by E. A. Copen
God and I haven’t always seen eye to eye, especially when it comes to the practice and treatment of magick. I’d always thought of prayer as an excuse for religious people to shift blame around. Never had it been a comfort to me, not until that moment. Somehow, I felt better afterward.
I offered Reed a weak smile. “Thank you.”
“It is my job. Is there anything I can do to help with Mia’s situation?”
I shook my head. “I know who the ghost responsible is, but I can’t figure out the connection between Mia, Zoe, and Emiko Kelley. Even if I knew that, I wouldn’t know how to stop it, not without Sal’s help.”
Reed frowned and tapped his chin. “I do know Patsy knew her quite well. You remember Patsy?”
I nodded. That made sense. I only wished I had asked her the last time I’d seen her. Talking to her now, it would be difficult to field all the rumors she’d heard. Patsy was the worst busybody, the most rumor-mongering vampire I’d ever met. I still felt like she meant well. It was just her nature.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I paused. “You’re being almost uncharacteristically helpful. Not to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything, but why?”
“I don’t think we’re on opposite sides. I think we want the same thing. It’s just…”
“We have very different ideas on how to achieve it?”
He nodded. “Exactly.” Reed extended his hand to me. “It is written, ‘The anger of man does not produce the righteousness of God.’ Shall we put our old grudges behind us and move forward toward happier times working together?”
I took his hand, and he put his other hand over mine as we shook. “Forgive your enemies,” I quoted. “But never forget their names.”
“JFK? Really?”
I shrugged. “I’m not so good with scripture, but I watch a lot of the History Channel.” I pulled my hand away. “You help me with this, it’ll go a long way to making things right for Mia.”
“I’ll do everything I can. You’ll let me know if you need me for anything else?”
“Of course.”
Reed nodded and left.
I stayed with Hunter for another hour before I couldn’t stand the closed space anymore. Sitting in there next to him was where I should be. I knew that, but I also knew my presence would change nothing. All I could think about was that I should be out there doing something. Sitting in there with Hunter just made me feel more helpless.
After making sure the nurses had my cell number, I took the elevator down, found the tunnel, and went over to Fitz. It was later in the day, closer to normal quitting time for CEOs like Marcus, so I assumed his work would be winding down enough that he could see me and we could talk about the case.
Cynthia disagreed. When she saw me come through the door into the office, her normally blank face twisted into a scowl. “He’s working late,” she informed me. “The fiasco downtown has put him behind.”
“Fiasco?” I’d wanted to punch Cynthia since the first time I met her, but never as much as I did at that moment. The air of smug superiority in her voice grated on my nerves.
She frowned and turned back to arranging papers on her desk. “His word, not mine. I expect you’ll want to see him anyway?”
“Yes, I do,” I answered shortly.
Cynthia rose from her desk, smoothed her hands over the smart, blue blazer she wore over her floral print blouse, and said, “I need to interrupt him anyway. Stay here.”
I watched as she stood and went over to a wall safe, placing her body to make sure I couldn’t see her type in the code. After she typed it in, the door popped open and a cloud of cold blasted out of it. A refrigerated safe. Who knew they even made those? She rummaged around in it for a moment before stepping back with a silver tray that matched the one I’d seen in Marcus’ house. On it was a blood bag and a capped syringe full of clear liquid.
I guess having your office next to the hospital has its advantages, I thought as she walked briskly to Marcus’ office door and knocked. After a moment, she swung the door open, went inside, and shut it behind her.
I sat in bored silence for about two seconds before I got up to scan her desk. Something about Cynthia made me distrust her. Maybe it was her elitist attitude. Maybe it was the way my hair stood on end whenever I got close to her, or maybe, it just seemed odd how much Marcus trusted a new hire. Then again, I’m paranoid. You can’t afford not to be when you’re in law enforcement.
Her desk was organized chaos, full of papers, paperclips, pens, and a few odds and ends, but nothing unusual. I was back in my seat before she came out carrying the silver tray, but she still eyed me suspiciously.
“Can I go in now?” I asked, offering her a Cheshire grin.
“You may,” she said, glancing at her desk.
I went in without knocking and instantly regretted it. Even when not under the influence of his vampire powers, I didn’t find Marcus to be terribly unattractive. I mean, in the business world, looks can sometimes be just the edge a person needs, and since he worked in the health industry, he had a lot of health nuts to impress. Let’s just say it didn’t look bad on him. But there is absolutely nothing sexy about needles. Hot or not, watching a guy jab himself in the stomach with a needle made me wince.
“Come in or go out but don’t stand at the door,” he said, his voice slightly muffled because of the way his head was tucked.
I ducked in and looked away to the screen on the wall, shutting the door behind me. Marcus, who was standing near the center of the room, finished his injection, dropped the capped syringe into a sharps container on the wall, and went about tucking his shirt in.
I stole a one-eyed glance back over. “How often do you have to do that?”
“I don’t question your daily habits, though perhaps I should. You could do with a personal assistant. Cynthia has been invaluable to me. Or maybe you just need a watch.”
“You seem pretty close, you and Cynthia.”
He shrugged his jacket back on and chuckled. “I suppose. She’s been a good investment. My last assistant didn’t have any medical training. Now, what can I do for you? Please be as brief as possible. It’s already going to be a late night.”
“You wanted me to report my results from yesterday night.”
He paused, buttoning his jacket, and stared at me. “I was under the impression it would be…inconsiderate of me to inquire, given recent events. Humans tend to be moodier when their offspring are hurt and their friend has passed.”
“I’m not moody,” I snarled and then stopped to calm back down. “Look, having something to work on and keep my mind busy actually helps. Since I can’t do anything for Hunter, and I can’t stop Sal and Istaqua without shooting myself in the foot, I thought I’d turn my attention to something I could do.”
“And that’s the one thing I admire about you. That and your conviction, even if it is often misguided and misinformed.” He went back to his chair and gestured to the chair across from him. The desk had already been removed but was yet to be replaced. “Would you like to sit? You look like you might fall over any second.”
I considered accepting his invitation as tired as I was, but I didn’t want to give him the illusion that we were friends. “No, thanks. Think I’ll stand.”
“Suit yourself.” He twisted in his seat, turning over the blood bag he had warming in the afternoon sun.
I nodded to the blood bag. “I thought only sanguine vampires needed that?”
“You thought wrong. Human blood is essential for healing. Given how many times I have to stick myself every day, the boost doesn’t hurt.” He rubbed his stomach. “That, and it keeps the sun from making me uncomfortable in the evening. Can I assume, given the events today, that you haven’t made much progress?”
I stepped forward. “Mr. Kelley, how did your wife die?”
His head snapped up, and I recognized the same cool anger in his eyes that I’d seen before. This time, he controlled himself in every respect except for his voice. “Why?”
>
“Because the ghost I saw was a dead ringer for the giant oil painting you have hanging in your den.” He narrowed his eyes at me, so I added, “No pun intended. She’s connected to Mia’s sickness. I just haven’t figured out how.”
“Impossible.” Marcus’ hand cut through the air. “Ghosts only manifest if they have some sort of unfinished business. I assure you that all of Emiko’s affairs were completely tied up. She was careful about it. She didn’t want to leave her family with any burdens other than her burial. Besides, what would she have against Mia?”
“That I don’t know, but I do know it’s her. Or, at the very least, something that looks like her. The form I saw was twisted. She was angry. Marcus, did Emiko have any enemies?”
Marcus’ glare intensified, and I suddenly felt cold. “Find another suspect, Judah. It isn’t Emiko.”
I sighed and rubbed the back of my head. Of all the responses I’d expected to run into, denial wasn’t one of them. The very mention of her name had nearly set him off, and when he spoke it aloud, it almost sounded like it hurt him to do so.
“When Mia fell sick, it was just her and her mother in the den?”
Marcus shrugged. “The four of us had tea.”
“Four?”
“Zoe, Mia, me, and Cynthia,” he explained. “A phone call drew me away to my office before the tea finished. Cynthia sat with them for a moment and then came into the office. It must have been two, three minutes later that Zoe screamed for help. When I came out, Mia was on the floor, jerking. That was the first fit.”
“And she fell unconscious after that?”
“No,” Marcus said, tapping his fingers. “But she was visibly weakened afterward. Refused food and water. In the days that followed, she retreated into herself. I called Han and we spoke over the phone, but he assured me that, if she wasn’t feverish, it was nothing dangerous. By the next morning, she was unresponsive.”
I sank into the chair. Now that he wasn’t agitated, maybe I was out of the woods. “Marcus, have you ever heard of ghost sickness?”
He frowned. “No. I assume it’s an ailment metaphysical in nature?”
“Sort of,” I explained. “Some Native American groups believed that, if a person were to die indoors, the bad parts of that person would become trapped and form a malevolent spirit that would haunt the house. They took their dying outside to avoid it. Today, a lot of experts agree that about ninety-five percent of ghost sickness stems from depression and the natural grieving process. The other five percent of cases remain unexplained.”
“You think that’s what’s wrong with Mia?” Marcus leaned forward.
I sighed and then shrugged. “It doesn’t fit exactly. Usually, it affects family members of the deceased. For the first patient to be an outsider with no relation to the ghost I saw isn’t unheard of, but it is rare. If it is ghost sickness, then the spirit is being directed by somebody and used as a weapon.”
“What about Zoe? Zoe is sick as well.”
“That fits,” I said, nodding. “It’s also common for it to travel through bloodlines, affecting, or even killing whole families. That explains Zoe falling sick too. The problem is, I don’t know how to combat it.”
“What about Saloso? Isn’t he some kind of native?”
I shook my head. Even if Sal knew something, I couldn’t lay this at his feet, not as unstable as he was. “Chanter might have known, but…” I couldn’t finish.
“Maybe Istaqua, then? He’s Navajo. Although he’s about as in touch with his roots as I am with my Irish heritage. Chanter was always the one who knew those things.” He looked down at his hands, and his voice took on a slightly more regretful tone. “Maybe Chanter left some writings or information at his home?”
I stood, and Marcus stood with me. “I have to go out there anyway later to make sure Sal and Valentino don’t kill each other.”
“I’ll see you out,” Marcus offered and gestured to the door.
What I didn’t tell him was that my next stop was going to be Patsy Adams’ to inquire about Emiko. The news that we had spoken would get back to Marcus eventually, probably sooner rather than later, but I needed information. Since he wasn’t willing to give it, I had to go to the next best thing.
Chapter Twenty-One
I got Patsy’s number from Marcus, but I wanted to talk to her in person. If there was one thing I had learned from werewolves, it was that body language added another layer to a conversation. Interviewing her over the phone would put me at a disadvantage if she decided to withhold information. Not that she would. Patsy always seemed eager to talk. I did call to make sure she was home. The sun was still up, though, so of course, she was home.
Real vampires are kind of a mixed bag. The myth that daylight turns them to dust got started in the Victorian Era and had been perpetuated by vampires themselves. That was the case with most vampire myths. For example, they can eat garlic just fine, and don’t have to stop and count rice if you spill it on the floor. They don’t turn into bats or fog, and they don’t burst into flames in the sun. They do suffer from varying degrees of sun sensitivity. Like Marcus had said, feeding regularly reduced the effects of the sun. Being a really old vampire also seemed to help. The younger ones were supposedly sunblind, but I’d never met a vampire child. No creature protects their young as fiercely as the vampire.
When I pulled into the cul-de-sac, Patsy was sitting outside under a shaded swing wearing a black turtleneck, black skirt, sunglasses, and a big, black sun hat. She smiled at me, showing her fangs, and patted the young lady next to her, a doe-eyed young woman with brown hair. The girl got up, folded her hands, and shuffled back toward one of the trailers. When she turned, I saw the fresh marks on her neck. Apparently, my call had interrupted Patsy’s afternoon snack.
“Agent Black! Oh, Agent Black,” she called to me once I got out of the car, drawing out her vowels the second time.
“Hey, Patsy,” I said, shutting my car door. I trudged over and stood in front of her. “Glad you could make time to talk to me.”
She smiled. “Oh, no trouble. No trouble at all. Sit. Would you like something to drink? I’m afraid all I have made up now is orange juice. Keeps the blood sugar up for you humans after a feeding, you know.”
I grimaced. “No, I’m good, and with everything going on, I need to be brief.”
“Of course, sweetie. How’s your boy? I heard about the shooting. Awful thing, that. And Chanter! My but if he wasn’t one of the best of us. The council lost its voice of reason today, I should think.”
“I’m not here about that,” I said, sitting. “And with the questions I have, I need two things from you. First, I need your promise to be honest, since lives are at stake.”
She frowned at the word stake. That was the only vampire legend that was mostly true. Staking vampires didn’t kill them, but it did render them incapacitated until the stake was removed. Aware, awake, but unable to move. It was a poor choice of words, one I didn’t have time to go back and correct.
“The second thing,” I continued, “is that I need for this not to get back to Marcus Kelley for at least twenty-four hours. After that, you’re free to call and report to your master.”
Patsy pressed her fingers to her ample bosom and feigned offense. “My, I’ve no idea what you mean. Report to my master? I’d never!”
“Just so, I need your word.”
“If that’s what you need, honey, then you’ve got it. What’s this all about?”
I folded my hands and leaned forward on my elbows. Patsy didn’t use the swing often. There was a thick patch of crabgrass right out in front of where her feet were and yellow, dying tufts of it all around.
“I was told you knew the late Mrs. Kelley pretty well. Emiko. I was hoping you could tell me something about her death.”
Patsy sighed. “A terrible tragedy, that. They were like a real-life Romeo and Juliet, Marcus and Emiko. Inseparable. Almost laughably in love. Which drew them a lot of unwanted attention.”
“Oh, yes. Love is a very modern concept. At the time, the Stryx were still basically running America. Prior to the Revelation, that was how it was, and they’ve still got a lot of power here. He would have done anything for her and she for him, and they did. Especially the one thing two different vampire lines should never do.” She leaned in and whispered the last sentence like a curse. “They procreated.”
“I know Emiko was an auric vampire,” I said.
“Not just any auric vampire,” Patsy added. “She was the granddaughter of the leader of the Jiangshi at the time. He’d married into the royalty of a rival clan. That just wasn’t done. To the Stryx, they saw only that he’d snubbed tradition and married above his station. They pulled their financial backing from him.”
“He still seems to have done well for himself,” I said with a shrug.
“Since the Revelation, of course. That was his big break, that contract with BSI. A lot of people still think he might have had a hand in engineering our coming out of the coffin. Back in the eighties, he, Emiko, and their two children were destitute. The last thirty years have made him a very rich man, the last ten years in particular. Too bad Emiko didn’t live to see it.”
“I’ve heard Emiko was found decapitated, yet the story I heard also paints it as suicide. What do you know about that?”
She shook her head and stared at the crabgrass. “It was jealousy, or maybe just the power games we play that did it. I remember like it was yesterday. I used to work at the house of the Master in those days, you know. Alto Continelli, the leader of the Stryx, came with his two sons for a visit. Marcus and Emiko graciously put them up at their estate, but the whole thing was tense and just felt off. You could have cut the tension in the air with a dull knife.