by Megan Hawke
“The last victim, that I’m officially not discussing,” he said. “Is Whitney Washam. We believe she was an actual thrall. At least we know she’d been bitten before, according to the labs.”
“You can tell?”
“Yes, apparently, if a person is ever bitten by a vampire, it changes them. I really don’t have the details, but the lab boys can tell,” he said. He shrugged. “But they can’t tell if the victim was bitten once or a thousand times, or whether it as last night or twenty years ago.”
“Really? Wow, I didn’t know,” I said.
“Yeah, vampires can get into your blood, apparently,” he said. “But Miss Washam was twenty-one, also a SMU student, with long brown hair, green eyes, and petite, but with large...um, chest.”
“Silicone?”
“No,” he said. “She was killed the exact same way as the previous two, on November thirteenth. Only difference, she was hung over the bathtub instead of in the living room.”
“Raped?”
“Yep, they all were,” he said.
“Any other clues?”
“Yes. Hair and seminal fluids, with vampire DNA characteristics,” he said.
“And he definitely did not bite them?”
“Only Whitney showed evidence of ever being bitten.”
“Maybe there is a copycat killer?”
“No, same man. DNA from hair and seminal evidence in all three cases are exact matches,” he said.
“Anything else? No security camera video or anything?”
“None. You have what we have now,” he said.
“This is not going to be easy,” I said.
Longhouse usually supplied me with a name and address, and I staked them. Simple. Easy. I was going to have to work on this one. Of course, I could just sit back and wait for the police to locate the vampire killer and then go in and stake him. But I’m not good at sitting around and waiting.
“If you find anything, let me know immediately,” Longhouse said, turning towards his car. I saw my chance and leapt straight up, extending my great wings at the same time. I was a good hundred feet up and lost in darkness when he continued, turning around to find me gone. “I’ll try...heh, where’d she go? Dammit, vampires creep me out.”
Chapter 2
The moon was in the last quarter, and there was considerable cloud cover, so it was a dark night. Vampires see extraordinarily well in the dark. The best way I can explain it would be think of a cloudy day. Most nights, I saw everything around as well as a mortal sees on a cloudy, rainy day. With dim moonlight mostly blocked by clouds, it was more like a very cloudy, stormy day approaching twilight.
I rolled into the apartment complex just after one in the morning. It was Thursday night, so very few were up and about at that ungodly hour. The good, honest citizens of Dallas had to go to work bright and early the next morning. I used to be one of them.
My Ninja ZX-14, all black save the chrome work, wasn't the quietest bike in the world, nor the loudest. I mostly coasted the last half mile, and then killed the engine with the clutch in and rolled in almost soundlessly. I was getting better at it.
Longhouse never gave me the last victim's address, but the apartment complex's name was published in the newspaper. It was a safe guess the apartment blocked off with police crime scene tape was her place.
I put some thought into my outfit of the night. Yeah, I can plan ahead on rare occasion. I've even been known to learn from a mistake or two. So I wore all black to blend into the night. Black leather pants, jeans cut, over square-toed butt-kicking boots I borrowed from Heidi, black leather bustier under a black biker jacket. I even wore black latex gloves. Only my face was uncovered.
Whitney Washam's apartment was on the third floor of a three story building. The complex was less than two years old. The front, and only, entrance was accessible only by the steel and concrete outdoor stairs between the building next to it.
I parked the bike in the night shadows near the base of the stairs, and then headed up as quietly as possible. My vampiric senses reached out and checked everyone in every apartment. All were asleep, except for one guy masturbating in his second floor apartment. He was watching TV at the same time. I could hear it. A porn movie. That explained it for me.
There were four apartment doors on each landing. Two on the south building, two on the north. Whitney's apartment was on the south-west side. On my right. The apartment to the left was empty, whether not rented or the resident was out I didn't know. The two apartments to the north were very occupied. One had five young men inside, spread all over the apartment and all sound asleep. The other had two young women, one in the bedroom and one on the couch. I couldn't tell if it was a sleeper couch, or if she was just sprawled out on it. I wasn't that good.
Whitney's door was locked. Not unanticipated.
I removed the biker jacket. Removing the jacket revealed the black straps of my shoulder holster. The Glock 31 was tucked safely under my left arm, giving me a sense of comfort. It was loaded with silver bullets, blessed by preacher. I draped the jacket over the railing.
Wings erupted from my back as I slipped over the railing. Leaping high, my wings flapped hard and fast for a long moment before they seemed to do me any good. Fortunately, I can jump pretty high, so I only fell back to the second level before beginning to rise again. I decided to start on the ground next time. Live and learn, you know?
There is no flying harder than maintaining a hover. It was a lot noisier than one would think, too. Maybe it was only loud to my vampiric hearing, but I was soon looking into Whitney's window.
Fireplace? Interesting, I thought, getting an idea.
Flying up to the roof, I found Whitney's chimney. There was a sheet metal, prefab cap on it. It kept the rain out, and probably the birds, too. The screen wasn't fine enough to keep the bugs out. I had planned to morph into a bat and drop down the chimney flue to access the apartment. That didn't look feasible any more.
"Wish I had a Plan B," I said, scowling as I reached up to test how well it was connected. It came right off. I mean, I almost lost my balance and fell off the roof it came off so easy. "It's broken."
With closer inspection, I saw that it was forced off. A sense of pleasure filled me as I realized I might've found something the police missed. The sheet metal flue vanished down into darkness. After carefully setting it down so it wouldn't slide off, I flew back down to the third floor landing and stripped.
I morphed into a bat and returned to the chimney. It reeked of woodsmoke, and the smells of a woman's apartment also rose up it. Slipping inside feet first, I pressed my wings hard against each side and started to slide down.
I'm not the first bat in here, I thought, seeing distinct scrapes in the thick black soot. If bats could smile, I would've been smiling. That proved in my mind a vampire killed Whitney.
I found the damper to the firebox open as well. I even knew you had to close that when not in use, so you didn't lose heat in the winter, cool air in the summer. The vampire had to open it to escape after killing her.
Once inside the apartment, I morphed back to human and collected my clothes. I would leave out the front door. I dressed quickly, then starting looking around. It was easy enough to find where she was killed. There was a heavy steel ring screwed up into the ceiling above the bathtub. The rope the killer used was gone. I could barely smell blood in the air.
I checked her bedroom next. Nothing seemed out of place. The bed was stripped. I suspect the policed crime scene people took the bed sheets to analyze. The bedroom was small, so only enough room for a chest of drawers, vanity, and queen-sized bed. There were numerous pictures on both nightstands, the vanity, and the chest of drawers.
One picture caught my attention immediately. My friend Roger was surrounded by pretty, young women. One of the women was Whitney. Though I never met her, there were numerous other pictures of her throughout the room and apartment of her with other people. Two women stood behind Roger, one of which was Whitney,
and two stood to either side of him. The last two women in the photo each sat on one of Roger's legs, arms comfortably around his shoulders. The women sitting on his left leg and smiling bright for the camera was my own little sister, Sabrina.
They were all wearing the same t-shirt. It was black, with red lettering on the front, "The Crimson Knot."
"Oh, yes," I said, grimacing. Thanks for reminding me.
My sister and Roger were members of a "bondage" club, called The Crimson Knot. I'd never been there, not caring for the idea of being tied up. Though, it seemed of late that Roger at least tried to tie me up whenever I spent any time at his house. Those people were obsessed with their ropes and knots and such. It was all way over my head.
Apparently Whitney either liked to be tied up, or liked to tie others up. She had other pictures, too, of inside a dark red and black decorated club. Everyone was in leather and latex, smiling and drinking mixed drinks or bottles of beer. Including Sabrina, who was barely legal to drink in the State of Texas. There were no pictures of actual bondage.
Going to her closet, I found two-thirds of her wardrobe was normal, everyday kind of attire you'd expect a college girl to have. The rest was extreme fetish wear. Mostly black. Mostly latex. Yeah, she was a kinky girl.
I stuffed that photo, frame and all, into my jacket pocket. Not my fault the police didn't recognize the possibilities.
I pulled out my phone. Sabrina wasn't going to like being awakened so late, but being groggy maybe she'd answer honestly before she had a chance to think over her answers. I must admit, I was a little afraid of the answers.
I got the one and area code punched in, and the door opened and two men walked in. No, I didn't lock it. Didn't expect any visitors. I paused, gawking at them, while they didn’t seem surprised to see me at all. I hate it when that happens.
"Who are you?" I said.
I knew what they were immediately. Werewolves. I could tell by their auras. Everyone had an aura, even vampires. No one had been able to explain the aura I could see, like a halo, around everyone if I looked at them just right. Well, mostly I saw it all the time but just ignored it. There was a major difference between a human's and vampire's aura. Werewolf auras were distinct, now that I knew what to look for.
"No, the question is who are you?"
"I asked first," I said.
"There are two of us," he said.
Both were big men, wearing dark suits and ties. One was about six four, the other easily six eight. Four inches doesn't sound like much, but it's a big difference is size for people. I was only five ten, which is large for a woman. I was dwarfed by both men.
Vampires were stronger than werewolves, pound for pound. But they had more pounds than me. And there were two of them. I had tangled with werewolves, and never enjoyed the encounters. Personally, I think they are all half crazy with a big ole chips on their shoulders concerning vampires.
Vampires can mesmerize the weaker minded werewolves, but there aren't many weak werewolves. Besides, they were wearing dark glasses. Made me think it was possible. There was no reason to wear dark glasses at night unless you were afraid of being mesmerized by a vampire.
"But I'm a vampire and you're a couple of Cujo wannabes," I said. That didn't endear me to them. Their whole fight or flight thing kicked in, spurring mine to life. If I had my druthers, I’d be taking flight. "Why are you here, and more important, leave me alone."
"None of your business, vamp," the shorter one said.
“None of yours, either, puppy,” I said, kinda ticked off by their hostility. They didn’t know me from Jesus, so what gave them the right to cop an attitude? “Whitney was a thrall, murdered by a vampire. I’m Black Heart, and I hunt rogue vampires. That makes it my business. Unless you can prove she was a pet owner, I see no reason for you dogs in human clothes to be here. Shoo.”
The taller of the two werewolves started stripping and morphing at the same time. Yeah, I knew I was pushing them, but they started it. The other werewolf moved to protect his partner during the transformation. They were a little vulnerable at that time. What I didn’t understand was why they wore such constrictive clothes, which only slowed them down when it became time to go wolfie.
I’m not the smartest monkey in the tree, but I know letting a werewolf morph without challenge will not do me any good. So I attacked them. He ducked under my roundhouse, whereupon I threw another roundhouse at the other werewolf. The second one wasn’t able to move fast enough, and got himself kicked back out the door.
I was rather pleased with myself, until his buddy punched me a second later. Punched me in the right kidney. Really, really hard. I grunted, was thrust forward and smashed face first into the edge of the open door. Of course I bounced back into the werewolf’s clutches, where he took complete advantage of the situation. Namely, he seized my hair at the back of my head, and commenced to slamming my face into the edge of the door until I passed out.
Yeah, vampires can be knocked out.
Wolfgang Von Stupid underestimated me, though. When I collapsed, he went to check on his friend. I was only out a few seconds, and then back on my feet. A second later I was charging out onto the landing with a wild scream of rage. He turned fast enough, but I was faster and angrier. In less than ten seconds I kicked and punched him fifteen times, then threw him off the landing. Three stories.
Bet that hurt.
The other boy completed his transformation. He growled and charged me. You’d think a vampire wouldn’t be afraid of a wolf. He wasn’t alpha, so couldn’t change into a wolfman. Lucky for me, but there is something very intimidating about snarling wolves and snapping teeth. And he wasn’t a small wolf, either. He was at least as big as a wolf as he was as a man.
I thrust kicked him in the nose. Spinning and dropping low, I kicked his feet away and then tried to stomp on his neck. He scrambled onto all fours and sank his teeth into my left butt cheek a second later.
Thank goodness vampires were beyond being turned into werewolves, otherwise I’d be both a vampire and a werewolf, since werewolf bites were much more “contagious” than vampire bites. Being bitten was the primary way to be turned into a moon loving werewolf.
“You dog! You chewed up my new leather pants,” I screamed. “This is the first time I wore them.”
They cost me two hundred and fifty dollars. Oh, I was pissed. I wasn’t made of money anymore. I was a victim of vampire-on-vampire crime. So when he leapt at my throat I blocked his snout with a forearm, and pounded a fist into his ribs, snapping a few. Werewolves were almost as hard to hurt as vampires, but broken ribs stopped anyone.
“Stay away from me,” I said, grabbed his tail and threw him over the side.
I walked over to his pile of clothes, and started ripping them to shreds. Yeah, I was being petty. I found his wallet and pulled out all of the cash, too. He was paying for my pants, yes sir-ree. Finally, I bundled up his torn up clothes, and tossed them over the rail.
After locking and closing the front door, I turned and found people staring at me in amazement. I felt terribly embarrassed. How long had they been watching?
"Sorry for all the noise. I'm leaving," I said. "Go back to sleep."
With that, I vaulted over the side of the railing. I hit the ground hard, but my sweet vampire legs absorbed the impact fine. I landed next to the first werewolf, who had made it to hands and knees. So I kicked him in the face, laying him out cold.
"Heidi's right," I said. "These boots are great for kicking butt."
The other werewolf was caught in a tree about fifteen feet off the ground. He was slowly transforming back to human form. I heard that werewolves always returned to human when they died or were knocked unconscious. Vampires didn't necessary morph to human if knocked unconscious, but we did if killed.
I pulled out my phone and called Longhouse.
"Heh, Captain Nightwatch," I said.
"I'm a Sergeant, Sable," he said, sounding tired.
"Long night, Longhouse?"
"Is that a joke?"
"Apparently not," I said, shaking my head. "I just wanted to update you on my progress."
"You've learned something?"
"Yeah," I said, giving the two werewolves a scathing look. "I visited Whitney Washam's apartment tonight."
"What!" he cried. "You broke into her apartment? You crossed police crime scene tape?"
"Technically, I didn't cross any tape going into the apartment, and I didn't really have to break anything to get in," I said. "So...no, I didn't."
"Not funny, Sable. Tell me what you did."
"I was looking around, and checked the chimney. That cap piece was loose, and I pulled it off. I noticed some scraps that could only be made by a bat crawling out, so I went in to check it out," I said. It was a lie. I was on my way down before I noticed them, but he didn’t need to know that considering his mood at the moment. "Once in the apartment I did look around. Two werewolves showed up demanding to know what I was doing there. We had a little dust up, and they're at the base of stairs doing a lot of bleeding right now. If you'd like to speak with them I suggest you send someone over fast."
Longhouse started cursing under his breath before I finished. Once I was finished, he cursed louder. I waited him out.
"Were you in the Navy?"
"No, why?" he said.
"Because you are cussing like a sailor," I said. "Not very attractive."
"You betrayed my trust," he said.
"How?" I said, suddenly defensive. "You didn't tell me where she lived, or even tell me to stay out. Fact is, I don't think you told me anything I couldn't get from the Dallas Morning News."
"Detective Morris down in Homicide is going to be pissed," Longhouse said.
"Tell him what I told you about the chimney, and that is how the vamp escaped the locked apartment," I said. "He should've figured that out himself."
"He would've," Longhouse said.
"Yeah, sure he would," I said. "Back to the victims. Whitney was a first class kinkster. She has more latex fetish wear than me. What about the other two victims?"
"Yeah, they were all a little bit kinky, I suppose," I said. "Why?"
