by Martha Woods
“Did you have a mentor? Or did you have to teach yourself?” I ask.
“I certainly didn’t know anyone else who could do what I did. I started dressing all goth and charging people for their premonitions. It wasn’t until I got out here, with Harvey, that I started recognizing the energy of other witches.”
“Harvey…he was you ex?”
“She,” Faye says. “Harvey is a female.”
“Oh,” I say.
“Yes, my ex,” she says. “She was – is – in a punk band.”
“When did you break up?” I ask.
She lifts a shoulder. “Couple years ago.”
“Was it something you wanted?” I ask. “The breakup?”
She looks at me sharply. “Sharing time is over. I know you’re, like, mooning over Damon and whatnot, but I am not interested in having a sleepover and baring our souls together.”
I put up my hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Well, then, let’s talk about bad warlocks, then. Any luck on your end?”
She tends to another customer’s question about herbs, offering a slightly less put-off attitude than with the customer before. She even says “Thank you” as the person leaves.
“That was better,” I say.
“Whatever,” she says, popping a bubble with her gum. “In answer to your question, yes. I have heard through a source wishing to remain nameless, that there is a warlock fitting the description from your vision. Matthew Quick.
“Quick?” I ask.
“Yup.”
“Hm. Well, I came across a State Senator named Alvin Quick who has some loose dealings in some of the varying holding companies that are tied to the Centerfold Club. Could it be the same person?”
“This guy’s an actor,” she says. “Lives in Beverly Hills.”
“Brother, maybe?” I ask.
“No idea. My source just said he fits the bill.”
“Thanks, Faye,” I say. “Nice talking to you.”
“The feeling was not mutual,” she says as I turn for the door.
I turn back and say, “Liar. You love me.”
My phone is to my ear as soon as I am back in the car. Cara answers on the first ring.
“Hey,” she says. “What’s up?”
“Do you know the name Matthew Quick?” I ask.
“Everyone does,” she says. “You know it, too. Or, I’d be surprised if you didn’t, since you watch so many movies.”
“It’s not ringing a bell,” I say.
She rattles off several movies that I recognize and we talk about which characters he played in each one. Slowly, his face comes into focus.
“Oh, oh,” I say. “Yes, I’ve got it now. I know who he is. Thank you.”
She laughs. “Was there a purpose to that little trivia game?”
“Yes. He’s a person of interest in a case I am working on. How do I meet him?”
“You’re a cop, Amy,” she says. “Just go question him.”
“Well, about that…” I say, cringing as I watch the road ahead of me. “I’m on thirty-day leave, so I can’t really, officially, question him.”
“Why are you on leave, Amy?” she asks, suddenly very serious.
“A colleague of mine died while I was with her. We went to lunch. She felt sick, ran from the table. I followed to check on her and she collapsed.”
“Nothing you said leads me to believe you would be put on leave for that,” she says. “What are you not telling me?”
“Rick is not happy with me the past year,” I say. “I haven’t been myself. He didn’t believe that I had nothing to do with her death.”
“Well that’s just stupid,” she says. “You would never hurt someone.”
“I am not a suspect. He just wants me to get counseling or something. I just ant to solve this case. Women are dying, Cara. I can’t just sit by and let it happen.”
She takes a deep breath. “Well, listen, Tony heard us talking about Matthew Quick and I guess they worked on a film together. Quick is having a party next weekend. He’ll get us all an invite.”
“Awesome,” I say. “So…you and Tony?”
“Things are good,” she says. I hear the smile in her voice. There is a heartbeat of silence and she lowers her voice to say, “Amy, I’ve been having…memories. Bad ones. We can talk about it later but I…”
“Okay,” I say. “Yes. Let’s talk soon, alone.”
“I love you,” she says.
“I love you too.”
Chapter 15
After finally giving in and going to the spa with Cara, I am buffed from head to toe, my makeup is perfect, and the stylist gave a quick touch-up to my updated haircut.
Cara puts me in a backless halter top that looks black but morphs to a glittery green in certain light. She’s paired it with dark, skinny jeans and tall, peep-toe heels.
“This is totally not me,” I complain as I look in the mirror.
“That haircut is begging for an updated wardrobe, Amy,” Cara responds. “Time for your boring khakis and sweaters to go.”
“This is not a work-appropriate look,” I counter.
“No, but a stylish suit never hurt anyone,” she says. “Look how good you look. You have that buff bod – you should show it off every once in a while.”
“I guess,” I grumble.
“Thanks…for earlier,” Cara says, getting serious.
As we sat in the sauna, Cara had told me she was having what she thought were memories – memories that seemed so over-the-top that she wondered if her mind was playing tricks on her. She had images in her head of being nude, emaciated, performing sexual acts on Charlie as others watched. Letting him bite her. Having endless orgasms as he drank her blood.
“Do you think it was real?” I had asked.
“Yes,” she had said, tears her eyes. “Yes, I do. What was that, Amy?”
“He was…” I responded, not sure how to answer. “He was killing you.”
“How?” she asked through her tears? “I don’t understand.”
“This,” I said. “I can’t tell you directly, but you can figure it out. What was he doing?”
“Biting me, drinking my blood,” she said. “I mean, if this was a movie, I’d have said he was a vampire.” She’s still crying lightly. She sniffles and then meets my eyes.
I raised my eyebrows in response. My expression, I imagine, was as serious as they come.
She gave a disbelieving laugh but her smile quickly died as she looked at my face. “No way,” she had said.
“Cara, you can’t tell anyone about this. Any of it. Okay? If you promise you won’t tell, I will tell you the truth. As much as I can, anyway.”
She had nodded fiercely. “I promise.”
I told her everything. I told her about my first run-in with Damon and Vincent. I told her about the werewolf shaman, and The Sisters, and Olivia. I told her about the Centerfold Club, the murders, Damon’s possession.
“So that’s why he left?” she asked. Her face went sour. “Well, good riddance to anyone who hurt you Amy.”
“I don’t feel that way about it,” I had said. “But I understand why you would.”
“And you have a relationship with this vampire Vincent?” she had asked. “How do you know he won’t do the same to you as Charlie did to me?”
“He wouldn’t,” I said. “I trust him.”
We had hugged and cried, two friends finally totally reconnected now that the truth was between us. And it felt so good, so good to tell someone. To tell her the truth.
“Tony’s outside,” she says, looking at her phone. She looks beautiful, with her long, blonde hair sleek down her back. She wears a red dress with a plunging neckline and a flirty hem. Her heels are tall and nude and red-bottomed. She’s an attorney but she could easily be a model.
As we head out, Tony is decidedly less dressed-up than we are. In a black t-shirt and crisp jeans, he looks very casual and comfortable as he gives me a wave before enveloping Cara in an embrace that
leads to a kiss hot enough to melt plastic.
I slip inside the car as they practically make out on the street. When they slip in with me, he apologizes, grinning as he wipes Cara’s lipstick off of his mouth.
I am happy for her. He seems like a really good guy and he is clearly into her. I hope it lasts. I hope he is kind and loving. I just want her to be happy.
We drive into Beverly Hills and the driver drops us at a large but not ostentatious house. We wander inside, finding most of the guests milling around out back, by a sparkling pool.
Tony knows quite a few people. He introduces us to several other screenwriters, who are huddled together at a table with their drinks, talking about projects that they are working on. Cara runs into an actress she represented once in a case and wanders off to chat and catch up, leaving me to head to the bar by myself.
After I get a martini, I wander around, looking for Matthew Quick. I find him in the hot tub, surrounded by a handful of women and men, all hanging on his every word and gesture. I think they’re all nude. Great.
He is handsome, Matthew Quick. He has to be related to Alvin Quick. They look identical from the pictures I have seen.
I make small talk with some guy who tells me all about a role he auditioned for recently. He asks what he’s seen me in, and it takes me a moment to realize he thinks I am an actress. I laugh at this.
“Oh, no,” I say. “I’m not an actress.”
“Really?” he asks. “You should be. You’d be great on camera, I’d bet.”
I shake my head. “No. I’m actually a forensic investigator.”
“Like a CSI person?” he asks.
“Yep. A real one. I don’t just play one on TV.”
“Cool!” he exclaims. “So, you, like, see a lot of dead bodies?”
“I do, but it’s not as glamorous as they make it seem on television,” I say. “It’s pretty gruesome most of the time.”
I look away from the young actor and see a pair of women whose faces have become all-too-familiar to me. They both smirk at me from across the pool area.
“Excuse me,” I say. “It was nice talking to you.”
I make my way to Mika and Ivanka, who both look otherworldly, even though they wear more modern clothing than I am used to seeing them in.
“Ladies,” I say. “Taking a night off from fornication?”
“No,” Mika says. “Just looking for someone interesting to add to our fun. Interested?”
“I am not,” I say.
“You should be careful telling people you’re a cop, Amy,” Ivanka says. “No one here wants a police officer sniffing around. Even one as delectable as you.”
My lips purse as I realize they are probably right. If I want to get near Matthew Quick, he can’t know I am an investigator. I should have thought of that.
I look to Mika. “Can you erase his memory of what I said?”
“Oh, I could,” Mika says. “But you would owe me a party trick.”
“What kind of party trick?” I ask.
“I hear you can read people’s auras,” Mika says. “I was never able to. I am curious about how it works. What you see.”
“That’s it?” I ask. “You just want me to read people’s auras?”
“Simple, really,” Ivanka says with a dismissive laugh. She looks around the room, her eyes black with hunger.
I point out a few people. A happy aura, a jealous aura, an aura inflamed with sexual desire. Mika and Ivanka find this amazing. Another, another, they ask, and I oblige, all the while looking over to where Matthew Quick sits, now out of the hot tub but still surrounded by admirers.
He wears only a towel. One woman has her hand underneath the fabric. He pays attention to a conversation with a man on his other side while the woman pleasures him. I would be shocked if I hadn’t already seen this type of behavior among the vampires.
Mika leans to my ear from behind me. “We could pleasure you like that, Amy,” she whispers.
I stiffen. “I’m fine. But thank you.”
“Oh, that dreadful Vincent,” Mika says. “He leaves his scent all over you. Ivanka can hardly stand to be around you. His scent makes her insane. Tonight, I’ll fuck her as him again. Not my favorite form.”
“One more aura, Amy?” Ivanka says, her fingers trailing along Mika’s bare arm.
I zero in on a woman, sitting alone, looking out over the valley. Her aura is dark. Not angry. Not sad. I realize she is suicidal.
Mika’s gaze follows mine. “What do you know?” she muses.
“She is not well,” I say. “I think I may go speak with her.”
“I can see it in her,” Mika says. “A plague of self-loathing. She will take her own life.”
“Not if I can help it,” I say. “Excuse me.”
I walk swiftly over to where the woman sits, a drink in her hand. She looks out over the twinkling lights that dot the landscape.
“It’s pretty,” I say.
“Yes,” she says.
“May I sit?” I ask.
“You can do what you want,” the woman answers.
I sit and look out at the view for a while. Finally, I say, “Are you okay?”
She gives me a side-eye glance. “This just isn’t my scene.”
“I think it might be more than that,” I say. “Can I…this is presumptuous, but can I direct you to the suicide prevention hotline?”
She inhales sharply. “What?”
“I’m a police officer,” I say quietly. “I am trained to recognize the signs. Can I help you? In some way?”
She shakes her head and sips her drink. Stands. “No one can help me,” she says, walking away.
I stand and watch her walk to the bar. Someone says hello to her and they start a conversation. She glances at me several times.
My senses jolt. Matthew Quick’s magic has flared. I see him walk into the house, so I follow discreetly. Or so I think, anyway, until he turns sharply, staring me down.
“What can I do for you?” he asks.
“I’m…” I start but trail off. Do I let him know who I am?
“You’re a forensic investigator. Amy McCartney, heading the Centerfold Murder investigations. Am I correct? Does your boss know you’re here without a warrant?”
“What my boss knows or doesn’t know is irrelevant. And I just came with a friend. No official business,” I lie.
“Well,” he says, “You’re lying, but it doesn’t matter. I really don’t enjoy having cops at my parties,” he says. “You should let yourself out. I’ll only ask nicely one time. After that, we’ll be having a more intense experience, you and I.”
“What does that even mean?” I ask. “You’re threatening me? I haven’t done a single thing to deserve such a threat.”
“One could argue that point,” he says. “Still, this is my home and you are uninvited. Please leave.”
“Why are you doing it?” I ask, my heart beating wildly in my chest. “Why kill all those women? Why this crazy spell to create this super-breed of witches? What’s in this for you?”
“Wow,” he says with a broad smile. “You are bat-shit crazy, aren’t you? What the hell are you even talking about?”
His aura is pink. Deception. Lies. I say, “I am pretty good at reading people, Mr. Quick, and I can see that you are not being truthful with me. Stop playing games.”
He pushes his lips together, takes a deep breath and lets it out. “Creatures,” he says, disgust dripping off of the word. “A culling is necessary to cleanse us of their scourge.”
“Whoa,” I say. “Launching right into the bad-guy monologue already? I didn’t even have to try that hard.”
“Because you won’t leave here alive” he says. “So why not tell the truth? My acolytes are honing their skills, planning for the war that will come. They will wipe creatures from the map, using the power that my seed provides them wherever the creatures do not kill each other. When the dust clears, the next generation of pure witches will be born. That race w
ill become the master race. The next evolution of humanity.”
“The creatures, as you call them, are banding together,” I say. “Why would they kill each other? They want nothing more than to see your plan fail. They will work together.”
“Why do you care about them?” he asks. “You are a witch. You would be spared.”
“You don’t get to make the rules about who lives and who dies,” I say. “That’s why I care.”
He laughs. “You can’t stop me. This thing has already begun.”
Suddenly, I feel sick. My stomach roils. I think I’m going to throw up. I look at Matthew Quick, and sense no use of power from him. It’s not him causing me to feel this way. I look around, desperate, and run.
I find the bathroom and throw up, heaving everything out of my stomach. I retch and retch, and my head feels fuzzy, but not in a way that makes me think I have been drugged. No…the feeling seems more tied to my abilities, but I cannot, for the life of me, figure out what it going on.
As my vision goes fuzzy, my hands become numb, I see them.
“Little, sad girl,” Ivanka says, running a fingertip over the girl’s face. “Did you know that a person’s aura can be muddy and dull when they are depressed and suicidal? I just learned that this evening.”
The girl’s eyes are glassy, too much to drink. She tries to focus but it’s obvious she cannot. Mika steps forward.
“Do you want to die?” the vampire asks.
“I-I…” the girl starts. She swallows, nods lightly. “I hate how I feel.”
“We can help you,” Mika says. “Would you like our help?”
“I’ve tried…counselors. Psychiatrists. Medications. The last ten years, I…I’ve tried putting on a brave face, a happy face. Help doesn’t help,” she says.
She’s pretty. She has a small face with a pointed chin and big, brown eyes. She’s been told she would look great on camera. She’s auditioned for a few roles, only halfheartedly.
Mika and Ivanka share a look as she talks. Slowly, Mika leans in, her mouth on the girl’s neck. She kisses her, at first. The girl’s eyes are wide, but not afraid. She says she’s never done anything like this.
“We’re sure you haven’t,” Ivanka says, kissing the other side of her neck.
