A Drop of Red

by Chris Marie Green

  As Kiko got ahold of the sweater, Dawn picked up a larger photo of Eleanor wearing a business suit and posing in a studio setting, obviously for some kind of professional headshot. “And what exactly did Ellie do, Mrs. O’Connell?”

  “She was a senior finance manager for a global technology conglomerate.”

  They’d already known that, but maybe the elderly woman would reveal something more. . . .

  “Ambitious,” Mrs. O’Connell continued, “and smart enough to have gotten to such a position at thirty-two. Made a fine salary. Ellie was particularly adept at investing her personal funds, so she lived high, that one.”

  Eleanor’s obituary had also said she’d died tragically about a year ago, drowning in a hot tub in her stately Kensington flat. She’d been intoxicated, and Dawn was anxious to ease into that topic.

  Mrs. O’Connell bent near Dawn. “Did you find your friend in any photos?”

  “Not so far.”

  Their hostess looked the snapshots over, then clicked her tongue, weeding out a couple of pictures that had been peeking from under the first layer. “You aren’t interested in these.”

  On top, she held a polished, full-length picture of what seemed like a school photo for a young Eleanor. But along with the same freckles and delicate features, there seemed to be something slightly off-kilter with this particular image: maybe the wider-set eyes, maybe the less sincere smile.

  And she was wearing a skirt with a white shirt and a red tie.

  Hadn’t Kiko mentioned that the girls in Justin’s vision had been wearing ties?

  “Ellie had a uniform for school?” Dawn asked.

  “Oh.” Mrs. O’Connell gazed at the photo, her blue eyes going cool. “This is her sister, Briana, not Ellie herself.”

  Kiko scrambled over Natalia to see the picture. Mrs. O’Connell gave it to him, and he settled back into place, Natalia brushing her lap off to straighten her pantsuit.

  When he looked back at Dawn, his eyes sparkled, and she knew, just knew, that he’d recognized Briana from the group of possible vamp girls in his Justin vision.

  Now, if only Justin hadn’t been imagining those fangs he’d seen on the leader of those girls while he was in a drug-induced haze. . . .

  A vein throbbed in Dawn’s neck, the beat echoing in her head.

  Mrs. O’Connell considered the picture of Briana. “The older students at Briana’s school don’t have to wear uniforms, but evidently she and her friends had their own way of dressing. You know how it can be with a crowd of like-minded girls—the same hairstyles, the same jewelry . . . anything to show you’re a part of them.”

  A group of girls with the same clothes, Dawn thought. And maybe the same kind of teeth, too.

  Their hostess went on. “Ellie, herself, did wear a uniform in the early years at the Kings High School near Bath. They had a top-notch modern languages program there. However, the girls’ parents sent Briana to Queenshill near St. Albans because of their arts courses. She was quite adept at sculpting in particular, and she begged her parents to consider that in their choice of institutions. Where Ellie and Briana were concerned, that’s the best their parents ever did, of course, with all their world hopping and leaving their daughters to boarding at school instead of providing a true home. Now that I think of it, it’s no wonder the girls had such wanderlust.”

  One word in particular stuck in Dawn’s mind. Queenshill.

  If Briana was hanging around with schoolgirl vampires, guess where the team’s next appointment should be?

  Dawn hated to take advantage of Mrs. O’Connell’s clear naïveté and willingness to help, yet it was time to bring out the massive fibbing guns. “You know, we did see Briana’s name mentioned in our paperwork, but it was just a first name and we weren’t sure how to contact her. Did the sisters share friends? I know they don’t seem very close in age, but is there a possibility that our Sara could have contacted Briana at any time?”

  “We want to look into any connections,” Kiko said.

  Natalia stayed quiet.

  But Mrs. O’Connell was all about sharing. “Oh, Ellie and Briana didn’t socialize within the same circles. They didn’t ever see each other.”

  Her cheerfulness had clouded over, and she went for her chair, fairly sinking into it. “They were sixteen years apart, those two. When their parents died overseas on a small plane flight during yet another holiday, Ellie became Briana’s guardian. Ellie’s career, which required constant travel, allowed her to cover Briana’s schooling fees, so it was a trade-off in many ways—Briana’s education at the price of Ellie’s absence. So you would think Briana would show interest in visiting with Ellie when she stopped in London, wouldn’t you?”

  “You’d think,” Dawn said.

  “Yet,” Mrs. O’Connell added, “neither sister went out of her way to see the other. Strangely, though, when Ellie perished, it was a surprise to hear how Briana carried on.”

  “And how was that?” Kiko asked.

  “Why, she ran off, as if she were more upset about her sister’s death than anyone ever guessed she might be.”

  “She . . . ran off?” To an Underground? Dawn thought. “You mean she disappeared? Never heard from again?”

  “Yes,” their hostess said. “Now, I never saw Briana much myself—she preferred school to the company of an old cousin—but Ellie always said she was a temperamental child. Very much ruled by her emotions.”

  Next to Dawn, Natalia gasped. When Dawn looked at her, the new girl was staring at the ceiling.

  She was hearing something again.

  “There are times . . .” Mrs. O’Connell started to say before stopping herself. “My. Here I am, indeed sounding dotty.”

  “Not at all,” Dawn said. “Say anything that comes to mind. We’re very interested.”

  The elderly woman folded her veined hands in her lap, then smiled, as if seeking reassurance. “If I told you that Briana won’t allow me to sleep some nights, would you think me daft?”

  Dawn glanced at Natalia, who gave her a look in return. She was hearing something again.

  Kiko slid off the couch. “Mrs. O’Connell, we don’t think you’re daft. And, actually . . . I’m going to be honest with you.”

  Oh, oh—Dawn could see some turbo bullshit headed their way.

  “I get ‘feelings,’ too,” Kiko said. “What I mean is that our friend Sara came to me in a dream, and she told us that her passing wasn’t peaceful, that she needed help to move on. That’s why we traveled over here all the way from the States—because we know she isn’t resting easy and we have the resources to see that she does.” Kiko paused, acting! at its finest. “We would’ve done anything for Sara. We will do anything.”

  Mrs. O’Connell had her hand to her chest, sympathy lining every wrinkle.

  “We didn’t tell you,” Kiko added, “because we thought you’d think we were crazy and wouldn’t let us in the door.”

  The elderly woman shook her head. “No, not at all. I understand more than you’ll ever know.” A faint smile lit over her lips. “I still hear my husband’s music. I feel it.”

  Kiko nodded, and Dawn wondered if he or Natalia could see any telltale lights around Mrs. O’Connell—signs that the Mr. might still be with her.

  Dawn gestured to the picture their hostess still held. “What do you mean by saying Briana won’t let you sleep some nights? Do you think she’s trying to communicate with you?”

  “Yes, but . . .” Mrs. O’Connell’s voice fell to a whisper. “I hear her when the moon is out and all is quiet. She tells me she has no place to go. No place to settle but here. I’m her closest living relative, you see.”

  Good God. Were a vampy Briana and her group of fangy buddies wandering over to Mrs. O’Connell’s some nights, using preternatural mind games on the sweet old lady?

  Why would they do that?

  “Mrs. O’Connell,” Dawn asked, “do you think Briana is still even alive?”

  Her color receded, her skin se
eming withered now. “I hired a private investigator when Briana first disappeared. He didn’t come up with a thing. Not a thing. So I truly don’t know where she might be or in what sort of state.”

  Kiko looked at Natalia, who shook her head and indicated she wasn’t getting anything clear. Then he leaned over her to speak to Dawn.

  “Know what we could use? A Ouija board.”

  At the statement, Mrs. O’Connell’s eyes widened, her gaze drifting to Dawn’s crucifix necklace. She’d seen it earlier but hadn’t exhibited any major reaction until now.

  Time to fib a little more. “We’ve used the Ouija before to get ahold of Sara, but she isn’t always available for whatever cosmic reason. Would you mind if we improvised and tried with Briana, if she’s around?”

  Thing was, it was daylight, not nighttime, when Mrs. O’Connell usually heard her young cousin.

  Or was the older woman only open to Briana at night, when a person was at their most vulnerable?

  “My, oh, my,” the elderly woman said, still considering the Ouija option.

  “If you want,” Kiko said, “we could attempt contact on our own and you wouldn’t have to take part in it. We could record the session for you to listen to later.”

  “A Ouija board,” Mrs. O’Connell said, looking at them as if she was just starting to realize there was more to her guests than she’d first thought. But she did seem very interested. “Would we be inviting trouble?”

  Dawn’s heartbeat was almost deafening. “If you want, we could get a professional to come in here afterward and cleanse the house.”

  Since this wasn’t Kiko’s nor Natalia’s area of expertise, Costin would know the right place to contact—someone separate from Limpet and Associates altogether.

  Kiko was already around the table and at Mrs. O’Connell’s side, holding the arm of her chair. This was a trick of his—seeming all innocent and boyish so he could persuade anyone who had a weakness for kids.

  Just another role.

  “Please?” he asked. “It’s just that Sara . . .”

  He let their fake friend’s name linger, and Dawn saw Mrs. O’Connell’s soft heart beginning to tear away from her doubts.

  “I am curious,” she said. “When Briana speaks to me, she makes no sense whatsoever. I thought perhaps it was only my mind playing tricks. . . .”

  “You’ll know for sure now,” Kiko added.

  Mrs. O’Connell pursed her lips, then nodded.

  After that, everything seemed to speed up: Kiko asked their hostess for something like a small, clear dish that they could use for a planchette, then a piece of cardboard or large, stiff paper for the board itself.

  Then, as Mrs. O’Connell collected the items, Kiko motioned Natalia and Dawn into a huddle while he held up a cross, just in case it would ward off . . . well, anything. Since they wouldn’t attract any suspicious stares here in private, Dawn and Natalia followed suit.

  “Whatever Natalia’s been hearing in this room, we need to grill it,” he whispered. “Even if it’s not Briana. But no matter what happens, we’ve got to keep being these amateur Sara hunters and nothing more. Don’t let down your acts.”

  Natalia lowered her voice, too. “Would we be able to contact a vampire through a board? If Briana is undead, what is the state of her soul?”

  Dawn already had an answer. “If this is just about Briana standing outside at night and using her mind to communicate with Mrs. O’Connell, then my guess is that we won’t get the girl through the board.”

  One of Benedikte’s memories, which he’d given Dawn when she’d exchanged with him, slid to the forefront of her mind, just as if she’d been the one to experience it.

  It was that natural. And disturbing.

  “What?” Kiko asked, seeing her expression.

  Dawn erased it. “When the Master in Hollywood turned someone, he’d take their souls and store them in vials and imbibe them whenever he needed a picker-upper. That means a vampire’s soul actually does get surrendered when it separates from the body during the exchange. From Costin’s notes, we know that this has been at least one constant in every Underground—the forfeiting of a soul in trade for all the glories of vampirism.”

  Kiko added, “And if this Underground doesn’t have a master who likes to keep the souls for himself, maybe Briana’s soul is wandering free out there.”

  Natalia didn’t look happy. “And Briana’s soul is what might be contacting Mrs. O’Connell.”

  “Unless,” Kiko said, “Briana isn’t a part of an Underground and we’re dealing with a different set of vampires altogether. Anything goes with this stuff.”

  Dawn groaned.

  But Natalia was acting like a downer for a different reason.

  “Might Briana’s soul be in a sort of limbo?” the new girl asked. “Or, if vampires are indeed damned, would we be contacting her someplace else?”

  You could’ve heard a fang drop.

  They were talking about Hell, here. Talking about contacting an entity from the charred beyond.

  But she’d told herself she’d do anything for Costin.

  “Sounds like a part of the job description, all right,” she said.

  Kiko had come to grips, too. He’d seen too much already in his short life to be afraid. “I’m ready.”

  Yet Natalia didn’t commit, even when Mrs. O’Connell returned with the glass dish and a piece of cardboard that could’ve been used as a backing for printed artwork.

  Thanking her, Dawn took a marker and created an on-the-fly Ouija board by writing “Yes” and “No” in opposite upper corners. Then she positioned a curved line of the letters A through M, and N through Z below that. Then came the numbers one through nine, plus a zero at the end of the straight line, and finally the word “Farewell” on the very bottom.

  Mrs. O’Connell pulled all but one curtain closed, leaving a lighted crack overlooking her garden, as if that one spot of beauty would be their reminder of brightness.

  Then she turned on a stained-glass-shaded lamp that cast muddled colors over the walls.

  Kiko took the clear dish and placed the makeshift planchette on the board.

  But when Natalia breezed right by him and took a seat at the table in front of the Ouija, Dawn gaped.

  Boy, when Costin had said that the new girl was totally disturbed by all those voices, he wasn’t kidding. She was their champion, for sure.

  “Hey,” Kiko said.

  “You know I’m the best source for channeling what I’ve already detected in here,” Natalia said, pushing up the sleeves of her wool suit.

  Kiko got ready to deny that, but Dawn guided him to his spot on the love seat, bending down to whisper in his ear.

  “She’s been hearing that murmur all this time. If her channeling doesn’t work, then it’ll be your turn.”

  He gave her a defensive look as she went to Natalia’s other side and sat.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?” Dawn asked.

  Blowing out a breath, Natalia placed her fingers on the board, as if to greet it. “I believe with all my heart that we’re doing this for rightful reasons. It will work.”

  She didn’t say she was doing this for Kate, but Dawn knew it all the same.

  “Does it begin now?” Mrs. O’Connell asked. Her cheeks were flushed even beyond the regular pink she’d sported before.

  Dawn gave their hostess a thumbs-up as Natalia moved her fingertips to the glass planchette, which rested between “Yes” and “No.”

  Then the group slipped into a silence that was diluted only by the humming air and the protesting creaks from an old house.

  Briana, Dawn thought, come out, come out, wherever you are.

  “Briana,” Natalia said, echoing Dawn. But her voice was soothing instead of challenging. “We would like to talk with you, if you please.”

  They waited, and nothing happened except for the creaks, the wood-beam groans, the taut anticipation of stepping into a dark place.

  At the lack o
f response, Kiko sighed, and Dawn resisted the urge to reach over and twist his ear.

  Then Mrs. O’Connell spoke.

  “Briana?”

  The planchette jerked under Natalia’s fingertips, then began to circle the board with such violence that one of the new girl’s hands fell from the glass. She caught up with it.

  “Is this Briana?” Natalia asked, her accent thicker than usual, maybe because of barely contained fear.

  The planchette zigged to the upper left of the board.

  YES.

  Then it began circling again.

  “Welcome, Briana,” Natalia said, clearly making an attempt to level out her emotions. “Thank you for joining us.”

  Mrs. O’Connell was scanning the room, as if expecting to see her younger cousin. Her stiff posture belied the fact that she’d been hoping Briana would stay away.

  The planchette was going nuts—it landed on the letter T, then W.

  “What is she telling us?” Mrs. O’Connell asked, her lilt ragged.

  The planchette continued its course, stopping on A.

  Then T.

  The elderly woman pressed a hand to her opened mouth, then stood. “Perhaps I’ll wait in the yard.”

  Dawn got up, just to lend an arm, but Mrs. O’Connell waved her off as they walked toward the entryway.

  “Sometimes,” Dawn said, “they get dirty mouths. If it’s Briana, she might be trying to scare us, just like she probably tries to scare you at night, knowing you’re alone in the dark.”

  “I’m hardly surprised at such language. Young people use that word quite frequently. And I believe Briana might be the type to employ it, especially if she believes I could have done more to prevent her death.”

  If the girl was dead, Dawn thought. “Is there anything you want us to ask her or tell her?”

  “Yes, dear.” Their hostess reached out to take Dawn’s hand in hers. “If you would, please tell her to leave an old woman in peace.”

  And, with that, she patted Dawn’s hand and wandered toward the rear of the house.

  After watching the lady leave, Dawn headed back to the proceedings. Somewhere, she heard a door close and, minutes later, she could see through the crack in the curtain that Mrs. O’Connell had entered her happy garden.