by J. K. Beck
She hurried out of the house and found the motorcycle where she’d left it in the drive. She roared down San Vicente, then headed south on Ocean Avenue. Despite the weekend crowd of tourists and locals, she didn’t have any trouble parking the bike near where she’d found the teenager. When she reached the scene, she wasn’t terribly surprised to see that there was nothing there for her to find. No vampire dust, no crime scene tape. She grabbed a stick and poked through the beach detritus—bits of paper and plastic—but nothing caught her eye. Just damp sand and a few fast-food wrappers that had obviously been caught in the wind.
Well, damn. She’d been hoping to find something—anything—that could give her some sort of clue.
Apparently, wishing wasn’t enough.
She took one last look at the scene and started back toward her bike. She’d gone about a hundred feet when she heard the pounding of footsteps behind her, accompanied by the sound of heavy breathing. She turned, and found herself face-to-face with a sweating, overweight guy in swim trunks and a Navy SEAL T-shirt. A camera hung around his neck.
“You’re a cop, right?” he demanded.
“What makes you say that?”
He rolled his eyes, as if to say, Oh, please. “You’re here about the mummy, aren’t you? Come on. Just give me a quote. I’ve been out here all day, and I’m never an asshole to the cops like some other bloggers.”
“The mummy?”
“I mean, it’s my scoop, right? I was here when Homeland descended on the place, and—”
“Wait. Homeland Security? How do you know?”
“One of the dudes at the perimeter told me. Why, were they shitting me?”
“You say they were looking at a mummy?” she said. “In the drainage ditch. And you’re asking me if they were shitting you?”
His face lost some of its confidence. “You mean—”
“I mean this is Los Angeles, my friend.” She held her hand out and smiled as broadly as she could. “Tori Jennings, production executive. Pleasure to meet you.”
“Production exec?”
“Cable channel. Small but strong. And I’m afraid you stumbled onto a run-through of one of our new shows.” She stretched the smile even broader. The last thing she wanted was some blogger digging around in the very mystery she was investigating. She glanced at her watch, then exaggerated her expression of extreme displeasure. “I’ve got to run. Drinks with Tarantino. You understand.”
She left him with his mouth hanging open, then realized too late that she should have asked Mr. Blog back there if he’d gotten a name from the Homeland Security agent. Because she had a feeling that Mr. Severin Tucker’s name was going to come up again. She frowned, considering how she could poke around Homeland without putting herself—and her fake FBI badge—on their radar.
To be honest, though, she wasn’t in a huge hurry. Because as intriguing as the mind-bending agent had been, what she wanted most was to track down Sergius.
She approached her bike, shivering slightly from the vivid memory of her sensual dream, and told herself firmly that this wasn’t why she wanted to find him. She was concerned about the girl. She wanted to make sure she was really okay. Confirm that he’d taken care of her as he said he would, and hadn’t turned her into dinner once he was two blocks away.
It was all about the girl, and that was the mantra she repeated over and over as she drove from the beach back to her house. Because if she repeated it loud enough and long enough, maybe she could will it to be true.
“I wish I could track this Sergius for you,” Leena said. “But I don’t have a spell that will let me search for someone by name.”
“Besides,” Edgar added, “didn’t you say he helped the girl?”
Alexis raised her brows. “Do you believe him? Because even though I want to, I just can’t. That’s why I have to find him. I have to know.”
As soon as she’d returned from the beach, she’d called them both over even though she’d known that the odds of Leena being able to do anything were slim. But she’d had to try. And the truth was that she wanted to be with her friends. Sure, she’d toyed with not telling them, knowing how they’d worry since she’d been injured. But in the end, she’d shared everything. She’d come to rely on them, after all, and it felt nice knowing they were there, and that they cared.
She aimed an imploring glance at Leena. “Isn’t there some way? I could bring back some sand from the beach, maybe track him that way?”
“Sure, except the sand’s been overrun by kids and animals, and the tide must have come in and out at least once, so—”
“My blood!” Alexis said, interrupting. “He gave me some of his blood. Can you use that?”
Leena cocked her head, considering, then nodded slowly. “Maybe. It’s not too often that I have vampire blood in my toolbox, but I think I can pull something together. Yes, I’m sure of it.”
“Excellent.” Alexis leaned back, satisfied.
“But are you sure you want me to?”
“Why the hell wouldn’t I?”
“It’s just that he probably did save the girl. Why save you and then lie about her? So that means we’ll both be spending our time trying to find a vampire that isn’t part of the problem.”
“What other vampire should I be hunting?” Alexis asked reasonably. “Until there’s another attack against a human, I don’t have any dirt for you to make a tracking ball. And now we know that the vampire who killed Tori is dead.”
Dead.
That was the first time she’d let that simple reality sink in. She’d known that the killer was in that alley. She’d killed one of the vamps. Sergius had killed the other. Which meant that Tori’s killer was dead. Gone. Kaput.
Holy shit.
She looked between Edgar and Leena, certain that her own expression had to be glowing. “Oh, my God, he’s really dead, isn’t he?”
Leena’s teeth dragged across her lower lip. “Probably.”
Alexis tensed. “What?”
“Come on, Al, you know how this works. I do the map, but then you have to get there. What if there were four vampires in that alley before you arrived? What if there were ten? We think it was one of the two you fought, but it might not have been. The only way to be sure is to look again.”
She was right. Oh, dear God, she was right. How could Alexis have been so stupid?
“I could look for Sergius,” Leena continued. “But I’d rather use my energy to search for the one who killed your sister. Assuming he’s not dead, we know he’s in town. There’s no law that says he has to stay here, though. So which is more important to you? Finding Sergius? Or making sure the vamp that killed Tori is dead?”
Sergius. The name flooded her head, accompanied by the same erotic sensations of her dream. She shook it off, hoping that neither Leena nor Edgar had noticed the shiver of pleasure that had trailed up her spine. No. That was no reason to search out a vampire. Hell, that was a reason to stay away. But the girl … that poor teenage girl …
Still, Leena was right. The girl was probably safe. And even if she wasn’t, there was nothing Alexis could do to help her now. But the vampire who’d killed Tori? She needed to know that he was dead and gone. That was why she was here in LA, after all. Why she’d sacrificed her job. Why she’d moved back into this house she’d once hated.
Edgar took a sip of coffee, then put it down, his eyes on Alexis. “You know, our little witch isn’t the only one who can find your missing girl. Detective here,” he said, pointing to himself. “And it’s not like you don’t have resources, too. This place is better stocked than NORAD.”
“That might be a slight exaggeration.”
He snorted. “Hardly. But I’m serious. We know he’s a vamp. We have a name. And I know people who’ve been dancing around the edges of the vamp world for years. Got in deeper than I ever had the guts to, but it’s worth asking. If it doesn’t work out, Leena can do her mojo with your vamp-tainted blood. But if it does, then you haven’t wasted her
strength when you’d rather have her search for Tori’s killer.”
“Edgar, I could kiss you. You’re absolutely right.”
“Save that kiss,” he said. “Because I can go you one better. We’ve got more to search on than just a name.”
“We do?”
“We’ve got a picture, too. Or we will.” He pushed back from the table and stood. “Come on,” he said to Alexis. “There’s somebody I want you to meet.”
Two hours later, they were in Van Nuys watching as the police sketch artist put the finishing touches on a face that was all too familiar. That regal jaw. Those expressive eyes. The drawing was in pencil, but even so the eyes were perfect, dark and gray and piercing, as if they missed nothing at all.
“That’s him,” Alexis said. “That’s Sergius.”
They thanked the artist, and after Edgar promised to treat him to a beer soon, they headed back to Edgar’s car. “I’ll drop you at home,” he said.
Alexis turned to him sharply. “At home? What about showing this around? Talking to your friends on the fringes?”
“Trust me, it’ll go better if I meet them alone. These aren’t the most trusting people on the planet. They thrive on paranoia, and if you show up with me, we may get nowhere.”
“I don’t know …”
“Don’t give me that shit. I was a cop when you were still in diapers.”
“A cop, yeah. But this isn’t police work. This is—”
“All fucked up is what it is, and that means there aren’t rules. You want to find Sergius and the girl, we need to play it the best way we can. Spook my contacts, and you’re up shit creek until Leena does her thing.”
He was right, but that didn’t mean she had to like it. But since she had no choice, she nodded. “Fine. But be careful. And call me the second you find out anything.”
“Will do.” He grinned. “In the meantime, park yourself down in the Batcave and see what you can learn. Who knows? Maybe before dawn breaks we’ll have a bead on your friend.”
Friend.
The word seemed to roll over her. She knew Edgar wasn’t serious, but it didn’t matter. She had to shift away from him so he couldn’t see her eyes. She spent the rest of the drive looking out the window and wondering why it was that every time she thought of Sergius, she felt warm and alive … and just a little bit scared.
For a full day and night, Serge watched CeeCee, but there was no sign of the daemon. No sign of anything, really, except the almost insatiable hunger typical of the newly turned. That, and the insatiable need of the young to play video games.
“Seriously? You’ve never played anything? Not World of Warcraft? Not Doom? Not even one of the vampire games? I mean, there are a gobzillion of them out there.”
“I’m sure there are,” Serge said. “Trust me when I say that my life has been adventurous enough.”
“Right. Vampy stuff. I totally get that.” She paused, her hand on the joystick of the current game, in which soldiers were racing around a labyrinth looking for demonic creatures. Like he’d said, too much like his real life.
“So, um, we’ll go out when it gets dark, right?” She was looking at the heavily covered windows. It was only a few hours until nightfall, and he could sense her anticipation. An itchiness. A need.
Then again, maybe that was himself he was feeling. He’d started out calm. As cool as he’d ever been. As responsible as he knew how. He had this girl to mentor, after all. Couldn’t lose his shit around her, right?
And for hours, he’d mentally patted himself on the back. Because Sergius—the same Sergius who’d sought out the dark kiss, the same Sergius who’d battled back his daemon for centuries and had failed at least as many times as he’d succeeded, the very same Sergius who’d survived a curse only to fall prey to a beast that lived inside him—that very same Sergius was managing to hold it all together.
And then it had started to unravel.
First it was just edginess. A restlessness. The sense that he had to keep moving. That if he didn’t stay in motion, the pressure inside would build to exploding. Then it was a burning in his head. A tingling in his hands. An undefined need that he tried to keep ahead of.
“Serge?”
“What?” His head snapped toward her.
“I asked if we could go out. After dark, I mean.”
“Out. Yeah, we can go out.” He forced himself to stand still, then gripped the back of the sofa so hard he probably left dents in the wood beneath the upholstery. “Truth is, you could go out right now if you wanted to.”
“Yeah? But you couldn’t?”
He swallowed, forcing himself to focus on her words. To let the acts of thinking and speaking center him. He explained how vampires became more sensitive to the sun with age. He talked longer than he needed to, hoping the words would calm the beast that was beginning to roil inside.
No. He tamped it down. Please. Not now. Not in front of the girl.
It was coming on harder and faster than it ever had before, and he couldn’t bear the thought of CeeCee seeing the beast emerge, watching as Serge lost all reason, all sense of self. He was tormented by the possibility that this girl he’d saved would watch him get sucked into the hell that was this new existence—and in watching would wonder at what she’d become, and doubt her own ability to control the vileness within.
“Oh, come on! You’re, like, not even listening to me.”
He forced a smile, unsettled by how strongly the beast had surged up, bringing with it a gnawing wave of hunger. He’d pushed it back, but it was still there, lingering beneath the surface. Growing and writhing, waiting to spring.
“Sorry,” he said, hoping his voice sounded normal. “My mind was wandering. What?”
Her wide-eyed expression turned guarded. Gun-shy. And she seemed to shrink in on herself. As if the gregarious kid was only an act, and an overly exuberant one at that. “I’m getting on your nerves, aren’t I?”
“No way.” He shook his head to emphasize the point, at the same time wishing again that he could have one moment—just a single moment—with her asshole of a stepfather. “So what were you saying?”
She relaxed a little, and he gave himself a mental pat on the back. “I wanted to know how old you were.”
“Old enough to fry in the sun.”
Her mouth quirked into a smile, and Serge considered that a victory, though why the thought of his burning flesh was funny he really didn’t know.
On the couch, she shifted again, her forehead puckering as if she was fighting a headache.
“CeeCee?” He moved closer, studying her. “Talk to me. You’re not—”
She bared her teeth. “Grrrr!” she snarled, and then started laughing as he tried to tamp down the wildness in him that had surfaced along with the fear.
“I’m just messing with you. You sure you don’t wanna play?”
She gestured with the control to the screen, and he caught a glimpse of blood and gore as the screensaver dissolved back to the game image.
Blood. Oh, God, the blood.
He reached to take the controller, compelled to play through, to get it off that screen, but he froze when he saw his fingers. They were elongating, and his skin was visibly hardening. Not yet noticeable to anyone but himself. But soon … soon, his hands would resemble claws, and thick scales would cover his body.
“I need to go,” he said.
She looked up from her game. “Go? It’s still light.”
He looked at the clock on the wall. She was right. The sun was close to the horizon, but it hadn’t yet dipped below.
He moved to the window and pulled the shade aside, being careful not to catch himself in the sun’s fading rays. In the distance, he saw the steady figure of a jogger moving toward him on the beach.
The hunger grew. He could take. From the jogger. From CeeCee.
Oh, dear God, what am I thinking?
It was coming on too fast, too hard. He tried to push it down, to fight it, but all of his usu
al tricks weren’t working.
“Serge?”
CeeCee’s voice. It conjured images. Of the beach. Of the woman.
Alexis.
Instinctively, he let her image fill his mind, and while the beast didn’t surrender, it seemed to back off just a little, and his resolve to fight it strengthened. He didn’t know why—at that point he didn’t much care—but thinking about the woman had bought him a little time. He knew it wouldn’t last—he could feel the pressure rising. But he was absurdly grateful for just that extra bit of fight.
He looked hard at CeeCee. “You can’t stay with me.” He couldn’t let her see him like this. Couldn’t let her know what he was—what he’d become. What the hell had he been thinking? That he could mentor a girl? That he could play big brother and make everything right in her world? He couldn’t even control his own fucking world.
Without warning, the hunger, pure and biting, crashed over him again, and he fell to his knees, moaning. He’d let the woman slip from the forefront of his mind, and the beast had taken advantage of that slip. In front of him, CeeCee screamed and climbed onto the couch.
“I’m okay,” he said, sucking in air to calm himself, conjuring the image of Alexis and fighting the urge to analyze why the hell the mere thought of her helped him focus. “It’s okay.”
He moved to the window again. This time, he saw the jogger. Recognized her.
It was Sara, taking a jog in the setting sun, something he knew she did as often as possible, well aware that one day she’d be a true daughter of the night.
He grabbed a blanket off the couch and wrapped it around himself, then he threw the door open, careful to avoid the fading sunlight.
He called to her, then watched as she hesitated, as if she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing. Then she turned to face him, and he saw her surprised expression as she hurried toward him.
