by SM Reine
Questioning the bloodless survivors was, unfortunately, a very enlightening experience.
“I could have lived a few more decades without hearing that story.” Charmaine sank into the chair next to Dana’s, forehead cradled in her hands.
They were together at the precinct again. Charmaine’s former office was serving as base of operations for the case, and the bullpen immediately outside was populated by the detectives and agents helping Cèsar. The flimsy door and blinds gave Charmaine and Dana a small amount of privacy from the rest of the team, but only a very small amount.
Dana studied Charmaine’s tired, lined face. She looked like she’d aged an extra decade after questioning one of the fledglings. And Charmaine had already been looking old.
“The killer got sloppy, huh?” Dana asked. “Really fucked up these six fledglings?”
“You could say that. Think he bit off more than he could chew taking down twelve housemates at once.”
“No kidding.” Dana had seen how tidy the spike marks were on the last couple of victims. The new murder scene hadn’t been tidy. Wounds had torn in the struggle, blood had sprayed everywhere, and a lot of those stakes had gone into orifices where stakes didn’t belong.
“The victim I interviewed said that the killer seemed agitated from the moment he attacked,” she said. “Even before he tried to wrestle down twelve men.”
“Twelve men,” Dana echoed, glaring out at the bullpen. Cèsar had been heading their way but stopped to talk to a couple of detectives. They were probably trying to figure out the same thing that Dana was at that moment.
Namely, how could any lone vampire make six vampires at once?
“He must have been freaked out, attacking that many guys,” Dana said slowly. “Master vampires make more venom in survival scenarios.”
Enough venom to make two, or even three, vampires at the same time.
Six of them? How is it possible?
He’d already turned Mahmoud Mol and Dylan Rodgers into vampires that week, too.
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Charmaine said.
“Only masters can make fledglings because it takes a lot of venom to turn one person,” Dana said. “Dickless might be the strongest vampire I’ve ever encountered.”
Stronger than Achlys.
Stronger than the Fremont Slasher.
Even stronger than Nissa Royal.
The door opened and Cèsar came in. He ripped off his tie, tossed it onto the coat rack. “After listening to that victim’s statement, I’m never sleeping again.”
“Did he describe a significant struggle?” Charmaine asked. They’d distributed interviewing the vampires among the senior-most personnel—those most equipped to handle the delicate task of asking the recently dead how they’d died.
“Significant struggle. That’s a nice tidy way of saying that Il Castrato Senesino ripped the victim’s genitals off and got angry when they grew back,” Cèsar said.
That was the same thing Dana’s interviewee had told her. That he’d been turned into a vampire, and then his shadowy assailant had torn into his penis using fingernails.
Penis and balls had grown back immediately.
Dickless had tried again.
And again.
And again.
Each time, he’d gotten angrier.
“Fledglings can regenerate quickly if they’ve got enough blood in their system,” Dana explained. “He sacrificed half the house to feed the other half. A master vampire like Dickless should have known that feeding the vampires would cause such regeneration.”
“Then why’d he get angry over it?” Charmaine asked.
“Serial killers aren’t the most stable,” Cèsar said. “I bet this guy killed so many kittens as a child. Or dachshunds! Weiner dogs. We’ve definitely got a weiner-dog massacre going down here, if you catch my drift.”
Dana shocked herself by laughing. Hard.
Cèsar looked pleased. “That wasn’t even that funny.”
“I’m wondering which one of my ex-girlfriends could be Dickless. I dated some real ballbusters,” Dana said. “I could see some of them taking it to this level.”
“Really?” Cèsar asked. He clicked his pen. “Names? Phone numbers?”
“She’s joking,” Charmaine said, “I hope. Gods damn it all, these people are wrecked. We were already straining our mental health resources after the first couple victims, and now…”
Cèsar leaned his chair back so he could reach the phone on Charmaine’s desk. “I’ll call in for backup on that front. Can’t have eight new traumatized vampires running free.”
“Dickless is the worst serial killer ever. He could at least leave his victims dead,” Dana said.
“He’s not communicating with us, either. He hasn’t made any demands, hasn’t laid claim to his crimes. This isn’t something he’s doing out of pride,” Charmaine said.
“Then why?”
“Fuck if I know.” She massaged her temples. “I picked the wrong week to stop sniffing glue.”
Cèsar’s call went fast. It only took about twenty seconds and a couple grunts on his part before he was hanging up, then scooting the desk chair back to talk to Dana. “I’ve asked the secretary to send in extra social workers. All right? We’ll have these fledglings taken care of. Guarantee it.”
“I could take care of them in a much faster, more humane way,” Dana said, jerking a stake out of her belt.
“You won’t find a single judge to issue approval for that,” Charmaine said. She pushed Dana’s hand down. “Especially not now that we have a potential cure for vampirism.”
“We do?”
“Sure. Look at you.” Cèsar gestured to encompass the entirety of her living, breathing, bleeding body.
“The gods healed me,” she said. “The Garlic Shots only didn’t kill me because the gods gave me enough time to drink Penny’s blood.”
Cèsar looked skeptical. “The gods?”
“McIntyre’s sister is said to be God,” Charmaine explained.
“I’ve heard that.”
“Then why’ve you gone all slack-jawed?” Dana asked. She scrubbed at her arm again. It was throbbing.
“Trying to imagine why you think the gods would step in to save you, and only you,” Cèsar said. “It’s easier to believe that the cure works.”
“The gods stepped in for me because I’m great. Everyone else…” She shrugged.
“Well, whether or not we find a cure, people think it’s possible now,” Cèsar said. “We’ve got an executive order putting a stay on all vampire slayings. No warrants will be issued for at least the next six weeks.”
“So what do we do with Dickless when we find him? Tickle him into submission?”
“Better warm up your fingers, toots,” Cèsar said.
Dana’s hand went tight on the stake. “Call me toots again.”
“Toots,” he said. He wiggled a remote control at her. It made Dana’s thumb ring light up, which meant that black plastic box was somehow enchanted.
That must have been how he could detonate her implant.
Dana eyed it sideways, trying to decide if she could rip it out of his hands and run.
Was she faster than a sidhe?
“I’m having fun watching smoke come out of your ears, but you need to get going,” Cèsar said.
“Another victim?” Charmaine asked.
“Even better. A vampire wandered into an OPA facility today. She claims to have information about Il Castrato Senesino.”
Dana’s heart skipped a beat. “You mean…?”
“Nissa Royal’s voluntarily turned herself in,” Cèsar said. He fished a fifty-dollar bill out of his pocket, offering it to Dana. “And she says she’ll only speak to you.”
6
Upon surrendering herself, Nissa Royal had not been taken to a detention center. Nor had she been allowed to stay in Las Vegas. The OPA had made a special Nissa-only prison in the desert north of town, far from any mortals she cou
ld enthrall.
They weren’t taking any chances with the psychic vampire this time.
Dana had to walk through three different gates, with three different levels of security, before she could even enter a kilometer-long tented hallway that led to Nissa’s enclosure. When she got through the third level of security, she was surprised to see Penny waiting on the other side.
The orc’s eyes brightened at the sight of Dana. “I’m here as a representative of the Hunting Club,” Penny said quickly, her shoulders all tight. She lifted the badge dangling at the end of her lanyard. “See? Hunting Club.”
“By way of the OPA.” Dana didn’t append the word “traitor” to the end, since it wasn’t Penny’s fault, but she couldn’t help but taste the word on her tongue.
Penny lowered her chin to give Dana a gently admonishing scowl. “They’re the same reason you’re here. By the way, what is here? I don’t even know where is here.”
“We drove almost two hours to get here, so I’m thinking we’re not far south of Tonopah,” Dana said. “Did you black bag Penny on the way out?” That question was directed toward Cèsar Hawke, who had breezed through security without a single pat down.
“Her clearance is lower than yours,” Cèsar said. “This is a temporary one-person prison. Its specific location is classified.” He stepped aside from the doorway so that a couple of black-clad sidhe could pass through.
“You wasted your effort building it. Nissa needs to get ashed,” Dana said. “Stake her now before she gets out again.” They should have staked her the instant that she surrendered herself to the OPA.
“She shouldn’t be capable of escaping this place.” Cèsar stopped in front of a final door made of the same translucent white plastic as the walls and roof. “Go ahead. I’ll wait here for you two to get back.”
Dana clenched her jaw. “I’m not letting Penny anywhere near Nissa.”
“It’s unsafe for you to go alone,” Cèsar said. “Our protocol demands that only one person enters Nissa Royal’s psychic range at a time. The other person stands back with a gun, and they shoot if the first gets turned into a thrall.”
“Is that happening much?” Dana asked.
Cèsar gave her a blank look and didn’t reply.
So the answer was yes. Even though Nissa had surrendered herself to the OPA, she was still as powerful a psychic vampire as she’d always been. They should have staked her.
Cèsar handed a gun to Penny. The orc took it awkwardly.
“Why me?” Penny asked.
“I figured McIntyre wouldn’t allow one of my agents to keep a bead on her.” He was right about that. But…
“I’m not going in with Penny,” Dana said. “She shouldn’t have to face a vampire.”
“I’m fine,” Penny hissed, sounding mortified. She was blushing in her way, which was when her cheeks got kind of brownish instead of greenish.
“We’re out of time to debate,” Cèsar said, tapping his watch. “The visitation window is only during the brightest hour of the day, and the clock’s ticking. Get in there to talk to the deadly master vampire, all right?” He swept a hand toward the door. “Have a blast, you two crazy kids.”
Nissa was in a plastic-walled tent constructed like the tunnel, though this room was almost as big as a baseball field. She stood where second base would have been, encircled in a low stone wall inside which it was nighttime. Pitch black.
Powerful magic prevented light from entering the circle where Nissa stood. It did nothing to keep Nissa inside. That was sunlight’s job. If she stepped over that wall, she’d instantly be bathed in enough UV radiation to catch fire.
Nissa was a ghostly figure drifting in that column of shadow, her hair loose around her shoulders, arms folded. She was facing away from the tunnel. She didn’t see the Hunting Club associates coming.
Dana entered and Penny hung back.
As soon as Dana entered the plastic tent, Nissa turned. Her crimson eyes illuminated, glowing like new pennies on a sidewalk. She looked angry. She’d never looked angry with Dana like that before. But then again, Dana hadn’t killed Mohinder before.
“If your surrender is part of an elaborate revenge plan, I don’t think it’s going the way you expected.” Dana approached the central enclosure. A second circle had been drawn around it to indicate how far Nissa’s arms could reach. Dana had been instructed not to pass that line, and she didn’t.
“Everything’s going exactly as I want it to,” Nissa said. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
Dana didn’t give her the satisfaction of responding.
In truth, she wasn’t sure she’d have been able to reply if she wanted to. The sight of Nissa dredged up too many emotions.
Hatred for Mohinder.
Despair for Anthony.
And when it came to Nissa, Dana wasn’t sure what she felt. It was a big tangled mess of anger, grief, and something that came dangerously close to affection. Dangerous because Nissa was a vampire, not the green-fleshed orc waiting in the hallway.
Nissa’s villainy was hard to remember when Dana had borne witness to the victimhood that came before. Was she any less a victim of the Slasher because he’d decided to make her into his fledgling? Nissa had loved Mohinder—no doubt about that—but it wasn’t uncommon for victims to fall in love with their captors.
Dickless’s baby vamps were victims. And so was Nissa.
A furious, powerful, scarred victim with psychic abilities.
“What’re the next steps?” Dana asked. “You wanted me, and you’ve got me. So tell me what’s next.”
“First, I’m going to help you kill Il Castrato Senesino. Then you’re going to die. Those are the next steps.” Nissa didn’t sound remotely threatening when she said this, and it had little to do with her slight stature, her fluffy hair, or her big mousy eyes. Her tone was as gentle as a kindergarten teacher’s. She was engulfed in the shell of the OPA’s magic. Victim to law enforcement instead of Mohinder.
“I don’t need your help to kill anyone,” Dana said.
“Don’t you? You’re facing a huge monster this time.”
“He’s just a serial killer.”
“Just?” Nissa asked, eyebrows lifting.
“Serial killers are nothing special. They’re people with mis-wired brains who repeatedly break the basest elements of our social contract. They’re deranged, sure, but they’re just the most determined sect of the vast array of humanity’s garbage. Nothing special.”
A smile bloomed over Nissa’s face. “You aren’t even bothered by serial killers.” She shut her eyes, inhaled deeply. It was like she was smelling roses.
“I don’t idolize them,” Dana said. “I don’t give them cutesy pet names and I’m not impressed by their antics. All I do is kill them.” She dropped those last words sharp as throwing knives, and she was rewarded by Nissa’s smile vanishing.
Dana had killed the last serial killer, after all. She’d staked Mohinder as Nissa watched and left him crumbling to ash in her hands.
Nissa’s eyes filled with hateful fire. It was so much more preferable to her loving smiles. “I’m going to help you kill this one nonetheless. You’re going to need it. You’ll thank me for it as you slit your wrists and bleed the last drops of your undeserving life onto the sizzling pavement.”
“Why are you helping me with this serial-killing vampire if you want me dead? We can save a lot of time if we kill each other right here, right now.” She could barely hear Penny’s gasp of dismay. She didn’t look back.
“I’m not going to let you die quickly. Your death will be prolonged until I feel satisfied that you’ve suffered as much as I have,” Nissa said. “You took away the only person who ever cared about me.”
“Mohinder didn’t care about you. He liked having power over you.” Dana’s voice had gone all hoarse. “He saw that you could be a great vampire, and he wanted to own that power.”
Nissa’s wide eyes got wider. “You don’t know anything about Mohinder.�
�
“I hunted him for years. Does anyone know another person as well as when they’re locked in the battle of predator and prey?” Dana asked.
“No,” Nissa said softly, “they don’t. And that’s why we’re hunting the new killer together. You owe me. I’m going to get the pleasure of his death from you.”
“And then you think I’ll kill myself.” Slit her wrists, let the blood pour out under the hot judgment of sunlight. As if Dana would ever do such a thing.
“I know you will,” Nissa whispered. “I know exactly how it’s going to happen. I’ll be there to kiss the breath from your lips as they grow cold one final time.”
Chills rippled down Dana’s spine. “Bet you fifty bucks that I’m the one watching your last twitches.”
“Fifty bucks.” Initially, Nissa’s chuckle was low and dangerously soft, knives traced through velvet. She was the villainess. Someone easy for Dana to hate. But the laugh quickly crumbled into something more nervously tittering, and she started to run her fingers through the split ends of her curls, as if she needed something to fidget with.
She was afraid.
“I don’t think I can take that bet,” Nissa said. “You’re the better killer, Dana. We both know that. You might kill me before you kill yourself.” A tremor ran through the words.
Dana’s resolve cracked.
Fuck.
“You’re bent on helping me kill this guy, so maybe you can answer a few questions,” Dana said. “Is the killer called Il Castrato Senesino your fledgling?”
“No. He also wasn’t one of Achlys’s.”
“Mohinder’s?”
Nissa’s hands curled all the more tightly around her own elbows. She’d been fidgeting with her hair too hard, and a few strands floated at her fingernails. “Not Mohinder’s.”
“An outsider,” Dana said.
“To the contrary. You know that I handled all travel visas until the OPA shut down the borders of Clark County. I know every single vampire to pass through. Nobody like Il Castrato Senesino has passed through.”
“What’s he like?”
“He dresses like Dracula and kills like Vlad the Impaler,” Nissa said. “He rips off his victims’ genitalia.”
