Fang and Claw

by Markie Madden

“Well, I was in the shower, you see.” Betsy clutched both hands tight in her lap. “I got a call this morning from work, saying that I didn’t need to come in today.”

  “What is it that you do?” Colton spoke up for the first time.

  “I’m an elementary school substitute teacher. I’ve been covering a history class for another teacher who’d had the flu for a week or so. The school wasn’t sure how long he’d be out, so they would call me each morning to let me know they needed me.”

  “Ok, so you were supposed to be working, as far as you knew, until what time?”

  “I think they called around five this morning. They usually try to call early enough so I have time to get ready. This time I just went back to bed so I could sleep in. I’m not getting any younger.” Lacey smiled. I wish I knew how that feels! But at least I’m not getting any older.

  “And what time did you get up after that?” She jotted some shorthand notes into her tablet.

  “I’d say around seven-thirty, maybe closer to eight. I don’t usually sleep much longer than that when I’m not working. I had a cup of coffee and then went to take a shower. I didn’t have anything planned for the day, since I thought I’d be at work. But I decided to go to the market today instead of tomorrow. Just in case I do get called in for class.”

  “So you were actually in the shower when this happened? Then what, did you hear something?”

  “I heard the sound of the door breaking open. Only I didn’t know what it was at the time. Then I could hear someone moving around in the apartment.”

  “Do you live alone, Betsy?” Colton wanted to know.

  “Yes, I lost my husband three years ago.” A look of grief crossed her face. “My best friend Sharon has a key to the apartment, but I knew she would be at work so it couldn’t have been her. I just wrapped up in my robe and ran for the bedroom door. That’s when I saw him.”

  “Can you describe him, ma’am?” Lacey was concentrating on her notes.

  “Well, I can’t begin to come close to guessing his age, it’s really hard to tell the age of...well, an Immortal.” Her choice of words was an obvious attempt at political correctness and Lacey could tell that Betsy didn’t like to use the more derogatory label of Undead. “I’d say he was about six feet tall, maybe a little taller. Black hair, and he had thick, dark hair across the tops of his hands.”

  “How do you know he was an Immortal?”

  Betsy glanced up at Colton as she answered his question. “Young man, I’ve taught school nearly forty years now, in mixed schools, usually. After all that time, you sort of get a feeling about people quickly. Plus I heard him mutter ‘human’ under his breath as he left.”

  “Did he hurt you?” Concern could be heard in Lacey’s voice.

  “Oh, my goodness no! I took one look at him and slammed the bedroom door. Then I locked it and called 911 right away. I could hear him for just a few minutes after I made the call, thumping and grunting, I imagine while he was doing that.” She waved at the bookcase with the sad pile of books knocked over or fallen off the shelves. “I think I surprised him as much as he did me.”

  “You’re lucky,” Colton commented.

  “He’d probably been watching you for a few days, and saw you going out at a specific time and not returning for a while. Is anything missing?”

  “I don’t usually keep much cash here at the apartment,” Betsy said. “Especially since I wasn’t planning to go marketing until tomorrow. And my purse was still on the table.” She pointed to a cozy breakfast table near the kitchen. “And there’s nothing missing that I know of.”

  A knock at the door interrupted them, and Lacey turned off the tablet’s recorder. Colton gestured the crime scene tech into the apartment.

  “What do we have?” The tech spoke with a distinctive southern accent.

  “Home invasion.” Colton pointed to the door. “Why don’t you get started over there?”

  “Is this really necessary?” Betsy asked.

  “I know it’s inconvenient and messy.” Lacey tried her best to be soothing. “But the more information and evidence we can gather, the better our chances of finding out who did this.”

  “I’ll try to be quick, ma’am,” the tech added. “And I’ll do my best to clean up the dust an’ all.”

  For all the technology available to crime scene techs, fingerprint powder was still the best way to go to gather some types of evidence, fingerprints being only one main type. The powder included nanotechnology, so that it was even possible to use it for lifting shoe tread prints from hard floor surfaces or carpets, and had replaced the need for crime scene techs to carry electrostatic print-lifting and mold-making kits. The powder had evolved significantly, however; it was still referred to as “dusting”, though very little was left behind for cleanup.

  “Oh, sonny,” she waved a hand in the tech’s direction. “I’m not worried about that! But I’m getting old, and this morning’s excitement has left me a little exhausted.”

  “Colton, give him a hand. Maybe between the two of you, we can speed this up.”

  “You sure you don’t want any coffee?” Betsy asked again. “I’m getting some.”

  “No, ma’am, I’m fine.” Lacey followed her into the kitchen for a quick glance around. “Betsy, what’s that smell?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Do you have a scented candle or an oil warmer in the apartment, anything like that?”

  “Not anymore.” Betsy filled a coffee mug from a mini pot on the counter. “I used to, a couple years ago. I broke it when I tried to replace the light bulb in it.”

  “Excuse me for a moment.” Lacey returned to Colton in the living room.

  “What’s up?”

  “Can you smell that?” Lacey asked in quiet tones meant for his ears alone.

  His sensitive nose twitched for several moments. “I don’t really...wait a minute.” He began walking around the edge of the living room until he was almost at the doorway separating the room from the kitchen. “It’s the strongest right here.” He bent down on one knee, examining the polished hardwood surface and running gloved hands over the rectangular carpet runner in the main walking area.

  “What is it?” Lacey was hoping his greater sense of smell would identify something that she couldn’t quite pinpoint.

  “It smells like...” He trailed off, nose twitching furiously, eyes glazed over as he tried to translate the scent into something she might be able to understand. “It almost smells like pumpkin pie.”

  “Pumpkin pie?” Lacey was baffled. “Why would it smell like that in here?” Colton shrugged.

  Lacey caught the other woman at the doorway to the kitchen. “Mrs. Smith, do you bake?”

  “Oh, no dearie, I haven’t done that in years! We used to have big family gatherings over the holidays, but after Dean passed away, the kids moved out to California, so I haven’t really done much baking. Hard to do for just one.”

  “Do you use pumpkin pie spice?”

  “I’m allergic to pumpkin,” Betsy said immediately. “Even just the smell of it is enough to make me start sneezing.”

  Lacey exchanged glances with Colton. So, it’s obviously not strong enough for a human to smell, which means it’s either very weak or has had time to dissipate, or she certainly would have noticed it. What does that mean? She made a quick note to herself in her tablet, to check with the lab on different kinds of scents, in particular those reported to be common in human descriptions of the different species of Undead. Maybe one of the olfactory techs can narrow it down.

  The crime scene tech had moved to the book case along the wall, and Colton was picking up the couch cushions and pillows to look for any evidence there might have been underneath them. She watched him examine both sides of each cushion, and then, to her amusement, replace them with care on the couch where they would have been before the intruder had tossed them to the floor. Gallantry from a Wolf? She thought. Or is he just well-trained?

  “I’m not findin
g much else here.” The tech’s frustration was evident from his voice. “I was hoping maybe one of the books had given him a little paper cut, something.”

  “I don’t see anything else, either,” Colton said. “Get that stuff to the lab.” He referred to the fingerprint and possible shoe print evidence the tech had pulled from the doorknob and the outside of the door.

  “Sure thing, boss. Get it right in, see what we can narrow down for you.”

  Colton walked the tech to the door as Lacey turned to Betsy. “Mrs. Smith, here’s my card. If you think of anything more, or need anything, anything at all, you let me know. Do you have a place you can stay until your door gets repaired?”

  “I already called the super about it. He said to let him know the minute you left and he’ll take care of it for me. I’ve been here a long time, and he’s good to me. He does most minor repairs himself, but he’s not licensed for bigger jobs, like the elevator. He’s just waiting for next quarter’s budget to clear and he’ll get someone out to fix that, too. He tries.”

  “Here’s my card too, Mrs. Smith.” Colton handed her a business card. “You call on me if you need anything.”

  “We’re sorry for the trouble ma’am, and we’ll do our best to catch this guy. I’ll be in touch.”

  As they were making their way down the stairwell, Lacey commented, “You seemed awful nice to her.”

  “What?” He seemed startled. “Well, she kind of reminded me of my mother.” His voice sounded sheepish. “And if my mother ever found out I left that nice lady’s couch cushions laying on the floor when I could have just as easily put them back where they belonged, she’d skin my hide!”

  “A big strapping Wolf like yourself is afraid of your mother?” She asked this with a hint of a taunting tone.

  “She raised the eight of us all by herself,” Colton retorted. “So you’re damned right I am!”

  A genuine burst of delighted laughter escaped from Lacey before she could stop it. The cheery sound reverberated up and down the stairwell.

  5

  “Act quickly, think slowly.” ~~Greek Proverb

  Lacey paced the floor in the dim light of her kitchen, listening to the barely-discernible whirring sound made by the microwave as it warmed her meal. The case was nagging her, the smell of cinnamon or pumpkin pie spice again triggering her memory, but only partly. In frustration, she leaned over the marble counter top, arms crossed, elbows resting on the cool stone. She never heard the soft ping from the microwave.

  ~~She glanced at Aegon, fear causing all the fine hairs on her arms and neck to stand on end. She could hear the yips and howls of the pack as they surrounded the stone structure. It was just a matter of time before they found a way in. There were just the four of them, five if you counted young Phemius, but he was still in the throes of the ‘Change’ and she knew they couldn’t count on him. She wasn’t sure where Abana had gotten off to, and Merope was cowering in the corner. She wouldn’t be much help in a fight.

  The howling outside grew louder, and she could hear pounding on the sturdy wooden door. Aegon, his back to her, was doing something at the slim table in the corner of the room. He was muttering under his breath in a language that sounded like Latin, but his voice was so quiet that even her sharp ears couldn’t make out any of the words. Lacey unsheathed her dagger with a soft hiss, and held it in her hand as she’d been taught, every fiber in her being tensed and ready for battle.

  A small fire whooshed in front of Aegon and he stepped back. The smell of ginger, cinnamon, and nutmeg tickled her nose, but when she looked questioningly at Aegon, he was gone. She was alone in the room, the music of Wolf song in her ears, the pounding at the door reminding her of her predicament. Then, all went suddenly dark and silent.~~

  With a gasp, she looked up, finding herself alone in her kitchen, the timer on the microwave blinking, blinking, as if to remind her of where she was. The house was silent. Damn these memories! She thought, furious. She knew what a psychologist would say: repressed memories, trauma, PTSD. Even though she had been a Vampire for hundreds of years now, she’d once been human, and still had a human’s brain, complete with all the idiosyncrasies that came along with it. Including all the weaknesses of the human mind.

  But, had she chosen to seek help, conventional medical therapies wouldn’t have done her any good. Since the virus that caused the ‘Change’ altered the human biochemistry, most drugs that were produced for human use wouldn’t metabolize properly in the system of a Vampire, and were therefore rendered useless. The rare exceptions to this were painkillers, sedatives, and illicit drugs.

  Science still had not worked out why these certain types of drugs worked on the system of a Vampire. Then again, drug manufacturing companies weren’t too inclined to conduct research into drugs for most species of Undead; since they didn’t age and deteriorate as humans did, there wasn’t a lot of money to be made in the creation of medications for them.

  Before retrieving her dinner from the microwave, she went to the sink and dabbed cold water onto her face. It was a habit she retained from her human life, which did nothing at all for her Vampire body, but somehow always made her mind feel more composed. Drying her skin with a soft towel hanging near the sink, she took the blood packet from the microwave and poured it into the waiting glass. It was already starting to lose its temperature; blood didn’t retain heat for very long, but she knew from experience that reheating it was unwise. So, she gulped it down like medicine, or an alcoholic bolting his favorite spirit.

  To rid herself of the taste of her lukewarm blood, she pulled a glass of wine from the refrigerator along with a plate of sharp cheddar cut into bite-sized squares. Her physiology was set up so that she could eat all the same foods she had enjoyed when she’d been human, but the blood was what truly sustained her. It was to her like the element iodine was to a human, necessary to the body in certain amounts. This was one of the reasons that Vampires had been able to hide in plain sight among humans for so many centuries, before the Undead had become accepted by human society.

  She carried her snack into the living room, where she cozied up in her favorite place on the couch, and turned on the huge television screen. She nibbled on cheese, sipped on wine, all while idly flipping through the channels and finding nothing of interest. She knew she should sleep while she had the chance to. Though her body no longer needed the physical rest, her mind still needed the break from the day, a time to relax and to unwind with nothing needing to be done. But since her biochemical physiology didn’t work like a human’s anymore, she didn’t get the feeling of being tired or sleepy, and had to motivate herself to get into bed.

  Often, this was after several hours of flipping through mindless infomercials on TV. Why the channel providers insisted on putting that pointless programming on just because it was the middle of the night, she didn’t know. But on this night, she a found a great movie just beginning to play on one of her favorite channels. She’d already seen it, of course, but enjoyed watching it over again. So, she toed off her boots, setting them carefully on the floor next to the couch, and settled in to the luxurious cushions, placing her wine within easy reach.

  The movie hadn’t even approached the good part yet when her cell phone rang with a soft sound. Not bothering to curse, she set aside her half-empty wine glass, answering with one hand.

  “Anderson.” After listening to the caller for a moment, she reached for the tablet she had placed on the coffee table. “Yeah, yeah, I got it. No, that’s okay, I’ll call him. No problem. Thanks.”

  Lovely, she thought. Now I get to see what it’s like to wake up a Wolf! Before she could lose her nerve and call Dispatch back, she flipped through her contacts until she found Colton’s number. It rang six or seven times.

  “What?” His voice was more growl than human.

  “Caught a case.” She didn’t let on how much his growl had startled her.

  “What?” This time he seemed more confused than anything. “Dispatch?”


  “No, it’s Anderson.”

  “Oh. Oh, geez.” She heard noises like the sound of sheets rubbing against skin. “Sorry, I guess I haven’t added you to my caller ID yet. I didn’t recognize your number.”

  It seemed that he was trying to be contrite, so she answered in the same way. “It’s okay. I must have startled you at this hour, waking you up.”

  “Yeah, yeah, it’s okay though. Where we headed?” She gave him the address, amused because her sensitive ears could hear him scrawling notes on a pad. Then, she could almost see him swipe a hand across his face. “Well, give me like, fifteen or so?”

  She agreed, then slipped the phone into her pocket. This would leave her enough time to change clothes and still make it to the scene before him. She jogged up the curving staircase, taking the steps two at a time, trailing her hand along the smooth, polished banister. In less than eight minutes, she was in her car and speeding down her driveway.

  The call was to a bar on the outskirts of Dallas, on the opposite end of the suburbs from her home. But at just before 3AM, the highways were almost empty, and she had no trouble getting to the scene. The pub was called O’Malley’s Place. Though last call should have already come and gone, the parking area in the front was still full. Several obvious patrons were milling about in the parking lot, as if to catch a glimpse of the violence that had just happened there. An ambulance was pulling away from the curb.

  “Damn it!” She cursed, wondering if she was going to have to chase the ambulance to the hospital in order to interview her victim. She pulled a quick U-turn in the middle of the street and zipped her car into the space vacated by the ambulance. She’d interview those inside the tavern, and give Colton the chance to meet up with her. Then, maybe she could send him to do the dirty work at the hospital.

  She badged a uniform standing guard at the door, and ducked inside. The bar would have been cozy, if not for the obvious signs of a disturbance. Several round tables were knocked on their sides, and bar stools were scattered across what was likely a dance floor. The numerous televisions scattered around the place were all tuned to a 24 hour sports channel, but the volume had been muted. The pub smelled of liquor, beer, and peanuts. Broken glass, bits of popcorn and pretzels, and sudsy liquid littered the floor in front of the long bar top. A lone man stood behind the bar, wiping the polished wood with a cloth.