Garin pulled my wrist away from his fangs and clamped my arm tight. The blood flow stopped and my arm seemed to heal under his fingers. My arms and legs still shook with such weakness that I doubted I could get off my hands and knees. But I whispered, “What happened?”
“You saved me.” He kissed my lips, “I’m not sure how much time we have.”
I swooned like a quickly discharged battery. I felt both hot and simultaneously bursting with a cold sweat. Must be an adrenaline rush. I slumped back against the refrigerator. Its calm hum and soft warmth reassuring. “Tell me what happened to you.”
“Selfishly, I wanted to keep an eye on you. I hid in a tree in the parking lot where I could see both entrances to this building and your apartment window. Then five vampires attacked me.”
“The ones from Traverse City?”
“At least the cowboy. The others I didn’t recognize, though possibly the same.”
My legs shook less, becoming a little sturdier. My fingers still vibrated so I twisted them in my hair to calm them.
“I killed three. The first one fast. I still had my dagger. But that got cut away,” he rubbed his fully restored wrist, “Worried about you I flipped two into the dumpster. As they fought out I slammed the lid. Their heads pinched and popped off between the lid and the sharp edge of the steel bin.” He put his hands to the sides of his face, “If not for that great luck, I would not have frightened and scattered the other two.”
“Including the cowboy?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know if they are after me,” he touched my arm, “Or after you because of me or something with Bethany.” He cocked his ear, listening, then went back to the events, “But at that point I’d already been cut up so badly I leaked like a sieve. Fighting on will alone and afraid for you. But by the time I got to your door I could only scratch at it. Fearing I couldn’t protect you if they came back. Scared something had happened to you while they distracted me in the fight,” his head dropped, “And I couldn’t get through that door to check on you. A thin panel but as sturdy as a castle wall in my weakness.”
“I’m not safe here am I?”
“Sorry … no.”
“Where am I to live?”
“Sorry … I screwed it up,” his eyes teared, “they know you’re important to me.”
“How do we find out who they are? How can we be safe?”
His melancholy dropped as his thoughts came fast and under focus now, “Get your stuff.”
He helped me pack in the dark. I likely wouldn’t match any colors. Most I remembered from the running inventory I kept in my head. An old boyfriend said once in amazement at my near photographic inventory memory. Common among my friends. Shop a lot and you keep this inventory of fashions and colors and fabrics and styles. I used the same system of short hand that he did with car parts. I found a couple of my largest hooded sweatshirts and sweatpants and had Garin change. Funny to see block letters for “Cushy” across his rear. I had never worn that gift. The clothes stretched around him tightly but a better appearance than his blood soaked ones.
We rushed from the hallway to the front door and I could see the wax still burning. I dropped my bag and reached down to lift the guttering candle. I’d have to scrape the wax off the tile that spilled out a hot spot another day.
The giant triple pane glass window filling practically the whole front wall of my apartment shattered. Pieces of glass shot over top of me to hit and rebound from the refrigerator and the back cabinets and onto the front counter and bang around in the stainless steel sink on the peninsula I crouched behind. Glass fell around me like ice in a sleet storm.
I moved in too-slow motion. I lifted my head and looked into my living room. Garin struck a youngish girl vampire dressed in a black jumpsuit while a second, in a matching jumpsuit, launched at me. She hit the wall cabinets smashing the wooden doors. Macaroni and rice flashed out in a rain like the glass shards. Instinctively, I reached for the best weapon I knew. I slipped my fingers around the broad handle of my chef’s knife and swung it at the vampire fangs stretching toward me. The knife seemed exceptionally heavy and I saw why as I swung it around. The wood block hooked behind the drop part of the knife blade. The solid maple block collided with that mascaraed face of fangs redirecting the surprised creature to the tile. The knives had been a gift from an Aunt that worked in Germany for a summer after college. I found the wood block at a garage sale and the knives never fit right.
Before I could swing the block around again the creature came up and smacked my arm back. The block pulled my arm but released itself from the knife. The incredible strength of the vampire bent my head away from my shoulder. It seemed to whip its head back to strike like a cobra and ensure deep penetration of its fangs into my exposed neck and collarbone. As if backed by an intent on slicing through me with a claymore from shoulder directly to my pulsating heart.
I plunged the sharp chef’s knife deep into the chest of the vampire. The knife stopped penetrating when my knuckles hit the hard line of the vampire’s jumpsuit zipper, indenting the snaking line into my fingers. The vampire’s blood gushed out as she stumbled back – mostly in surprise but quickly switching to an evil grin, “Only a flesh wound, my pretty girl.” Her next lunge came more cautiously but still quick.
Garin appeared, standing on the counter. His boot bashed the side of the vampire’s head lifting its body up and back. It crashed again into the cabinets. More rice cascaded through the air like a grisly wedding. I needed some different food shopping habits.
Garin dropped to the floor and snatched the serrated bread-knife off the tiles and slashed through the neck of the vampire. Blood sloshed the counter and filled the sink. Bits of glass and rice became white star points in the crimson wash. The vampire body lay dead. The head rolled to my feet. I stepped back, my shoes crunching on broken glass and blood soaked macaroni and rice.
I heard movement in the living room but then Garin flipped over the counter and dispatched the recovering first vampire with the bread-knife. Fortunately out of my sight.
“They are not the ones I fought in the parking lot nor the ones we escaped from at Traverse City.”
“These are dressed completely different.” I scanned the athletic body but not even a logo on the jumpsuit, black as night and invisible in the darkness, though running toward brown with the expanding blood seeping from its fatal wounds, “What’s going on?”
“No idea. But we need to go.”
We left after changing into new clothes. The sounds of police sirens and flashing lights pushed us out. This time Garin’s sweatpants blazed ‘Cheeky’. Garin put me on his back and he dropped from the rear fire escape and faded into the shadows. Garin had left the truck parked near another building. We quickly got in and sped away.
“I thought only a water blade could kill a vampire. Not my kitchen knives.”
“Where did you get the knives?”
“From my Aunt who visited Germany.”
“That explains it. The water image of the Damascus steel pattern is the classic and most easily identified. But it’s in the metallurgy. Carbon steel in a sufficient mix with careful heat treatments give an edge that stays sharp. Some knife manufacturers do it correctly. A few European knife makers crafted swords as far back as the Vikings. Luckily you have a set of knives sufficiently sharp.”
“I can’t go back to my apartment can I?” I pushed at my sweatpants leg, “With the police and the dead bodies?”
“I already pinged the vampire police while we changed clothes. They will respond first. They’ll have the scene cleaned up and quiet the neighbors,” he glanced at me, “and they’ll get maintenance to board over the windows until a proper fix can be made.”
I looked at him while the street lights and other traffic signals washed across his face.
“But I can’t have you there without me. And I can’t leave you anywhere. Not until we know who is behind this.”
“I better call Marilyn an
d let her know I’ll need a few more days away from work. And tell my professor that I have some issues to resolve.”
-:- Thirteen -:-
The sun rose. We drove in a direction unfamiliar to me along a mile road away from town and passed horses and corn fields and houses with spaces between them. Garin turned the truck into the short stub of a driveway off the road and to a stout ironwork gate. The gate stood tall, clenched tight by polished granite sentries streaked with bright red veins that silently guarded the drive. The iron and stone barrier protected the end of a small asphalt driveway that ran like a black ribbon away from the road. Plum trees flanked the sides of the ribbon with blue-black fruit dangling like bats amid the branches.
“I’m taking you to my mother’s house.”
Garin rolled down the window and flashed his phone at the little electronic security reader. The clink of a heavy bolt dropped back followed by the whir of an electric motor pulling on a chain. The slack in the chain tightened and the motor ground the gate aside. Garin drove us forward along the driveway. It curved around and up over a little hill then through a scattered clump of black walnut trees. We couldn’t see the house from here.
“What’s the light flashing against those trees?”
“Looks like police lights.”
“That’s what I thought, but no sirens …”
Garin clutched into a lower gear and we rocketed up the driveway to the top of the hill. As we crested the hill we saw the cause. Garin pressed into the brake and swung us hard off the driveway to avoid hitting the first of many police cars packing the driveway. The truck skidded on the grass between a pair of old walnut trees.
Every light inside and outside the house burned bright. The old mansion looked yanked from the English countryside. Seamless fit gray-green stone with a lot of black iron scroll-work and coachman’s lights. Wide steps led through a neatly manicured boxwood hedge flanked with bright petunias that set off large deep set mahogany-red doors. Both doors dangled open in a silent scream crawling with maggots of police and detectives and other specialists moving around inside and out. Technicians inspected minute features of the property with tweezers and plastic bags.
My heart hung heavy reliving the last scene with yellow tape stretched everywhere.
Garin mumbled to me, “These are the regular police.” We exited the truck.
“Who are you?” the officer at the front of the yellow tapeline asked us.
“I’m Garin,” his head darted back and forth, “And this is my mother’s house.”
The officer clicked the radio headset on his shoulder, “I have the son here.”
“shquirpted … shquirpted … rugtgtl rupplweet quellteiniss … shuirpted.” the radio at his hip blared back.
“Stay here. The detective will be over in a minute.” He looked Garin up and down, “Cute outfit by the way.” He looked at me, “Sleepover?”
“Hello, Garin. I’m sorry to tell you but your mother was murdered. I’ll need you to go with these nice gentlemen to the station for questioning. It’s the worst situation I’ve seen in a long time. Of course, your prints are likely all over this place and it will be difficult to sort out.”
“Can I see her?” Garin asked.
“No. We’ll be specifically asking you about this murder scene and that knowledge could corrupt the investigation.”
“Am I being arrested?”
“Not yet. I could read you your Miranda rights, if you’d like?”
“I’ll go.” he said.
I saw how agitated Garin became. Not sure what I should do. I gripped my hands on my arms probably appearing to hold myself from shivering. It might seem the coolness of the morning exerted itself.
He tossed the truck keys to me. “Keep safe, honey.”
The detective reached out his hand with a rubber medical glove stretched tight across it, “I’ll need those keys. We’ll probably have to search the truck, eventually.” I gave him the key ring.
“Miss, you’ll be ok here. There are enough police and staff about that it’s safer than the station. We’ve got everyone out here today.”
The tapeline officer joked, “Did someone put out the doughnut tray?”
“That’s enough, Sam.” The detective said to me, “Don’t wander far as we will need to correlate your alibi with Garin’s.”
Garin walked to the police car that drove him away. More police cars arrived. Serious and long faces. The look of a lot of work ahead for them. A few stared at me like they recognized me from somewhere. But only for a moment. Then a black Dodge rolled down the little hill and parked next to the Ford truck. Mr. Branoc got out and peered around Garin’s pickup. Shining a flashlight through a side window to see across the floor inside the cabin. He walked toward me.
Tapeline Sam said, “Hi Mr. Branoc. We’ve been busy already.”
“What happened?”
“The gardener found Thyia Ramsburgh this morning staked out on the back lawn and beheaded. Her head rests nearby with her mouth propped open and stuffed with pink peonies showing both her canine teeth had been removed.”
“Really?” Branoc put a hand on my shoulder, “That sounds like the MO of this project I’ve been following. Peonies are usually well past blooming by now.” He looked up at Tapeline Sam, “Where’s the Detective?”
“He’s in the back yard. He arranged for the son to go to the station.”
“Then I guess I’ll look for him there,” he nudged my shoulder forward, “I’ll keep her with me.”
“Sure Mr. Branoc.”
When he had me between other groups of police at the scene, Branoc said in a low voice, “You seem to keep showing up in the middle of these projects. I wonder why?” He took a few more steps, “Stay with me until we get this worked out. The gardener didn’t know about vampires. It will take us longer to clean up here. But we’ll get it sorted out.”
We came to the yard behind the house. The murder scene lay on a flat spot of the neatly cut and vacuumed lawn. A deeply gouged trench followed a nearly perfect circle. Thick steel stakes pushed into the ground at the perimeter of the circle pinned heavy chains to the ground. The chains went under a bed sheet draped over the body. One hand partly uncovered. The wrist revealed a thick strap clamped tightly to the body and riveted to the chain. Lace and the long sleeve of an ornate yet prudish Victorian dress fell in a tatter of blood and torn flesh behind the clamp. I saw another corner of the sheet lifted by a slight breeze showing the same dress and the edges of heavily laced petticoats. Blood soaked the sheet where the head of the body should be. I saw the head easily enough. It rested on a nearby patio bench with another sheet covering it. Like a little child’s ghost costume it fluttered in the breeze next to the tightly trimmed bright green boxwoods. Shears lay dropped in the dirt by the gardener.
“Stay here.” Branoc said. He stepped carefully over the chains to the body and lifted a corner of the sheet with a ballpoint pen. He did the same at the bench with the head on it. His body blocked my ability to see the grisly sight.
Branoc came back to me, “I probably shouldn’t tell you. They staked her out in a ritual vampire execution, old style. I don’t think she normally wore Victorian clothes but she did when killed. That could be because she continued wearing the clothes after getting them out for the Festival. Some vampires get nostalgic and linger in the Victorian lifestyle for a time longing for the simple times back then. A traditional Katana long sword had been used to behead her. The rest is taking fangs for trophies. And shock effect.”
“Hey, Branoc!”
He turned to face the Detective in charge of the scene, “This isn’t one of your project events is it? Sam mentioned it on the radio to me.”
“Yes. It looks like it’s one of mine.”
“I wish you’d get your thing figured out. Half the murders you take over I never hear what happened. Hard for us to do any trend analysis.”
“Detective, you don’t want to know the trends I know.”
“Yeah,
that’s probably true. Hey, we found the son Garin’s car burned Up North. The local sheriff got a plate off and connected flags in the system with this event.”
“Good thing we have those systems tied together.”
The Detective looked at the covered head, “I really hate finding heads with missing teeth.”
“You find them often?”
“Luckily no but it’s always much worse when I do.” The Detective turned to leave, snapping off his rubber gloves, “Since I see your people are here I’ll round up my guys. You’re saving me a pile of paperwork. Hope you can fill us in on the details when you get it worked out.”
“I think I’ll be years at this particular one. It’s like an octopus. Suckers everywhere.”
The Detective laughed, “That’s a good one Branoc. I’ll see you at the next gig I guess.”
I sat on a stone bench at the edge of the cobbled patio under the shade of a little pear tree near the breezeway. One of the long faced police officers on Mr. Branoc’s project came by me while Mr. Branoc looked at the house.
“You’re dangerous.”
Startled, I asked, “Dangerous for what?”
“It should be forbidden – a vampire consorting with a human. A sign of weakness. Vampires chasing after a human for anything other than food. It always ends badly. And someone has to clean it up. Branoc is more understanding of it and I don’t know why. But you’re dangerous to yourself and to us.” Then he vanished.
Later when Mr. Branoc returned and we stood more or less alone I told him what the other officer had said. “What purpose?”
“Garin probably hasn’t told you too many details. He’s young like you and probably didn’t realize what to actually tell. Once you have seen behind the curtain of Oz or down the rabbit hole of Wonderland you know too much truth. Vampire society is skillful and secretive. Think how a small group of little girls can be cruel when they are five or ten years old. Then compare those same girls as teenagers. And then again what can happen as college students. Now add scores of decades and centuries on top of what games they learn to play. Mix a little boredom with other motives and things get nasty.”
One Night Burns (The Vampires of Livix, #1) Page 13
