Something moved in the dark corner. She wiped her eyes and stared. Ambient light spilled through the window but stopped short of the shadowed corners. Nothing stirred. There were no sounds but those from the inmates further down the hall. She stood and walked to the window for some fresh air—freezing mid-stride.
Someone is here.
She took a step back, heart jumping in her throat, fists clenched. Her eyes shifted back and forth. Oh, how she hated the dark. Her mind tried desperately to balance logic with the flood of adrenaline. She closed her eyes, remembering what the doctors had taught her to calm her nerves.
Nothing is there. You have an overactive imagination is all. Nothing is there.
“I’m alone in a cell,” she said. “All by myself, surrounded by iron and stone and correctional officers. No imaginary beings, no monsters and certainly not him.”
Her breathing steadied, and she took one long, deep breath before she opened her eyes into slits. Her gaze shifted to the same black corner.
Are those eyes staring back at me?
Panic cascaded through her mind, her breathing turned to gasps, her mouth opened to scream. A shadow rushed from the darkness, and a thin, cold hand clamped her mouth shut. A beautiful, pale woman with eyes like living embers stared into her own terrified gaze.
My judgment awaits.
But then a curious thing happened. The stranger held a slim finger to her lips, squinted, nodded.
“No need to call out. I’m not here to harm you,” she whispered. “Understand?”
Coyle shifted her gaze, studying the creature who was asking for understanding. She shook like a frightened rabbit in the stranger’s powerful, iron grip. But, if the woman wanted her dead, she would have done it already. Right?
Coyle nodded, and the woman slowly lifted her hand away. They stepped away from each other, Coyle to the wall at her back, the stranger to the far side, allowing Coyle to study her.
A simple black dress covered her lithe frame. She was taller than Coyle and stood with the posture and build of a prima ballerina. Straight locks of short, dark hair framed a heart-shaped face. Her smile was at once both charming and disturbing. Her glowing amber eyes were full of savagery, cunning intelligence and focused will. A chill crept down Coyle’s back, and she crossed her arms.
Is this my overactive imagination coming to fruition in the guise of a mysterious woman?
“Before we make standard introductions, I must confess I’m still in wonder at your attention to detail,” Fang said. “How old am I, and where am I from?”
Coyle said nothing, still trying to decide what was happening. Maybe if she played along, the aberration would dissolve and she would shake herself awake. She gave the woman a glance before answering.
“Twenty-three, and your accent is southeast England. If I had to guess, you were raised near Buckinghamshire.”
“I’m a bit older than that.”
“Now to more important questions. If you’re real, how did you get in here?”
“I can shift into a Shade. Vapor and shadow. It makes getting to my targets much easier.”
“What are you?”
“That’s a question I ask myself from time to time,” she said. “I’m not entirely sure you would believe the answer.”
The burning eyes. The ability to morph into a phantom shroud. Unnatural strength. All of it made horrible sense, but she didn’t want to believe any of it.
“You’re a vampire,” Coyle said.
“You are quick, I’ll give you that. But I do have a name. Why don’t we start with the introductions?” she asked, and smiled. “Hello, my name is Fang.”
“Fang.” Coyle raised trembling fingers to her lips and immediately shifted her hands to her throat.
“You’re not my type,” Fang said.
“What are you doing here?” Coyle asked. She wiped her damp palms together, trying to stay afloat between madness and curiosity. What in the world is a vampire doing in my cell? A vampire who doesn’t want to harm me?
Fang sat on the bench and clasped her hands together between her knees. She looked out the window and sighed, her eyes glimmering like hot coals as she stared at the stars.
“I need your help finding something.”
That’s not what I expected.
Coyle took a deep breath, letting out her nerves. “Your honesty is refreshing,” she said. “But, I really have to ask, why me? I’m not a detective. I’m not good for anything.” She motioned to the stained walls.
“Your value is based on your environment?” Fang squinted.
Coyle looked at the floor.
Fang continued.
“I need to find a dangerous book called The Curse of Shadows. It was written by the fae thousands of years ago. It’s a book that, if used correctly, can change people into creatures or something worse. The scientists couldn’t find it, but that didn’t stop them from making me into this. They shaped me into their version of a nightmare: a vampire with military enhancements, complete with the ability to kill me when necessary.”
“Sounds as if you’ve been through a lot. It also sounds like you need a librarian or antiquities dealer to find this book.”
“It was stolen by two dangerous men, Trevin and Moreci. I killed Trevin six months ago, but Moreci is still out there somewhere, and he’s going to use the book to kill hundreds of thousands of people.”
“How... how can a book kill that many people?”
“There’s a lot more going on in the world besides what you see on constable patrol.”
“I don’t like the way this sounds. We should go to the authorities. Maybe the government has resources.”
“I killed my way out of a special weapons facility that used to belong to a group calling themselves the Templars of the Unseen Path. They’re the ones who shaped me for their clandestine operations. Besides, you know none of those options will work. Look at me. Look at what I am, Coyle.”
“Wait. You killed Trevin?” Coyle’s fingers combed through her hair. “I solved that case fifteen days ago.” She raised her hands in disbelief. “And here I am. Stuck in the same cell with the very murderer whose work I was tasked to decipher. Unbelievable.”
Coyle paced. She was left with two options: help a vampire find a dangerous book, or tell her to leave. And everything in her liked the second option. She had always considered herself intelligent, despite her imagination and fear of the dark. She wasn’t prone to incredulity or tall tales, and this tale was as tall as Eiffel’s new Tower.
“Do you understand how... how mad all this sounds?” Coyle asked. She twisted a lock of hair around her finger. “And I’m supposed to believe a secret organization—Templars—have been creating your ilk for clandestine operations. The entire affair is quite unbelievable. How many men did you kill the night of your escape?” Coyle asked.
“I don’t like the tone of your voice.”
“Too accusatory?”
“Too self-righteous.”
“I am a God-fearing woman listening to the ravings of a lunatic or a vampire, which I almost can’t believe. I follow the law and adhere to our state’s mandates of protecting lives and property.”
Fang motioned to the cell. “And look where it’s brought you.”
“That’s beside the point.”
“You have trouble keeping the point, don’t you? The point is, Constable Coyle—or rather former Constable,” Fang said, tilting her head—“that you wanted to solve riddles by becoming a detective. You uncovered the clues to my work—”
“Your murder.”
“—and now you sit in a charming cell, awaiting judgment. Here I am, offering you a dandy of a case. And it’s one of a kind, I promise you that.”
“And why would I trust a vampire?”
“Ah, so you’re a believer, then?”
Coyle stomped her foot, hands on her hips. “You’re quite vexing.”
“Most vampires are.”
A long silence passed as they stared at
each other. Each of their wills was as strong as the bars that surrounded them, and yet Coyle couldn’t deny she was indeed interested. A missing book of ancient curses wasn’t something to pass up. And she did appreciate the modicum of trust and respect she’d established with this creature.
Only a modicum.
“Hold on. Why would a vampire want to save innocents?”
The vampire’s face softened before answering. “Not all of me is a murderer.”
“You’re the epitome of disarray.”
“You don’t know the half of it.” Fang snapped to attention and stood, gliding to the window.
“What is it?”
What would make a vampire distressed? Coyle wondered. Electric lights glowed through windows in the distance. A lone dirigible passed through the starlit sky. But no unusual noises. What was wrong?
“Men are coming,” Fang said. “Two of them.” She closed her eyes and held her breath before continuing. “They’re going to take you.”
“Who? What men? Take me where?”
“They have good intentions. They want you to find the book, too. Curious.” She turned to Coyle. “I wonder if they’re Templars.”
“I thought the Templars are—evil?”
“It’s complicated. Listen, I can’t go with you for obvious reasons. But I’ll keep in touch.”
Darkness enshrouded Fang as a rusty door opened and heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. The mysterious visitor vanished, and Coyle was left with more questions that she couldn’t possibly answer by herself.
They’re going to take you.
All of this was madness. Yet, Coyle stepped away from the window, wrapped her thin, light-brown hair up in a bun and swept her bangs out of her face. She patted her dingy dress as best she could. She had to put on a new face. The face of someone grateful and excited to be taken away from here.
Do I actually believe this vampire? Is she telling the truth? Does that mean she’s telling me the truth about everything?
She shook her head and looked up. A guard led two gentlemen to her cell. She examined them as the guard worked the lock. They were dressed the same: thick, black overcoats with dark-gray suits and expensive shoes. Simple gold rings bearing a Templars cross around their index fingers.
She stood away from the iron door and waited with her hands behind her back. The handsome one with the strong jaw and thin mustache spoke first.
“Constable Coyle,” he said. “I am Detective Louis Vonteg, and this is Detective Kade Duone. We’re here to grant you an early pardon from your sentence.”
“My good sirs,” she said. “I truly appreciate being released sooner than expected! What a gracious and wonderful surprise.” She clasped her hands together and smiled. She knew what they wanted to see and gave it in earnest.
“We’ll have a more frank discussion on the way to our destination.” He turned to the guard. “Does she have any belongings?”
“No, sir,” the guard answered. “Just what she’s wearing.” The men glanced at each other.
“Constable Coyle, you were admitted to this cell with no clean clothes to wear for...”
“Fifteen days, nine hours and a few minutes, but who’s counting?” She beamed.
Chapter 5
The Treece mansion
Sausalito
The soft chime of midnight welcomed Coyle as she was escorted to her suite. The mansion was the complete opposite of her hard-walled cell in every way. Beautiful green-and-gold paper covered the walls. Custom engraved wood graced the ceiling. Brass and crystal sconces held electric-lighted lamps. Hand-carved furniture rested on rare carpets. And her room was just as marvelous.
Cream-colored silk sheets and down pillows promised a good night’s rest. A full private bathroom with a steaming tub waited close by. Burning candles filled the room with lavender and rose oil. Steamed towels sat in a covered bin. A tray of chocolates rested on a table, waiting to be eaten. Every square foot contained a detail Coyle had never experienced. And there, by the bedside, were two wonderful tokens: a violin case and a pipe next to a small container of tobacco.
She opened the case and gasped. A Stradivarius. She inspected the tiny writing inside and beamed. 1719! She set it down gingerly. She was in no condition to touch such a remarkable object.
She slipped out of her dingy clothes and boots and sank into the tub. Her overwrought senses welcomed the heat, scented oils and fizzy bubbles. She took a deep breath and eased underwater, letting her body slide down where it was completely quiet. Safe.
Despite the comfort, she couldn’t help but think about the past couple of weeks. She was nagged by her failure. All her work, snatched out of her hands. Or did she release it with a clenched fist?
She breathed out and forced herself to think of her surroundings, wondering if she would experience this again. What did they want with her? Was Fang giving her false information? Was she being led into a devious plot? Could she trust anyone here? Could she trust Fang? Could she trust a vampire?
Someone watches me.
Her eyes opened underwater and fixated on a dark silhouette. She shot out of the water, eyes flashing around the room before settling in the corner. Shadows from the cabinet danced in the candlelight.
She was alone.
She rubbed her face, silently cursed and closed her eyes. Seeing things in the dark was not uncommon, the consequence of having dark scars in her life, her mind always pulled away from what was real, stretching into the fringes of madness. But for once, her imagination came to fruition: a living shadow named Fang had emerged from the dark and pleaded for help.
A pleading vampire wasn’t something she had heard of before. And they hadn’t necessarily agreed to terms. But Fang had promised to keep in touch.
She opened her eyes into slits, scanning the room again. No, she was alone. She stretched and reached to the tray of chocolates, slipping one into her mouth. Strawberries and cream. A soft moan escaped her lips. She didn’t want to leave this place. Wherever she was, whatever job they asked of her, she would make sure to remain close friends with them.
The men who picked her up had told her this was a government operation. A government-owned building. But she knew better. Fang had briefly mentioned a group calling themselves Templars, and their rings proved it. Besides, she knew wealth when she saw it, and this was not a government operation. She was inside private mansion belonging to someone with great wealth and influence.
She picked another truffle from the plate. Honey nougat with a touch of lavender. A glance at the clock showed over an hour had passed. She pulled herself out of the tub and wiped the mirror. Her gaze hovered on the long, jagged, pink scar down the center of her body, but she turned her eyes away. She grabbed a brush for her hair and pulled out the tangles before wrapping herself in a thick, heated towel.
She blew out the candles and walked into the bedroom. This one room alone had cost more to furnish than she would make in five years. But what kind of money could provide all this? Shipping. Oil. Gold. Textiles. Real Estate. Old money. All valid explanations. Yet these Templars were a secret organization. Did they pool their money together? And what would they want with a washed-out constable with a temper, who couldn’t sleep peacefully before the nightmares took her?
She let the towel fall away and picked up the violin. They must have given this to her. As a gift? As a bribe?
Her fingers fell into place and she played an easy melody, background noise while she thought. Her eyes searched the room. There was plenty of food, well-tailored clothes, and hot baths. All of this was a temporary comfort. Besides, this is not what she wanted for the rest of her life.
She preferred solving riddles, untying knots, and shedding new light on crime scenes. Each case studied and solved, and then on to the next one. And the next, and the next. Knowing humanity, there would never be a shortage of ugly crimes to solve.
She stopped playing and ran her fingers through her hair as she thought of the future. After she found Ron
an, she would sit at her desk, with a steady supply of chocolates at hand, and pore through files of evidence, solving crimes until she was an older woman. That sounded like happiness. She’d lost the opportunity; but now, she may have another. She shook her head and studied the wooden sculptured ceiling tiles, trying to guess where they were from. Franciscan church, late seventeenth century. The furniture was more recent, early Edwardian. Rug, Persian, ninth century? Tenth century. She caught herself in the mirror, her eyes sliding down the scar he gave her.
She stopped playing and set the violin back into its case before lying in bed. Her fingers touched the space where her collarbones met. The skin was bumpy from his suture marks. She traced the scar down past her belly button, where it stopped. She frowned. Fang had said she was created by this organization. Created for a specific purpose.
Was she, Coyle, made as well? Did she have a specific purpose?
Four years since his cruelty.
A lump grew in her chest, and her shoulders tensed. She pressed her fingers into her eyes. She’d spent her time as a constable learning the law, dealing with criminals, all to become a detective. She had no idea how that would happen now. Not a clue. She sighed and closed her eyes to think. Just a few more ideas, hopes, and prayers before she would fall asleep.
***
She breathed him in...
Ronan wore the cologne she had given him for his birthday. His strong arm wrapped around her shoulder. Light showers soaked into the sidewalk, reflecting the orange glow from the electric streetlamps. His warm breath on her neck gave her butterflies.
“Let’s go to your apartment,” he whispered. “I have a hankering to pierce you.”
She slapped his arm. “Look at you! Don’t be a brute, Ronan. Just because you put a ring on my finger doesn’t mean you get to ‘pierce’ me before our wedding.” But her smile was as mischievous as his.
“Oh, it’s not like we haven’t before, sweetie.” He pressed his lips into her neck the way he always did, ingratiating her lust. His kiss lingered, sending her to another place entirely, far away from the cold San Francisco fog and into the warm weightlessness of passion. This was her favorite place. Heart to heart. Skin to skin.
Coyle and Fang: Curse of Shadows (Coyle and Fang Adventure Series Book 1) Page 6
