by Tami Dane
“Have you talked to her doctor?”
“I have. We have an appointment next week. I couldn’t get anything sooner, since she’s not a threat to herself or anyone else. What did you want to speak with me about?”
“I need some help identifying our unsub. We’re pretty sure it’s vampiric.”
“Okay.” His gaze didn’t move from the screen, much like Mom’s when she was watching that stupid movie yesterday.
“We believe it shape-shifts to some kind of flying creature, at least at night. And we believe it feeds through some sort of long proboscis.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So what do you think?”
“About what?” he asked.
“The unsub.”
“I think you’re on the right track.”
Gah! “I was hoping you’d be able to identify its species.”
“Sloan, that research is decades old. I haven’t looked at it in a long time. Can you tell me you remember everything you read twenty years ago?”
I started to answer, but he interrupted me.
“Of course, you do. You’re brilliant. I’m just your run-of-the-mill elf. A lot of muscle. Not a lot of brains.”
“Bullshit. If you had no brains, you wouldn’t be the head of the queen’s army. And you wouldn’t have a Ph.D. So what’s the deal? Don’t you want to help me?”
“The deal is ...” He sighed. “I don’t remember. I was sick a while back—right before I came home. I had a pretty bad case of meningitis. It seems to have affected my memory. I don’t remember a lot about that time of my life. It’s all a little hazy.”
He looked genuinely sorry, and a little concerned and frustrated too. “I’d love to help you, but I can’t.”
“Well, damn. I thought you came home to protect us.”
“I have. That’s why I’m marrying your mother again. And why I’d like for you to move in here with us until ...”
“Until what? I’m married?” I asked.
He nodded.
“That could be years.”
He didn’t respond.
“Is that why Elmer started coming around recently? The timing is a little suspicious.”
“The timing is convenient. Sloan, when I told you there was a danger—”
“Back to the case,” I said, turning the conversation to a topic I preferred, “I need to find out what this creature is. There are children missing.”
“Children?”
“Every victim has been pregnant. And the infants are missing.”
My father squinted his eyes and stared down at the floor. “Infants ... ?”
I waited, breathless, hopeful. When he didn’t supply the answer I was so desperate to hear, I said, “Anything?”
“You have my files still, right?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Take a look at Malaysian folklore. I remember a creature ... don’t recall what it was called, though. I’m sorry, Sloan.”
“Don’t apologize. That’s more than I had before. Thank you.” I checked my phone. “I’d better get back to work. Thanks again.” To Mom, who was reclining on a floating chaise in the middle of the pool, I said, “See you later, Mom.”
“Six o’clock? Right?” she asked.
“For what?”
“We’re going dress shopping tonight. You and me. Don’t you remember?”
Of course, I didn’t. “Oh. Okay. I guess. Unless something comes up at work.”
“I’ll see you at six.” Mom gave me a cheery wave.
The minute I got back to the office, I made a beeline for my cubicle. I saw no sign of JT. That was a good thing. Gabe had reclaimed his laptop while I’d been out, but a loaner sat on my desk. I powered it up and Googled Malaysian vampire folklore. There were 1,360,000 results. I clicked on the Wikipedia article first and skimmed it.
I hit pay dirt. It would seem many of the Malaysian legends involved some form of a vampiric being that preyed upon pregnant women. The trick would be in determining which creature we were dealing with, and then finding out how to stop it.
I printed out the article for reference and checked in with the chief. Her door was shut. I knocked. Then, at her response, I stepped inside.
Sitting at her desk, she waved me inside. “Skye. Thomas and Wagner are on their way down to Jacksonville to check out another case. It’s just you and me.”
“That’s okay. I think I’m onto something. But I need to go home and dig into some of my father’s research before I can say for sure.”
The chief raised her brows. “What can you tell me?”
“I’m looking at Asian vampire mythology, specifically Malaysian legends. There are several creatures that prey upon pregnant women in Malaysian myths, several that fly and feed through a proboscis, like our unsub.”
“Interesting.”
“But so far, I haven’t found the exact creature we might be dealing with. The myths vary. I’m finding conflicting information. Which is why I’d like to check my father’s research.”
“By all means. Any mention of the unborn children in the articles you’ve read?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, I’m not finding any good news there.”
“Damn. I was afraid of that.” She stood and circled the desk until she was standing directly in front of me. “We need to stop this beast. Yesterday.”
“I agree.”
“What do you think about going undercover again?”
“Posing as a pregnant woman?” I asked.
The chief nodded. “We still don’t know how the creature is finding his or her prey.”
“Her,” I said. “I’m pretty sure we’re dealing with a female.”
“Very well. What about it?”
“I guess we could give it a shot. I’m not sure if I can fool whatever it is we’re dealing with.”
“At this point, I’m willing to take that chance. I’ll make the arrangements. Of course,” the chief said, leveling a look at me, “you’ll have to have an agent with you at all times. Especially at night.”
Let me guess....
“You don’t have any objections to JT being that agent, do you?” she asked.
I forced a smile. “No, of course not.”
“Good. I’ll have everything ready for you by tomorrow. Let me know if you find anything in your father’s research.”
“Will do. Thanks, Chief.”
“No, Sloan, thank you. You’ve done a remarkable job for this unit. I hope you’ll consider becoming a permanent member of the team once you’ve graduated.”
“I’m flattered, Chief. I’ll definitely think about it.”
Several hours later, after I had dug through half of my father’s research and had failed to find anything on Asian vampire legends at all, I met Mom at the dress shop.
To say it wasn’t going well was an understatement. But at least she hadn’t swelled up like a life-sized blow-up doll.
“This dress makes me look fat,” she said for the eighty-ninth time.
“Mom, you don’t look fat.” I held up the last dress she’d tried on. “What about this one?”
“That was even worse.” Mom sighed. Her shoulders slumped. “I’ve tried on close to a hundred dresses, Sloan. They all look horrible.”
“They don’t look horrible. Honest.”
Mom headed back toward the changing room. Over her shoulder, she said, “Maybe I should give up and just go to the Salvation Army, buy some piece of polyester faux silk and then throw it away when it’s over.”
“Mom, really, you’re being hormonal,” I said, following her.
Through the door, Mom said, “I know. I can see myself acting like a whiny baby, but I can’t stop. I’m just so tired.”
“You need to sleep more.”
“I’m trying. But I keep waking up in the middle of the night, and I can’t get back to sleep once I’m awake.”
“Maybe you should try drinking some warm milk.”
“What I’d like to try is drinking some wine.” Mom exited th
e room bedecked in yet another stunning silk gown. This one, I had to admit, was my favorite so far. It was simple but elegant, with a bodice that was draped in such a way to emphasize my mother’s still-tiny waistline and an A-line skirt with a short train. She stepped up on the podium in the main viewing area and studied her reflection. “Hmm.”
“It’s perfect,” I said.
Mom scrunched up her face. “I don’t know.” She ran her hand down the front of the bodice. “My stomach is protruding.”
“Mom, since you stopped taking your medication, you’ve lost weight. There’s nothing protruding. I swear to you.”
“You just want me to pick one and be done.”
The saleswoman brought a small, simple tiara with a veil attached and set them on my mother’s head. “There you go, dear. You’re a picture.”
Mom stared at her reflection some more. “It isn’t too over-the-top gaudy.”
“Not at all, Mom. It’s elegant and simple, yet very pretty. Just right for the venue.”
With the pushed-up date, we’d had to change the setting, opting for an outside garden wedding at a local historical landmark, instead of the formal event she’d originally planned. Of course, that meant the weather would be a huge factor. In Maryland, July wasn’t the rainiest month of the year, but we had our share of summer thunderstorms.
Mom sighed. “Okay. This is it.”
I bit back a “wahooo” and prepared myself for what would come next.
It was my turn.
In view of the changes, Mom had altered her color palette. Instead of the dark colors she’d originally selected, she was now going with white, black, and daisy yellow. I was a little scared what that meant for my dress. I wasn’t overly thrilled about walking down the aisle looking like a giant bumblebee. But it beat looking like a jack-o-lantern.
While Mom changed back into her street clothes, the salesclerk went in back to pull some dresses for me. She returned a few minutes later with several gowns in tow. She stuffed them into my arms and shooed me into a fitting room.
Option one was absolutely hideous. Okay, maybe I’m being a little harsh, and perhaps the clingy, uber-tight scrap of yellow would look nice on someone—if that someone had absolutely no hips, no boobs, and no curves whatsoever. But that someone wasn’t me.
Next!
“Sloan, aren’t you coming out?” my mother shouted through the door.
“No. This one’s not worth a second look.”
“But I let you see every dress I tried on.”
I heaved a sigh so big, I almost split the seam on the stupid dress. “Fine.” I tromped out to the podium while yanking the back of the dress down so my ass didn’t hang out, did a three-sixty, said, “I won’t wear this in public. End of story.” Back in the changing room, I went.
The saleslady helped me into something a little more appropriate for round two. This one was full-length and it didn’t look like a hooker dress. Two things going for it. But the one-shouldered gown had this ugly bow on that one shoulder, and it kept smacking me in the face. If I had to wear it for more than ten minutes, I’d be tempted to rip off the dumb bow.
For the sake of keeping the peace, I let my mother get a look at it. She grinned.
“Mom, I can’t handle this.” I grabbed the huge bow and shook it.
“They may be able to change it a little.” Mom looked at the salesclerk. The salesclerk shrugged her shoulders.
Next.
I went back in to put on option number three.
Bumblebee. Totally. Black bodice. Yellow skirt. What was the designer thinking?
Sadly, it was the best of the three.
I went out to do the required three-sixty. Mom, of course, raved about it.
My dress, it would seem, had been chosen.
As I stripped out of it, I told myself that it was one less thing to worry about. We’d killed two birds today and were well on our way to having the wedding fully planned. Next up: flowers.
I accepted the bagged gown on the way out and tossed it in my trunk while Mom made herself comfortable in the passenger seat.
She yawned. “Damned birds are keeping me up all night. I’m thinking of having your father call an exterminator.”
I slid behind the wheel and buckled myself in. Again, she was talking about birds. If she was anywhere close to delivering, I’d be worried she might be hearing something a whole lot more dangerous than a sparrow. “Mom, I don’t think an exterminator can kill every bird that comes within a few feet of your house. Keep your window closed. That should help. And maybe you’d be better off trying to cover up the sound somehow?”
“Like how? There’s a tree right outside the window. They congregate up there like teen girls at a Justin Bieber concert.”
“You could change rooms.” I started the car and shifted it into reverse.
“I don’t want to do that, but I suppose I could. Just for the time being.” She yawned again.
“Why don’t you close your eyes and take a little catnap?” I suggested as I maneuvered the car out of the parking spot. “It’ll be awhile before we’re home.”
“Yes, that sounds like a good idea.” She closed her eyes. Before we hit the freeway, she was sawing logs.
Artistic temperament sometimes seems a battleground, a dark angel of destruction and a bright angel of creativity wrestling.
—Madeleine L’Engle
17
After dropping off Mom, I drove home. Katie was lounging on the couch, doing a fine job of emptying a half gallon of chocolate-brownie-chunk ice cream while hunched over a book the size of a small island.
“Exam?” I dropped my laptop bag on the table next to the door and headed into the kitchen to hunt down a snack.
“No, just a quiz. What’s up?”
Finding nothing, I grabbed a spoon and joined Katie on the couch. I dug into the carton, extracting a big blob of chocolate ice cream. “I’m going undercover again.” I dumped the cold dessert into my mouth and had a “foodgasm.”
“Cool. I’m jealous. I’d love to have a summer job like that. Any chance the PBAU needs a chemist?” Katie handed me the carton. “I’m done. You can have the rest.”
“Thanks. I’ll check with the chief about the job.” I spooned some more chocolate heaven into my mouth.
“The ice cream was yours, anyway. And thanks for checking with the FBI for me. For some reason, research and development isn’t looking all that great anymore.” Katie closed the book and leaned back. “I always knew what I wanted to do when I finished school. But now ... I’ve lost the love. It’s all just letters and numbers to me.”
“Maybe you’re burned-out.”
“Maybe you’re right. Maybe I need to take a step back from chemistry for a while, and take a look at what else is out there.”
“You could realize chemistry isn’t such a bad thing,” I said as I dug another scoop out of the carton. “I’m telling you, there isn’t much out there worth getting too excited about.”
“I don’t doubt it. But I need a change. I bet I’d be a kick-ass undercover agent for the FBI.”
“Sure,” I said around a mouthful of sin.
“Just like you. It would be so exciting. We could work together. Like Cagney and Lacey.”
“Who’s that?”
“I don’t know. A couple of girl cops. I caught part of a show on TV the other night.”
“Katie, I’m pretending to be pregnant. I doubt it’ll be all that great. Not to mention, I’ll have JT following me around all the time. Even at night.”
“I would’ve thought you’d be happy about that.” She gave me a nudge. “I mean, you two were swapping DNA here on our couch, weren’t you?”
“No. There was no DNA swapping involved. And speaking of DNA, he told me he fathered a child recently. With another coworker.”
Katie’s expression went blank. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” I filled my mouth with more ice cream.
“Bastard,” she muttered.
“We hate him.”
“Yes, we do.” I set the carton aside and dropped my face in my hands. “And now, I think I have to sleep in the same bed with him. See? This undercover thing isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Katie gave me a pat of commiseration. “Still beats sitting around, injecting rodents with toxins, and then measuring their tumors.”
I grimaced. “Okay, maybe it does.”
“The wedding’s off!” my mother said between blubbering snuffles and hiccups.
It was late, almost eleven at night. Mom had called me just as I was going to bed and threatened bodily harm—to my father, not me—if I didn’t come over right away.
So here I was.
“The wedding’s off? Why?” I asked her as I stood next to the door, tracking her frenzied motions with my eyes.
Ignoring my question, my mother threw a wadded pair of velour lounge pants into the open suitcase sitting on her bed. “I’m coming to stay with you.”
“But—”
“What was I thinking? How could I be such a fool?” Mom emptied one dresser drawer in a single scoop and dumped its contents into the suitcase.
“Mom, what happened?”
“What happened? I’ll tell you.” She dragged her hand across her face, under her nose, and blinked bloodshot eyes at me. “You were right. He’s a bastard. A two-faced lying bastard.” She emptied a second drawer, dropping the armload into the bag. Then she smashed the pile down to make room for more. “I don’t ever want to speak to that man again.”
“Mom.” I tried to still her by grabbing her by the shoulders and staring into her eyes. But it didn’t work for more than a split second. She went back to her dresser for more clothes. “Please stop moving around, Mom. I’m getting dizzy just watching you. It would be better if we sat down and talked about this.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” She paused. She set her hands on her hips and gave me a funny look. “Why are you trying to change my mind? All along, you’ve said you didn’t trust him. Here I am, saying you were right, and now you want me to talk about it?”
“I just want to make sure—”
“I’m not delusional,” she finished for me. “That’s what you’re thinking, isn’t it?”
