Blood Secrets

by Jeannie Holmes

  While examining the doll, Reyes had determined the soft material used to make the doll’s body was some type of leather. He thought he might be able to trace it to a specific manufacturer and then follow the bread crumbs to a possible suspect. His logic was sound enough but sustained a fatal blow when he discovered the leather was in fact human skin.

  This latest development had pulled Alex and Varik from their bed and set them on a course for Nassau County Municipal Center. As they walked toward the lab, Varik sensed the hesitancy in Alex’s steps and the distraction in her mind. He’d noticed it earlier but hadn’t pressed. She would tell him what was bothering her when she was ready.

  “Here we are,” he said when they reached the front of the converted RV.

  Alex nodded and then sighed and stopped, tugging on his arm. “There’s something I didn’t tell you yesterday. Something happened after we were attacked and you were pulled into the Shadowlands.”

  “Does it involve the Dollmaker?”

  She shook her head. “No, it was before then, before I found you. I ran into the spirit of a little boy.”

  “As I understand things, it’s not uncommon to meet spirits when you part the Veil.”

  “It’s not, but this boy couldn’t have been more than four or five years old. His clothes were wet like he’d been swimming in them. He said his name was Edward.”

  Dread knotted his stomach. Memories long supressed pushed against the barrier between his subconscious and conscious minds. He drove them back, only to have them resurge, demanding his attention. “What did he look like?”

  Sunlight reflected in the dark glasses she still wore to cover her sightless eyes. “He looked like you, actually.”

  Varik felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. The barrier keeping the memories at bay broke and unleashed them.

  It was a frigid night in early January 1928. He was in London on an assignment—tracking a vampire accused of slaughtering three families north of the city. He’d finally managed to get a solid lead on the vampire’s location. All he needed to pursue the rogue was to gather a few supplies from the basement flat he was leasing.

  As he rounded a corner, a wave of water rushed past him, nearly knocking him from his feet. Then came the cries and pleas for help. Panicked, he slogged through the rising water, desperate to reach his flat.

  His own cries mingled with those of others until the water became too deep. It swept him from his feet and carried him through the narrow winding streets, another piece of flotsam eventually left abandoned in a dank alleyway.

  A warm hand on his arm chased away the cold memories. “Varik?” Alex asked. Her other hand cupped his cheek and her voice was soft. “What is it? Talk to me. Who is Edward?”

  “Someone I haven’t talked about to anyone in a very long time.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  Varik sighed, gently removed her hand from his face, and kissed her knuckles. “The spirit you met was Edward Lucien Baudelaire,” he whispered hoarsely. “My son.”

  “Your son?” She tried to pull away but he tightened his grip on her hand. “How can you—Why didn’t you ever tell me?”

  “It was a long time ago. He was only four when he died, drowned when the Thames River flooded parts of London. I never thought the two of you would meet.”

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered and hugged him.

  He closed his eyes, returned her embrace, and drew strength from her warmth. A day didn’t pass when he didn’t think of Edward at least once. Edward was one reason he hadn’t killed in over fifty years. Seeing the anguished parents of a teenaged vampire he killed because of faulty information reminded him of the loss he’d suffered. He swore he’d never cause that kind of pain again.

  “Well, isn’t this cozy,” Morgan’s voice drifted up from behind them.

  Alex stepped away as Varik whirled to face Morgan. “How long have you been standing there?” he demanded.

  Morgan leaned against the side of an SUV, arms crossed in front of her with a file folder tucked between one arm and her side. “Long enough to know you’ve intentionally kept Enforcer Sabian in the dark about a great many things.”

  “Don’t,” he warned, his voice hard.

  “Don’t what, Director Baudelaire?” she taunted. “She already knows of Edward. Why not tell her the full story?”

  “What is she talking about?” Alex asked.

  “Nothing important,” he said.

  Morgan laughed. “Isn’t it obvious? He doesn’t want you to know the identity of the mother of his only child.”

  “Morgan, now isn’t the time for this discussion.”

  “And when would be a good time?” Morgan asked. “Perhaps you’d like to avoid the issue for another eight decades?”

  He turned to leave.

  “Varik.” Alex touched his arm, making him pause. “Talk to me. Who is Edward’s mother?”

  “I am,” Morgan responded.

  He glared at her as Alex’s hand first tightened on his arm and then jerked away. He grabbed it. “Alex, wait. Let me explain.”

  She shoved him.

  “Alex, will you please—”

  “Anything else I should know? I mean, are any of your other ex-girlfriends going to show up here wanting to kill me? If so, I’d like to know now so I can be ready to defend myself.”

  “Stop!” He grabbed her upper arms. “Just stop it!”

  She pulled away. “No, you stop it!” She opened her mouth as if she was about to say something, and then thought better of it. “Just leave me alone, Varik.”

  He watched her turn away, reaching out with her hands to find the front of the RV and following it around the side to the door. Once she had disappeared around the corner, he shifted his attention to Morgan, who still leaned against an SUV but who now sported a broad grin.

  “Well, that was entertaining,” she said.

  Varik closed the distance between them in two steps. He wrapped his hand around her throat, slamming her against the SUV’s side. “Why did you do that?”

  “Remove your hand,” she growled. “Or I’ll remove it for you.”

  “Answer my question.”

  “It’s my job.”

  Centuries of hiding among humans had ingrained subterfuge into the vampire cultural psyche. Special Investigators like Morgan were trained to manipulate and provoke responses from their targets and observe their reactions. The reasoning was simple: those innocent of corruption allegations maintained their innocence, and the guilty turned defensive. It was effective if not always accurate.

  Varik released her and paced a short distance away before rounding on her again. “But why Edward? Why would you choose our son to provoke Alex?”

  “I didn’t use Edward,” she said, rubbing her neck and glaring at him with copper eyes. “I used our prior relationship, which you apparently haven’t shared with your latest conquest.”

  “Alex isn’t a conquest,” he muttered.

  “Be that as it may, you’ve kept secrets from her.” She flashed the file she’d been holding. “And she’s done the same to you.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?”

  “Were you aware Enforcer Sabian possesses a psychic Talent strong enough to access a metaphysical storehouse known as the Hall of Records?”

  Varik weighed his answer before speaking. “Yes, I knew she possessed a Talent, but I was only recently made aware of its full extent.”

  “Did she also tell you that she’s accessed the Hall of Records on numerous occasions since her suspension?”

  “I don’t see where it’s any of your or the Bureau’s business what she’s done during that time.”

  “It’s very much our business considering there are hundreds of records missing from the Hall.”

  “What do you mean missing?”

  “Disappeared, gone, as if that person never existed.”

  “You can’t possibly think Alex had anything to do with it,” Varik retorted. “She wo
uldn’t even begin to know how to delete a record.”

  “But you don’t deny she knows how to access the Hall?”

  “No, but—Where are you getting your information?”

  “We have our sources.”

  He folded his arms in front of him. “How many records are missing in total?”

  “At least three hundred and sixteen, possibly more.”

  “Human or vampire?”

  “Both, but mostly human and nearly all female.”

  “Damn it,” he spat. “The Dollmaker.”

  “What about him?”

  He stared at the front of the lab for a moment, arguing with himself on how much information to reveal to Morgan. If he told her everything, she could use it against Alex during the Tribunal’s proceedings. If he withheld information, could he potentially be putting Alex at risk with the Dollmaker?

  Finally he looked back to Morgan. “Alex heard screams coming from the dolls when she was in the Dollmaker’s house. While she was there, some of the dolls were broken. She saw what she described as spirits rising from them.”

  Blood drained from Morgan’s face. “Are you suggesting that he is somehow trapping the souls of his victims in those dolls?”

  Varik nodded. “That would explain your missing records.” He glanced over his shoulder at the lab. “And now he’s after Alex.”

  The morning’s shadows had lengthened and crept into the corners of Kirk’s bedroom. He lay on his bed with his head nestled between Jennifer Lee’s widespread legs. She gasped and then moaned softly as he licked the blood from the twin punctures in her upper thigh.

  Piper’s attitude toward the new girl had progressively deteriorated the longer Kirk had interviewed Jennifer at Mug Shots the previous night. When he’d suggested returning to his place to finalize their new working arrangement, Piper had insisted on coming with them.

  He’d denied her and sent her home. She hadn’t been happy but a few well-placed kisses and whispered promises and she’d relented. Once she was gone, he drove Jennifer back to his place and the two of them partied until late in the night. As a blood bunny, she was working out just fine.

  He sank his fangs into Jennifer’s thigh once more. He drew on the wound and blood rushed into his mouth along with discordant memories. She squealed and begged him to do more than bite her.

  It was all the encouragement he needed. He grabbed her wrist and spun her around on the bed. Shoving her onto her hands and knees, he knelt behind her and clutched her thin hips, maneuvering her into the desired position. He grabbed both her wrists, yanked her arms behind her back while pulling her toward him, and thrust into her roughly.

  She cried out and tried to pull away.

  Kirk’s firm hold kept her immobile. He quickly found his rhythm, rapidly sliding in and out of her. Soon they were both panting and lost in the pursuit of their own release, performing a frantic dance to the beat of slapping flesh.

  Kirk was closing in on his pleasure when he heard footsteps in the hallway outside the bedroom seconds before the door opened.

  Piper entered, carrying two plastic bags and trailing the scent of fried chicken, rice, and soy sauce. “Hey, sweetheart, I thought you might—” She stopped, mouth and eyes wide. The bags hit the floor, spilling their contents.

  He never slowed his pace, despite Jennifer’s sudden lack of enthusiasm and pleas for him to stop. “Hi, Piper,” he sneered between sharp intakes of breath. “Be with you in a moment. Almost done here.”

  His last word became a loud groan as he climaxed. Breathing heavily, he separated from Jennifer, who ran sobbing to the adjoining bathroom. Kirk collapsed on the bed, smiling. He reached for the beer he’d left on the bedside table, then turned to the still-motionless girl standing in the doorway. Gesturing to the spilled food, he said, “Be a dear, would you, and clean that up before it stains the carpet.” He took a swig of beer. “I’m wiped out.”

  Piper seemed to snap out of whatever trance she’d entered, glanced at the mess on the floor, and then back at him. Anger and defiance shone in her previously lackluster eyes. “Clean it up your own damn self,” she shouted and spun on her heel, stomping down the hall to the stairs.

  “Get back here!” He threw the beer after her and jumped from the bed to follow.

  The bottle shattered on the wall above her head as she scooted down the stairs, screaming.

  Kirk vaulted over the banister to land heavily on the sofa, tipping it and breaking the supports underneath. His ankle twisted painfully beneath him.

  Piper ran past him, trying to reach the front door.

  “Come here, bitch,” he snarled and pounced onto her back, driving them both into a wall. He pinned her between the wall and his naked body. “Do not talk back to me! You understand? Don’t ever talk back to me!”

  “You said you don’t fuck the new girls!”

  He laughed. “You honestly believed that bullshit? I’ve fucked every single one of my bunnies, including your cousin before I sent her off to be sucked and fucked by someone else, just like the good little whores you all are.”

  “Fuck you,” she spat, awkwardly kicking first one leg and then another behind her in an attempt to gain her freedom.

  He reached around her and stuck his hand between her legs. “Been there, had that, wasn’t impressed.”

  Piper shrieked and lashed out with her fists.

  He laughed, dodging her ill-aimed blows until a kick made him move to the right and her fist found its mark in the tender flesh above his groin. All strength left his body and his knees buckled. His stomach churned, and he felt as though he would be sick.

  She didn’t offer taunts or more punches. Piper bolted for the door, flung it open, and fled into the midday light, leaving Kirk groaning in pain among the shattered remains of his living room.

  “Is there something wrong, Mom?” Stephen asked quietly. His voice was pitched so as to be both intimate and audible over the low, indistinct conversations of other diners around them.

  Emily looked up, noted the worry in her son’s clear blue eyes, and offered a halfhearted smile. “No, honey, I’m fine.”

  “You haven’t touched your lasagna.”

  She set her fork onto the side of her undisturbed plate. Stephen had offered to take her out for a nice lunch since Janet was in class until late afternoon. She’d looked forward to spending time with her son, but now all she could do was think of how to keep her daughter alive. “I guess I’m not very hungry.”

  Stephen pushed his empty plate aside and a passing waiter grabbed it on his way to the kitchen. He steepled his fingers and tapped them against his pursed lips, studying her. “You’re worried about Alex, aren’t you?”

  She settled farther in the corner of their booth. “Of course I’m worried about her. I’m always worried about her.”

  “No, this is different.” Stephen leaned forward and dropped his voice even lower. “What’s going on, Mom? I haven’t seen you this distracted in a long time.”

  “I said it’s nothing.”

  “Is it the Tribunal? Varik?”

  “Oh, Stephen, not all of this family’s problems stem from Varik Baudelaire. In fact, he’s probably the last person who’d want to harm any of us.”

  “Could’ve fooled me with the way he tried to choke me a month ago.”

  “You provoked him, and you know it,” Emily scolded. “And, for Alex’s sake, until this Tribunal business is over, the less you antagonize Varik, the better.”

  “Why are you always so quick to defend him? I don’t understand why I’m the only one who sees this guy is trouble.”

  “Because you’re protective of Alex and you want what you think is best for her.” She reached across the table and squeezed his hand. “But, honey, Alex is a grown woman. She can make her own decisions, and if she chooses to try and work things out with Varik, you need to step back and let her.”

  Stephen slumped in his seat, arms folded across his chest, brooding and silent.

  E
mily scooted out of the booth and handed her purse to him. “I’m going to the little girls’ room. Watch this for me?”

  He took the bag with a terse nod.

  She ruffled his curls and earned a half-smile. As she navigated the maze of tables, Emily thought of the days following Bernard’s murder.

  Suddenly finding herself as a single mother in 1968 with two young children had been the least of her worries. She and Bernard shared a blood-bond and when that connection was severed, she’d fallen into a deep depression.

  The week immediately after Bernard died had been the worst. She’d lain in bed, unable to move, speak, or eat. Pearlie Marker, her human neighbor, and a few others had taken it upon themselves to care for Emily, as well as Stephen and Alex, and Alex had needed just as much care as Emily. The poor child had been the one to find her beloved father’s staked and beheaded body.

  It was ten-year-old Stephen, however, who had taken on the bulk of Alex’s care. He made sure she received the proper amount of blood daily, even making certain the humans knew nothing of it. He read bedtime stories to her and comforted her during the night when she woke screaming for Bernard. Even though he was grieving himself, he’d taken on the mantle of “man of the house” and cared for his sister when Emily couldn’t.

  Bernard’s funeral, however, was the turning point for Emily. The service had been closed casket, per Bernard’s will, and she and the children had been allowed into the chapel to say good-bye in private. Even now Emily could close her eyes and still smell the roses and lilies that draped the casket in red and white.

  Stephen was stoic as he approached the sleek silver casket. Five-year-old Alex was quiet. She’d hardly spoken at all since finding Bernard. Emily had been … numb, as if she drifted through a haze. It wasn’t until Alex began crying, screaming that her father wasn’t dead, that she could hear him calling to her, and tried to rip open the coffin that Emily had finally snapped out of her stupor.

  After the funeral, her days had been rote: wake the kids, feed them, greet the endless stream of sympathizers, avoid the media seeking to know more about “the first family of the vampire community” as they dubbed the Sabians once vampires revealed themselves, bathe the kids, send the kids to bed, and then collapse into a sobbing heap of misery. She would then rise the next morning to start the cycle again.