The Renfield Syndrome

by J. A. Saare

  His face gentled at that, but he didn’t move away.

  He pressed closer to my naked legs and scantily clad body. His body temperature was several degrees warmer than mine. He was in full alpha mode. Debating the specifics would get me nowhere. Carter wasn’t willing to bend or to break. I had to work this out carefully—with manners and tact—which meant I was fucked six ways from Sunday.

  Those were traits I wasn’t genetically manufactured with.

  “I have to find someone,” I said. “He’ll know what to do about the demon.”

  Carter’s nose blurred as his face crowded mine. “And this someone would be another vampire, I take it?”

  I would have pressed my head into the plaster to get away from him if I could have. As it was, his breath brushed against my mouth in a heated caress. He wasn’t joking about this you’re mine thing.

  “I don’t know.” I brought my hands up and pressed my trembling fingers against his bare chest, demanding space. If he didn’t back up, I was going to see if his wolfy balls were as durable as a vampire’s. “He was like me in my time—a necromancer.”

  Carter withdrew, but only by inches. “Have you considered the fact that he might not exist? The syndrome wiped out a majority of the human populace. If what you’re telling me is true, he’s probably long gone by now.”

  “Without him, I am as good as dead.” I spoke with absolute certainty. If I didn’t sever the debt, I was fucked. “We have to find Goose. If he’s alive, he’ll know what to do. He always does.”

  “How do you suggest we do that?” Carter’s impressive body brushed against mine, and I retreated as far away as the wall would allow. “Locating someone isn’t easy these days. It takes time.”

  Locating someone…

  Little alarms went off inside my head.

  The emplacement charm!

  Sheer desperation allowed me to break free of Carter’s hold.

  I ducked and rushed from his arms and bolted from his bedroom, hurrying for my bunk on the opposite side of the condo. My door was open, and I prayed my clothing remained as I’d left it—neatly folded on the counter of the bathroom sink.

  The sight of my blue jeans nearly brought about my undoing.

  There’s a chance, no matter how small.

  Hope welled for the second time since my godforsaken trip into Hell, burgeoning into a newfound optimism. I heard Carter’s heavy steps as he followed me, and I snagged the bundle of clothing from the tile surface and rummaged through the left pocket of my jeans. The small corkboard attached to a thin string was tangled with my rosary, and I forced myself to go slowly as I separated them.

  I couldn’t afford to lose the charm.

  It was the only thing standing between me and a probable eternity in Hell.

  “What is that?” Carter questioned.

  I worked the two items apart and lifted the charm into the air.

  “It’s my ticket home,” I answered and turned, colliding with Carter in my rush. He attempted to right me, but the moment I found my balance I took off. I darted toward the balcony, praying Goose was alive and well.

  It was dark outside, a crescent moon lighting the sky with a small scattering of shining stars. As soon as I came to the ledge, I lifted my hand, stilled the charm, and let it hang limply on the string.

  Carter stepped beside me, but my eyes were focused on the stone in the center of the corkboard. The color was a clear blue, almost white.

  Please work. Please.

  Seconds ticked by slowly, and my heart started pounding.

  God, if you’re there, throw me a bone. I’m desperate.

  Just when I was ready to lower my hand and give up, the center of the stone shifted, becoming a dim shade of aquamarine. The color wasn’t intense, but it wasn’t supposed to be. The only way I’d get The Full Monty was if Goose was standing directly in front of me. Slowly, the necklace swayed, moving in the direction of its originator.

  Thank you. Lord above, thank you.

  Elated, I peered up at Carter with a satisfied smirk.

  “Goose is alive. He can help me. And this”—I wiggled my hand and the charm jangled, ceasing the slow rhythmic rocking—“will lead us directly to him. If there’s a way to make contact with Disco’s spirit, Goose will know. I can deliver my message and sever my debt.”

  I had a chance.

  This wasn’t the end.

  There was someone who could help me.

  I’d never been so relieved in my life.

  Chapter Five

  Angry stares and resentful muttering greeted me as I wandered through the building. I’d explored the first floor of the complex while Carter informed his pack of his intention to escort me into the city to find Goose and end my debt with Zagan.

  Pack.

  The word made me shiver as the hair on my nape rose.

  Although, if vampires, demons and necromancers existed, I supposed it was only fair lycanthropes did too. It seemed God had a sense of humor when He created His creatures, gracing several with the ability to shape from man, to wolf, to leopard, to tiger, to…

  Well, to just about anything you can imagine.

  The only reason the werewolves—or Lycae, as they called themselves—survived the Renfield Syndrome was due to what they were—mystical creatures that were immune to human disease and maladies. Like vampires, they were slow to age, living to a ripe old age of several hundred years.

  And that was just the tip of the iceberg.

  “He should just change her,” someone muttered. “Get it over with.”

  “It would save him a lot of trouble,” someone agreed. “We don’t need this.”

  “I can’t believe he’d mate a vampire lover. He’s no better than his brother.”

  “Patrick deserted us for a vampire,” the other person said. “I’d say that makes him worse.”

  “He was out of control,” the first person argued. “It doesn’t count.”

  “It does count. He was one of us. His place was here. Instead of taking on the responsibility he was given, he decided to go sniffing for vampire pussy. A total waste of a male if you ask me. Vampires can’t satisfy men.”

  I swiveled my head to peer at the females doing the talking.

  Like Jackson, they had brown hair that had been cut short. Their tanned bodies were muscular and thin. The stares they aimed in my direction were hostile. They were dressed like men, in their normal ass-kicking wardrobe. I decided right then that if I never saw a piece of camouflage again, I could die happy.

  “Hi there. Good to see you.” It was stupid, but I didn’t care if I harassed the she-men shamelessly. I gave them a wide, peppy, sorority sister grin and waved. “How’s it going?”

  The shorter one growled, her irises an odd hue of yellow.

  Then she narrowed her eyes and spat on the floor.

  “Very nice,” I drawled, bestowing a double thumbs-up. “I can see why Patrick decided not to stick around.” I turned before they could form a plausible response, although I did make out a random “fuck you, bitch” as I resumed my walk.

  The hallways were mostly empty, with a few trash bags placed in front of random doors. There was no movement or sound I could decipher, meaning the residents leaving behind garbage and waste must have moseyed upstairs to listen in on Carter’s plan.

  “Psst! Hey. Hey! Over here!”

  Frowning, I stopped and searched for the tiny voice. I gazed around and saw a young boy who didn’t appear to be any older than nine or ten peering around the corner.

  “Yeah, you.” He motioned with frantic waving jerks of his hand, indicating I should move closer and fast. “Come here.”

  After a moment, I started walking in his direction. When I got within his reach, he snagged my arm, pulled me behind him, and hauled ass for the only open doorway. We’d barely made it
inside the apartment before he spun around, closed the door behind us, and sagged with apparent relief against the wood.

  I was about to ask him what he wanted when the ghost of a woman appeared, walking out of the kitchen as if she were still very much alive. She stopped, lifted her head, and looked at me.

  Her dark auburn hair was markedly longer than I’d seen the other women wearing, but it was still cropped into a bob that met her chin. It was a shock seeing her, as the spirits I’d encountered never crossed into a personal dwelling. She had to have died here—within the building, inside the very apartment we stood in—to be wandering around.

  “They say you can see ghosts.” The little boy gained my notice as he circled the room. He stopped in front of me, blocking out portions of the spirit that waited just behind him. “Can you or can’t you?”

  I took a quick glance at the ghost and tried to decide which was better—the truth or a lie. I was already up to my neck in shit, and I didn’t want to add manure to the pile. It would be easy to leave and not answer. I took the little man in. He wasn’t kidding around. His face was too serious.

  After a moment, I answered, “I can.”

  His face lit up, his tiny chocolate-brown eyes elated and eager. “Do you see her?” he asked in a rush, turning around in a circle and staring about the living room. “Nathaniel says I’m nuts, but I know she’s here. I just know it. I feel her all the time.”

  “Who’s Nathaniel?”

  “My best friend,” he replied without turning, eyes darting across the open space. His gaze hovered over the area where the ghost stood, as if he could sense her in some way. “He thinks I’m making up stories, but I’m not. Can you see her? Is she here?”

  I lifted my head and ripped my attention from the child.

  The ghost had the same hopeful expression. She watched me with a mixture of disbelief and ill-concealed optimism. The change in my necromancy was disconcerting and disorienting. It wasn’t as if I were seeing an entity that shared themselves via touch or an impression. This woman appeared very much alive and aware, apart from having a very airy and see-through body. Her eyes were a beautiful midnight blue, her attire the same horrendous combination all the women wore—green camo fatigues and a tight black wife beater. I noted there was no outward sign of what killed her. I didn’t see obvious wounds or injuries.

  “You see her, don’t you?” the child asked, yanking on my arm. “I know she’s here. I can smell her perfume. Where is she? Can you talk to her? Can she see me?”

  I studied his enthusiastic face and produced a thin smile.

  I wasn’t sure why he seemed so eager, but an inner warning told me it was best to converse with the spirit without an audience.

  “I might be able to, but I’ll need you to sit down and keep quiet. It takes concentration, so I need to focus. Do you think you can do that for me? Can you be quiet and let me work?”

  He nodded and bounced over to the dark brown couch. He plopped down on the cushions and took a spot near the arm of the furniture. Even then, he studied me closely, monitoring my movements.

  I shook his presence aside and relaxed.

  Touching the spirit was the best way to communicate, although I was certain I could converse with her as I did the ghosts in the stairwell at the library. She remained still as I approached, waiting patiently after I reached for her in order to touch her shoulder. When I made contact with her body, the amulet went hot against my skin, creating a sharp, tingling burn. She remained solid beneath my hands, just as she should have, but our minds didn’t merge.

  “Son of a bitch,” I grumbled, frowning and lowering my hand.

  I couldn’t talk to her if we remained in the human world.

  “Do you see her?” the little boy asked again. “I know she’s here. I can feel it.”

  “Shh.” I shook my head while keeping my eyes on the spirit before me. “Quiet, remember?”

  “Sorry,” he muttered and settled back.

  I took a deep breath, focusing on what I wanted, honing my concentration on the ghost before me. When my hand lifted, the pendant started to hum again, the prickles against my flesh stinging painfully. This time when I touched her, the world vanished upon contact and the agonizing burn from the pendant faded. Oddly enough, the setting was the very same apartment—minus the eager young boy who’d brought me to it.

  “Who are you?” I asked.

  She smiled and I sensed her relief. “My name is Marianne.”

  “How are you here?” I released her shoulder and studied her now solid and whole form. “The dead can’t transcend the barrier of a mortal refuge.”

  “This is where I died,” she answered quietly. “This is where I left.”

  “Why didn’t you cross over?” I gave her another once over.

  “I can’t leave until my murderer has been brought to justice.”

  Then it all made sense.

  Marianne had been killed, taken away from her life before she was ready. Her soul couldn’t rest until justice was served. I wasn’t sure there was anything I could do. My time was limited and I had no idea who killed her, or how in the hell she had died.

  “Great,” I grumbled, “a ghost with a vendetta. Just what I need.”

  I turned and peered around the apartment.

  The space, while very much the same, was also markedly different.

  A beautiful fawn leather sofa replaced the dark brown cotton couch I’d seen nestled against the wall, and a matching leather recliner was situated in the cozy corner beside it. The homey touches in this reality were long gone.

  “They stripped the entire unit after I died,” she informed me, as if reading my mind. “Lycae are not susceptible to the Renfield Syndrome, but the humans they bring into the fold are. When I succumbed to my malady, they took everything from the building. I imagine they burned it.”

  My chin jerked upright, and I met her level stare. “You were human?”

  “Yes, I was.”

  She was human and had died from the syndrome. Shit.

  It was obvious she was only in her twenties, and she had lived here among werewolves. That meant she came into contact with the Renfield virus at some point, which wasn’t good news for me.

  I hoped the shit was long gone and I didn’t need to worry.

  “How did you contract the virus? I assumed the vaccine was destroyed after the world got jive to the damage it caused.”

  She bent at the waist and tugged at her right pant leg around her booted foot. I noticed thin tears in the material and a slathering of blood, so minor it was easy to escape notice. She brought the garment to her knee and revealed a portion of her calf that had been on the receiving end of one hell of a bite. The wounds were ragged and deep, the largest two displaying white flashes of bone.

  “Sweet baby Jesus.” I crinkled my nose. “One of them bit you?”

  “Humans can’t transmit the syndrome. That can only happen with a vaccination. A werewolf carrier gave me the virus.” She released her pants and they fell to her ankle as she stood. “She knew everyone would think the transition caused my death. I wouldn’t be the first human to die after being infected by a Lycae. There’s only a fifty-fifty chance that you’ll survive the effects of the bite. The fever alone is enough to fry your brain.”

  “A carrier?”

  “A human who had the vaccine but was transformed to a Lycae before the syndrome manifested in their body. Lycae are immune to the virus, but those who have carried it never lose it. It builds in them to the point that one bite will send a human into the final stages of the syndrome. The breakdown of the body is much the same as that of the transition, as the syndrome is transmitted through us by saliva.”

  “Who’s the kid?” I asked, thinking of the boy that was able to perceive her presence. “Why did he bring me here?”

  “My son, Joshua.”<
br />
  I took a closer look at her.

  I could see the resemblance.

  They had the same almond eye shape and softly rounded noses.

  “He’s human?” I hated to ask the question, feeling just as ignorant in this reality as I did my own. The more things changed, the more they stayed exactly the fucking same. “Is he a carrier?”

  “No, he isn’t human and he’s not a carrier.” She seemed thankful. “His father is Lycae, so Joshua inherited the trait during conception.”

  “His father, as in your husband?”

  “Yes.” She appeared confused and stared at me oddly. “I’m sure you’ve met Quinn. He’s the beta of the pack, the second in command under Carter.”

  “Nope.” I sighed, suddenly tired and cranky. “I’m always the last one to meet the people I should or know the things I need to.” I did recognize her husband’s name, but I had yet to meet the man. Even if I had, it probably wouldn’t have mattered. There were too many new faces here, all of whom I had zero interest in getting to know on a personal level.

  The amulet came to life again, burning and scorching my skin.

  I hissed and reached for it, prepared to lift it up and away from my chest.

  “Listen to me, please.” Marianne sounded desperate, her words a rush of frantic syllables. “She killed me because she wanted Quinn for herself. She had to wait years for the chance, and when she got it, she took it. She bit me when we were out doing rounds, claiming a vampire servant attacked and she bit me when I got in the way. But her plan didn’t work. Lycae only mate with females their bestial half accept and desire. That means more humans are chosen than females of their race. We’re not sure why, but Carter believes it has to do with keeping the bloodlines clean. Quinn doesn’t want her, and she’s accepted she’s got to start setting her aspirations higher if she wants a respectable place in the pack.”

  Hissing at the burn against my fingers as I handled the jewelry, I snapped, “Don’t they know Lassie is a carrier?”

  “Lassie?”