by Martha Woods
“It’s this type of mistrust that has caused this whole situation. One of us deciding that they don’t deserve to live,” I say.
“I don’t think either of us is saying they don’t deserve to live,” Alexis says. “We just want you to be safe. You tend to…”
“Run in without thinking?” Faye finishes.
“I do not run in without thinking,” I say.
“You totally do,” Faye answers. “It’s your MO, and we get it. You fight for people you care about. It’s a valiant quality, but it is reckless. When you go in to see the cove, think before you speak. Think before you agree to anything. Think about what you see, smell, and hear, but also about what you feel. Walk away if you feel manipulated.”
“I can’t be compelled,” I say.
“Maybe not in the way they are used to compelling people,” Faye answers, her eyes fierce. “But you don’t think you were compelled by Olivia? When she knew you would do anything to protect your friend Cara? Or Vincent? You don’t think she pulled all of your strings to get you to work to her ends?”
“She did play me,” I admit.
“Like a fiddle,” Faye says. “I know you think you can do everything on your own, that you don’t need anyone’s help, but I ask you to stop before you act. Can you do that?”
“Yes,” I answer. “Yes. And I’m sorry. You’re right.”
Alexis looks at her phone and says, “I’ve got to get to the club. Amy, any leads?”
I shake my head. “Not a one. And you’re sure you’ve never seen the owner? Never heard a name tossed around?”
“I’m sure,” she says. “I have searched every nook and cranny of the offices and found nothing leading to any one person.”
“We do have the dagger,” I say. “The one in the hidden desk drawer. Faye said sometimes touching it could trigger a rebound memory, something about its owner, right?”
“Yes,” Faye answers, “That’s right.”
“Have you looked at it?” I ask Alexis.
“I have, and I touched everything, but I felt nothing,” she answers.
I nod. “Well, I guess I’ll have to get back in there and see if it triggers anything for me, then.”
Faye makes a face. I think it means she thinks this is a good idea but one never really knows with Faye. I raise an eyebrow at her in question and she nods. “Yes, you are the strongest with visions,” she says. “It’s a good plan.”
“I assume I don’t need to buy a private lap dance to get access?” I ask.
Alexis laughs. “No, just come in whenever you can.”
“Okay, I’ll follow you to work, then,” I answer, standing and wiping my sweaty palms on the front of my pants.
We say goodbye to Faye and I follow Alexis to the club. It’s still early, so no one is around. As I wander back to the office, I find the door locked. Alexis tries to open it with her master key, to no avail.
We meet each other’s eyes, both realizing that this means someone knows we were poking around where we weren’t supposed to. We look at the cameras at either end of the hallways.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m feeling like I’m being watched a little,” I say.
“Always,” Alexis says.
“Do you feel safe when you’re here?” I ask as we make our way back to the main club area.
“Usually, yes,” Alexis says. “There is definitely a darkness here, a stifling sort of magic, but I haven’t yet figured out the source of it. I don’t think it was the items in that drawer.”
“I concur” I answer.
Alexis goes behind the bar and gets us both glasses of water. After she takes a sip, she says, “I’m beginning to think there is some sort of portal here.”
“Like the Hellmouth?” I ask. At Alexis’ blank expression, I say, “Sorry. My nerd is showing. That was a Buffy reference.”
She gives a thin smile. “Anyway. I’m concerned that there’s more to this place than meets the eye.”
“Well, that seems obvious,” I say. “Four girls dead, drawer full of witchy paraphernalia, strong scent of magic.”
“Yes, but…why? Why this place? Why those girls?” Alexis asks.
“That’s what I aim to find out,” I answer. “But I think I need to sharpen my own tools first. I’m going to go see the coven.”
The next word that pops into my head is a call and I feel it when he hears me.
Vincent.
Chapter 3
I am relieved to see him again. He has his long hair pulled away from his face, tied with a leather strap, because I guess very old vampires don’t do rubber bands.
His blue eyes are bright today. He has definitely fed, and recently. I try to hold back an inexplicable rage at knowing he’s been with someone else. It’s stupid, really. I suppose it is tied to the bond that now exists between us. We have shared blood; we’ve been intimate. Because of that, we are bonded, which is why I can communicate with him telepathically.
He has stayed away in the weeks since the incident with Damon. I guess I should find another way to describe that scene. The Damon Affair? Damon Possession Day? Really, I just need to say it out loud: Damon stabbed me. Damon nearly killed me. I know it was him; I know he was being controlled. But it was Damon’s hand that drove the dagger through flesh and muscle.
“You are thinking a lot,” Vincent observes from my bedroom doorway.
“Always,” I say. “Thanks for coming.”
“You are thinking of him? Of the Hunter?” he asks, arms folded across his chest.
Today he wears a cashmere turtleneck and black dress pants. He’s really quite attractive. Looking at him never gets old. I suppose one could call it ogling. I enjoy ogling him.
“Well, at the moment, I am thinking about how nice you look today,” I answer.
“Nice?” he asks, confused. “I look satisfactory and agreeable?”
I chuckle at this. “Don’t be so literal. I mean you look attractive. Your outfit makes you look appealing.”
“Oh,” he says, looking down at his attire.
“Has anyone ever approached you for modeling?” I ask. “Wait, if someone took your picture, would your image even show up on film? Or is it like how your reflection doesn’t show up in the mirror?”
“The latter, I would imagine,” he answers. “Though I have not had anyone attempt to take my photo in a long time.”
“Hmmm,” I muse. “Interesting.”
“Amy, I enjoy seeing you always, but was there a reason you summoned me?”
“Oh, yes,” I say as I pull the running clothing from my drawer. “I wanted to see if you have heard anything among the community? About the psychotic warlock that wants to wipe supernatural creatures off the map?”
He nods. “Not specifically about the warlock, but yes. The covens are preparing for war. There have been several peace accords between warring covens, as they will band together for the purposes of fighting this threat.”
“Wow, how will they ever trust each other?” I ask.
“They will not trust each other,” Vincent says. “They may have a temporary détente as they fight a common enemy, but they will always be wary of each other. Civil war is a very real possibility as tension rises. There will be power plays. Vampires will die at each other’s hands.”
“You say that as if it is no big deal,” I say, narrowing my eyes at him.
He shrugs in response. “Vampires are very good at finding reasons to kill each other. They are a power-hungry breed of creature. But if the time comes to fight a common enemy, they will fight at each other’s sides for the good of the race.”
“And with other creatures, as well?” I ask.
“Of course,” he answers. “There is a common threat to us all, so allegiances are being prepared in the case of war.”
Can vampires and werewolves really put up a fight against magic?” I ask. “I mean, magic is so vast, each witch or warlock having very different abilities. Some of them are incredibly strong.”
>
“We can and will fight,” Vincent says. “Have you any information on the warlock in your vision?”
“No, I have run into nothing but dead-ends. Whoever owns the Centerfold Club does not want to be discovered. He went to a lot of trouble to assure it would be nearly impossible to track him down.”
“Are you sure it is just one man?” Vincent asks.
“Fairly sure,” I say. “Isn’t it always just one man wanting to take over the world and commit genocide? I am sure he has many acolytes, though, to help him do his bidding.”
“Yes, it is true that there is generally one person in a position of power, with many to assist in meeting agendas,” Vincent agrees. “He is very good at staying hidden, though. Better than most.”
“Thanks to magic,” I say. “If I had a better handle on my abilities, perhaps I could figure out how to uncover his hiding spot.”
“Perhaps your friend Faye could locate him somehow?” he asks.
“Her powers don’t work that way,” I say. “At least I don’t think they do. I am still very new to how Awakenings work and how powers are honed.”
“It seems that spell work might be a common tool for witches, yes?”
“Yes, maybe,” I say. “I have not seen a lot of spell work done, but I will ask Faye about it,” I say. “Now, I need you to do something for me.”
“Anything,” he says.
“I need you to set up a meeting with the coven for me, with Mika, Ivanka, and Joseph. I need them to help me hone and develop my abilities.”
Vincent really should go play Texas Hold ‘Em in Vegas, because his face gives away nothing of what he is thinking. And he has shut me out of his head for the moment, conveniently.
“You think it’s a bad idea?” I ask.
“I think that you have been through a lot lately,” he says, “but I understand why you want to see them.”
“And?”
“And I will ask for the meeting. On one condition.”
“Which is?”
“I will accompany you,” he says. “And I will act as your negotiator.”
“That’s not necessary,” I say, waving a hand.
I need to try to get a run in, and I decide that while Vincent is intent on filling my bedroom doorway with his big, muscly body, then I will just have to change in front of him. It’s not like he hasn’t seen me naked anyway, and I have never been weird about bodies. They are just bodies, just vessels. Our parts are mostly the same, really.
I pull my pants off and follow with my sweater. Vincent’s eye go wide.
“Oh, don’t be a prude,” I say. “You have seen it all before, several times, and I need to change and get a run in or I won’t be able to sleep.”
“What does running have to do with sleeping?” he asks.
I pull my bra off and replace it quickly with my sports bra, noting how Vincent’s pupils enlarge, his fangs extending slightly at the sight of my naked body. Good to know he still ogles me, as well.
“Well, since Damon…since the incident…I’ve had a hard time sleeping. Running helps me kick off some of the excess energy so I can relax,” I say.
“Are you having nightmares?” he asks.
“Sometimes, yes,” I say, pulling my running tights on.
Sometimes is actually more like all the time, but I am loathed to admit it. I do not want people thinking I am weak, that I cannot get to the other side of a challenge.
“Have you heard from him since he left?” Vincent asks.
“No.”
“Good.”
I have been fiddling with my socks but my head pops up to appraise him at this blunt response. “Good?”
He lifts one shoulder. “I do not think you should be living in the same home with someone who stabbed you.”
“Well, you drank from me,” I said.
“With your permission. During coitus,” he answers.
I bark out a laugh. “Coitus? Yuck.”
“Is that not how humans speak of the act of sex?” he asks.
“Uhhhh, no. No it is not,” I say, shaking my head, laughing. “Is that how vampires think of the act of sex?”
“Sex, hunger, war, and ownership are very intertwined for us, as you know,” he answers. “There is not one word to describe the act of claiming a human mate.”
“Ownership? Yikes.”
“Our world is quite different, as you know.”
“But…ownership? Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously, but as you are aware, being claimed by a vampire can actually keep a human safe,” he answers. “In your case, my claim over you stopped other vampires from harming you.”
“But Charlie’s claim over Cara nearly killed her,” I retort as I finish tying my shoes. “And this is 2017, not 1717. People don’t own each other anymore.”
I stand and walk toward Vincent, putting my hand on his broad, muscled chest. “I agree to your terms, though. You can come with me to the coven, but I speak for myself. Always.”
“You can be a very infuriating woman, Amy McCartney,” Vincent says, his expression softer as he looks at my face.
“I can say the same for you, Mr. Muscles,” I say, grinning. “Thank you for putting up with me. I couldn’t stand to lose another friend right now. It is good to see you.”
“Friends? Is that what we are?” he asks, his face very near mine.
There has always been sexual chemistry between Vincent and me, and nothing on that front has changed. He is gorgeous and I know just what he can do in bed.
Still, as he moves in to kiss me, I slip past him. “I can’t,” I say. “I still hope that Damon might return.”
Vincent’s jaw twitches. “Damon. The man who nearly killed you.”
“The man who was possessed by this warlock that we need to find and dismember, yes,” I answer.
“I think that you need to let the Hunter go,” he says. “Move on.”
“Move on with you?” I ask. “What future could a vampire and a human have?”
“A mutually satisfying one,” he answers.
“Oh, well, mutually satisfying sounds so much better than loving and passionate. Can you please just go and set up the meeting with the coven? I’ve got a warlock to catch. I don’t need boy drama to get me distracted.”
“Your wish is my command, Amy,” Vincent says before heading to the door.
It is strange to see him coming in and out of the apartment like a normal person. I have become used to him coming through the window. But with Damon gone, he has no worry of Hunters. I kind of miss the window appearances, but I would never admit that to him. There is something very teen-vampire-book about a hot creature popping in and out mysteriously. It’s kind of hot and kind of creepy. I know; I am a nerd.
As I open the door for him, he turns and puts a hand on my cheek, leaning in to brush his lips against mine. A big part of me wants to allow him to deepen the kiss. My body knows his body; my blood knows his blood. It would be so easy to fall back into bed with him.
But I believe Damon will come back, and I don’t want anything additional to complicate things between us. Sleeping with a vampire – again – would add insult to injury. I need Damon to know I am here for him. Only him.
So, I gently push Vincent away.
Chapter 4
It is two in the morning when I get a call from the precinct.
“Detective McCartney,” the dispatcher says, “There has been another murder related to the Centerfold Club. I was asked to have you come down to the scene.”
She rattles off the address as I rub my eyes, groggy, having just had an intense, deep dream about Damon. I pat his side of the bed, just make sure he isn’t really there as I ask once more for the address, just to be sure I have it right.
“I’m on my way,” I say groggily, sitting up and looking around the dark room.
A fifth ghost to add to my cast of constant companions. I feel sick to my stomach as I get dressed in jeans and a hoodie, strapping on my weapons belt s
lipping my firearm into its holster.
I drive to the scene, actually only a couple of miles from my own apartment, and find a cute little urban neighborhood, with well-kept cape-cod style homes. It breaks my heart when I see the beautiful, dark-skinned woman I spoke with when I had gone into the club undercover. India was her stage name.
“Same MO,” Rick says, startling me as I stare at the woman’s prone body, blood seeping from multiple stab wounds to her abdominal area. “This time it was a neighbor. Witnesses say they saw the neighbor running after her with a knife just after midnight.”
“Witnesses,” I say. “Let me guess. A girl walking her dog and a guy about six feet tall with sandy blonde hair and a medium build?”
Rick’s eyes go wide. “Well, yes, actually. How did you know that?”
“Because every witness at every one of these scenes is exactly the same. A female witness who just happened to be out walking her dog to see this whole thing go down, and a guy who matches that description. And, by the way, you’ll never find that guy. His addresses never check out, nor do his names.”
“How is the possible?” Rick asks, his tone disbelieving.
“I have theories, but you would lock me in the loony bin if I told them to you,” I say. “But suffice it to say that these perpetrators are acting under the influence of someone else. They are not in their right minds. Every single of them, Rick – every single one – does not remember the incident, does not remember feeling rage. Most of them cared deeply for the women they killed. Most of them would never have lifted a finger to harm these women.”
“So you are saying these perps were framed?” Rick asks.
“Yes, in a sense,” I answer.
“And you know how?” he asks, turning his keen gaze on me. I can tell that, though he phrased it as a question, it is really not.
“I believe so, in theory,” I answer. “But you wouldn’t believe me if I told you, so let me just say that I am on the hunt for the real perp. I believe he is connected to the Centerfold Club’s ownership.”
