Dark Wine at Midnight (A Hill Vampire Novel Book 1)

by Jenna Barwin

  Shortly after sunset, her phone rang. Could it be Henry? She grabbed for her phone from the nightstand and fumbled it. When she saw the caller ID, she slowed down. Maybe she should leave it unanswered.

  She took a deep breath. Better to get it over with; he’d just call back. She punched the accept button. “Hello, Zeke.”

  “Howdy, Cerissa,” Zeke said. “Are you okay?”

  “My arm isn’t too sore, it seems to be healing quickly. The doctor did a good job.” She rolled her eyes, but tried to sound sincere. “And thank you for the get-well roses. They’re lovely.”

  “I’m glad you liked them. I just felt so bad I had to leave, with you injured and all.”

  “I understand. Business has to come first.”

  “I’ll be back in a few weeks. Can I see you then?”

  She hesitated. She wasn’t permitted to date him, for crying out loud. Why did he keep pressing it?

  “Sure, Zeke,” she finally said. “But as friends, okay? Besides, you were going to tell me all about your work, remember?”

  “Of course, Cerissa. Whatever you say, little lady.”

  I’m really starting to hate that pet name. “All right, call me when you’re back.” Even if she didn’t want to date Zeke, she still had her mission for the Lux. Something about Zeke’s out-of-town work seemed off—could he be involved in the vampire dominance movement?

  “Where are you now?” she asked.

  “I’ve made it to Costa Rica. My assignment is taking me to South America, so I have a bit of traveling to do.”

  Her phone beeped and she glanced at it—a number she didn’t recognize. “I have to go now, Zeke. I’ll see you when you return.”

  “You bet.”

  She clicked over to the new caller.

  “Good evening, Cerissa.”

  Hearing Henry say her name, the way he slightly rolled the R, brought a smile to her face. “Thank you for the flowers. Orchids are my favorite.”

  “For one as exotic as you, I didn’t think any other flower appropriate.”

  “I appreciate your sense of humor, too,” she said.

  “Yes, well, I wrote my message in case Gaea saw it. Speaking of your hostess, when does she think you’ll be ready for visitors?”

  “She’s waiting for the doctor to declare I’ve recovered.”

  “I see. While we wait for Dr. Clarke’s decision, do you need anything?”

  She smiled, even though he couldn’t see it. “I need someone to let me out of this prison.”

  “Shall I climb the wall and free you through your window?”

  “It would be nice if you did,” she said, her smile growing.

  “But then I would have to slay the dragon who keeps you there, and I like Gaea too much to harm her.”

  “Yes, but now I have you at my mercy, or I’ll tell Gaea you called her a dragon.”

  “It’s not good to have a vampire at your mercy,” he said, his voice taking on a serious tone. “He can be unpredictable.”

  “Then I take back my threat,” she said with a laugh.

  “In that case, please call me when Dr. Clarke declares you fit for visitors. I look forward to seeing you again.”

  “Me too,” she said, knowing it was true as soon as she said it.

  “Goodnight, Cerissa.”

  “Good sleep, Henry.”

  She clicked off the call and stared at the now-quiet phone. Henry sounded like everything was okay. She closed her eyes and sighed, relaxing back into her pillows, reliving his lighthearted banter. Everything was going to be all right.

  * * *

  Henry looked down at the index card. The decision matrix. He had held the card during their phone call, balancing on the precipice, second-guessing his decision not to tell Yacov about her origins. Was his decision wrong? Would it hurt his community? He’d spent his long life learning to unravel the lies mortals spun to serve their own ends, and it made him a formidable negotiator in business. His gut said she wasn’t lying. He shoved the matrix card into his pocket. Yacov was right—he would trust his gut.

  For now.

  Chapter 30

  The Hill Chapel—four nights later

  The rectory office door was open. Henry tapped lightly before peering inside. Matt sat behind his desk. “Father, may I have a moment of your time?”

  “Come in, Henry. I have a few minutes before my next appointment.”

  “This shouldn’t take long.” He took the guest chair in front of Matt’s desk. He hadn’t called for an appointment on purpose. This couldn’t be a confession, not while he promised to keep Cerissa’s secrets. “Shayna said something, and it’s bothering me. I wanted to get your opinion.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Do you think the way our community is structured is wrong?”

  “In what way?”

  “We control everything—the council, the homeowners’ association, the police force—and mortals have no say in any of it.”

  “I see.” Matt glanced in the direction of his desk clock. “Your question could take hours to discuss.”

  “But mortals are protected, they’re cherished. All their needs are met. How would it be better for them if they had an equal vote or could be on the council?”

  Matt cocked his head, furrowing his brow. “Henry, you lived through the Civil War, the Jim Crow laws, the women’s suffrage movement, the civil rights movement, cycles of discrimination against Hispanics like yourself—how can you live through all that and still ask your question?”

  “But this is different. We will be part of this community for hundreds of years. Most mortals are here for ten or twenty years. When they start to age, the depression of living among immortal beings becomes too much. They leave. You know they do.”

  “I know it all too well. Who do you think they turn to when those issues start bothering them?”

  Henry’s hand sought the cross at his neck. “Then how can you suggest we put our lives in the hands of mortals? They have no idea what it means to be vampire. To live with the temptations we live with. What if they gained political control and voted to change the rules—to allow more vampires to be made so they could become immortal?”

  “You’re talking as if we’re a straight democracy, where the masses can vote bread and circuses. We’re not. We’re a representative democracy. The Hill residents elect a council, and the council decides, within the limits set by the treaty.”

  “Still, if enough mortals banded together…”

  “They could not control the entire council, not if vampires continue to vote. And you’re assuming every mortal on the Hill wants to be vampire. I can tell you from talking with them, your assumption is wrong.” Matt looked down at his desk for a moment. “When you asked me to come to the Hill, you recall I was living at the Buddhist monastery in Los Angeles.”

  Henry nodded. A friend who lived at the monastery had contacted him about Father Matt. His friend had been right. Matt was a good fit for Sierra Escondida. He’d never questioned his decision to invite Matt here until this moment.

  “Do you recall how I came to be at the monastery?” Matt asked.

  “Your maker abandoned you there.”

  “I’d been working with runaway teens. I mistook my maker for one of them. When I followed her to her lair to invite her back to the homeless shelter, I must have scared her. She drained me, but I could see it in her eyes. She didn’t mean to kill me, and she offered me life. But she didn’t want a fledging following her around, so she dumped me at the door of the monastery.”

  “You’d never told me the details before.”

  “I was fortunate that the monastery took me in. A small group of six vampires—what they all had in common was this: they were appalled at having to drink human blood to survive. Most had been Buddhists. That small group founded the monastery. One member was an ultra-orthodox Jew who came to live with them, whose religion prohibited drinking human blood. The last resident was an atheist vegetarian.”

 
; Henry already understood the dilemma. At some level, whether religious or not, they’d each had to face it and make compromises to live. Yacov kept a separate office refrigerator to hold donor blood, so it wasn’t in the kosher kitchen Shayna kept.

  “Father, I know you like to use stories to teach, but I don’t see how this relates to the Hill.”

  “Just like you, that small group of Buddhists had to struggle with their own moral issue: did Buddha’s prohibitions against eating human flesh mean they should starve to death?”

  “I’m assuming they decided it didn’t.”

  “On the contrary. They didn’t just ‘decide.’ One of their members chose to starve to death rather than compromise her beliefs. The rest struggled with what to do, they meditated, and they debated among themselves and within themselves. They still struggle with it. They drink bagged blood, but they do so realizing it’s an ethical compromise. They don’t do it blindly.”

  “And you think my belief in the righteousness of our community is a blind belief.”

  “Henry, some of the mortals I’ve spoken with aren’t happy with being disenfranchised, and Rolf isn’t helping things by proposing the Rule of Two apply to them. At this moment I’m not saying they are right, or you are right. I’m saying this: until you are willing to question your own beliefs, you won’t be open to seeing new ones.”

  Henry paused. Yacov’s suggestion to trust his gut—was it right every time? Matt didn’t know the whole story—he didn’t know how bad it was in the old days before the Covenant. The community couldn’t give mortals free rein; they needed strict rules or the sins of the past would return.

  He stood up. “Thank you for your time, Father.”

  Chapter 31

  Sierra Escondida Police Station—later that night

  Tig unlocked the police station door and groaned as she pushed it open. Seven nights since the envoy was shot and I’m still no closer to solving either shooting. Jayden had grumbled about her going into the office early on a Sunday night, but he understood—she wouldn’t rest until she had the culprit in her jail.

  At least she had Jayden to help her during the day. Before he joined them, she had no daytime support, just like when she worked for Phat—a lone agent, getting the information Phat needed or making the kill she was paid for. She respected Phat, but she hadn’t entirely trusted him.

  With Jayden, she had a daytime partner she could trust. But it still felt strange to partner with a man. Before Jayden, men were her targets, a quick lay, or someone she had to obey. She’d missed the partnership she had with her sister-wives. Their emotional closeness had nothing to do with sex or power. She had warned Jayden before he came to the Hill—she had a blank spot in her head when it came to what Americans called romantic love. But Jayden offered both emotional closeness and sex, and having a mortal lover had its advantages. She smiled, picturing the white sheet draped across his naked black ass, her fang marks healing on his neck.

  She censored the mental image—time to focus on business. Her community needed her protection. Dr. Clarke, acting as coroner, had completed the autopsy report and left it on her clerk’s desk. She dug into the mess of paperwork. Where was it? She thumbed through each stack until she found the official blue paper of the coroner’s office. Someone had dumped the daytime logs on top of it.

  She took the report to her office and slumped into her chair. She skimmed through it before coming to what interested her most: the ballistics report. Four bullets recovered, three from the body. Karen fired but missed. Jayden’s shot lodged in the sniper’s chest, entering through the side of his ribcage.

  Tig’s own bullet had gone through the sniper’s trigger hand, a perfect disarming hit—one she had practiced so often it was second nature. Mortal police never tried for that shot; too risky. With the enhanced eyesight and motor control of a vampire, it was easy for her.

  The kill shot, though, had entered through his temple, and that bullet belonged to Rolf’s gun. Had Rolf done it on purpose so the shooter wouldn’t survive? Or was it just the stress of the moment—go for the sure kill? Of Rolf’s possible motives—inheriting from Henry or turning Karen—money seemed more likely than love.

  But then why try to kill—or kidnap—Yacov? The two men who attacked Yacov had been cellmates in prison, one incarcerated for extortion, the other for knifing a guy while trying to collect an unpaid bet for a small racketeering outfit. The sniper who shot Cerissa had been on the same cell block, serving time for running drugs.

  She sat back in her chair, tapping her pen against her lips. A visit to the prison in San Diego was top priority. Information on the three shooters—information that wasn’t in the official prison reports—might lead to the real person behind the attacks.

  She threw her pen down on her desk. Damn! There was no way she could do it herself—how would she explain the interviews had to be at night? She turned to her computer, opened the investigation tracking program, and made a note in the file. Jayden was a good investigator—he could handle it for her.

  The sound of a car parking outside her window caught her attention. Right on time. The door to the police station buzzed and she went out to greet her visitors.

  “I have a few questions for Cerissa,” she told Gaea. “Would you mind waiting here?”

  Gaea sat down in one of the visitor chairs in the waiting room. “Of course, dear. I brought a magazine with me just in case. Don’t mind me.”

  “Cerissa, if you would come this way?” Tig motioned toward a hallway. She followed Cerissa to the small conference room, which doubled as an interrogation room. She wanted to question Cerissa without Henry running interference this time.

  Cerissa still wore a sling to protect her right arm. Henry’s blood should have healed the wound by now. Why pretend to be injured? She couldn’t shake the feeling Cerissa was hiding something.

  After offering the envoy a chair across from her, she laid out mug shots and morgue photos of Yacov’s attackers on the conference room table. “Do you know these men?”

  “Who are they?” Cerissa asked, picking up each photo and studying it.

  “The men who shot at Yacov.”

  “I’m sorry, I don’t.”

  Not the answer Tig wanted. If Cerissa had seen them around the New York Collective, Leopold would be a viable suspect. “Did you remember how Leopold found out about the attack on Yacov?”

  “I did better than that. I asked him.”

  “You what?” Tig said, her voice rising. The last thing she wanted was Leopold alerted to her suspicions.

  Cerissa flinched. “Ah, I asked him. He said Yacov told him.”

  “Yacov?”

  “Yacov called Leopold the night he was attacked.”

  Tig pressed her lips together. She’d asked Yacov about Leopold. Why hadn’t Yacov reported the conversation to her? She could feel her temper flare, and took a deep breath to tamp it down—she didn’t want to scare Cerissa into silence. “Why was Yacov talking with Leopold?”

  “Leopold said Yacov was very upset.”

  “Is Yacov an investor in Leopold’s project?”

  Cerissa looked sad. “No. No one from the Hill has invested in it yet.”

  Tig placed the photos back in the file. “Do you know anyone at the Camp Pendleton Marine Base?” she asked.

  Cerissa tilted her head, a puzzled expression on her face. “No. Why?”

  “The sniper scope was stolen from there. The base is near San Diego.”

  “I don’t know anything about it.”

  Well, it was a long shot. Cerissa didn’t smell like a lie, and her facial reaction—the envoy was surprised by the question. “That’s all I have for now,” Tig said. “I’m sorry to inconvenience you while you’re still recovering.”

  “It’s no problem.”

  “If you think of anything, no matter how small, call me.” She started to stand.

  Cerissa remained seated. “There was one other thing.”

  “Go ahead.” Tig sat
back down. She never knew what might be volunteered. It wouldn’t be the first time a conspirator broke the case by saying too much.

  Cerissa seemed to hesitate. “Is it possible Henry and Yacov were targeted because they’re founders of this community?”

  Tig leaned forward. “How is it you’re aware who our founders are?” she asked sternly.

  Cerissa paled but continued. “Ah, Leopold mentioned them. He briefed me on how the Hill is structured.”

  “Why would you be interested in that?”

  “Well, if we’re going to build the lab here, we need their approval. Leopold thought if both the town council and the founders favored the idea….”

  “I see,” Tig said. “But you haven’t explained why you believe our founders are the target. There are five founders. Only two have been attacked.”

  “It was something Henry said—the most obvious connection between him and Yacov.”

  “You’re right, it is obvious,” Tig replied. And Henry should learn when to keep his mouth shut. The Hill couldn’t afford loose lips until she ruled out Leopold as a suspect. “We are investigating all angles, and when we catch the vampire behind this, I will personally enjoy putting a stake through their heart, including executing any mortals who are involved.”

  Cerissa stared at her. “Of course.”

  Tig suddenly wished she hadn’t said that. She should be doing everything to protect Cerissa, not threaten her—after all, Cerissa was the victim here. “Do you need help returning to Gaea’s car?”

  “I can get there myself,” Cerissa said, rising hurriedly and moving past her.

  Where did that guilt come from? It wasn’t like her to feel empathy for a suspect. She shook off the strange feeling and followed Cerissa back to the lobby. Whatever Cerissa and Leopold were up to, it had better not threaten the Hill.