But he shared some intel about vamps before he did that. At least we aren’t quite as ignorant as we had been.
Pretending to be a good little cop, I sit at my computer. Okay, I do legit look for Blake Damon. First, I seek out everything I can about Blake Flack, his birth name. Doesn’t take me very long to learn that his dad had died in a fire. Not too surprising. He’d been a firefighter. His mom had died shortly before that. The lack of details concerning it makes me wonder if it had anything to do with fangs. Maybe, maybe not, but somehow along the way, Blake got involved with vamps. Is it all a misguided attempt to follow his father’s footsteps and be some kind of hero?
Blake Damon turns up nothing. Nada. Zilch. Can’t say I’m surprised.
Humming has me glancing up. Travis stands there, holding a coffee.
“You’re in a good mood,” I comment, “and where’s my coffee?” I put my hands on my hips, faking annoyance.
“I only get coffee for my partner.”
“You have a new one?”
“Yeah.” His grin is dreamy. “Ali. Duh.”
“I meant work partner, not life partner.”
“Work isn’t life.” He grins.
“If you start to spout out bad poetry,” I warn, wagging a finger. “What’s going on with you?”
“I’m happy. Really happy. I know a lot of shit has hit the fan lately, but none of that matters. You need to find someone. Someone who understands you. Someone who doesn’t try to change you. Someone who accepts you—“
“I’m happy, too.” Kinda. “I don’t have to be with someone to be happy. I’m my own person, and my happiness isn’t hinged on another person.”
Travis puts his coffee down on his desk and sits down. He eyes me with concern etched in the line on his forehead. “There’s another level of happiness—“
“HG,” I cut in.
“HG?”
“Your new nickname.”
“HG…” He furrows his brows, clearly befuddled.
I smile broadly. “Happiness Goon.”
“I’m not a goon. All right. All right. If I’m any kind of a goon, it would be happiness, but you aren’t seriously gonna call me that, are you?”
“Why not, HG?”
Travis facepalms. “Guess there are worse things to be called.”
“Yep!”
Before I can ask Travis how narcotics is going—what I meant by asking him how it’s going—Marlon swings by.
My easy smile gives me pause. I hate that I’m still attracted to him when I might be starting things with Dean. I’m not sure if Dean and I will work out. Mercedes and I have been “fighting” over Marlon for half a year now. Considering he hasn’t asked either of us out, I have every reason to believe Marlon doesn’t want to date a fellow cop. Which makes sense. It’s something I wrestled with myself.
I know, I know. If I really liked Marlon, I could’ve asked him myself. Mom raised me to be old-fashioned, though. I like for a guy to make the first move.
Okay, yeah, it had a lot more to do with the fact that I wasn’t sure he’d say yes than anything else.
“What are you two talking about?” Marlon asks.
“Travis has a new nickname. HG.”
“Don’t call me that,” Travis says to me. Then he looks up at Marlon. “Don’t call me that.”
Marlon winks. “Whatever you say, HG. Come on. Time to roll out.”
Travis grabs his coffee and salutes it to me. “HG won’t be bringing you any coffee.”
“HG is supposed to bring happiness and grins.”
Travis laughs. “Yeah, well, no coffee love from HG.”
Marlon claps a hand on his back. “Let’s move. See ya, Clarissa. ‘Grats on your transfer. You happy about that? I know you wanted to be bumped to homicide.”
“I have a feeling there will be more bodies,” I say dryly.
“More vampires?” Marlon asks, lowering his voice, anger in the tightness of his jaw.
“Maybe, maybe not. Maybe just dead vamps.”
“Be careful.”
“You, too.”
“Always.” His lopsided grin leaves me reeling. I don’t want anything to happen to him—drug dealer or vamp. I don’t want anything to happen to anyone here. A huge bubble. Keep everyone I know and love safe.
Is it possible to be safe anymore? What with vamps around and now this animal attack?
Speaking of… I stand and glance around. There.
I nonchalantly stroll over to the rookie from yesterday with Xandrie. “Any luck tracking down the animal responsible?” I ask.
He looks up, clearly flustered, an open file on his desk. A quick peek and I realize it’s for another case. “No. Animals aren’t our job. People are.”
“I get that, but if a dangerous wild animal is lurking around the city, don’t you think others might get hurt or killed, too?” I point out.
“Tempest! Why aren’t you working?” Rex calls from a few desks away.
What a—
I take a deep breath. Calm down.
Yeah, breathing techniques don’t help. I need to do more yoga, but I doubt that’ll work, either.
Somehow, I don’t think saying, “At least I have started to find leads on the vamp hunter, unlike Angelo, who still hasn’t shown up for work yet, but go ahead, yell at me, acting all tough and macho and like a Reynolds 2.0.”
Suppressing my frustrations and my anger at the world—yeah, not just at him but everything else, too—I nod. “Right away.”
Rex nods back and returns to talking to another officer.
I focus on the rookie again. “Well?”
The rookie returned to his file and doesn’t bother looking up again. “Well, what?”
“Don’t you think that the animal responsible should be found before it can hurt or kill someone else?”
“PETA has been notified.”
I guess that’s something.
For the next twenty minutes, I do try to locate info on Blake. Doesn’t matter. I can’t get the image of Xandrie out of my head. Before I know it, I’m calling the local PETA chapter. It rings twice before I hang up.
PETA? People for the ethical treatment of animals. What about the ethical treatment of animals to humans? Yeah, yeah, I know that’s weird to think about. I’m not one of those people who hate on all pit bulls. Anyone, human or animal, can be bred and primed for good or for evil. Still, when animals attack humans, those animals need to be dealt with. I’m not necessarily talking about being put down, but maybe caged or something. And, yeah, I guess PETA can help with that.
The receiver at my ear again, I’m about to press redial when I reconsider. This is why I’m not the head of SIU. I can’t focus on the tasks I’m assigned. I need to be a team player. I need to track down the vamp hunter.
Angelo finally strolls in, and he hops onto Travis’s computer so we can work near each other. He talks all the time, chattering about nonsense really, but it’s better than him flirting. When I glance up from my own work to peek at him, I can tell he’s nervous and flustered. He’s tapping a finger against his chin or drumming his fingers, bouncing his leg, scratching his neck. His left ring finger remains bare.
If he had been Travis, I would’ve forced him to talk point blank, but Angelo and I aren’t close. I don’t think it’s for the best to blur the lines of partners and friends. Not when vamps are real and our target… other than the vamp hunter, of course, per Rex.
Does this mean I shouldn’t pursue things with Dean? To keep him safe and out of the terrible, potentially devastating crosshairs? Our paths first converged over a vamp victim. Our paths will probably overlap again. And I do like him. Can I risk possibly endangering him?
It’s not crazy to think that vamps will come after me or the people I care about. They already kidnapped Travis and tampered with his mind. He still has a memory gap.
Right now, I need to not focus on Dean or Travis or Angelo. Just Blake.
He grew up a ward of the state after the
death of his dad. His mom had already died. Blake bounced around a few places and even became adopted, although it seems like that was almost despite himself.
Surprisingly, once he turned eighteen, he disappeared out of sight, no records, no paper trail.
And nothing at all turns up for Blake Damon.
Great. No leads. I’m beyond frustrated and furious about the wasted time. How in the world am I supposed to track down a guy who doesn’t want to be found?
Most likely, he’s skipped town, right?
Only if we had captured all of the vamps. Otherwise, he would stick around to finish them all off. Looks like it’s time for my purpose and Rex’s goal to align as one.
Chapter 7
My partner isn’t too worried about Blake Damon or vamps. I don’t have to worry about him getting in the way, but I do make a mistake.
“I’m gonna track down a lead,” I announce, standing and putting my arms through my coat. I’ve gotten rid of my old one. Dry cleaned or not, I don’t want to be reminded of blood and vamps. It’s bad enough I know they’re alive. I don’t need a constant memento of Jennifer Hamilton and the other vamp victims.
“Let me come with.” Angelo stands.
“Nah,” I rush to add. “It’s a weak one. Probably nothing. Just a means to stretch my legs, really.”
Angelo shrugs. “Wouldn’t mind stretching mine, either.” He leers at me.
Fan-friggin’-tastic. Make that fang-friggin’-tastic.
I think fast. “All right. You grab us coffee and meet me at the store Into the Myst on West Broad Street.”
He furrows his thick eyebrows. “Why there? What connection does it have to the vampire hunter?”
“He’s into the metaphysical. Has to be. Vamps and all that.” I wave my hand airily. “We’ll work the store and see what we can’t shake loose. Maybe it’ll be the break we need.”
“Yeah, I haven’t been able to find anything on the guy,” he says by way of confession.
Maybe because you never turned your computer on.
Then again, I did search myself, and I legit hadn’t found anything.
I hurry to the door, Angelo hot on my heels.
“Where you going that we have to meet up there?” he asks.
Guess that’s why he was in homicide—even when it seems like he isn’t paying attention, he is. I’ll have to remember that.
“Just have to grab something quick from my place,” I say smoothly.
“Sure you don’t want me to come with?”
“I’m sure.”
Angelo opens his mouth, shuts it, shakes his head, and heads for his car.
Once his car leaves the lot, I climb into mine and drive to the nearest cemetery—Nisky Hill on East Church Street. A dark plaque with the cemetery name on it greets me, and a shiver runs down my spine. I hate graveyards. Don’t get me wrong. I’ll visit my parents, and I’ve been good about it lately. But that doesn’t take away the terribly creepy factor. Even before my parents died, I couldn’t handle cemeteries. There’s just something so depressing and morbid and haunting about them.
Ghost. No. They aren’t real. I refuse to believe in ghosts. Specters? No way. It’s bad enough vamps are… alive? Alive-ish?
I go to park but opt not to bother. There’s no telltale fog here. Vamps aren’t lurking nearby.
Off I go. That’s one thing about Bethlehem. There isn’t a shortage of cemeteries.
The next one doesn’t have the fog, either, and neither does the next. The fourth one, weirdly enough, is the one that has the fog. By now, it’s twilight, and it’s been almost an hour since I ditched Angelo. He’s probably wondering where I am if he even realized that I’m not there.
Not wanting a call to disrupt anything, I shut off my phone. Gun in hand, containing only a single silver bullet, I climb out of my car. As quietly as possible, I ease the door shut.
The fog feels different, sinister, deadly like it’s a disease sweeping over the land, sparking madness and insanity. A sudden wave of paranoia and a jolt of fear sweep over me. I want to turn around and leave, but I refuse to cower away. Blake Damon claims to be a vamp hunter, and he sure did put down my vamps. If there are vamps here, he’ll be nearby. He’ll be my backup.
Not that I want to rely on backup that might or might not actually be here.
The moment I cross the first line of tombstones, the fog dissipates as if it had never been there.
Inexplicably, rage roils through me, hot and fierce, and I kick a rock in utter frustration. Shadows. I’m chasing shadows, frightened of them, terrified of my own. How in the world has my life come to be this, hanging around in cemeteries? Hoping to track down a vamp or a vamp hunter?
I turn to leave, and another fog rolls in. This one feels different, more natural, and that it extends beyond the cemetery’s limits only serves to reinforce my gut.
Might as well leave. The vamp must’ve gone when I arrived. I’m on the right track. Just gotta figure out where the vamp went.
Or maybe I should stay and investigate. It’ll be hard to see minute details with this fog. Doesn’t matter. The more I learn about vamps and their hideouts and habitats, the better.
So I walk farther into the cemetery. I try to ignore the stones marked with names and dates, the ones long gone, the ones most have forgotten. The amount of flowers and signs of love and remembrance are few and far between, and it hurts my heart. We live, we love, we fail, we struggle, we try again, we die. If we aren’t remembered, did we ever truly live?
Full night descends. Between clouds blotting out the moon and the fog, I can’t see. Reluctantly, I pull out my flashlight. The orangey-yellow glow hardly punctures the dim mist.
You know what? I’ll come back in the morning. Struggling to see now is pointless.
I turn around to leave when the sound of leaves crackling pierces the silence. It’s been so quiet that the sound is as startling and shocking as a gunshot. Not even insects have been humming or singing.
Blood pulsing through my veins, I still before glancing all around. “Who’s there?” I call out, my voice not loud but carrying on the slightly chilly breeze anyhow.
There’s no response. I don’t see anyone.
A twig snaps to my right.
I flick off the flashlight. I do not want to make myself an easy target, but the lack of light is also a disservice to myself. Maybe I should turn it back on. I can always blind the person with it.
Unless it’s a vamp…
I ease backward, toward my car, careful to avoid the tombstones standing erect like mini sentinels watching over their buried dead. Just get out of here.
A snarl, a howl, and a scream.
Just like that, I’m racing to the sound, flashing back on, the light bobbing up and down with each footstep. There. An animal. Gigantic. Black.
Standing over a person.
A motionless body.
The wolf jerks, glances at me with silver-gold eyes, blinks, and darts away.
In that split second, I have to make a choice—the human or the animal, to help or to hunt.
For better or for worse, I opt to give chase.
The wolf leaps over and darts around gravestones, graceful even. The stench of blood churns my stomach, but I press on. Maybe this is the animal that killed Xandrie.
Maybe it’s killed again.
Should I just shoot it? It’s not an active threat against myself or anyone else just running away like it is.
Running away so it can kill another day.
Anger and frustration fuel me. Despite the animal’s long legs, I’m gaining on it. Of course, my luck can’t hold out, and I stub my toe on a large rock. I pause, snatch it, curl back my arm, and put everything in me as I whip it at the animal.
The rock connects with the wolf’s hindquarters. Surprisingly, it doesn’t howl. It yelps, almost humanlike in sound, but it doesn’t slow down.
I click off the flashlight and follow as best as I can, as quietly as I can. I’m resolute and
determined to track down the wolf. Now and again, I pause so that it might think I’m confused and lost it.
The clouds above rip open, and a terribly cold rain descends, drenching us. The next time I pause, the wolf slows down. Maybe it thinks I’ve given up. Maybe the rain is masking my scent.
We’re at the back of the cemetery now. There’s a large hole up ahead, carved into the side of a hill, almost like a cave. The wolf enters it, limping.
Behind a tree, I watch, waiting. I should call the station, report that there had been another animal attack, but something makes me linger. I watch and wait and watch some more.
The rain lessens, and I flick soaking wet hair over my shoulder. Another minute and I’ll—
A man leaves the cave. He glances around and walks away. I can’t see more than he’s a he.
Once he walks away, I dart forward and enter the cave, gun raised. I don’t hear or see anything. After I flick on the flashlight, I see no wolf, just a patch of fur on the ground.
What in the world? Where did the wolf go? And who was that man?
Chapter 8
My heart in my throat, I swiftly make my way back to the man, calling it in as I run. I’m breathless and rambling, and I have to repeat myself a few times.
The victim is dead. Because I didn’t choose to tend to him immediately? There’s no way to be certain when exactly he passed on.
The wait for the ambulance and the other officers takes forever, and I find his wallet. Frank Ivy. Gored more than Xandrie had been. My stomach churns, and it’s a struggle to not be sick. The parade of death that started with my parents and then took a hiatus until the whole vamp thing continues onward with a wicked and cold vengeance.
Oh, the lieutenant is gonna love me for this.
It’s Rex who shows up first, eyes flashing. “What the Hell are you doing here?”
“Following a lead on Blake Damon.”
“Blake Damon or the vampires?” He crosses his arms. He’s not wet at all, and he looks angry and heated enough that he probably doesn’t need his heavy coat.
When Wolves Howl: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 2) Page 4
