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

by Jenna Barwin

“There’s a reason for that, Gaea, and it’s between Henry and me.” She wasn’t about to tell Gaea the reason. No matter how much she liked Gaea, she could no longer trust her not to gossip.

  “Cerissa, listen. You must be careful.” Gaea patted her back, a gentle flutter of taps, like burping a baby. “Some of the council members blame you. The only reason you’re still here is because the council wants you to testify at Henry’s hearing. In two weeks, when they decide Henry’s penalty, they’ll decide whether to send you back to New York.”

  “If Henry and I become blood mates, they couldn’t vote me off the Hill, could they?”

  “It would make it harder for them to do so. But a lot has happened. Take the time to be certain Henry is the one you want.”

  “I—”

  A thump came from Gaea’s front porch, and Cerissa turned to see who it was. She hadn’t heard the front door open. Blanche dragged two suitcases behind her, the wheels bouncing down the stone steps.

  “I heard about the ban,” Blanche said, stopping by the bench. “Surprised they let you back in, but they’ll eventually send your ass down the road just like they did to me.”

  “Time for you to leave,” Gaea said, standing up. “Here, let me help.”

  Gaea took Blanche’s upper arm and twisted her in the direction of the driveway, where Blanche’s Fiat was parked.

  “Ow!” Blanche yelled. “You’re ripping my arm out!” She dropped one bag, her arm flopping at her side. To Cerissa’s trained eye, it looked like a dislocated shoulder.

  Gaea grabbed the bag before the handle hit the ground, and gave a disdainful sniff. “I’m sorry, dear. But you need to learn when to keep your mouth shut.”

  Cerissa smiled for the first time since Henry was arrested. Not nice, but being nice didn’t protect her from bullies. Which reminded her—Blanche may be more than a bully. She took out her phone and texted Ari, letting him know that Blanche was on her way to San Diego, so he could start tracking her.

  Finished, she walked to the house with Gaea. “We’ll need to go back to the hotel later to get my car and luggage,” she told Gaea. “I’m going to my room for now.”

  “Of course,” Gaea said, opening the door. “But no sneaking out to see him. The council is serious. You wouldn’t want to get Henry in deeper trouble.”

  * * *

  Tig strode into the police station’s conference room. Now that Henry’s little adventure was wrapped up, talking with Zeke moved to the top of her list.

  Before she could sit down, Zeke asked, “Does this have something to do with Henry?” He flicked one end of his double-string tie with his thumb as he spoke. “’Cause if it does, it’s Cerissa’s fault. She misled me.”

  Tig laid a file folder on the table. “We’ll talk about Cerissa in a moment. There’s something else we need to discuss first.”

  “Somethin’ else?”

  He kept flicking the tip of the tie back and forth. It was his tell—hell, anyone on the Hill who’d played poker with him knew about it. They had the advantage whenever he wore one of his string ties to a game.

  She slapped open the file folder. The photo of the dead guard stared back at Zeke. “Is this your work?”

  Zeke picked up the photo. “No, ma’am. I understand why you’re asking, but no, I didn’t do this.”

  She kept her eyes on his. “What time did you leave the dance last night?”

  “Well, after I danced with Cerissa, I didn’t feel too much like hanging out there. So me and some of the guys put together a poker game over at Jose’s.”

  “Who was with you?”

  “Well, let me see. The mayor sat in on a few hands.”

  “What time did the game wrap up?”

  “I quit when I was ahead. It had to be around three or so. I went home and checked on my herd, watched a little television, and by then it was dawn.”

  Not enough time for him to get to San Diego and kill the guard. She seriously doubted he would use the mayor as an alibi unless it was true. Winston would never lie for him.

  Zeke started to stand up. “If that’s all, chief, I’ll mosey on home.”

  Tig motioned for him to remain seated. “How did you break your wrist?”

  “Oh, this?” He held up his arm and wiggled his fingers. A stretch bandage supported it. He lowered his hand and began fiddling with his tie again. “Stupid horse I was shoeing kicked back and snapped the damn thing. Doc put a brace on it the other night, but it’ll be right as rain in a few days.”

  He was lying about something, but she didn’t see any use in pushing the issue. “One more thing. Last night, you shouldn’t have asked Cerissa to dance. You’re a police officer—you should know better than to risk a breach of the peace.”

  “It was Henry who breached the peace by stealin’ Cerissa away from me.” He kept flicking his tie.

  “You’d had her blood?”

  “Ah, not yet. But I would’ve.” He sounded like a petulant child.

  Tig leaned forward and gave Zeke what she hoped was a penetrating look. “I don’t want to see you anywhere near Cerissa again.” Zeke didn’t respond. “Do you hear me? She’s clearly chosen Henry—let it go. We don’t need a problem with Leopold.”

  Zeke stayed silent, a sullen look on his face. She reached across and grabbed him by his tie, pulling him halfway across the table. She was tired of watching him flick the damn thing. “You won’t like the outcome if you force a showdown in front of the council.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, still sounding sulky.

  She continued to hold him inches from her. “You better cut the attitude. Not every community will let you moonlight. You want to keep feeding your habit, you’ll toe the line.”

  “Ma’am?” He sounded less sure of himself. “I don’t reckon I follow your drift.”

  She released him, giving him a firm push back into his chair. “I know about the supply you bring back from South America, the blood of your victims.”

  “I—”

  “Don’t bother to deny it. It’s an open secret you have a taste for adrenaline-spiked blood. I ignore it because your activities happen far outside my jurisdiction, but I can tell you this. Not everyone is as understanding as I am. So leave Cerissa alone, if you don’t want to see yourself booted off the Hill and dealing with a community that isn’t as understanding.”

  She dismissed Zeke. The buzz of the station’s door alarm told her he was gone, and she walked down the hall to her office. Jayden was stretched out on her couch, working on his iPad. He sat up when she walked in.

  “So what happened at the council meeting?” he asked.

  “About what you’d expect.” She eased into her desk chair. “Henry called the mayor a fuck-up—all couched in formal language, of course. The mayor almost flew off the dais, ready to bang the gavel on Henry’s head. The rest of the council was just as bad. At one point Rolf called Cerissa a whore, and Henry almost threw the lectern at him.”

  “I wish I could have seen that,” Jayden said. “So what stopped him?”

  “Yacov. The town attorney is smart—he got Yacov to represent Henry at the hearing. It was all set up—Henry didn’t have time to do anything. He couldn’t get a postponement.” She stretched and picked up the pen on her desk, twirling it between her long fingers. “The council couldn’t let this fester. They had to come down hard on Henry, and fast, or they’d lose control of the community.”

  “Well, while you were at the hearing, I was doing real police work. I spoke with the detective, the one investigating the guard’s death. He’s invited me to drive down tomorrow and join them.”

  “Well done.”

  “And here,” he said, plopping two cell phones on her desk. “No wallets, but each of the assailants had a burner phone. This one was password protected.” He tapped the blue-cased phone. “The other isn’t. I’ve finished going through it—looks like they wiped it clean before coming after Henry. We could get a warrant for the phone company, see if anything is in the c
loud, but that’ll take some time to process.”

  “I’ll see if the Mordida crime lab can help us bust the password on the other one,” she said, closing her eyes and leaning back. “I have to wonder whether it was Rolf who hired them.”

  “Why would Rolf do that? He’s the one who called you.”

  “The same thing I said when Cerissa was shot. Rolf’s best alibi was to be there and make sure the shooter was dead. By calling me, he appears to protect Henry while giving those two a head start.” She felt tired, unusual as it was.

  “Why don’t we go home?” Jayden asked. “You could use some relaxation.” There was a hint of suggestion in his voice.

  She looked at the two burner phones on her desk and tossed down the pen she’d been playing with. Jayden was right. Whether she took the phones to the Mordida crime lab now or an hour from now made no difference. The night crew handled emergencies only. Something like this would be left for the day shift.

  She stood, and he started to lead the way out. She reached for his hand, bringing his palm to her lips. Her fangs extended as she smiled at him. In one fast movement, she kicked the door to her office closed and pulled him into her arms.

  “Tig, not here,” he said, losing his smile. “We should go back to the house.”

  “If you don’t tell anyone, I won’t,” she said with a playful grin. “Henry isn’t the only one on the Hill who can misbehave.”

  She kissed the silken skin of his neck and began unbuttoning his uniform shirt, feeling him relax. Once she had him undressed, she pushed him down onto the office couch. She liked the sight of him naked, and pictured in her mind what she’d do next. A bit messy, but she could always have the upholstery steam-cleaned later.

  Chapter 54

  The next morning

  Cerissa sat at the little table in her room, staring at her business plan, getting nowhere. She ran her fingers through her hair. What am I going to do now? Two weeks until Henry’s hearing and the thirty-day clock was ticking on her land use application. Here she was, stuck at Gaea’s house, banned from meeting with investors. She couldn’t move forward with her project and she didn’t know what the future held.

  Last night, Leopold ordered her to stay put and wait it out. He was almost gleeful when she told him Henry was in trouble. It took all the willpower she could muster, but she honored Henry’s wishes and said nothing to Leopold about the money he extorted from Henry.

  But two weeks? How could she wait two weeks to see Henry? Her heart hung heavy in her chest, her mind skittering like a coin tossed onto a ceramic plate.

  The doorbell rang. Dylan had left for classes, so she hurried downstairs and opened the door. A delivery guy stood on Gaea’s porch bearing an arrangement of red orchids. She signed the clipboard and accepted the delivery. Only one person could have sent those orchids. After placing the vase on the nearest hallway table, she opened the small card.

  My dearest Cerissa, the card began. Please accept these as a token of my sincerest apologies for putting you at risk last night. It was poor judgment on my part. After I resolve this matter with the council, I hope we may resume where we left off. Your humble servant, Henry.

  She sank down onto the nearest chair and read the card a second time. How could she answer his message? Gaea had said she couldn’t visit him. Electronic contact was also forbidden—they were probably monitoring his phone and email.

  How to respond? Then it occurred to her. She took the flowers with her so Gaea wouldn’t see them, and drove into town, parking her car in a lot at the local shopping mall. It wouldn’t be noticed there while she was gone. She flashed to the Enclave.

  * * *

  “Hi, chief, I’m driving home,” Jayden said, his voice projected from the speakerphone on Tig’s home office desk. She could hear road noise in the background. “But I’m dead on my feet. I may grab a hotel room halfway there.”

  Tig understood. Caffeine could only do so much. After they had made love last night, Jayden slept four hours and then drove to San Diego. He’d been there all day, investigating the guard’s death. She’d been stuck here, dead to the world. She ground her teeth and flipped the switch on her home computer. The hard drive began whirring.

  “What did you learn?” she asked.

  “Not much. His family knew the guard was dating someone new, had been for about six months, but they had no idea who.”

  “What about his apartment in Vista?”

  “He lived alone. Nothing in the apartment gave us any clue as to Hoodie’s identity. Whoever killed the guard got there before us.”

  “Things out of order?” she asked.

  “Just the opposite. It was all clean and neat—too clean and neat. It just didn’t feel right. Normal people leave a little mess, a little clutter.”

  “What about fingerprints?”

  “There were five partial sets found at the apartment besides his. Three sets have been traced to family members and a friend, but the other fingerprints don’t belong to anyone who’s admitted to being in the apartment, and the thumbprints aren’t in the DMV database either.”

  Tig stayed silent for a moment. Many vampires, even those living on the grid, avoided the DMV. The DMV thumb-printed drivers, making it harder to be “official”—the thumbprint would be in the system, and when they changed identities, the old one would match up with the thumbprint of the new identity. Recent improvements in fake fingerprint overlays made this less of a problem, but if they used an overlay, their real thumbprints wouldn’t be in DMV records either.

  “Were you able to get a copy of the unidentified fingerprints?” she finally asked.

  “We’re on the same wavelength. Check the file transfer directory. I uploaded them.”

  “Good job,” she said, a warm burst of hope straightening her spine. About time we caught a break. She clicked the computer icon for the portal and selected the file, then started the comparison program. “Okay, V-Trak is running. Any corrupt DNA in the apartment?”

  “A ton. The lab tech had a hell of a time getting his equipment to work right. Sample after sample came back corrupted.”

  That could only mean one thing—vampire DNA. Similar to mortal DNA, but because some sequences were bizarrely altered, the lab machines reported the sample as unreadable or corrupt.

  “What about the crime scene?” she asked.

  “Hang on,” he said. “Have to change lanes.”

  She waited, tapping her fingers on the desk. The computer still hadn’t finished its comparison of the fingerprints.

  “Okay, I’m back,” he said. “The guard’s body was dumped about a mile from the prison. No fingerprints, other than the guard’s, but whoever did this left behind the knife.”

  “The killer must think the knife can’t be traced.”

  “Probably, or they were interrupted and got careless. What about on your end?” he asked. “Have you been able to identify the two dead vampires?”

  She let out a frustrated sigh. “I’ve run them through all the fingerprint databases I have access to. No wants or warrants, nothing.”

  “But the DMV should have their human thumbprint. They were young enough.”

  “I know, but they’re not showing up.” She didn’t state the obvious—the bodies may have mummified faster than Jayden could print them, altering the fingerprints. And the ones lifted from the phones were smeared partials. “When I dropped off the phone at the lab, the tech said there’s a backdoor bug they may be able to exploit. It could take them a day or two to run it down and crack the password.”

  “What about the security listserv? Anyone recognize the photos?”

  She ran her fingers through her hair, pulling at the short, tight curls. “Nothing yet. But we should give them time—it was almost sunrise when I sent out the alert.”

  Her computer dinged, a sign the search was finished. She switched back to V-Trak and then slammed her hand on the desk. “Damn. No fingerprint match for the guard’s apartment. We’re back to square one.�
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  * * *

  Henry peered into the refrigerator to see what he had in stock. Regrettably, the clone blood Cerissa had given him was now gone. He took out the oldest bag of donor blood—best to use it up first, before it got really weak.

  After heating it up, he cut off the bag’s corner with scissors and poured the red fluid into a tall metal coffee cup, rolling the cup between his hands, the heat warming his cold fingers.

  He took a couple of sips. The chill he felt upon rising began to fade, but the blood didn’t make him feel any better. The trip to the baseball game had been a fiasco. ¡Estúpido! What was he thinking? He should never have taken her to such a public place without an escort. He wrapped both hands around the warm mug and took a long, deep drink.

  The touchscreen sitting on his kitchen counter controlled his downstairs stereo system. He pressed the soft key, selecting his favorite jazz music. The trumpet’s mournful wail, the notes cutting through his heart, deepened his longing for Cerissa.

  Using the same touchscreen, he brought up the program for his vineyard and checked the remote sensor to see how much fluid flowed in each plant’s veins. He made a tiny adjustment to the irrigation system. At least his vines were doing well, even if he wasn’t.

  He swiped the screen again to look at his email. Nothing from Cerissa, but then, Gaea would have warned her. He stared at the message list. She had every right to be angry with him. She had been right and he had been wrong—they should have had an escort with them.

  He gave up and went outside to get his mail and newspapers. He’d started to go back in when he spotted a cardboard box on the front porch. The box was labeled with his name, but didn’t bear any postage. With all the recent attacks, he wasn’t taking any chances when it came to strange packages. He sniffed it to make sure there was no explosive residue. It smelled faintly of Cerissa, so he took the package inside to his drawing room.

  Large and rectangular, the box was maybe five inches deep. He placed the newspapers and mail on an end table. The music played in the background, and after taking another sip of blood, he put down the tall mug and popped the sealed ends off the cardboard box. He pulled out a large framed print: a stunning glossy color photo of the planet Mars, the iron-ore surface a deep reddish orange, the polar ice caps a soft white.