Swear

by Amanda Hocking

  When she'd finished, she looked up at me with a radiant smile, and she motioned for me to sit in a slipper chair across from her desk, so I complied.

  "Alice, what a lovely surprise. How are you doing?" Ettie asked in her French accent.

  As thick as her accent was after being alive for two-hundred-odd years, travelling over the world, I suspected she actually had to work to keep it. Most accents faded with time. Even Ezra and Mae, when they first moved to England, people commented on their American inflection (but to people in the States, they still sounded perfectly British.)

  I never asked Ettie about her accent, but I wondered if she hung onto it because she'd had it when she was human. Some vampires pushed away any remnants of their mortality, discarding anything and everything that tied them to their past life, but others clung to even the tiniest bits of their humanity.

  "Good. I've been good," I replied.

  "Tres bien." She folded her hands in front of her, with her diamond tennis bracelet clinking gently against the desktop. "Are you still enjoying working with your human associate?"

  There were dozens of humans that worked throughout the agency, but Bobby was the only one working as a hunter in Amsterdam. Humans were generally considered weaker, more fragile, and inferior fighters, so most people that worked for the cause had safer desk jobs, like Sabine.

  When I'd initially been hired on, Ettie had been skeptical about Bobby working with me, but during my freelance work, I'd needed him as backup. Now I had the Agency, so it theoretically made his role less necessary, but I'd gotten used to having him by my side. We made a good team, and he'd saved my ass enough times for it to be worth it.

  Besides, Bobby loved the job, and I don't think there was anything else he wanted to do.

  "Yeah, Bobby's great," I said enthusiastically.

  "I'm happy to hear that," Ettie said. "Many clients have reached out to extend their compliments on how efficient and discreet you and Bobby work."

  I couldn't help but smile at the commendation. "We do our best."

  "So, what can I do for you today?" she asked.

  I felt strangely nervous to broach the topic with her, but I was here, so I had to get on with it. "I was actually wondering if you had any advice about looking into a murder that happened 150 years ago."

  Ettie tilted her head as her interest piqued. "This was a vampire that was killed?"

  "Yeah, she was a vampire supposedly murdered by a gang of vampires in Ireland." I simplified the story I'd been told, in part because I wasn't sure how accurate any of the particulars were.

  "Ireland?" She frowned and shook her head. "I don't have much experience there. In the mid-1800s, I was working as a hunter, but I was stationed in Morocco." Then something occurred to her and her eyes narrowed. "How do you even know of this murder? You're much too young to have known them."

  "She was a friend of a friend. My friend never quite got over it," I said, but that was really putting it mildly.

  "Well, the only good news is that gangs of vampires tend to go reported." She began typing on her laptop, presumably going into the Agency's database of rogue vampires, major crimes, and other important events and vampires.

  "If it were an individual, I would say that it would be all but impossible for you to really solve it on your own. But gangs leave traces," Ettie went as she stared at the computer screen. "There were many vampires in Ireland then. There was a famine, and the dead and dying attract us like vultures."

  That did make sense. I'd heard of vampires following various plagues and disasters around the world. Finding victims was easier, because they were often weak or alone, and their deaths would easily be chalked up to the devastation around them. Plus, everyone was so concerned with surviving that they didn't have time to even notice the immortals, let alone plot a counterattack against them.

  She clicked her tongue and shook her head. "I'm not seeing much listed. In Dublin, there was a group of vampires called the 'Monto Boys,' but they seemed to mostly deal in prostitution - of both the sexual and blood variety. By chance, was she a prostitute?"

  Since I didn't know Elise, I couldn't say with absolute certainty that she had never been a prostitute, but I did know Peter. And there was no way he would've been able to share, especially not letting others bite her, without losing his mind. So, that would've had to have ended before she died, if she ever had been one at all.

  "No," I answered. "And I don't think they lived in the city, either. I think it was small village."

  "I'm not seeing any specific gang activity beyond Dublin. Outside of Ireland, there were a few." She leaned back in her chair and looked at me. "But the closest one would've been in Turkey, with the House of Basarab."

  "The House of Basarab?" I asked in shock.

  "Yes," Ettie said, then elaborated. "They're probably the oldest vampire gang - although I think 'cult' is actually more apt a title. They have ludicrous but dangerous ideas about species superiority and manifest destiny."

  "I heard someone mention them the other day," I said, feeling as though I should explain my curiosity.

  "That doesn't surprise me," she said, unfazed. "Rumors are circulating that they're regrouping. It happens every century or so, and while they're very passionate, we always end up stamping them out. Until they rise up again."

  "So you're not worried?" I asked, trying to gauge if she needed to know about my recent altercation with Cyrus and Omar in Prague.

  I didn't want to keep things from Ettie, but the vampires were gone and taken care of, so they couldn't cause any more harm, and Ettie was already aware of the possible resurgence of their cult. Telling her would only succeed in getting me reprimanded and possibly pulled from the streets for a while, especially since I hadn't reported it right away.

  Plus, I didn't want to get either Olivia or Bobby tangled up. Bobby because he was on his honeymoon, and Olivia because she was retired, she wasn't supposed to be handling stuff like that anymore.

  "I'm not worried, exactly, not yet, but I am cautious," Ettie explained. "And you should be, too. Don't confront any members of House of Basarab alone, and Bobby doesn't count as backup. Not with them. They're well-trained, zealous, and insane, which is always a very dangerous combination."

  "I'll keep that in mind," I said quietly.

  "Sorry I couldn't be of more help about your friend's murder. If you want to solve this, I suggest you go back to Ireland, to where she died, and see if you can find any vampires that were there or know the local history."

  THE HALL CLOSET IN OUR apartment was surprisingly deep and filled with all the junk we couldn't find a place for. Old hockey equipment, mismatched gloves, a torn jacket, Bobby's skateboard, and a million other things we'd never need. As I rummaged through it, knocking things over and making a mess, Jack came out of the living room and eyed me up.

  I had gotten home from talking with the Ettie at the Agency, said a quick hello to Jack and the dog, and then immediately gone on a hunt through the apartment.

  "Is this some kind of spring cleaning thing?" he asked. "Because it's June. I think you were supposed to have finished that up last month."

  "I'm looking for something."

  "Well, yeah, I kinda figured that. Perhaps if you illuminated me what you're searching for, I could help you."

  I took a deep breath before turning to face him. "Remember that box of Peter's memorabilia? It somehow accidentally got mixed in with our stuff when we moved out, and we keep saying we'll give it back to him, but we hardly ever see him, so it just never happens."

  "I do, actually," he replied. "Is this about the murder investigation?"

  "Yeah. I talked to Ettie about it, and she couldn't really help me, so I thought I should start looking at anything I had that might help."

  "Right this way, then."

  Jack led me to the bedroom and to our spacious master closet. In there, he had a large steamer trunk where he kept his most valuable comics, some notebooks and pictures from his mortal life, and a
few other pieces of important memorabilia.

  There, underneath an autographed Prince album and the Detective Comics #31 (in "immaculate condition," according to Jack), was a wooden box, slightly larger than the average shoebox. It looked antique, with brass hinges and worn wood. Except for the sticker on top, with an important message scrawled across it in black Sharpie.

  He handed me the box, and when I brushed my hand across the marker, he gave a sheepish laugh. "Yeah that was for me. I used to snoop through his stuff, back when I'd first turned, and he got annoyed with me. But he never wanted to talk about his past or himself, and how else was I supposed to find anything out?"

  "Did this sticker work on keeping you out?" I asked.

  "It did," he replied defensively. "I'm not a total ass. If he wanted to keep some things private, I had to respect that."

  I scowled at the box. "Now I feel like we shouldn't open it."

  "If he didn't want us to go through it, he shouldn't have it abandoned it with us for the past five years. It's technically our property at this point," Jack argued.

  "Plus, I am trying to solve his wife's murder," I justified.

  "It's for altruistic reasons, so it's totally fine."

  I held my breath as I slowly opened the lid of the box. The hinges creaked and groaned, and the scent of old books and flowers wafted out.

  I don't know what I had expected. I had been hoping for an edition of the book he'd written, A Brief History of Vampyres. Or any clues about his history and past life. Maybe a photograph or two. The box looked like it contained important keepsakes, and apparently, I was correct.

  It was filled with stacks and stacks of letters. Some of them appeared quite old, with many carefully tucked back into the envelopes they'd been sent in, but many of them appeared newer, with crisp lined paper.

  As I carried the box out to our bedroom to go sift through it, I heard a rattling inside. I thought it had been all papers, but when I dug through, I discovered two small rings at the bottom - a thick gold band for a man, and a smaller one, with vines engraved in the gold and solitary ruby in the center.

  "These are wedding bands." I held them up in the palm of my bed, and Jack leaned over to investigate.

  "Really? I always wondered what Peter had chosen." He picked up the feminine one, twisting it around. "They're simpler than I imagined."

  Jack handed me the ring back, and I returned them to the box. I sat down on our bed, crossing my legs underneath me, and set the box on the bed. Careful, so I didn't damage any of them, I beginning lifting the papers out, and Jack lay down on the bed beside me. I started with the newer ones because they seemed less fragile when I made a startling discovery.

  "These are all letters to Elise," I said, gently flipping through to see her name scrawled on the pages. "And this one is dated 2009." I held it up for him to see. "Jack, he was writing to his wife long after she died."

  He didn't seem surprised at all. "It's so morbid and obsessive and strangely romantic. That's such a Peter thing to do."

  I picked up another one, pointing to Peter's signature. "This one is from 1958, and he's still signing it 'Yours Forever.'"

  Jack shrugged. "Why wouldn't he? He never stopped loving her."

  "You're saying you'd still write me letters if I died?"

  "Probably not, but mostly because I don't write letters now. Maybe I'd text you or make really sad vlogs where I cry and sing Sarah McLachlan songs."

  "Which one?" I asked.

  Without missing a beat, he replied, "Either the one from those dog commercials, or the one from Toy Story 2. Maybe both?"

  "Those are fair choices," I allowed.

  "But you're not going to die before me anyway. If you die, I die, remember?" he asked. "That's our deal, but hopefully, neither of us die."

  "I remember." I leaned over to kiss him. "And I'm holding you to it."

  "So are you going to spend the rest of the night reading those letters?" Jack asked when I returned to my attention to the box.

  "Yeah, there's gotta be something in here that tells me about Elise's murder. You don't spend a hundred years writing to a dead woman without her death coming up."

  "I'm gonna go get my book and read in here with you. If that's okay."

  I smiled at him. "Yeah, of course. I would like that a lot, actually."

  He left, and a few seconds later he came back with his latest graphic novel, Fatale Book 4: Pray for Rain, and Matilda trailing at his feet. He got into bed beside me, after helping the dog up onto the bed, and soon we were both lost in our reading.

  There were so many letters, and it was hard to know where to start. The newest ones were interesting to me, because they discussed more of the day to day, what his life was like with Ezra and Mae and eventually Jack.

  Reading about how much Peter loved Jack was heartbreaking, though. They had been so close, and Peter would've done anything for him. Until I came in and threw a wrench into everything. It made me so much more grateful that that he and Peter had finally been able to put that behind them and regain a semblance of their former relationship.

  The older letters, the ones where he first met Elise and was falling in love with her, were heartbreaking in an entirely different way. He'd go on for line after line describing in obsessive detail how beautiful she was and how much he loved her.

  I found the letter Catherine wrote detailing Elise's death, and at first, I got excited. But then everything she wrote matched up with what I'd already been told. The letter added a few more details, but nothing that changed the facts.

  So, I went back to even older letters, to the beginning of his courtship with Elise. Finally, tucked near the very bottom of the box, I found the letter describing their first meeting, dated May 23, 1852.

  I leaned back against the headboard, laying the fragile paper carefully over my legs. Jack laid beside me, so close his hair brushed my arm when he moved. At our feet, Matilda snored softly.

  So, when I read a line that made me cry out in surprise, Jack and Matilda both jumped.

  "What?" Jack sat up and looked over at me. "What's going?"

  "When I met Cate, she very explicitly stated that she was Elise's maker," I said.

  "Okay. So?" Jack asked.

  "But in this letter, Peter mistakes Catherine for Elise's maker, and Elise claims that they're only friends, more like sisters." I held the letter up for Jack to see, tapping the most incriminating line, something that Peter quoted Elise as saying to him: My maker was a stranger that my father paid to turn me, and then he promptly abandoned me.

  "Why would she lie?" Jack asked. "And who did she lie to - you, or Elise? Or was Elise lying?"

  "I don't know. Maybe Elise was lying, but she didn't really have any reason to."

  "So Cate's probably the liar."

  "Right. And if she's lying about this - which is actually a pretty major thing for a vampire - then who knows what else she's lied about?"

  THE SHRILL SOUND OF A phone ringing broke through my slumber, startling me into feeling around for my phone charging on the nightstand.

  "It's mine," Jack mumbled, his voice thick with sleep, but I'd already picked up my phone and saw that it wasn't even noon yet, which was like middle of the night for vampires.

  "Hello?" he answered groggily, and I stayed awake to listen for signs of trouble. "Yeah, I was sleeping." He laughed. "No, you're the first. Thanks." Pause. "I'll talk to you later. Have fun."

  "What was that?" I asked once Jack had hung up and lay back down in bed.

  "It was just Bobby. He was calling because he wanted to be the first to wish me happy birthday," he said, laughing again.

  "Happy birthday!" I said, sounding as happy and excited as I could for being half asleep, and I snuggled up closer to Jack. "I love you."

  He wrapped his arm around me and whispered, "I love you, too."

  Within minutes, I was out again, back to a wonderfully dark, dreamless sleep. When I woke up a few hours later, the bed was cold and empty, so J
ack had been up for a while. The Smiths played softly in the room, and by the gritty surface sound, I guessed it came from a vinyl record spinning on the turntable.

  I stretched, then picked up my phone off the nightstand, preparing to scroll through the latest internet gossip and check my email as I woke up. It was how I started most mornings, though I planned to be quicker today because I had the celebration of Jack's birthday ahead of me.

  The door to the bedroom slowly opened, and Jack appeared in the doorway. His eyes were downcast, and his entire silhouette seemed wilted, like he barely had the strength to stand up fully.

  "I heard you wake up," he said, his voice heavy and thick.

  I sat up in the bed. "What's wrong?"

  He took a deep breath before saying, "My mom's dead."

  Jack never had much to say about his human family, because they had never been close. His parents had divorced shortly before his tenth birthday, with his younger sister going to live with his mother, while he alone stayed with his father. He'd described his father as abusive, and his mother as a bitter man-hater after they split.

  When he was still a teenager, his father had died after a nasty battle with cancer, but Jack had never moved back in with his mother, preferring instead to couch hop with friends until he could finally get his own place. He talked to his sister from time to time, but after he'd turned into a vampire at the age of twenty-four, he'd cut off all contact with them - without any regret or hesitation.

  To the best of his understanding, his mom and sister presumed him to be dead, and he'd been fine with that. He went on with his life, and he hoped they went on with theirs.

  "What are you talking about?" I asked in bewilderment.

  Jack didn't say anything right away. Instead, he climbed into bed and lay down with his head in my lap. He wrapped his arm around me, hugging me tightly to him, and I ran my fingers through his sandy blond hair.

  "After Bobby called, I couldn't fall back to sleep," he said. "And I don't know if it's because of my birthday or going through Peter's stuff, but I was feeling nostalgic, and I wondered what my family was up to.

  "I haven't seen them or talked to them in twenty years, but it occurred to me that I could look them up without interacting with them," he explained. "I found my sister on Facebook, and she's married and has kids and looks happy."