Last Rites (Paranormal Detectives Book 5)

by Lily Luchesi

  Damien went to say something, but Ronnie ran off, leaving the blond boy standing in front of the lake.

  The memory began to warp as days flashed by in a blur. The only thing Danny caught was how badly Ronnie felt about abandoning Damien like that. After all, the boy hadn’t tried to hurt him, had he?

  One afternoon the mail came and Ronnie received a note from Damien.

  “I’m sorry. I should have told you what I was, but how could I know you would have believed me? Not many humans know we exist. Please, I just want to be friends. Meet me tonight at the lake. Bring protection if you want. Just give me a chance, please?”

  Ronnie decided to go and meet with Damien, his childish heart still wanting to believe in the good in people. He brought along a vial of holy water and a wooden cross, gripping each so tightly that his hands hurt.

  Damien was waiting for him at the edge of the lake, the moonlight shining on his ghost-white skin, making his hair look even paler than it was.

  “Thanks for coming,” the little vampire said. “And I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I just really wanted a friend. There are so few of us who are children, you see.”

  “How can I be friends with a monster?” Ronnie asked.

  Danny felt a pang in his gut; those words were all too familiar.

  “I’m not a monster.” Damien looked down at his shoes. “I’ve never killed anyone. Neither has Mother. Father used to, but he’s changed now.”

  “Then how do you feed?” Ronnie asked defiantly.

  “We pay humans to be living blood donors. There’s this organization who helps us get blood without killing. If we kill, they hunt us down. So I’d never hurt you, Ronnie. Ever. It’s against the law,” the boy explained. “Please, I like you. I don’t want to eat you.”

  Ronnie was silent. “You’ve never hurt anyone?”

  Damien shook his head. “We’re not all killers like some people would have you believe. We have physical differences, but inside—in my head—I’m just like you.”

  It was that statement that made Ronnie stay, and made him come back every night until he was fifteen years old. It was one night when Damien didn’t show up at the appointed time, and it wasn’t until the next day when he received a phone call from Edgar that he knew why.

  Edgar had gone and killed the entire family, out of fear for Ronnie’s life.

  ***

  Danny was in a state of pure shock when the memory faded. “Did they do something that Edgar went and killed them?”

  Ronnie shook his head. “Damien’s dad used to be mates with Augustus. But Damien told me his dad didn’t kill, that the PID helped him. Even if his dad was a prick, it wasn’t fair to kill him, too. …He was just a kid like me.”

  “What he did…that wasn’t right. Damien probably hadn’t killed anyone, like he told you. I am so sorry you had to go through that.”

  “Edgar claimed he lied,” Ronnie said. “That he found corpses in their manor. But I never saw any proof. For the longest time, I believed my godfather. Why wouldn’t I: he wanted to keep me safe. Since coming here, it made me wonder if it wasn’t a lie.”

  Danny leaned back, running a hand in his beard. “I don’t know, kid. But I do know that unless he had concrete proof, he shouldn’t have done what he did.”

  Ronnie dried his eyes and stood up. “I’m going to catch up with them. Maybe Hannah and James’ bickering will make me feel happier. They’re good for a laugh.” He smiled at Danny. “Thanks for letting me unload on you.”

  Danny nodded. “I’m here if you ever need to again.”

  “I might take you up on that, mate.” Ronnie waved and then left, leaving Danny alone with his thoughts.

  While his mind was swimming with a myriad of things, one thing stood out in his mind the most: he never, ever, wanted to become a hunter like Edgar, killing for the sake of killing.

  Chapter Ten

  Angelica was making quick progress with her mental abilities. Drinking Augustus’ blood over the past month had helped her powers expand tenfold, and she was certain it would only get better as time went on. However, despite that being the case, she was growing more and more melancholic as each day went by. Each day she got stronger, each day Danny was probably plotting her death.

  The good thing was, Danny had no access to vampire blood to keep his strength up, and he had just turned fifty in February. He was past his prime and the longer he waited to hurt her, the more likely it was that he would be unable to do so. Of course, that also meant that she’d still have to kill him if he tried assassinating her. She couldn’t be seen to show mercy after a century and a half of proving to the world that she was not someone to cross.

  “You are doing it again.”

  Augustus’ deep voice broke through Angelica’s thoughts.

  “Doing what?”

  He waved a hand. “What is that charming human phrase? Going off with the fairies. Or is it on cloud nine?”

  “Off with the fairies. On cloud nine means you’re spacing out because you’re blissfully happy,” Angelica replied.

  Augustus gazed at her with that unnerving obsidian stare. “And are you not happy, Angelica?”

  She sat back, putting down the book she’d been perusing. “Let me see: my husband, the man I have loved in two lifetimes, wants me dead; you murdered my friend’s bandmates and made him go on the run till recently, and I am only alive because I killed an innocent colleague. No, sorry, I really can’t call what I am right now ‘happy’.”

  The Emperor simply looked at her, taking in what she said. It had been so long since he was a human, she assumed that he did not know how to deal with human emotions any longer. It was something she simultaneously pitied and coveted. How she longed not to feel any more. Her life would be so much easier.

  Instead of working on the mental side of vampirism on this particular day, Augustus had revealed that he had amassed many old scrolls, tomes, and texts from his time on the lam. Angelica had leapt at the chance to look them over and help categorize them. Augustus had even offered to donate them to the PID library. Now, the vampire was watching her with detached amusement as she perused his books.

  “I do believe you were a librarian in your past life, my dear,” he commented.

  “Nope. This life. I worked in the NYU library while I was there studying postmodern American literature in nineteen-seventy-five,” Angelica replied.

  “Why? You are the Empress, yet you did and still do such…mundane, mortal things,” Augustus said.

  “I was a mortal. Well, part mortal. And my lineage traces back to mortals. I have an innate appreciation for the mundane. Humans are fascinating creatures, intent on destroying themselves and this planet via their tendency toward avarice. However, despite their self-imposed early mortality, I find their art to be exquisite and immortal.” She paused. “And I am not your ‘dear’.”

  She waved a hand, having just brought up dust as she opened up an oaken chest. “You’re a wealthy man—invest in a maid service!”

  Opening the chest, she found dozens of scrolls that looked so old she was afraid to touch them. Reaching into her jeans pocket, she pulled out her black gloves and put them on, so the oils of her fingers didn’t damage them.

  “How long have you not even bothered to look at the shit you’ve amassed?” she asked.

  “Crude girl. It has been many centuries, I am sure,” Augustus replied.

  Angelica unrolled a few of the scrolls, finding that she was unable to read the language printed there. She spoke six languages (not counting English, Pig Latin, and Italian-American slang), but this was one of the few she did not know.

  “What are they?” Augustus asked.

  “You tell me.” She held up one scroll for him to see.

  “Ah. Despite my ruling Rome during the period some of these appear to be written, I never bothered to learn how to read Hebrew…what you now call ancient Hebrew,” he said. “I had my servants translate for me in the past, but they were never
very accurate. I believe I bartered some of these off of an old merchant sometime around the twelfth century. The others were too randomly purchased for me to accurately recall.”

  “Do you remember why you bought any of these?” Angelica asked.

  He nodded. “Yes, I knew that some were written during or right after my reign with Livia. It was a mixture of curiosity and nostalgia.”

  “Could they have anything to do with our people’s history?” she wondered.

  “Quite possibly they could. Herod was always overly interested in our goings on. Can you translate them?”

  “No, but I know someone who can.”

  ***

  “How’s my favorite multilingual siren?”

  Sean chuckled into the phone. “Hello, Angelica. What do you need?” Despite her breaking his heart over and over again, hearing her voice always warmed his heart. Being a siren, he wasn’t supposed to be influenced by any thrall, but for some reason she had managed to ensnare him and now she wouldn’t let go.

  “Who says I need anything?”

  “The fact that you greeted me with such saccharine horseshit in your voice tells me all I need to know.” Sean laughed. “Come on. What is it?”

  “Augustus has these old scrolls that might pertain to vampires. Neither of us can read them, but you can. Please?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’m doing fuck all over here since my band is dead and I’m bored. Come on over. I’ll give you my new address,” he offered. “You even have a built in refreshment.”

  “Sounds like a deal. I’ll be over in about half an hour.”

  She hung up on him and he put his phone away, still smiling. Angelica Cross. The only person in all his long years alive he would drop everything for. He could have still been at the PID offices in Tel Aviv and he would have come back to Chicago for her if she needed.

  As if on cue, his iPod deck started playing just one of the many songs he had written about the Empress. The first one was after they had had an extremely hot night together right after they’d first met in ninety-nine, at his band’s debut concert. This one was later on in the band’s career, about a person who was a little insane, but powerful, unique. Beautiful and terrifying in her uniqueness. There were more. She had no idea she was his muse (when politics, history, and the paranormal weren’t dominating his lyrics, that is).

  Where she was concerned, he sometimes felt like a teenager with his first crush.

  Walking around his apartment, he looked over his things, making sure it looked good for her. He had no idea how she lived—it could be a mansion or a tomb. He just wanted to make a good impression, for all it was worth. Even with Danny now wanting to kill her, she still wouldn’t love him.

  She was buzzed into his building not long after she had hung up with him, and when he opened the door he saw her carrying a medium-sized oaken chest that looked like it might be worth a small fortune at an antiques dealer. He took it from her, though she was obviously not struggling with it.

  “It’s always good to see you, darlin’,” he said as she gave him a kiss on the cheek.

  “Likewise. So…your wife doesn’t live with you?” she asked, looking around his place.

  He shook his head. “You were the one who set us up. We divorced not long before you came to tell me I needed to leave for Israel. It’s a good arrangement: we meet once a month to feed from each other so no one has to die to sustain us and she can go dance the fucking lambada during the rest of her time for all of me.”

  Angelica just laughed, shrugging off her jacket and hanging it on the rack by the door. She looked around his place, and in turn he watched her. She exuded unconscious grace and power. Sometimes he wondered how this world was able to contain her.

  “Not what I was expecting,” she commented. “Except that.” She pointed to his one wall where he kept all of Lycancore’s accolades: the Grammy, the Kerrang and Billboard awards, the Fangoria awards. Gold and Platinum records. Photographs with heavy metal greats.

  “What were you expecting? A sex dungeon?” he asked, taking the chest into his sitting room and she followed.

  “Not so much white.” His color scheme was stark black and white. “And you’re not a knick knack person, are you?”

  “No. I was always on the run for one reason or another, so the less there is to pack the better I feel,” he said, sitting down. “Now, what does your lovely murderer of a partner want with ancient scrolls?”

  She sat down next to him. “Hey, I don’t like the bastard either, but one can’t choose their co-workers. And they might pertain to my people and how we grew between the time Augustus went underground and I started collecting data on vampires in history.”

  Sean picked up one scroll, noticing that some were written in a different hand. “Well, you know that the Israelites didn’t much like the Romans, right? They not only weren’t fond of Christianity, they thought what Augustus and Livia did was an abomination to life as we know it. Anything you find here is going to be colored by prejudice.”

  Angelica nodded. “For that I am prepared. You have no idea what the people of the French Revolution wrote about vampires.”

  She went into her purse—which he realized was a large satchel that held two books and a composition notebook as well as a handgun, wallet, and cosmetics. She pulled out the notebook and two pens. “Give me names and dates, I’ll fill in the little details later.”

  Sean nodded, picking up the first scroll. It was an account of a Roman vampire entering Herod Antipas’ kingdom and going on a killing spree in four AD. Sean steadily went through more than half the chest, finding some interesting vampiric facts and also finding the oddest things, from recipes to poetry.

  All the while, Angelica was steadily taking notes, filling up her book and asking questions about their research.

  “Your Emperor ordered a census to find Jesus or something?” Sean asked, reading a scroll.

  “That’s simplifying. He was ordered to take census or the Werewolf Corps would revolt. Long story,” Angelica replied.

  “Do you want full translations? I can do all these in about a week—they’re not long,” Sean offered. “Leaving out the recipe for…whole boar in blood sauce.” He wrinkled his nose. “I guess that was before we went Kosher. Yuck.”

  She nodded. “Sure. Just give me your price, love.”

  He scoffed. “Are you fucking loony? Angelica, maybe you missed the memo in preschool, but friends do for friends because they want to, not for what they can get out of it. I don’t want to be paid. I don’t need money and even if I did I wouldn’t take it from you.”

  She looked over at him. “And why not?”

  “I repeat, are you insane? Angelica, I hope that after all we’ve shared we’re at least friends.” Sean set the scroll he was perusing down and turned to face her, the soft black suede of the couch hissing against his jeans. Sean saw her almost as a fan would see him: larger than life, perfect. Now he was looking at her as a friend and he saw how awful she looked. She was still beautiful and ethereal, but her spark was dulled. It was as if she had put on an “Angelica Cross” mask to get through the night. But now he was peeking beneath the mask and what he saw broke his heart.

  She was hurt. He understood that what she had done was probably reprehensible for a mortal, but Angelica was no mere human. For Danny to profess his undying love for her and then leave her with a promise to kill her was unthinkable for Sean.

  “Of course we’re friends,” she said, her voice soft.

  “That settles that, then.”

  She looked over at him and smiled, a little bit of sunshine breaking through the storm clouds in her eyes. She reached her arm over and gently ran her fingertips along the back of his neck and head, something he was familiar with. Despite their not seeing each other in recent years, she had spent a lot of time with him when she was ‘playing matchmaker’. They’d stayed up all night and watched horror movies, write music, or just talked, and she always did this. It seemed to relax her as much a
s it relaxed him.

  “Although you did call me some really messed up names in that song of yours.” Her tone was teasing and he was glad to hear it.

  “Maybe you deserved it.”

  “It was one night!”

  “And you were very slutty.”

  She lightly smacked his head before going back to her soft ministrations.

  “Angelica…for what it’s worth, you’re kind, brilliant, and the best person I have ever known. Anyone who doesn’t see that needs their heart and head evaluated. You’re not even my Empress, but I bow to you anyway.”

  She didn’t say anything but squeezed the back of his neck. He knew sometimes she had a hard time with emotion, so he didn’t press, just went back to looking at the last few scrolls.

  “Hey, it’s the Livia part of the ancient rulers: your family tree!” Sean showed her the scroll, and pointed out names to translate. “Here’s Livia, and her first husband, Tiberius. I’m guessing that she turned him sometime after she thought she killed Augustus. There’s their kid, Drusus, who turned Antonia, who gave birth to Claudius, who turned Messalina, who gave birth to Octavia, your grandmother, who turned your grandfather, Nero.”

  “Why does it stop there?” Angelica asked.

  “No clue. They were probably murdered before anyone realized they’d had Veronica when they immigrated to France. Hunters were probably the reason they left Italy to begin with,” Sean guessed. “Which is how Veronica managed to live so long: no hunter knew she existed.”

  “So I’m not French at all. Hmm. What a pity none of us can eat garlic.” She smirked. “So I can leave this all with you and you’ll let me know when it’s all translated?”

  “Sure, darlin’. Anything you need, I’m always here,” he said. “Want a quick bite before you go?” He couldn’t resist the small pun and was rewarded with her smile.

  She paused, looked as if she was going to decline, and then nodded. Sean immediately felt that old thrall as his heart began to beat faster. Angelica moved closer so that she was nearly in his lap and he wished she’d kiss him. Her irises sparked a bright burning red as she smiled at him, fangs already beginning to elongate. The new fangs were a little unnerving. He closed his eyes as he felt her breath on his throat, her long black hair brushing his chest. One of her hands was on his face, tilting his head to the side, while the other was over his heart. Her fingers were icy, sending pleasant chills down his spine.