won’t.”
Chapter Eight
I stood in front of the precinct’s fax machine, angrily jamming Reed’s signed affidavit into its maw. There was something gummy on the keypad of the machine, and I picked up some of whatever it was on my fingers when I dialed in the number only to try to wipe it off on my jeans. The fax machine squealed and an error came up on the screen. I looked around, searching for someone I could go to for help.
The main floor was still crowded, officers answering ringing phones and exchanging reports across desks. A few cops chatted casually among each other. Tenor laughter resonated under the din.
No one talked to me. No one offered to help.
Frustrated, I gave the side of the machine a good smack. The strike didn’t fix the fax machine, so I gave it another…and then another. Each strike grew progressively harder, the noise echoing through the cubicles around me. When punching the machine didn’t make the error go away, I resorted to shaking the damn thing.
“Why won’t you fucking work?” I screamed.
It was only as I stood there with my hands on either side of the ancient fax machine, chest heaving with rage and effort, I realized the office had gone silent. The murmur of voices was completely absent. There was no more laughter, no more pecking away at keyboards. A solitary phone rang.
I turned around to face an army of blank faces. “What the hell are you looking at?” I growled. “Don’t you have work to do?”
The normal noise resumed without missing a beat. I turned back to the fax machine, which now sported two new dents. The error was still flashing on the screen. I sucked in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Then, I deleted the job from the queue and tried to send the fax again. This time, it went through.
I wonder if Robbie has a glamor to make technology cooperate, I found myself wondering as the machine sucked in the paper and spat it back out on the other side. I shouldn’t think things like that. Magick doesn’t fix everything.
I put a hand to my head and briefly closed my eyes. I must be more tired than I thought if I’m even considering it, I thought. I knew the danger. Magick was a drug. A lot of young practitioners fell into a trap, thinking magick would fix whatever was bothering them at the time. I’d made the same mistake in the early days after embracing my gift.
Granted, in my case, that didn’t happen until I was an adult. I’d been born into a different world, a world where magick was a sin. My world equated “different” with “evil.” Even at twelve, I had understood how bad it was to be different. When the school bullies started picking on me and I put my tiny little fist through a concrete wall like the she-Hulk, I knew better than to tell the t
ruth about what happened. Adolescent hormone infused rage, the psychologists told my mother. Never mind that I could suddenly outrun the entire track team when before I could barely cross the school parking lot without wheezing. Forget I could tell when people were lying or afraid because of the strange halo of colors surrounding their bodies. I was terrified, lost, and alone with no one there to explain to me it was just my power waking up.
Of course, my mother didn’t buy it. She took me to church and let the church elders anoint me with holy oil and pray over me, their hands pressing so hard against my forehead it hurt. The preacher and all the church ladies fell into speaking in tongues at such a frightening pace, spittle flew from their mouths in a shower. After two exorcisms, an extended diet straight out of the Bible, and a month of being shielded from all demonic influence through music and TV, I learned only one thing: never tell an adult when you’re afraid.
If something like BSI had existed back then, I would have had somewhere to go, people I could have confided in. I would have grown up knowing I was just accessing my magick instead of fighting off demonic possession. For all the organization’s faults, BSI helped more than it hurt. It wasn’t perfect, but what in the world was? I had to believe Reed was wrong. The alternative was my mother’s religious fervor, Alex’s murder, night upon night spent alone in tears believing I was evil. It was chaos. I couldn’t believe in chaos.
That’s why I joined BSI and chose to specialize in demons and the occult. There were too many misconceptions out there on the topic. Occult didn’t mean evil. In fact, the word itself just meant “secret.” It was used by larger organized religions to refer to those driven underground for fear of persecution. Desperation turned occultists into offenders. Fear and marginalization forced their hands. Every practitioner I arrested could have been me if I hadn’t found BSI.