The Unmasking (Dhampyre the Hunter Book 1)

by David Burkhead

  I stirred the ice in my glass with my straw. "Matei has a stable of willing...donors call them...now. He doesn't kill. But he has. He's a non-human predator who for hundreds of years considered humans to be prey. I never forget that. But by working for him, I get to kill other monsters, monsters that are killing now, monsters like the ones terrorizing Indianapolis."

  I stared into Ware's eyes. "And if that ever changes, I'll kill Matei myself."

  Once we finished eating, Ware paid the bill. Then, true to his earlier agreement, Ware he me shopping. He seemed remarkably facile in helping me with the wheelchair. I did not know how to ask him where he had acquired that particular talent.

  I did not select much. Several sweat suits, baggy enough to fit over my casts, to wear in the hotel room. For work I chose a selection of knee length skirts, again with the cast in mind. Tank tops and a light jacket—chosen to provide a professional appearance should I need it—would be enough for the late August weather. A few camisoles for night wear and, finally, half a dozen pairs of plain cotton panties and the same number of sports bras. I was working, after all, not dating. Socks and one pair of shoes. Flats, but that could pass for dressy at need.

  As tempting as it was to get petty revenge on Matei by shopping in expensive boutique stores, the big anchor stores in the downtown mall served my purposes well enough. Even so, the prices were high enough to bring a smile to my lips.

  Of course, Matei would not even notice the cost which kind of spoiled the point.

  Ware did not just drop me at the hotel. He parked and helped me take my purchases upstairs. I had to wonder why he was being so considerate. Was my knowledge of vampires his only motivation?

  "Nice room," He said as he set the bags on the small table.

  I grinned, "I'm pissed at Matei. If he can leave me up here without backup, he can pay for a nice hotel."

  Ware's face went blank. "Without backup?"

  I raised my hands. "Sorry. I didn't mean it that way. I'm sure you're an excellent police detective, but you have no experience dealing with vampires." I nodded toward his hip. "You realize your gun is useless? Lead bullets go through them like smoke, don't even leave a hole."

  "Silver solder melted into the cavities of hollow points?"

  "Exactly," I said. At least that stings them, and a well-placed shot can slow them down for a bit. Several can drop them at least long enough to get a stake into them."

  "I'll look into that," Ware said.

  "Speaking of which, can I get my gun back?"

  Ware's lips pressed into a tight line and he shrugged. "The prosecutor is holding onto it as evidence."

  "Evidence of what? I thought you ruled my case self-defense. Do I need a lawyer?"

  Ware shook his head. "He's just being a dick. He's good at his job, but man, he can be an asshole sometimes. Unfortunately, he's got the authority to do it."

  I swore. Finally, I wound down and sighed. "All right. We need to plan our next steps. Meet tomorrow, then?"

  "Pick you up at eight?"

  "Works."

  "Tomorrow then."

  As soon as the door closed, I picked up my phone and punched up the home office number.

  "McIntire Investigations."

  "This is Herzeg. I need to talk to the boss, now."

  "One moment, Dani."

  She had called me Dani. That was a bad sign.

  "Ms. Herzeg," Matei's voice came on the line with little delay.

  "Matei, what do you expect me to do up here?"

  "I expect you to kill four vampires before they become even more of a problem."

  "I have a broken hand, ankle, and rib," I said. "It will take a couple of weeks for them to heal properly. The police aren't even letting me have my gun back. How the hell do you expect me to do anything like this?"

  "You will just have to improvise."

  "Dammit, Matei, can't you at least..."

  "I have already used too much influence," Matei said. "You'll have to see to your own arming."

  "I'm out of state, Matei. Gun stores won't sell to me. It's illegal. And I'm working with a cop. He'll know if I show up with a gun that I had to get it illegally. I can't kill vampires from a jail cell."

  "You are a resourceful woman, Dani. You will...rise to the occasion."

  There are times when Matei's unwavering tone irritated me to no end. This was one of them. "Damn you, Matei."

  "According to your major religions, I am already damned. I shall do what I can from here, within the limits that I have."

  "Yeah, you're safe down there while I..." I sighed. "Go to hell, Matei."

  "In due time, I probably shall. In the meantime, you have a job to do."

  I disconnected before I could shout any more imprecations that would just bounce off him.

  I set my crutches aside and sank down onto the bed. Improvise, he said. Rise to the occasion.

  I wondered how a soulless monster could have such faith in me.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The alarm on my phone woke me at six the next morning. When I closed the alarm, I saw that I had two texts. The first was from Matei. A simple, "I have considered your problem." The next was from Ware.

  "Something has come up. I'll meet you at ten thirty."

  I frowned at the phone. I supposed that he had other cases to work.

  Since I was in no particular hurry I took a long, leisurely shower. Freshly washed, I delighted in kicking the dirty hospital scrubs aside. First, clean underwear. A heavenly treat as I'd had none since waking in the hospital bed. I dressed in a blue-gray skirt and a sky-blue tank top before seating myself in my wheelchair and heading down to breakfast. Same restaurant as the previous night. Coffee and pastries, the other option without leaving the hotel, would be no more satisfying at breakfast than they would have at dinner.

  After eating, I lingered over coffee while scanning through the news on my phone. The hospital massacre had made national news. The media were calling it a terrorist attack although nobody had claimed responsibility for it.

  Terrorism, though, meant Homeland Security would be all over it, making it even harder to do my job.

  I switched to local news. Buried deep in one article was that Detective Sergeant James Ware, Indianapolis Police Department, was heading the investigation. Ware? Not Homeland? Not the FBI?

  I shook my head. Matei had been busy. If he'd been using Push to keep the Feds out of my way, then maybe prying my gun loose was a lesser issue after all.

  Dammit, I hated it when he was right.

  The light on the room phone was blinking when I returned, indicating I had a message. I read the little menu next to the phone before picking it up and dialing the indicated number.

  "Front Desk."

  "This is Dani Herzeg." I gave him my room number. "You have a message?"

  "A package was just delivered for you by FedEx, Ms. Herzeg."

  "A package? Does it say from whom?"

  "The return address says McIntire Investigations."

  I pinched the bridge of my nose and shook my head. Matei, I thought. What have you done? If you've sent me a gun, quite illegally, what am I supposed to do with it?

  "Okay, give me a minute and I'll be..."

  "No need to come down, Ms. Herzeg. I'll have somebody bring it to you."

  "Thank you," I said.

  "Our pleasure."

  I hung up. I sat wondering how I was supposed to ensure that Ware never learned I had an illegal gun.

  Someone knocked at my door.

  "Just a minute," I shouted.

  I hobbled over to the door on crutches and peered through the peephole. A young man stood outside the door wearing a maintenance uniform. I engaged the swing arm security lock and cracked open the door

  "Yes?"

  "Package, ma'am."

  He held a package in his arms, a cubical box about twelve inches on a side. The label was on the upper surface and I could not read it from that angle.

  I chided myself for being
paranoid. The truth was, despite my injuries, no lone human was a threat. I closed the door to disengage the lock then opened it.

  "Come in."

  He started to hand me the box, then saw my crutches and stepped inside.

  "Where should I put it, ma'am?"

  I pointed. "The table is fine."

  He set the package down then backed away.

  "Do you have a knife?" I asked.

  "Ma'am?"

  "A knife," I said. "The box is taped shut. I don't have one."

  "Oh, yes ma'am." He unclipped a small folding knife from his belt and flicked it open. With three deft swipes he cut the tape holding the top of the box closed.

  "Thank you," I said. "I don't have any cash until I get to an ATM, but maybe I'll catch you next time."

  "That's all right, ma'am."

  He backed out the door, closing it before I could hobble over.

  I looked at the box. It was too big for a gun. I opened the top flaps. Styrofoam liner inside.

  A folded piece of paper sat on top of the Styrofoam. I opened it and read.

  "Dani, I cannot get your gun for you. You will have to resolve that problem on your own. But I need you at one hundred percent. Matei."

  I swore. "Matei, you bastard."

  I opened the foam inner box. Fog spilled out of it. An object wrapped in bubble-wrap filled the upper portion of the inner box. I removed it, exposing the dry ice that filled the bottom portion of the box.

  I set the outer box aside. I had to do something with it soon, but it could wait. I picked up the wrapped parcel and looked at it. Taped closed. That figured, I thought. And the young man with the knife was already gone.

  Tearing at the package with teeth and fingers eventually got it open. Inside, I saw dark, maroon red. A plastic pint bag of blood. Vampire blood.

  Vampires could heal their physical injuries by drinking blood. That's one thing the stories got right. Most blood does nothing for a dhampyre except taste nasty. There was, however, one exception. Vampire blood. Matei had sent me a pint of his own blood to speed the healing of my injuries.

  I looked at the clock. Nine. I had enough time before Ware arrived. I hated this. I really hated this. But Matei was right. I needed to be fit if I was going to find and kill these vampires.

  I stood on my crutches, holding the bag pinched by one corner between my left hand and the handle of the crutch. I went to the bathroom. I did not want to have to explain any spilled blood on the carpet. I could clean the tile in the bathroom if I had to.

  The tub, I thought. The handicapped seat. I disrobed. I climbed into the tub and set the crutches aside. I held the bag in front of me for a moment, steeling myself. I gripped the fitting for a transfusion tube with my teeth. I pulled.

  The plastic tore just behind the fitting. A few spoonfuls of blood squirted out of the bottle, hitting me in the cheek, falling on my thigh, and spilling onto the bottom of the tub. I wrapped my lips around the torn opening and sucked, squeezing the bag to flood my mouth with blood. I swallowed. Again.

  Pain flared through my body. My ankle flamed. My right hand and side felt like someone was driving iron spikes into them. Then I convulsed as the rest of the pain hit. I clamped my jaw on the scream that tried to force its way out of my throat, turning it into a strangled grunt.

  As my body writhed, I fell off the seat and into the floor of the tub, where I lay twisting, convulsing, as vampire blood burned its way through my body.

  I came to myself an eternity of agony later. I had slid down into the bottom of the tub. I sat up and pulled myself up onto the seat. Aside from the hollow in my belly, I was pain free for the first time since the vampire drove me off the roof.

  I picked up the plastic bottle and dropped it into the bathroom trash can. I'd have to dispose of it properly later. Spatters of blood dotted my body. More spatters marked the interior of the tub. I'd managed to get about half the pint in me and not spilled.

  I stood. Gingerly I put weight on my left foot. No pain. I tensed my hand inside the cast on the right. Again, no pain. The blood treatment had worked.

  I turned on the shower spray. Before stepping out of the tub and maybe tracking blood elsewhere, I needed to wash off. A quick shower later, blood washed off my body and out of the tub, I stepped out and checked my phone. Just after ten. Ware would be here soon.

  I punched in his number. He answered on the second ring.

  "Detective Sergeant Ware."

  "It's Herzeg." I held up my left hand in its cast to look at it. "When you come to get me, could you bring a set of tin snips or other heavy shears?"

  "What? Why?"

  "You'll see."

  It would be good to walk without the cast any more.

  Ware arrived at my room a pair of tin snips in hand. I met him at the door.

  "Gimme," I held out my hand for the snips.

  He handed the snips over without word or even expression. I renewed my vow to never play poker with this man.

  He did open his mouth to say something as I stepped back, no crutches, cast thumping on the floor.

  I grinned at him.

  "You said you healed fast," he said in measured tones, "but..."

  "My boss came through at least a little bit," I said. "He decided that having me...limited...for the time it would take me to heal naturally would not be in his best interests."

  "Oh?" Ware's expression—yes, he did sometimes show expression—expressed interest.

  I did not enlighten him. Instead, I sat on the edge of the bed and attacked the cast on my right arm with the snips. I soon had the cast off and turned my attention to the one on my foot.

  A minute later, I stood in front of Ware, both casts off, one foot encased in a sock, the other bare.

  "That is so much better."

  "You planning to go out like that?"

  I looked down. "Guess not."

  I grabbed the mate to the sock I wore and my shoes and retreated to the bathroom. A moment later I stepped out, properly attired.

  I followed Ware down to the parking garage. He hesitated a moment as we reached his car, then turned to circle it to the driver's side. Looked like he assumed I could fend for myself now.

  I waited until he unlocked the car with his fob then opened the door and sat.

  "Where we headed?" I asked.

  "The station," Ware said. "I need to give a briefing on the case and you're supposed to be the hired consultant so..."

  As he pulled out of the lot, he cast a sideways look my way. "This case has just gotten political."

  "Never mind the vampire angle," I said. "You've got a high profile ritualistic serial killer. How could it not be political?"

  "Oh, it's worse than that. You'll see."

  The station was not far from the hotel. A few minutes later we pulled into the police lot. Ware led me into the station and up to what I presumed was the squad room. At least a dozen plainclothes detectives occupied the room, some working at desks, others in quiet conversations.

  Ware tapped at the door to an office. The sign on the door read "MacKenzie."

  "Yeah," came from inside.

  Ware opened the door and stuck his head in. "Ready, Lieutenant."

  "Be right there, James."

  Ware led me to a desk and indicated a seat. I sat.

  Ware sat at the desk and began typing at the computer. Paperwork, I guessed, the bane of my job when performing ordinary investigations and no doubt a worse curse on actual police.

  As he worked, I glanced around the squad room. While the other officers continued their activities, a few cast curious frowns my way. Curious and hostile. I understood. I was the stranger in their territory.

  "All right, listen up." A tall, older man stood in the doorway of Mackenzie's office. He wore navy blue slacks, neatly pressed, and a light blue shirt with a red tie. I could just see tail end of his sidearm protruding from an inside-waist-band holster from behind his right hip. "Ware. You're up."

  "Yes, sir." Ware sto
od up. He removed a folder from a drawer in his desk and opened it.

  "This ritual killer case," Ware said, "Has just gotten political. More political."

  He removed something from the folder, walked to the tack board, and stuck it up. It was a photograph, a young girl, nine or ten years old. Dark brown hair just a bit longer than shoulder length. She was looking at someone, another child, only partially visible in the frame, and laughing.

  "Copies of this photo were found stuffed in the mouths of every one of the victims at the Riley murder scene."

  "Who's the girl?" One of the officers, a woman, mid-thirties with red hair even shorter than mine.

  "Cecelia Thompson," Ware said. "Councilman Thompson's daughter."

  The room went frozen.

  "Shit." The voice came from the back of the room. I did not see who spoke.

  "Exactly," Ware said. "We've got ritual killings, mass murder, and political terrorism all rolled up in one big shitball. The techs are still processing what they've collected at the scene. That will take time, time we do not have. So this is going to take good old-fashioned police work. So far, the Feds and Homeland are leaving this to us, don't ask me why because I don't have an answer other than magic." Ware did not look at me when he said that. "And the Chief, with the lieutenant's approval—" Ware nodded at MacKenzie "—has left it to me. But it's going to be a team effort. So, work your sources and keep your ears to the ground. Anything that might indicate a new cult, or political grumblings."

  "Needless to say," MacKenzie broke in, "this is our number one priority. But that doesn't mean you can slough off on your other cases. Other crime continues and cases need to be closed."

  "Question, sergeant," the redhead said.

  "Go ahead, Jan." Ware nodded.

  The redhead pointed to me. "Who the hell is she and what is she doing here?"

  Ware looked at me. "Ms. Herzeg has been hired by the Unigov as a consultant on the case. Her agency has had experience with similar cults in the past and those in charge believe she may have information and insights of value to this investigation." He held a hand in my direction. "Ms. Herzeg?"