Dangerous Dance

by Samantha Cayto

Besides Quinn, the everyone else Alex addressed included Emil. The cook had dismissed the rest of the kitchen staff and had joined them at the table with his own plate of food. Kitty, too, was there because she’d been supportive of Alex and the others for a few years now. There was nothing about them that she wasn’t privy to. And lastly, Logan huddled at the far end, removed in an emotional way from the rest of the crowd except Emil, whom she seemed to like.

  The veteran was mostly living onsite, although she took off when she wanted—kind of like a feral cat who was willing to pretend to be domesticated when she wanted. Given how she’d saved Quinn and Mackie with amazing courage when she hadn’t needed to, everyone was willing to cut her in on the meeting. Whether she cared enough to be a part of whatever they were going to do was another matter. Her default and constant expression was one of distrust.

  Harry rubbed his eyes. “Well, as I said, I know of no reason why a human’s pupils would mimic our mood changes. It’s never happened that I know of. Certainly Lucien’s remain the same brown that they’ve always been.”

  The man took a long gulp of coffee. “And, before you ask, yes, he’s been angry enough for it to happen.” He chuckled. “Definitely so. I do seem to have a penchant for getting under his skin, despite my efforts to the contrary. No human would have enough patience for me.”

  Mackie got the joke. Harry’s human husband was the epitome of Zen-like calm. Although Mackie didn’t know the man well, he’d always liked him and admired how well he weathered being among the strong impulses of his family by marriage.

  “Demi’s haven’t changed either, for that matter,” Harry continued. “Of course, he’s not fully mature, so I can’t say for certainty whether it will or won’t happen with a hybrid.”

  Mackie concentrated on eating and listening. He really had nothing useful to add and was happy to be included in the meeting instead of being sent off. He tried to hide his automatic frown, as well, at any mention of the brat that was Demi. If men thought Mackie was too full of himself, they hadn’t met Demi. He was a constant trial to everyone, although knowing as he did now that the boy was living in-between worlds, Mackie was inclined to cut him some slack. It couldn’t be easy navigating life on Earth as a half-alien. And, while Mackie’s understanding of this alien race was slim, he did know now that Demi was a lot older than he looked. There was a weird interaction of his mixed blood that both sped up his maturity and slowed it down, depending on which race you viewed it as. It was like he was living out adolescence for decades. A few years of that drove most humans a little crazy. How much worse must it be to live with it for longer?

  “Have we ever known of a half-breed to favor human hair and skin coloring?” Val asked. He was plowing through a pile of food that made Mackie’s plate appear to be a dainty snack.

  Harry looked down his nose at Val. “I prefer to use the term ‘hybrid’. ‘Half-breed’ is demeaning.”

  Val cocked an eyebrow. “You think so? Have you ever asked your kid if he likes being referred to as if he’s some kind of fuel-efficient car?”

  Harry looked as if he was about to launch into a counter-attack when Alex intervened. “Gentlemen, please. We’re veering off track. While it’s possible that Quinn and Mackie were mistaken in what they saw, we must operate on the assumption that they weren’t.”

  “His eyes were Nancy Reagan red!” Mackie interjected before good sense could stop him. If he’d dared to do something like that in his birth home, he would have earned himself a slap at best, a beating at worst. No, not worst. There had been worse done to him than a hiding, but he tried not to think about that.

  In any event, no one here cuffed him or even berated him for his outburst. Instead, Emil smiled at him in encouragement and Alex nodded respectfully. Val simply scowled, but that didn’t count. It was one of the man’s default expressions, along with grim.

  “We believe you, dear boy,” Alex soothed. “We simply have to keep an open mind. The implication of all of this is disturbing.”

  “Duncan may have more for us tomorrow,” Val added.

  Alex nodded. “I’m gratified to hear that he’s keeping his word about helping us. We’ve never had a cop on our side before, have we?”

  “There was that Metropolitan Police Officer who helped us when one of Dracul’s whelps cut up those women,” Emil replied.

  “Oh, yes. I suppose that does count, although the poor man died very quickly for his trouble. We didn’t do well by him at all.”

  “What women?” Mackie couldn’t help asking. “And, do you mean this Dracul dude has children?”

  “Two sons. Twins.” It was Val who answered. “He turned a Welsh boy long ago.”

  Mackie made a face. “You mean a human gave birth to them, like Lucien did Demi?”

  During Mackie’s long convalescence, Quinn had told him everything he knew about these vampires who were really aliens. The idea of a human male being able to become pregnant and give birth blew Mackie’s mind, his relationship with Lucien and Demi notwithstanding. It was still easier to believe that Demi was adopted or that Lucien was really transgender, even though he knew neither of those things were true.

  Stranger still was that Quinn was seriously considering allowing Alex to ‘turn’ him by feeding Quinn the alien’s blood. It wouldn’t happen right away. It might take years for Quinn’s body to undergo the transformation that would allow him to conceive and carry a baby to term. How would that even feel, to be both male and female at the same time? Then, having someone grow and wiggle around inside you? Mackie put a palm to his stomach at the very thought of it.

  Val’s gaze took in the movement before his lips thinned. “Yes. He managed to survive it, the way Lucien did.”

  There was a sudden stillness among the aliens that weirded Mackie out. Val’s expression went extra grim and even laid-back Emil focused on his food as if it contained the secrets of the world. Mackie wanted to ask what was wrong, but instinct had him holding back for once. Instead, he returned to his first question. “So what was up with the women who got hurt?”

  Val speared a forkful of eggs before answering. “You’ve heard of Jack the Ripper?”

  It took a second for the meaning of his answer to sink in. “Shut up! You’re telling me that the Ripper was an alien?”

  “Half-breed.”

  “Hybrid,” Harry interjected. “We put a stop to him, sent him whimpering home to Daddy’s castle in Wales with his figurative tail between his legs.”

  Sitting back, Mackie tried to absorb the news. “So, just how much of human history are you guys tangled up with?”

  He glanced at Quinn, who was equally open-mouthed at the news. Apparently pillow talk between him and Alex hadn’t gotten very far yet. Kitty looked unimpressed, probably because she knew it already. Logan was studiously eating and looked to be not quite plugged into the conversation at all.

  It was Val who answered. “Not so much. We wouldn’t be at all if not for Dracul always trying to stir the pot. Fucker,” he added, his words swallowed by his mug of coffee.

  Mackie scraped his teeth along his lip. “But, if you know where he hides out, why don’t you take the fight to him? You know, attack the castle or whatever.”

  “We have considered it,” Val replied, staring at his coffee. “We’ve also tried on numerous occasions to neutralize him and his men by stealth. It hasn’t always ended as it did with Adrien.” He shook his head. “We are evenly matched in number and the outcome of a full-on assault would be uncertain.”

  He switched his gaze to Mackie. “If we were to lose, there would be nothing to stop him from taking over this world and enslaving your people. He would slaughter millions purely for his own perverse amusement.”

  Mackie blinked at that stark appraisal. “Oh.” It was hard to believe that the men sitting around him could ever be vulnerable. Hearing Val admitting he could lose a fight made Mackie appreciate more what deep shit they were all in.

  “Well,” Alex said, “there’s no point i
n dwelling on the past or our lack of invincibility. We will continue to parry Dracul’s thrusts as best we can. In the meantime, there’s nothing for us to do until we hear back from Duncan. We are assuming this is tied to Dracul, but that was only a theory at this point. We must not get ahead of ourselves. It would please him greatly to know he’s always on our minds.”

  Harry hummed in agreement. “You are right, of course, sir. In this case, however, I have to believe there’s some connection with our blood. It’s the only thing that makes sense. There will be an autopsy, I assume, given the circumstances. I wish I could be in on that. So much can be learned from that, more perhaps than we want the humans to know. It all depends on whether we are dealing with a hybrid or not.”

  There was a pointed silence for a few seconds in which Mackie could tell the aliens were pondering issues that the humans in the room weren’t privy to.

  “I’m with Harry on this, sir,” Emil said around his mouthful of food before Mackie could work up the courage to ask questions. “It’s got Dracul’s fingerprints on it. He’s involved somehow.”

  “You think?” Val shook his head. “The guy’s a tricky fucker. Spectacular murders didn’t work, so now he’s onto something else, something to screw us with…again.”

  Alex sighed. “Yes, yes, gentlemen. Odds are it’s Dracul behind whatever this is. I simply caution against precipitous conclusions. Working everyone up into a frenzy of worry won’t help.” He punctuated his caution by gesturing around the room with his fork.

  Mackie got it. Alex didn’t want to upset Quinn or any of the other humans in the room. While he appreciated the effort to shield him from worry, that ship had sailed a few months ago for everyone except Kitty. Once he’d actually found a monster under his bed, he couldn’t help but keep looking for it night after night. A shudder ran through him.

  Val’s hawk-like gaze pierced him. He must have seen Mackie’s moment of fear. The look somehow gave Mackie a brief sense of security.

  “We could simply let it go,” Val said to Alex. “He’s not attacking us directly, the way he did before.”

  Alex tsked. “We’ve had this conversation before, Val. We can’t leave him unchecked. He’s not like a human child who will give up his tantrum simply because he’s being ignored. He will keep poking and prodding until he gets a reaction. And,” he added, cupping Quinn’s face and staring adoringly at him, “we have soft spots again that he won’t hesitate to exploit.”

  The alien’s words hit Mackie hard, making it difficult to swallow his food. Alex would fight to protect Quinn because he loved the boy. As much as the family in general was keeping him safe, though, no one was emotionally invested in it. He was no different than Logan or even the London prostitutes that the Ripper had preyed on. The Stelalux men had a strong code of honor and that’s what drove them to intervene where humans were concerned. There was nothing personal in it, simply a chore done out of duty and a strong moral sense of what was right.

  And thank God for it. Still…it would be nice to matter to someone. Just as he had the thought, Val’s gaze swung on him again. The guy had beautiful eyes, Elizabeth Taylor violet ones. Mackie had always loved looking into them, not that he had ever been able tell what Val was thinking. He still couldn’t. All he knew was that it was hard to look away. He dropped into the deep pools of color and got instantly lost—his food forgotten, the others around the table so many buzzing insects to his ears. A sense of calm descended over him, a blissful trip into a kind of subspace without Val having to lift a finger to put him there. That was the strength of the man. Regardless of how mad Mackie got at him, that power was a magnet Mackie couldn’t break free from.

  Not now, and he feared not ever.

  Chapter Three

  “This is kind of a long shot, don’t you think?”

  Sergeant Trey Duncan gave his partner a bleary-eyed side glance. After the alien bouncer’s middle-of-the-night call, sleep had proven elusive. It had only been a few months since the horrible night he’d learned that aliens did walk the earth and were waging a vicious war with humans suffering as collateral damage. Enough time had passed, however, that he’d almost convinced himself that he’d imagined the whole thing. Almost.

  Of course he hadn’t. No amount of desperate efforts to rid his mind of the memories had worked. He could still see the epic battle waged near the water in which gravity and other natural laws had been defied and with the loser literally turned to dust. The best he’d managed was to bury the information deep inside his brain while living his normal life of putting away human monsters. Those, he could live with. He was good at his job. Although there was no end to the horror of what humans did to other humans, at least he was confident in his ability to stem the tide. He had no such certainty when it came to dealing with aliens. And now the fuckers might be back at it, starting a new litter of dead human bodies.

  He slurped a mouthful of scalding coffee before answering. “What have we got to lose, Karl? We’ve been chasing our tails on this latest case. Given that we know Murphy was into drugs and this poor bastard who took a header at Copley seemed hopped up on something…” He shrugged. “Could be a lead. Got any better ideas of how to spend our morning?” he asked as he opened the doors to the morgue.

  Karl sighed. “Guess not. I saw the footage from last night—the uncut Internet one.”

  “What was your impression?” Trey kept his tone casual, waiting to hear from his partner what he’d seen.

  “The guy was tweaking badly, that’s for damn sure. Strong with it, too, and feeling no pain, probably not even when he hit the ground.”

  “Did he strike you as being maybe homeless?”

  “Yeah, maybe. Hard to say with those dreadlocks. I mean, it could be he did it on purpose, or it could be the effect of not washing or combing it.”

  Trey silently agreed. That kind of deliberate cultural appropriation by white guys never made sense to him. He’d always liked keeping his own somewhat kinky hair cropped close. He ran a hand over his head and remembered he needed to get a tune-up. “The coroner will be able to tell us what kind of shape he was in.”

  Pushing the elevator button, Trey fiddled with his coffee before deciding to get to the point, which had nothing to do with hair or homelessness. “Weird about his eyes, though, huh?”

  Karl snapped his fingers just as the doors opened. “Right. Now that you mention it, his eyes did look kind of red. Maybe that was a trick of the light.”

  They got inside and Trey pushed for their floor. “I thought of that, but it also could have been an effect of the drug.”

  “Pot will do it, but stoners don’t usually go nuts like that. Coke, maybe.”

  Hearing his partner’s logical explanations made Trey feel a little better. Perhaps all of this was nothing more than a cokehead thinking he could fly. The coroner would probably have little to tell them, given how long toxicology took, except that if the guy had been a long-term drug user, there could be other possible physical signs of it. Just because the club-owning aliens thought this was about them didn’t mean it was.

  The elevator doors opened, and they found themselves running smack up against two vice detectives. Trey and Karl pulled up short as there was no way into the autopsy room except through the two women who eyed them with suspicion.

  Trey went for a little charm, even though he knew when it came to women, in particular, he had none. “Bronner and Diaz, how’s it going?”

  Bronner gave him a narrow-eyed assessing look. “What are you doing here, Duncan? The guy on the slab wasn’t murdered.”

  “We don’t know that yet. In fact, Karl and I are investigating Brian Murphy’s death. Given that he was known to run drugs, we thought there might be a connection.”

  Diaz snorted. “That’s it? You working on a hunch or something, ’cause I can’t see how those dots connect at all.”

  Trey gave the woman a tight smile. “Indulge me. We’re bone dry on this one and you never know.” He gave her a sheepish s
mile, like he was desperate for any lead, no matter how slim.

  “Fine,” Bronner replied. “Let’s all go see what Almadeo’s got. He told us to chill for a few minutes while he did something inclined to splatter.”

  They all trooped down the hall and into the cold, sterile world where doctors practiced a bedside manner that never failed to please their non-judgmental ‘patients’. Never a pleasant place, it was particularly grotesque when the victim was as banged up as this one. Trey tried not to look too closely.

  “What have you got for us?” Bronner asked.

  Almadeo looked up and over the DB at them. If he was surprised by the detectives doubling in number since he’d last seen them, he didn’t show it. “I’m about done here.” He snapped off his gloves as he spoke and walked away from the table. “I’ve taken samples for a tox screen, but you know those results can take weeks.”

  Trey couldn’t help stepping up and possibly on the vice cops’ toes. “Based on observation, can you make an educated guess?”

  Almadeo raised his eyebrows. “Pressing for conclusions before I’m ready, as usual, Duncan?” The coroner sniffed. “I can say that he was on something. I’m not sure what.”

  Diaz frowned at Trey before saying, “What makes you think so?”

  “For one thing, he took a swan dive off a balcony after calling himself a superhero. We in the medical profession would typically view that as an indication that someone was under the influence of a drug. For another, his blood was like sludge, very much like you’d see after a long-term heroin addiction.” The man furrowed his brows. “Although his euphoric mood, manic activity and unusual strength points to meth or bath salts.”

  He shrugged. “Like I said, the tox report will tell us for sure. Besides that, his organs showed significant damage. Normally with such a physically traumatic death I wouldn’t find that surprising, except his brain was in the same condition, even the parts where the skull was reasonably intact. It looks to me as if everything suffered on a cellular level, although I know of no drug that does that…yet,” he emphasized.