by D. R. Perry
Kind of drives home the importance of keeping mystical shit secret.
Bolts sliding and locks tumbling tell us we don’t have much longer to wait. The door opens a crack, and I’m looking Kayleigh in the eye. Well, sort of. There’s a silver chain between us. That’d keep Scott from busting in. The scent of wood and garlic means my ex is packing anti-vampire heat.
“What do you want, Crispo?”
“Hi, Kayleigh.”
“Can it and answer.”
“It’s more like what Maury wants. He’s hired me for a case and has me doing a little legwork for him. Official. It’s about your lost time in Roger Williams Park.”
“He’s only paying you because he doesn’t know about your new and unimproved health condition.”
“Well, that and our decades of friendship, of course.” I hold up Cranston PD’s folder. “Can I come in and talk to you about this?”
“No.”
“Not a good look, Kayleigh.” Scott’s shaking his head. “You know the whole vampire invitation thing is a myth.”
“It’s not about the myths. It’s more like I’ve got a lot of things in here the both of you are severely allergic to.”
“Oh, okay.” I nod, the corners of my mouth tilting up. “So where can we talk in private about this? My office?”
“No.”
“Hold on.” Scott’s texting at supernatural speed. His phone bleeps, bloops, and chimes. “Gramps says you can hang out in his gazebo.”
“Meet me there in five. If you’re late, I’m gonna jet,”
“Thanks, Kayleigh.”
“Whatever.” She doesn’t exactly slam the door, but it doesn’t close gently either. The locks engage almost immediately, too.
“Let’s go.” Scott strides off the porch and toward his truck. I follow, trotting to keep up.
“Why are we in such a hurry?”
“I’ve got to do a quick chore for Gramps before we use the gazebo.”
“Okay.”
The ride over is short, barely two minutes. Even still, I wonder how Scott’s going to do anything before Kayleigh’s deadline. But I’m not left in the dark for long.
Once at the side of the Fitzpatrick’s house, Scott stops under a window. When I say under, I mean two stories down. He picks up a pair of pruning shears. There’s a tree between my parent’s house and theirs, one that’s gotten severely overgrown over the last summer.
He squats then leaps straight up into the air.
“Think fast, Tino!”
I dash out of the way as I realize the nature of this chore, which is extremely dangerous for a vampire. But I’m fast, so I get out of the way with plenty of time and space to spare before branches start dropping on the spot where I stood.
You might wonder why I’m not freaking out. And yeah, any other vamp might think Scott wanted to paralyze or even kill me. But I know better. Okay, strike that. Maybe I don’t. Maybe I’m dangerously trusting and absurdly naïve. I might be a fool.
But if I am, at least I won’t end up a paranoid mess like Kayleigh. Trusting in friendship and love is the way to go.
At least, it is for me. My mother raised me to have faith, and I’m sticking to those guns like an entire factory of crazy glue.
I pace through the gate to the backyard where Gramps has his gazebo. The structure back there is a real showcase of talented craftsmanship. It’s also the only supernaturally-enhanced neutral ground in the state of Rhode Island. The Fitzpatricks are the most important and longest-standing werewolf family here, and from what Stephanie’s told me, it’s the alpha werewolf’s duty to maintain such a place.
Kayleigh’s already standing inside it because she’s practically a ninja. I change my power-walk into a saunter, knowing she can’t attack me while she’s within the boundaries here. But then she raises her arm and taps her watch.
I sprint.
“Hi again.” I set Maury’s folder on the picnic table on the far side of the gazebo.
“I have to sit for this?”
“Yeah, it’s probably a good idea.”
“Fine.” She takes one side, then gestures at the other.
“Relax, Kayleigh. I’m not interested in biting you. Or anything else besides helping figure out what happened to you.”
“Really?” She’s lacing her fingers together, then slipping them apart again, something she always used to do when she was nervous.
“Yeah.”
“I mean, this is always extra awkward because we were a thing back then. And I love Calvin.”
“I’m seeing someone.” The smile I can’t hide when I think of Maya tells Kayleigh it’s serious.
“Oh, my god!” Those lacing hands clap together instead, three times in rapid succession. Her blonde side ponytail bounces as she makes a little squeeing noise. “Who? Is it the cute guy with the tattoos?”
“What, Frankie? No. I’m straight, but whoever ends up with him is gonna be a lucky guy.”
“Then who? Not the alchemist?” She makes a face.
“No. She’s a vampire like me. Except totally gorgeous.”
“Wow, congratulations!”
“Thanks.” As I come down from new-relationship euphoria, I realize my ex is procrastinating. “So. Last night a beat cop found you in Roger Williams Park?”
Kayleigh sighs and shakes her head. “Ugh. I can’t do this. Told Maury the same thing.”
“I know. But you can tell me things you can’t say to him.”
“That’d be a good point, but I don’t remember anything except waking up.”
“Can I look at your wrist?”
“Sure.” She holds her arm out, palm up. “But don’t touch.”
“Okay.”
I examine it as best I can with my eyes, which is actually not a bad thing. I notice something I might have missed if my hand had been on her arm.
“Well, I can tell you for sure that you didn’t get whammied by a Lethian.”
“How?”
“They leave traces behind, but never bruises, so your injury there doesn’t match up. But that’s not all I see, either.”
“So, what did this?”
“I’m not sure.” And that’s the God’s honest truth.
“What else is on me, then?”
“I’m only telling you that if you promise to share anything you know about this stuff.” I point at the area around her wrist, right above the bruising.
“Only a vampire for a summer, and you’re already wheeling and dealing.”
“Not for myself. There are three other victims, Kayleigh. So far. And Maury won’t have a clue how to help them. Neither will the PD.”
“Raph Paolucci might.” Everybody in the supernatural community apparently knows the head of CSI is an ally.
“But he can’t see this with his own eyes any more than you can.”
“Good point. But maybe I’d be better off talking to him instead.”
“I know how to send him an official consultant’s evidence report that might let Maury go after the perp if we can find mundane grounds.”
“And I know people who can take care of said monster on their own without getting the police involved.”
“How do you know it’s a monster?”
“Anything that’s stealing time and God knows what else from random women has got to be one.”
“It can’t be an accident? A misunderstanding?”
“Just the way they have to feed?”
“Good point.” I shake my head. “But I can’t help wondering whether I’d be in that boat. If the vamp who made me hadn’t stuck around, I mean.”
From the other side of the rosebushes, Scott snorts.
“You’d have ashed while sunbathing or died of garlic poisoning on the first day.”
“You know me too well. All the same, I’d appreciate any information and time you can give me.” Kayleigh knows I prefer the carrot over the stick.
“You know me well too, Tino. So you’ll understand that, regardless of
my preference, I can’t do much to help you.”
“Your dad already knows about this, huh?”
“Yeah.”
“Shitballs.” My face meets my palm. “Is it the time or the information you’ve lost control of here?”
“Time. Daddy’s already on the prowl for baddies.”
“Okay, so what’s the intel you’re willing to share?”
“Two things.”
“Not even enough for a charm?”
“You’ll have to do the arithmetic on your own, sorry.”
“Should have paid more attention in Algebra, huh?” I let out a chuckle she adds to.
“Something like that.” She sighs. “Anyway, the first thing about the night in question is what I remember from before waking up in the cruiser. It was a voice.”
“Okay. Tell me more.”
“I can’t.” She shrugs. “I was walking down the sidewalk after leaving the bike path. It was across Cranston Street from Meshanticut, about a block from home. And then from maybe a dozen paces behind me I hear this voice. Loud. Commanding, even. But it also had a sort of music to it.”
“What kind of music?”
“That’s your thing. I’m tone-deaf, remember?”
“Nobody’s perfect, Kayleigh. Anyway, what was it saying?”
“Can’t remember.” She taps her temple. “But I have the idea that I wouldn’t have understood the words anyway.”
“And you didn’t feel anything on your wrist?” I point at the fading marks.
“Nope.”
I finish jotting her account down in my notebook. As I sit tapping the end of my writing utensil on the page, I wonder whether this could be the work of a magician. An alchemist could prep a potion to do just about anything, even make a sound like a voice. But it also reminds me of something I encountered more recently.
“Do you remember any other time you heard a voice like that?”
“Um.” Kayleigh’s looking everywhere but at me. “Yeah, once.”
“Are you going to tell me about that?”
“Tino, ixnay, ixnay.”
“Scott, I don’t speak Pig Latin.”
“He said nix.” Kayleigh finally looks me in the eye. “There’s a night I promised never to mention.”
“Ah.” I nod. “I’ll quit on that.”
Kayleigh’s talking about that time I got whammied by something evil and ended up with an entire week lost from my memory. Nobody will tell me exactly what happened that night. Well, none of my friends, anyway. That bastard Carmine was there, and I’m still trying to sort the truth from the fiction in his tall tale.
“Okay, so you said there was one other thing you remember about last night.”
“Yeah. When I go out running, I always bring the hip bag Dad gave me when I finished hunter training. It’s got all four of my cans of mace inside.”
“Four? Isn’t that overkill?”
“Not really. Only one of them has pepper spray in it.”
“Oh, okay. I get it. One with holy water, one with silver nitrate. But what’s the fourth?”
“Garlic.”
“Vamps are that dangerous?”
“No. The holy water’s not for vamps.”
“Some night, I’d love to sit down with you and discuss tactics.”
“You and every other thing that goes bump in the night.”
“Fair point. So. You had four mace cans when you went out.”
“Right. And in the cruiser, I had none.” She shakes her head. “But I was out of it in Roger Williams Park for who knows how long. Anyone could have taken them.”
I rub one hand over my mouth, trying to hide the smirk I’m surely making at the idea of some garden-variety human spraying water at another, waiting for the eye burn. Which is maybe the most benign fate my imagination can come up with for Kayleigh’s misplaced weapons.
“Have you been out to look for them?”
“Yeah, with Calvin earlier today. But we didn’t find anything.”
“Hmm.”
“So, what do you think did it?”
“No idea.”
“Bullshit.”
“Didn’t we already have this conversation but reversed?”
She huffs out a hostile breath, crossing her arms over her chest.
“Look. You must have at least a theory.”
“Yeah. It must be bunnies.”
“Don’t go quoting Whedonverse at me.”
“Well, what do you want from me, then? A target? Because I can’t give you any.”
“Quid pro quo, Valentino.”
“Hannibal Lecter is not a good look, Kayleigh.”
“You don’t want to owe hunters. Bad for your health.”
But I also happen to know it’d be even worse for my health if anyone found out I put Kayleigh or her father on the trail of some other poor supernatural sap. Theorizing with her is dangerous, especially here on neutral ground where the werewolves can hear. Not that I think this string of crimes has anything to do with them.
Another hazard to my health is my prime suspects. Magicians can put holes in walls and turn folks into puppets. Centaurs and Lethians are masters of knowledge and memory. Vampires have all sorts of powers, verbal commands included. I have the suspicion that Stephanie can manipulate memories, too.
Half my friends fall into one of these categories. I am not pointing a loaded hunter at anyone I care about.
For vampires, there is one eternal way out of any social predicament. I take it.
“I took vows. Breaking them is similarly hazardous.”
“Well, thanks for nothing, Tino.”
Kayleigh rises and stomps away, making a big show of anger and frustration at the direction our conversation took. But my vampire ears hear her heart beating at a pace too slow for that. It’s still elevated, but in a way that makes me think she’s mildly excited.
Not like that. Get your minds back up into the gutter where they belong.
My ex looks back at me over her shoulder, and the sly grin on her lips makes me understand what’s happened. My refusal to name even creature types gave her enough to go on. The rest of her deductions about my unspoken theories come from our shared history. She knows that my suspects include the people closest to me.
I’d better solve this one before she does, or the blood or ash is on my hands.
Scott leaves me in awkward silence on the way back to the Belfry. Fortunately, after a couple of minutes, he decides to break it.
“Look, Tino.” Scott glances at me, then back at the road. “I’ve got to keep things copacetic with Sebastian.”
I don’t answer, only blink. This is the last thing I expect to hear out of the werewolf’s mouth. Last time I checked, he had some territorial issues with the monstrous Mafia prince. I want to keep my mouth shut, but the timer runs out on my curiosity.
“Why?”
“You know how Gramps transferred me from Cranston West to Stout this year?”
“Yeah.” The whole thing was Scott’s idea. He wants to keep an eye on Leora. For more than one reason, if the teenage werewolf’s past behavior is any indication. It’s totally my business since I am her legal guardian. But my opinion of Leora’s romantic prospects isn’t as important as her own. So I stay mum on that part of it. At least it’s nothing I need to be curious about.
“Well, I need a tutor for Geometry, and they assigned me to Sebastian. The kid’s some kind of math whiz.”
“Okay.” I sigh. Math isn’t something I can offer him help with, after all. “I’ll lay off while you’re around. Make it look like you’re making me chill out.”
“Thanks.”
After that, I get a text. That’s why, instead of bringing me home, Scott drives us to the old converted factory that houses our private investigation office, nestled in with the typical art and music studios. And one alchemy lab, courtesy of Esther, of course. But it’s the office we want because that’s where Leora is. Also, Esther’s most recent alchemy project is creepy
with a side of gross, and I’d prefer not to see it.
She’s sitting at my desk, head bent over notebooks and a pre-algebra textbook, doing her homework as promised. Like I said, good kid. But her bestie Sparky the salamander is a distracting little fellow I’ve come to seriously consider banning from my office during homework sessions.
He’s decent enough most of the time and a great ally in a fight, but he gets bored easily and always messes with Leora’s books and papers. He’s currently sitting on the floor between Leora’s backpack and my duffel full of investigation supplies, playing with whatever he can get his hands on.
How much trouble is a salamander? According to the books in the Pickering house library, not much, normally. But nothing about Sparky is normal, from his interest in World History to his nosiness about all of my cases. Right now, he’s in his almost human form, bipedal with opposable thumbs, yet totally hairless. Mildly atypical, like the book says. But his looks are no problem as far as I’m concerned.
A nitrile glove farting proudly past my nose while deflating is.
“Sparky, what the hell?” I pluck the flying glove between two fingers and shake it like a Polaroid picture.
“Sorry, mister.” The amphibian kid hangs his head.
“Why, dude?” I toss that glove in the trash because it’s ruined now. Sending Salamander DNA to the CSI lab is not a good look, even if my contact there is in the know.
“Dunno. Got bored.” Sparky blinks his big, muddy, lashless eyes. “Sorry.”
“Hey, Sparkmeister.” Scott holds up one of the controllers from the Nintendo 64 he got at Reality A Games last week. “Come and smash some bros with me, fam.”
“Yeah!” The kid forgets all about my stuff and runs off to do some retro gaming. Thank God.
I drag my duffel over toward my desk, take the seat in front of it, and begin repacking my supplies. I must be making my annoyance too obvious because Leora looks up from her books and raises both eyebrows.
“Look, I need this stuff to solve cases.” I shrug. “You know, help people?”
“Yeah.” She taps the page she’s been scrawling equations on. “I know.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Can I just be home-schooled?”
