The City Beneath

by Melody Johnson

  “Is something wrong?” Thomas asked. He rubbed the back of his knuckles with his palm.

  “Not at all. You’ve been extremely helpful.” I offered my hand, and he stopped rubbing his to shake mine. “Thank you.”

  He nodded and lumbered away.

  “DiRocco, do you have a moment?”

  Thomas had supposedly called for an ambulance. I’d check with Dispatch to confirm his story, but I had a sneaking suspicion that a record of his call would exist to corroborate his story whether or not he’d ever dialed 911. I rubbed my eyes. There must be at least one witness that Dominic had missed. He couldn’t possibly have tampered with all of them.

  And what would I do with a witness, even if I found one? my conscience balked. Quote him in my article and expose him? I rubbed my eyes harder.

  “Cassidy?”

  I turned. Greta stood behind me. Her expression was stern, but when she saw my face, her expression slipped slightly. A deep crinkle etched between her eyebrows.

  “Greta,” I began, unsure how to navigate between the case and her loss. “I’m so sorry about Jolene.”

  “Where were you last night at eight p.m.?” she asked, ignoring my condolences.

  “That’s what I’ve always liked about you, G,” I said, taking her cue. “You call it like you see it. But that doesn’t mean that you’re seeing the full picture.”

  “The picture you’re painting is the one I’m looking at. Carter thinks that you’re being blackmailed. He thinks that you solved this case and that you’re backing down because of what you found.”

  “Carter didn’t want me scooping deeper into this case, so he got exactly what he wanted. Nothing.” I sighed. “I don’t care what Carter thinks, anyway. What do you think?”

  Greta crossed her arms. “I think you’ve finally dove deep into waters that even you can’t swim through.”

  “I’m a shark,” I said, crossing my arms, too. “I can swim through anything.”

  “Listen, everyone knows you’re relentless. We all know what you’re capable of, both in the field and professionally, and that’s how I know that you know more than you’re telling Carter. You solved this case, damn it, and for the first time since I’ve known you, the first time in your entire career I’ll bet, you’re not going to publish it. The people responsible for these murders aren’t just sharks, they’re monsters, and you can’t fight them alone. Tell me what’s going on, DiRocco. You can blow off Carter all you want, but I’m not letting this go until you let me help you.”

  I sighed. “Since when did you and Carter become such close friends?”

  “Since when did you ever let a story go unwritten?”

  “Since my story hit a wall. There’s nothing to go on, G. My leads ran dry, I didn’t solve the case, and I’ve got nothing to write.” I tapped my recorder against my palm twice, ending the conversation. “So if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a story here I need to cover.”

  Greta’s expression turned to slate. “I’m not dropping this, DiRocco. I’d prefer my answers come from you, but if you don’t tell me now, I’ll get them later from someone else. And by then, I can’t guarantee that I’ll see the picture you want me to see, let alone in the light that you want me to see it.”

  I could feel the burning pressure of tears behind my eyes. I swallowed and tried to breathe past the mistrust I heard in her voice. She wouldn’t get answers from anyone else because no one else remembered the truth, but that wasn’t the point.

  “I’ll ask you one last time,” Greta said. Her voice was calm and deliberate and resolute. “Where were you last night?”

  “If you must know,” I said, just as deliberate. “I was with Walker at my apartment last night.”

  Greta’s eyebrows rose. “Will he corroborate that?”

  “Of course,” I said, trying to keep my expression bland, as if men frequented my apartment regularly.

  Greta waited a moment. She stared me down with the weight of her distrust and uncanny perceptiveness. I mirrored her expression, but my heart ached from the effort.

  Eventually, Greta crossed her arms. “Jolene deserved better than this.”

  I nodded. It took me a long moment before I could set aside enough emotion to speak. “Yes, she did.”

  “If you’re not going to talk to save your career or yourself, you should talk for Jolene and for all the other innocent bystanders caught in the cross fire. It’s too late for Jolene, but we can save the next one. It’s our duty to save the next one.”

  “If I could, I would help, but—”

  Greta lifted her hand. “I know. You were with Walker last night.” She shook her head, disgusted. “When you’re ready to talk, you know who to call.”

  Greta turned on her heel and strode away from me at a hard clip. I didn’t chase after her. My stomach churned into a deep knot, and I knew in the same, hard place that I knew everything, that she wasn’t turning back.

  I resumed my interviews, but Greta wasn’t the only friend who suspected the worst of me. Meredith knew something horrible was happening. She looked askance at me a few times while she finished her shots. Unlike Greta, she didn’t demand any answers. I suspected that Meredith held her peace because if she confronted me and my secrets, she’d have to confront her own, and she still hadn’t come to terms with her “mugging” and foggy memory. It might have made me a worse friend, but I appreciated her blind eye for once, and in return, I held my peace, as well.

  I finished the article with plenty of time to spare, feeling disheartened about my work and disgusted by my participation in both the reality of Jolene’s death and the portrayal of her death to the public. Carter approved the piece with his usual gusto, unconcerned if I was having a crisis as long as my writing was on point. Meredith left for sushi after we made it to print, but I stayed behind for the second night in a row. She didn’t seem surprised, and she didn’t try to coax me into coming along. I think she needed her space, too.

  Instead of enjoying the last few hours of daylight safety with Meredith like I should have, I stared at my monitor, trying to think of what I could have done differently last night, so Jolene might have lived. My mind was as blank as the Word document staring back at me. That damn cursor taunted me with its constant, unforgivable blinking. It killed me that I couldn’t spotlight the truth for the city, and with every pulse, the cursor screamed at me, Vampires, vampires, vampires!

  Frustrated, I did the only thing I could think to do, the only thing that I truly wanted to do even if I couldn’t publish it. I clicked on the drafts folder on my desktop to start my article, “The City Beneath: Vampires Bite in the Big Apple.” My fingers danced over the keys with fervor, the words and sentences and paragraphs bursting out of me like a break in a dam after having contained my secrets so tightly all day. For once in my writing career, it didn’t matter if I couldn’t take the glory. I had a story pressure-cooking inside of me that needed release, and it didn’t matter that this article wouldn’t be contending for a Pulitzer. This was more than prizes and recognition and career advancement. This was the truth.

  I was just finishing the second to last paragraph when my phone rang. “Ms. DiRocco, a man is here to see you,” Deborah said. Her voice scowled. “He says that he had an appointment with you yesterday, which needed to be rescheduled. Do you have time to squeeze him in now?”

  I saved and closed the document midsentence, my heart pounding like a pogo stick through my throat. I checked the time, having lost track of the hours while writing about the very thing I was so terrified to confront. The computer’s clock glowed an even five thirty. I still had several hours until sunset. I wiped the sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand and thought of the silver jewelry still in the box back at my apartment.

  “Ms. DiRocco?”

  A shuffle and a loud screech sounded outside the door.

  “Cassidy?” a man shouted. The doorknob rattled.

  “Sir, you cannot just pound your way in without permission,” Deb
orah said, sounding outraged.

  “Trust me, ma’am, I have permission.”

  I rolled my eyes and found my voice. “I know who you’re referring to, Deborah. Please, allow Mr. Walker to enter.”

  The door suddenly opened, and Walker strode inside, carrying a plastic bag. Deborah followed close behind.

  “Told ya.” He winked at Deborah, and she looked scandalized.

  She switched targets, dismissing Walker as insufferable, to focus on me. “If I knew your schedule more thoroughly, I would be able to screen your visitors more efficiently.”

  I bit back a smirk. “Don’t worry, Deborah, I think you’re doing a wonderful job.”

  “Right.” She frowned. “Thank you.”

  Walker placed a hand on her shoulder, easing her out the door. “And thank you for showing me in. You’ve been mighty helpful.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said, frowning harder. She knew when she was being dismissed. She slammed the door behind her on the way out.

  “Touchy,” Walker drawled, jerking his thumb in Deborah’s direction. “You get a lot of unscheduled callers?”

  I shrugged. “More than usual lately. How are you?”

  “I’ve been better,” he said, sitting across from me. “I was interrogated by the police today.”

  “What? Why?”

  “To corroborate your alibi last night.”

  My face heated, and the triple hit of embarrassment, shame, and exhaustion overwhelmed me. I covered my blazing face in my hands. “I’m sorry.”

  “Consider yourself corroborated, but the next time I spend the night, I’d like to actually remember the experience.”

  I glanced up, and Walker winked.

  I sighed deeply, sat up in my chair, and faced him squarely. “Thank you. I appreciate you covering for me.”

  “It’s the least I could do, after last night,” he said.

  I nodded. An awkward silence filled the space between us as I thought of last night and Jolene, and our fight. “What are you doing here, Walker?” I finally asked.

  “Keeping my word. I promised you insider information on vampires and night bloods, didn’t I?” He lifted his left leg onto his right knee and slouched in the chair.

  I nodded slowly. “You also promised sushi.”

  He grinned. “You gonna quote me on that?”

  “It’s the one thing I’m good at.”

  He laughed. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say it’s the only thing you’re good at, but knowing you, I came prepared.” He handed me a foam container from a plastic bag.

  I opened the container’s lid and sighed. A neat row of California rolls gleamed next to chopsticks, a container of soy, and a pile of sliced ginger.

  “So, what do you want to know?” he asked.

  I shook my head, unable to look away from the little rolls. “How is any of this possible? How does a person transform from a dying, bleeding human to a nocturnal super-predator overnight?”

  Walker chuckled. “The transformation is rarely an overnight process. That would be quite a speedy change and would result in a weak vampire.”

  I looked up from my sushi.

  “Typically, a night blood transforms into a vampire over a period of three days. The vampire’s blood has a regenerative, healing property, much like their saliva, which allows them to heal even egregious physical injuries almost instantaneously. When a night blood is nearly dead and their body is introduced to vampire blood, the regenerative properties in the vampire blood quickly heals them, but with more vampire blood than human blood in their system, the rapidly regenerating vampire cells spread throughout the circulatory system, into their organs and muscles to regenerate those cells, and eventually, into the brain until their DNA is completely regenerated throughout each cell in the body. You’ve felt the intense, focused burning of their saliva as it transformed your cells to heal, right?”

  I nodded, fascinated despite myself. I’d already gone through half the California rolls.

  “They say a night blood feels that sensation over their entire body during the three-day transformation. The night blood is completely incapacitated, and those who aren’t protected by their makers can potentially die from other predators, sunlight, and of course, humans, whether in malice or during misguided medical care. In rare cases, the transformation is a longer process, and in these instances, Day Reapers are usually born. They are more powerful, more adept at mind control, and more dangerous than others of their kind. They usually have a talent or special ability, but of the Day Reapers I’ve encountered, their most commonly used talent seems to be killing other vampires.”

  I stared at Walker. I hadn’t expected such a scientific approach to his answer. “How did this all begin? How did the first human become a vampire?”

  “Classic chicken and the egg,” Walker answered, smiling. “Are you a creationist or an evolutionist?”

  I downed another roll and pointed my chopsticks at him. “Are you saying that we don’t know where vampires came from?”

  “The public doesn’t know vampires exist. Of course we don’t know where they originated. As much as I know, which ain’t much, my knowledge is entirely based on either firsthand experience or the firsthand experiences of my partner. It’s not like we have a night blood handbook. We don’t have research to study or books to reference. We only have each other and life’s lessons.”

  I nodded slowly, mulling everything he’d said over the sedating pinch of wasabi.

  “I’m going to track and kill Dominic Lysander and his coven tomorrow at dawn.”

  I blinked.

  “Will you join me?”

  I choked. “You are going to track and kill Dominic’s coven, and you want my help?”

  Walker nodded, completely serious. “Like I said, all we have in this world as night bloods is each other.”

  I couldn’t help it; I burst out laughing.

  He raised his eyebrows. “I’m not kidding.”

  “I know. That’s what makes this so funny. We can barely survive against them. How the hell are we supposed to kill them?”

  Walker pursed his lips. “A stake, silver bullets, and decapitation usually does the trick. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: they’re simply long-lived and hard to kill, not immortal.”

  I shook my head. “You pumped Dominic full of silver, and all it did was piss him off. He may as well be immortal.”

  He sighed. “I underestimated him. I should have moved to strike immediately after the bullets were fired. I won’t make the same mistake again. I need a partner, Cassidy, like I have at home. Missions like this are dangerous with someone covering your back. It’s suicide to go in alone.”

  “So ask your partner from home to help you,” I said flatly.

  Walker shook his head. “She has her own problems. I need you, Cassidy. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in all that time with my partner, it’s that I’d never survive alone.”

  She, I thought. His partner was a woman. I covered my face with my hands, knowing that I was probably smearing my makeup to hell and frankly not caring. I looked like hell anyway. “If my life continues on the path that it’s taken this past week, I won’t survive much longer anyway.”

  Walker pried my hands gently away from my face and held them in his own. His thumbs caressed the inside of my wrists gently. “Let me help you survive. We can kill them together before they kill you.”

  The movement of his thumbs warmed my body and were convincing enough without the words. I was tired and cramped and run-down and in pain, but his gestures and the warmth that spread through my body reminded me of better times when I hadn’t been so completely on my own. Despite the fact that Walker wanted my help, I needed his help. Maybe he was right, and we could survive together.

  I swallowed my doubts and met his eyes squarely. “I won’t help you kill Dominic’s entire coven, but the rebel vampires responsible for the recent ‘gang’ murders need to be stopped.”

  Walker sm
iled. “You’ll help?”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said skeptically. “What exactly is your plan?”

  “If we leave at dawn, we’ll arrive at the coven by noon when they’re weakest. We already know where in the subway system they’ve nested, but we’ll still need time to find the location where they rest during their day sleep.”

  I frowned. “Dominic had his own rooms. If each vampire has its own room where they rest, there could be a dozen rooms we’d need to find.”

  “Dominic has his own rooms separate from the rest of his coven because he’s their Master. If his coven is anything like Bex’s, each vampire will have their own room in a centralized location. So we find it, and we rig it, like I rigged your bedroom. All the vampires will be incapacitated in one shot, and then we stake each individually.”

  “All the rebel vampires,” I clarified.

  Walker nodded.

  “But there’s one tiny flaw in your plan that I’m not sure you’ve considered.”

  Walker raised his eyebrow. “What’s that?”

  “Your plan to stake Dominic in my bedroom didn’t actually work,” I reminded him carefully. “There will be more vampires to target this time, and we’ll be trapped in the heart of their coven, not my bedroom. Do we really want to base this plan on your last attempt to stake Dominic?”

  “My plan to stake Dominic didn’t work because I underestimated him,” Walker said. The heat of his determination stoked his voice. “That won’t happen again. We’ll stake the more mature vampires first, the leader of the rebels, before he heals. The rest of the vampires won’t be able to heal at all until they feed, but we’ll have staked them and left the coven long before then.”

  “What about Dominic? He’s not going to let us waltz into his coven and stake his vampires.”

  “He won’t even know we’re there. Like you said, he sleeps in his own rooms separate from the rest of his coven. By the time he wakes and realizes that the rebels are eliminated, we’ll already be safely back to my hotel room.”