Rafe put his hand on her. “Moira—”
“No! There’s no such thing as vampires. Shit, Rafe, we’ve faced plenty of monsters, and we know exactly where they come from. Vampires aren’t real. They’re sick humans who drink blood. End of story. This is a law and order case, not heaven and hell.”
The three were staring at her and she wondered if she looked like a raving lunatic.
Her heart pumped hard, and she knew she was overreacting, but she’d faced people who called themselves vampires—or as she recently heard, they replaced the ‘i’ with ‘y’ to become “vampyres.” Maybe the ‘y’ was a way of stating they were human dumbshits and knew it? Or some avant-garde way to spell? Whatever they were—or weren’t—they almost scared her more than demons. When she fought a creature from Hell, she knew exactly what she faced. They had one evil goal, one dark focus, and she had no qualms about destroying the thing. But people who drank blood? They had a sexual bloodlust, used psychology and seduction to lure in followers, turning them into drug addicts, and the drug of choice was blood.
But they weren’t immortal, they weren’t spirits, and killing them was murder. They bled like everyone else. Moira knew. Years ago she’d faced off against a coven group of so-called vampires in Ireland who’d been in the middle of a dark magic ritual. She had to kill one of them—she had no choice—and it still haunted her.
When bloodlust and dark magic came together, the results were always volatile and usually deadly.
Rafe stared at her with his piercing dark blue eyes, pinning her down as if trying to read her mind. She stared back. “I don’t want this responsibility.”
“I know.”
“You don’t know.”
“Amy needs our help.”
The way he said it disturbed Moira, but she didn’t have time to ask him what he meant.
Fern coughed once and said, “She was bitten by a human being with canine teeth that were either implanted or filed into points. I’ve seen both.”
Grant rubbed his eyes. “Fern. I’m going on little sleep and less food. Explain.”
She said, “The marks were made to resemble where a vampire may bite. I’ve seen it before, but not as a cause of death. Like Moira said, there’s an entire sub-culture out there of people who fashion themselves to be vampires. Not supernatural, immortal beings who sparkle in the sunlight or sleep in coffins, but people who like this alternative lifestyle. But they go a step too far and start drinking human blood.”
“It’s not supernatural,” Moira said. “Not our thing.”
“It is,” Rafe contradicted her. “Moira, you know what we’re dealing with here. They drained her blood while she was alive. They took it with them.”
“How do you know that?” Grant asked.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Not to me.”
Fern said, “He’s right—in order to drain half the volume of blood like they did here, the heart had to be pumping. Unless she was in a medical environment or mortuary that had embalming equipment, they needed her heart to do the work.”
Fern lifted the victim’s left arm an inch from the table and with a gloved finger pointed to a hole about the size of a dime, surrounded by extensive bruising. “This is where the killer drained her blood.”
Grant said, “That’s a damn big hole.”
“It was made by a large bore needle. Not uncommon for blood transfusions and other emergencies, but wider than what’s standard for blood donation. She had about four pints of blood left, according to the M.E. Though this is not in the report, I can say with certainty that they didn’t rush through it—if they had drained her too fast, she would have died faster.”
“How much time?”
“One hour, give or take. Have you ever donated blood?”
Grant nodded. “It takes ten minutes, tops.”
“Right—for a pint of blood. For the four or five they took, that’s forty to fifty minutes all things being equal, but blood flow slows as volume decreases. She would have gone into shock as her blood pressure dropped. Eventually, she lost consciousness, then died when her heart stopped.”
“Drugs?”
“Nothing on the routine panels. We have samples of all her tissues for further testing, but since she was a Jane Doe and the tests would have been non-standard, we have it on hold.” She rubbed her fingers together in the need money gesture.
“Budget cuts screw everyone,” Grant said. “But mostly the victims.”
“Why wasn’t she identified before?” Rafe asked. “This is an unusual case. Wouldn’t her picture be all over the police stations? Wasn’t she reported missing?”
Grant said, “She went missing in another county. There were signs she was a runaway—and she could have been. But usually the computer will run the Jane Does and see if anyone matches the description.”
“Everything’s computerized,” Fern said, “but there’s still room for error—the data is only as good as the information entered. I’m just glad someone is coming to claim her.” Fern looked from Grant to Moira and Rafe. “So? What do you think?”
“Give me a minute,” Moira said. She didn’t want to do this, but she had no choice.
She stepped up to the body and lowered her defenses. She felt nothing, other than Fern’s curiosity, Grant’s grief, and Rafe’s concern. She had to force herself to touch the corpse. The body was cold and unyielding from being in the cold storage room for so long. Moira dropped her shields completely, closed her eyes, and used her inner senses to discern if there was any residual magic surrounding her body.
She frowned and said, “What was she wearing?”
Fern reached under the metal table and pulled out a box. Inside were sealed evidence bags.
Moira didn’t need to touch them. She looked into the box and straightened her spine, closing down her instinct. “I can’t sense any magic left on her body, but here—there’s a layer of dark magic over everything. Burn it all.”
“It’s evidence,” Grant said.
“I don’t care.”
“Someone is going to be prosecuted for her murder; we’ll need the evidence to convict.”
Rafe kept his eyes on Moira. She wasn’t telling them everything she’d felt, and he wanted to take her away right now and give her some peace. Lowering her barriers and letting her senses feel magical energy was both stressful and damaging for her, in ways he didn’t think she recognized yet. And St. Michael’s didn’t care, as long as Moira could discern and stop the dark forces.
“What did you feel?” Rafe asked quietly.
“It’s been too long for anything specific,” she said, but she wouldn’t look at him. “She was sacrificed,” she whispered. “I need some air.”
She didn’t wait, leaving the room without looking back. He didn’t want to let her go, but he didn’t have a choice.
He had questions that needed to be answered. But first, he had to get Grant and Fern out of the room.
Rafe glanced over to where Amy Carney’s ghost stood, watching them. Rafe had felt her presence the moment they walked into the crypt, and saw her when they came into the viewing room. She knew he could see her, but hadn’t tried to communicate. He didn’t want to scare her off, so tried to ignore her. It wasn’t easy to ignore a ghost.
To Fern, he said, “Can you cover her body?” Then he said to Grant, “I need everything you have about this case.”
“So this is one of those things,” Grant said vaguely.
“You thought so too otherwise you wouldn’t have called us,” Rafe said. “Blood rituals are nothing new to those who practice dark magic.”
Grant ran his hands over his face. “Vampires? Magic? What are we with dealing with here?”
“There are two kinds of vampires. Most are harmless making a lifestyle choice, as Fern said, wearing gothic or Victorian garb, listening to specific music, shunning the sun, participating in role-playing games. This is nothing new to you I’m sure.
“Then, there a
re the people who claim they ‘need’ blood to survive,” Rafe continued. “They find willing donors who give them their blood to drink. There are dentists who put in implants or file their teeth. They think they’re vampires. Whether they believe they are immortal or not, I don’t know, but they begin acting in specific ways and don’t function as well outside of the subculture. But when the blood drinkers engage in occult practices, all bets are off. That’s what we have here—why Moira was so upset. Whatever ritual was used when they killed Amy is demonic in nature. She was a sacrifice.”
“Isn’t that just fucking terrific,” Grant snapped. “My boss is not going to buy into human sacrifices. I was hoping you’d tell me there was nothing here, that this was some kind of crazy but completely natural serial killer.” He stared at the body. “Fern, were you able to get DNA from the saliva in the bite mark?”
“Yes—female.”
“You’re saying a woman bit her neck?”
“Yes. We put it in the system, and since this case is six months old, when I got your call yesterday, I checked on the status. They have run the sample and have markers, but no matches in the database.”
“But if we find a suspect—”
“—we can match the DNA,” she finished his sentence.
Grant flipped through the folder. “No sexual assault, no other injuries. It says she was washed?”
“Pampered is more like it. She had residual lotions and oils. We have samples of everything, if you want to pursue that further. It’s all pending lab work.”
Rafe looked in the box. Moira had been so upset, but had she seen what was in here or just felt it? He picked up a small plastic bag. Inside were several white flowers. “Lilies.”
“Do they mean anything?” Grant asked.
Amy’s ghost spoke to Rafe for the first time. No one else heard her, and he realized she was talking in his head. A chill ran down his spine, but he listened. She could help stop these people.
They dropped white flowers on my body. It would have been beautiful if I wasn’t dying.
“Cooper?” Grant snapped his fingers. “What do the flowers mean?”
Rafe said, “Lilies are a sign of purity, of life and death, among other things. I suspect she’s a virgin.”
I am.
“Virgin sacrifices?” Grant hit his fist on the wall. “I was crazy to call you. I don’t know what I was thinking. I have a place to start—the vampire subculture. You can go home.”
“We can help,” Rafe told him.
“One word gets out about virgin blood sacrifices or any shit like that, and it’s going to be media hell,” Grant said. “No.”
“Yes,” Rafe said. “You need us.”
“This is so screwed,” Grant said. “Fine. But I’m keeping a tight leash on you and your girlfriend.”
“I understand,” Rafe said. “I’m going to look for Moira.” He stepped out, closing the door behind him. “Amy?” he whispered.
She manifested herself next to him.
I knew you could hear me. Are you going to help me?
“I hope so. Who did this to you?”
I just want to go home.
“You know you’re dead, right?”
Yes.
Her voice became agitated.
I died in the mountains. They took my blood because they said it was pure and rich. I didn’t know what was happening, I was so confused...I don’t know why I went. I just...did.
The air swirled around him. Amy was becoming angry, and with anger she might be able to manifest herself or move objects. He couldn’t risk it, especially the real possibility that she’d disturb other spirits lurking around. But he needed more information, a direction to go.
“I know you’re upset,” he said as calmly as possible, trying to soothe the girl. “I’m going to help you. Who were you with that night?”
I don’t know. It’s so fuzzy. So unreal.
“Slow down, Amy. Think back. Were they friends?”
Yes. No. I don’t know. It was the blood moon, and at first everything was beautiful. And then it wasn’t. They said everything would be wonderful. I was special. I felt so special. Looking at the stars, at peace. Then I was so tired I just went to sleep.
An icy sliver ran down Rafe’s spine as for one brief second he saw Amy as she’d been when she died. In the long, flowing ceremonial gown. Her skin pale, her eyes glassy. Under a spell or drugged, more likely a combination. The marks on her neck were symbols, not a fatal bite, but someone had tasted her blood. She stared at him, confused, unable to move. He had a flash of the moment before she lost consciousness, her last memory. If only he could tap into it—
—but that would be extremely dangerous.
“Your parents are going to take care of you,” Rafe said, his voice shaking. “Wait in the room.”
And then she was gone. He didn’t see or hear her, didn’t know if she had gone back to stay with her body or disappeared forever, but he wouldn’t be able to shake her image for a long time.
The realization that he knew how to extract her last memories unnerved him. He had no recollection of how he’d learned, he just knew.
Grant stepped out of the viewing room. “Who were you talking to?”
Rafe shrugged. “No one.”
Grant eyed him suspiciously. He didn’t believe him, but Rafe didn’t care or elaborate.
“We have a meeting with someone from Narcotics. Carter has a handle on the underground clubs. I think blood-suckers would qualify for underground.”
Chapter Two
“Fucking vampires,” Moira mumbled as they walked down the street toward the Starbucks across from police headquarters. Less than a month ago she was here gathering information about the Demon Lust; now she was back in L.A. and it had nothing to do with the Seven Deadly Sins. She wanted to scream. All sources were dry; no one had any clue where the demons were operating or why there were no signs of increased demonic activity. It was like Hell was on vacation. Like that was possible.
“They’re just people,” Rafe said. “There’s been no one who’s successfully performed the ritual for vampiric immortality.”
“That we know about.”
“We’d know.”
“They’ve tried.”
“They’ve been stopped.”
Moira stood outside the Starbucks entrance. “Rafe, what I felt—it was bad. But it isn’t the Seven. We shouldn’t be here.” Moira almost wished she’d lied about the residual magic she’d sensed on Amy’s clothing. Staying to help Grant meant more time away from their primary mission: hunting the Seven Deadly Sins. “It’s not our job.”
“Last time I looked, there was no formal designation for demon hunter.”
Rafe had a heart bigger than the Pacific Ocean. He wanted to help everyone, even those who had dug their own graves. Moira, on the other hand, had to focus on what needed to be done—capture the remaining five Sins before they devoured more souls. If she tried to help every idiot who dabbled in the dark arts, she wouldn’t have time to save the world.
“I just don’t see how we can help. These vampires aren’t demons, they’re people.”
“They’re practicing black magic.”
And that was the crux of the problem. Any portal to the underworld was a potentially dangerous hotspot, and they were responsible for monitoring those. “And therefore, it’s my problem. Got it.”
Moira closed her eyes. Her ability to sense magic was part gift, part curse. The constant exposure was both making her stronger and wearing her down—she was like an addict. One slip and she’d fall hard off the wagon. There had been moments when she wanted to lash out with a magical curse, but she couldn’t afford to use even the smallest spell lest she put everyone she loved in jeopardy. She was a former witch; if she went back to practicing magic, she’d be calling on the same forces she was trying to stop. There was no going back.
Rafe reached out and touched her cheek, his thumb lightly caressing her skin. “I love you.”
&
nbsp; She wanted to run away with him to an uninhabited island where neither of them had to risk their lives to help people she didn’t even like.
He kissed her lightly. Her soul burned for Rafe, a passion so intense, so vibrant that the colors around her sharpened. How could she love so deeply? Last time she’d loved like this, it had ended in a brutal death.
Love like this? Rafe wasn’t Peter. She had never been this honest, this certain that she was where she was supposed to be, that she was with the man she was supposed to be with.
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