The Vampire's Bond

by Martha Woods

  Once we are back in the car, Vincent says, “They know you are powerful. He will let you come back.”

  “I am exhausted by vampires and their games,” I say. “What if I don’t want to go back?”

  “You heard them,” Vincent says. “Your kind are not allowing you to reach your full potential as a witch. I do not know why, and I believe that Joseph can sense that in you. Otherwise he would never allow me near the house. He tolerates me only because he knows you are with me.”

  “But can he really help me? I can’t play these games, Vincent. I won’t do it if it will not net me the result I need.”

  “It could,” he says. “But they will play for keeps, Amy. They want you. Make no mistake about that.”

  “Oh, that would be hard to mistake, Vincent. I think the lusting and talk of wanting to fuck me pretty much proved they want me.”

  “They want more than your body, Amy,” Vincent says. “They want your brilliant mind and they want whatever powers lurk there under that creamy skin.”

  I don’t have an immediate answer for that. I know I am in over my head. I know I need their help. They are not wrong, Faye and Alexis, the only witches I know, have done nothing to help me further understand the extent of my abilities. Why, I do not know, but I feel strongly that I need these vampires to help me. Even Faye herself said my path needed to cross with theirs. Perhaps she, too, knows that they are what I need. Maybe, in her strange way, she is nudging me toward something more than what I can become on my own?

  It seems so odd, of course, that three vampires would have any bearing at all on the fate of a witch.

  “We need to go back,” I say. “I need them, I think.”

  “We can go back,” he says. “They will expect us back. But if we go, you cannot get into their heads and you absolutely have to let me speak for you.”

  “Deal,” I say.

  Vincent takes me home, walks me up to my apartment, and kisses me on the forehead. It is a sweet gesture from a vampire who has mostly lost touch with his human side. I lean into the kiss, relishing this small thing.

  “I am sorry I was so overcome there,” he says quietly as he pulls away. “That was likely uncomfortable for you.”

  “It was…different,” I say. “But I liked it.”

  “It was necessary,” he says. “For many reasons.”

  I nod, biting my lip.

  “Goodnight, Amy,” he says.

  He’s gone before I can respond.

  Chapter 9

  “Fun fact,” I say as I enter Faye’s shop. “I crossed paths with that coven of vampires as you predicted and they wanted to have a five-way orgy. Perhaps that was not exactly the reason you felt I should meet with them? Or, I don’t know, maybe you just thought I needed to get lucky?”

  Faye cringes a little at this. Today she is in a midriff-baring shirt with the Volkswagen logo on the front, a pair of black suspenders, and black tuxedo pants. Her feet are bare and her buzz cut is now bright yellow.

  “Vampire orgy,” she says, shaking her head. “I assume you did not take them up on the offer?”

  “I did not,” I say. I do not admit, though, that I did indeed have sex with one vampire. That information is need-to-know only and she decidedly does not need to know.

  “Well, then, it is not a fun fact, now is it?” she asks. “It might have been fun, if you’d actually done it.”

  “Would you have done it?” I ask.

  “Never,” she says.

  “Vampire-phobic?” I ask.

  “Phobic of having my blood sucked out of my body,” she says. “For anything other than medically necessary reasons. I know vampires can be quite attractive, though. I have eyes.”

  “Yes, they certainly can,” I say, feeling my cheeks heat as I think of how sexy the two girls’ make-out session was. I am not really into women sexually, but I was not disinterested last night. I was flat-out aroused and that is very much not me. At least, it is not the me I have always thought I was. I think Amy McCartney is evolving, though. Perhaps she is more open, at least sexually?

  I chew on this, slightly disturbed, as I watch Faye finish a round of solitaire.

  “Where’s your BFF?” I ask.

  “I don’t have one,” she answers.

  “Alexis?” I ask.

  “She is not my BFF,” she says, playing a card. “She is an associate.”

  “Do you have actual friends?” I ask.

  “Do you?” she counters.

  “I do, in fact,” I say. “But I didn’t come here to argue about who has the most yearbook signatures. I came to ask if you found anything on Vivienne?”

  “We uncovered a coven of young, purebred witches,” Faye says, still examining her game.

  “Purebred…meaning?” I prompt.

  “Meaning just what you’d think. They are witches whose parents were both magical. A witch and a warlock made a baby. Purebred.”

  “Ah,” I say. “And Vivienne is one?”

  “Yes,” Faye says. “I can’t believe we didn’t know about them before this. They have a Thursday night ritual meeting. Alexis snuck in and says they are nasty. They hate other creatures, hate witches who aren’t of pure blood. They’re like little, witchy Nazis.”

  “Wow,” I say, eyes wide. “Do you think they have anything to do with the murders of the women at the Centerfold Club?”

  “I do not know,” Faye says. “I sense they are, but I think they are puppets. I think they have been brainwashed. Alexis identified several of them and I know some of their parents. They come into the store. I think they would be appalled to know their daughters have some kind of evil sorority of Hitler’s youth.”

  “Well, okay,” I say. “Thank you for some news I can use. I have got an idea, f you’re game?”

  “I suppose it depends on if it is a good idea,” Faye says.

  It is.

  As I walk into the building, Vivienne smiles at me. I am not good at faking, but I do my best to muster a smile in return.

  “Hello, Amy,” she says cheerfully, that dark pink aura still swirling around her. “How are you today?”

  “I am just fine,” I say. “And you?”

  “Oh, I’m good,” she says.

  “That’s good,” I say. “You know, I was thinking about you on my way in this morning, about your offer to go to lunch. I think that’s a great idea. Is today a good day?”

  Her smile widens. “Yes, yes! That’s perfect. Come grab me at noon?”

  I nod and head off toward the labs. When I get to my computer, I examine some of the forensics results from India’s crime scene. I found just a bit of skin under her fingernails and had it examined. The results just came in, and while the skin was a DNA match for the neighbor who attacked her, the results show a residue of unknown chemistry.

  This doesn’t happen very often, where a substance is unable to be identified. On occasion, the amounts are so trace that it cannot be classified with a strong certainty. But in this case, “something” was found, but whatever it is, it is not in the database.

  My scientist mind whirls this around for a while. The other side of me, the one that knows this is a supernatural case, knows that whatever was mixed in with that skin had to do with the way these innocent people are being manipulated toward murdering people they care about.

  I think about the guy who incinerated himself. I didn’t see him go into the house or engage with his target, but that doesn’t mean he hadn’t before that night. Perhaps he had staked these people out ahead of time, given them something to eat or drink? Maybe he had stashed something in their homes?

  It was a lot to think on. I would have to spend some time mapping out possibilities, perhaps visiting the homes of the “suspects.” I feel a little dumb, actually, that I haven’t already done so.

  When I come back to the surface of reality, I realize it is lunchtime. I wander up to collect Vivienne, who is replaced by an unsmiling dispatcher named Etta, who tells Vivienne to hurry back since she
hates, hates, hates front desk duty. Vivienne, always so cheerful, simply smiles and tells Etta thank you for covering her lunch break.

  We walk two blocks to a fairly nice little sit-down lunch restaurant. As we look at our menus, Vivienne chatters about how she always wanted to be a police officer when she was little. She had a neighbor who was a cop and she always looked up to him.

  I see from her aura that this is actually truth. Interesting.

  “What about your parents?” I ask. “What do they do?”

  “Oh, my father is a lawyer and my mother is an artist,” she says. “They did not approve of my choice to go to police academy. In fact, they forbade it.”

  “I have never understood why parents would want to control their adult children’s choices,” I say. “Of course, as I think you know, I have always been quite independent of my parents.”

  We order when the waiter comes to the table. As we chat, I find myself relaxing. Good. I need to appear relaxed for this to work.

  It is not until we are nearly finished with our meals that I feel the tendrils of Vivienne’s power poking around at me. I hadn’t felt it before. As I thought about several of my interactions with Vivienne, and my resulting behaviors, it was much later that I realized I had even been controlled. I was never clear-headed enough around her to realize that she was manipulating me. And afterward, I only had vague, cloudy feelings of the control.

  Mostly, I think she was testing her limits with me. I suspect there were few, which is quite frightening, actually, even now. And as I feel that dark power growing around me, I know that in spite of not being able to be compelled by vampires, I can definitely be controlled by other witches. Or, at the least, influenced. It would scare me if I hadn’t come in ready for such a manipulation.

  “You will cease efforts to stop my master from his efforts to cleanse this world,” Vivienne says.

  I tilt my head. “Who’s your master?”

  Vivienne’s brown eyes go wide.

  “And what efforts?” I ask, smiling a cat’s smile.

  Vivienne’s hands tremble as she reaches for her water glass, but still she says nothing.

  “What’s wrong, Vivienne?” I ask. I pull the talisman Faye gave me from under my sweater. I look down at it, rub it between my thumb and forefinger. “Fun little item. I think I’ll keep it.”

  “I’m not…” she starts. Her lips turn down. She looks like she might throw up. “I need the restroom. I’m not feeling well.”

  She gets up and runs for the restroom. I think she may really vomit, an interesting side effect to having her magic thwarted. I give a few seconds and then follow after tossing cash on the table to cover our lunches. As soon as I get into the ladies’ room, I see that Faye already has Vivienne cornered.

  “Who do you work for?” Faye asks.

  “I would never betray my master,” she says.

  “That’s too bad,” Faye says. There is a moment of concentration on her face and then Vivienne squeals, a sound of agony as her teeth grind together and her back arches. Sparks flicker from her hands, splayed wide at her sides.

  “You doing that?” I ask.

  “Might be,” Faye says with a bored shrug. “Not a skill I get to use often, actually. Not sure if I’m doing it right.”

  “Strong hoodoo,” I comment. “Don’t fry her insides.”

  “That’s not me, those sparks. Her magic is reacting.” She takes a deep breath. “Now, Vivi, tell us who’s your daddy?”

  “Fuck you,” she spits.

  Faye turns up her mental torture a notch. To her credit, Vivienne does not scream. She grunts and moans as her body contorts with the pain, but she does not scream.

  “Last time,” Faye warns.

  “Nine deaths,” Vivienne says, pain evident in her eyes as she pants through the remnants of whatever pain Faye has unleashed on her. “He has to have nine sacrifices, and not just their deaths, but their ability to bear children must come with the sacrifice. Their wombs must not be left in tact.”

  “Why their wombs, if they are to die anyway?” I ask.

  Vivienne shakes her head and looks at the floor, her lips in a tight line, as if she knows she’s already said too much. Faye responds in kind, sweat beading on her forehead as she concentrates on pushing this young witch to talk.

  Vivienne grimaces. She gasps for breath. She says, “The womb is the first sacrifice, the blood is the second, the life force is the third. Three sacrifices from each victim. Tripled to nine victims.”

  “Nine is an auspicious number for witches,” Faye explains. “He could just sacrifice four women and he’d be able to get some spell work done – he’d have earth, air, fire, wand water. But if he triples the sacrifices, he ups the ante quite a bit. The fifth would add spirit. But nine? It would be unprecedented.”

  Faye meets Vivienne’s terrified, pained gaze. Something there convinces Vivienne to keep talking. She says, “The completion of the ritual will allow us all to give life to new, purebred witches. His offspring, stronger and more powerful than any before.”

  Faye and I exchange a glance. This sorority is a breeding pool for a crazy warlock. Holy crap.

  Chapter 10

  “Vivienne,” Faye says, “I can end this pain for you. I can end it and let you go back to work. Just tell us your master’s name.”

  “Never,” Vivienne says through gritted teeth. Spittle hangs from her chin.

  Faye focuses and Vivienne screams this time, arching and sparking.

  “Someone will hear her,” I say. “We’ve got to get her out of here.”

  “Doesn’t matter where you take me. I’ll never betray him,” she says.

  “You already have,” I say. “You told us his whole plan.”

  The realization blooms across Vivienne’s face, her grimace turning to a frown and then to a look of panic. She turns her head, as if she expects him to be there, to punish her for sharing so much information. I watch with curiosity as she sorts it out, but when her face takes on laser-sharp focus, I begin to worry.

  She chants in a low, fluid language I do not understand. I look at Faye and she seems as confused as I am, her head tilted as if she’s trying to hear someone who is whispering. Her eyes narrow as she leans closer to Vivienne, who repeats her chant, getting louder and louder until she just…stops. She stops chanting and falls to the floor.

  I reach down and feel for a pulse. “She’s dead,” I say. “What did she do?”

  “I’m not familiar with whatever language that spell was in, but I heard her heart slowing. I think she stopped her own heart.”

  I let out a sound of frustration. Faye looks at me sharply.

  “Faye,” I say. “You’ve got to get out of here. Vivienne is a colleague of mine. She works at the police station. You don’t need to be associated with this.”

  “What about you?” Faye asks.

  “I’ll just say she said she wasn’t feeling well. That I came to the restroom to check on her and found her like this.”

  Faye nods. “I’ll go back and research the ritual she described, see if we can stop it, or if I can find word of a warlock who might be a purist.”

  “Thanks,” I say as she grabs her bag and slips out. I’m hoping she isn’t seen. This isn’t going to look good, no matter what, but definitely not if someone says they saw a third woman come in to the restroom.

  I call 9-1-1 and then run out into the restaurant, trying to muster fake tears and panic. “My friend!” I yell to the hostess at the front door. “My friend has collapsed in the bathroom. She’s not breathing!”

  Chaos ensues as staff run to see what’s going on, as patrons stop their meals to watch the drama unfold. The ambulance comes just five minutes later, but they pronounce her dead at the scene. The police take photos and statements. Rick shows up, his eyes wide when he sees me, when he realizes the dead body, now loaded onto a stretcher under a white sheet, is Vivienne.

  He doesn’t say anything as we leave the restaurant, as we walk the
few blocks back to the station. Once inside, though, he points to an interrogation room. I wander in to the bleak, lifeless box. It’s got concrete walls on three sides, a two-way mirror on the fourth. There is a table and two chairs. And apart from the camera in the corner, that is it.

  I’m familiar with these rooms. I’ve been in them quite a few times – usually as an investigator. Now twice as a suspect.

  “Amy,” Rick says, pulling out a chair and sitting down. “What the hell?”

  “She said she didn’t feel well, got up, and ran to the restroom. I followed to check on her a few minutes later and she had collapsed.”

  “That doesn’t check out,” he says. “There are several staff from the restaurant that say you followed almost immediately. That you were both in there for at least five minutes. One said he thought he heard screaming.”

  “I didn’t hurt her,” I say. “You know me. I wouldn’t hurt someone like that.”

  “What was going on?” he asks.

  “Nothing,” I say. “I already told you. She got up and ran for the restroom. She looked like she might vomit. I followed a few minutes later. She had collapsed.”

  He nods but I can tell he doesn’t buy it.

  “Just wait for the autopsy, then,” I say. “It will prove that whatever happened to her was just a horrible accident.”

  He licks his teeth and narrows his eyes. “I’ve heard reports that you and Vivienne do not get along, is that a fair assessment?”

  “It’s true, she’s been rather rude to me several times these past weeks,” I say. “She offered to go to lunch to apologize. I accepted her apology.”

  “When you say rude, what do you mean?” he asks.

  “She insinuated that the other investigators say I’m having a nervous breakdown. She made incendiary comments about Damon leaving me. It was like she was trying to bait me,” I answer.

  “For what purpose?” he asks.

  “I have no idea,” I say sharply. “She’s young. Perhaps she likes to stir the pot, create drama. How the hell would I know? I almost went to HR about it, honestly, but when she said she wanted to apologize, I decided to take the high road.”