by Martha Woods
I meet his gaze. “You are…really very different from Faye.”
“Faye is unique. And a friend. We all have barriers we can only cross on our own.”
“That’s true, I think,” I say. I hold up the note from Faye. “Any ideas what this means?”
“You have a time and a place. I’d guess you should show up there,” he says.
“Yes, of course,” I say with a sigh. “Thanks again for passing this along. And for the chat. I’ll hope to see you around again sometime.”
“Well,” he says, taking the paper from my hands and writing down his phone number, “perhaps sometime can become soon. Please do call me if I can be helpful. Good with the elements means helpful in a fight.”
“I hope it won’t come to that,” I say, ripping off a corner of the page and sharing my number with him, “but thanks for the offer.”
Chapter 3
Alexis is gone when I return home. Damon is still in the same place I left him, motionless, sleeping deeply. Though I am bone-tired, I feel strange lying next to him, so I end up curling up with a blanket on the couch. I sleep fitfully, in stops and starts that leave me bleary-eyed when the sun comes up.
I go to the CrossFit gym just to kill time, and then grab lunch with Cara. She’s all dressed up for work, looking amazing as usual in an expensive suit and heels. I, of course, am in workout clothes. We are a mismatch.
“Looking fashionable as ever” Cara says, smirking at my sweaty outfit.
“Well, you’re fashionable for the both of us,” I say. “I just came from the gym.”
“Duh,” she says. “That’s all you do is work out. And solve crimes. You need another hobby.”
“I have hobbies,” I say. “I just don’t have time for them right now.”
“Yes, because not working takes up so much time,” she says.
“Well, for your information I have been working.” I say. When she opens her mouth, I say, “Not officially, as I am still on leave, but I’m still working the case on my own. They’ll never solve it because they don’t understand what they’re dealing with.”
She purses her lips at this. “Yes, I suppose you’re right about that.”
I take a deep breath. “Damon is back, Cara.”
My best friend’s eyes go wide. “What? When?”
“Two mornings ago. He just showed up. Looked like a ghost, all beat up and dirty. He wanted to run away together.”
“But you can’t?” she asks.
I shake my head. “No, I can’t. I have to finish this thing with Quick. And I…I’m bonded to Vincent. For protection.”
“Bonded?” she asks.
“A bond of blood and magic. It’s permanent, until one of us has true death. But it should protect me from other vampires.”
“Is it like…marriage?” she asks, picking at her salad.
“No. Yes. I mean…kind of? But there’s no love there. It’s precautionary.”
Cara gives me a dubious look.
“What?” I ask.
“Just…you,” she says with an incredulous huff of a laugh. “What are we going to do with you?”
“Throw me to the wolves?” I ask.
“If I didn’t know that such things were real, I might think you were joking,” she says. “What does Damon think of your updated relationship with Vincent?”
“He…he’s sort of…semi-comatose,” I say ruefully.
“Excuse me?” she asks, blinking rapidly.
“I think it’s all too much for him. Whatever he did while he was gone, the stress, coming back to that…news. He’ll be okay, though. I’m sure of it.”
“And then?”
“And then we’ll figure it out,” I say with a shrug. “Let’s talk about something else. How are things with Tony?”
“Okay,” she says with a strangely dissatisfied look on her face.
“That’s not at all how I thought you’d respond to that question,” I say. “Not too long ago, he was kissing you like you were a tall drink of water in a hot desert.”
“I don’t know. I guess I’m just not that into him. We’re taking a break. But it’s fine. It’s probably better if I’m on my own for a while. Gives me time to process…things.”
I nod, pushing my lips together. “Yeah. We could all use that, I think.”
After Cara heads back to work, I go back to the apartment to find Alexis working on Damon. I grunt a hello at her and then head back to the couch to watch a movie and take a nap. When I wake up, it’s time to go check out the address that Faye gave me.
The drive takes about forty-five minutes and I’m a little late when I arrive. The space is just a big warehouse, from what I can tell, nothing special, but a ton of people are parking and heading inside.
I sneak around to a side entrance, letting myself inside and finding a stairwell. I climb up to the second floor and find a hallway that opens up to look down on the main floor of the building. There are chairs set up, theater-style, a portable stage, a podium, sound system. Some kind of rally, perhaps?
I situate myself behind a large column and watch as a very large mass of people file in and take their seats. As they do, someone puts an “Alvin Quick for Senate” sign on the podium. Ah. A political rally, then.
I nearly jump out of my skin when I sense a presence behind me. A hand covers my mouth so I can’t scream but quickly turns me around. Oh. It’s just Tariq. He lets me go and winks.
“I thought you might need some backup,” he whispers.
“Tariq, this could end up being dangerous. You should not be here,” I say.
“I told you I can be helpful in a fight,” he says. “Besides, Danger is my middle name.”
“Was that an Austin Powers quote?” I ask.
“Maybe,” he says in a very bad British accent, giving me a wink.
“Oh my god,” I say. “I am so hard-core crushing on you right now. We are going to be best friends.”
Tariq gives me a wide grin in return.
Just then, the lights flicker and someone comes to the podium. A woman, who reads a bio of Alvin Quick. “Some call him a shape-shifter,” she reads. “Alvin Quick has been in business, entertainment, farming, antiquities. All of this experience has allowed him to see just what our great state really needs.” She goes on to read more about him, finally announcing his name to a roar of screams and applause. I had no idea a state Senator could pull in such a raving crowd. To a warehouse. Weird.
As I look around, I realize most of the participants are women. There are a few men, but not many. And I’ve been to enough political functions to know that they always want the press in attendance but there is not a camera in sight. Odd.
And as Alvin Quick takes the stage, my mind flashes to my conversation with Matthew Quick, the actor. They look identical.
“Look up Matthew Quick,” I whisper to Tariq. See if you see any mention of him having a twin. I talked to Matthew at a party and he was totally cuckoo for cocoa-puffs, talking about a culling and whatnot. I thought he was our guy but maybe this is a family affair.”
Tariq gets on his phone to so as asked, and I get mine out and decide I should probably video tape this whole she-bang.
Quick is every bit the politician at the podium, his smile wide, his posture confident. He
wears a tailored suit and his hair is carefully styled. He welcomes his guests, offering a little genuflection as he acts surprised at such a robust turnout.
“As your representative to our state’s Senate, I’ve had a busy three years so far. We’ve had a lot on our docket, from doing better by crime victims to working on solutions to decrease our traffic issues by making ride-sharing more accessible,” he says.
Quick runs through a list of points regarding the recent issues facing state government, walking through how he has put his stamp on those issues on behalf of his constituents. He talks for probably twenty minutes on these issues, and for all intents, it’s just a normal political speech.
But then he s
tarts to talk about “undesirables.” He gets fiercer, talking about the need to build a purer society. He talks about cleansing the community of those that would do citizens harm.
“They are everywhere,” he says, his tone dripping with disgust, “these undesirables. They live in hotels and motels, mansions and beachside bungalows. They are rich and poor, black and white. And despite their differences, they are similar in one way: they do not belong here. They are a threat to all of us.”
Tariq looks around at the crowd. Mostly women. Mostly white, though some are women of color. He whispers, “Is he talking about immigrants?”
I shake my head. “I don’t think so.”
“Then what? Who?” he asks.
“I think he’s talking about creatures,” I say. “Matthew Quick told me he wanted a culling, he hated creatures. Except for witches. He wants a pureblood race of witches. That’s why he’s doing the Centerfold Murders. He takes their lives and their wombs, which will allow him to then plant his own, pureblood seed in a pureblood witch.”
“Whoa,” Tariq breathes. “That’s evil.”
“It is indeed,” I answer. I realize our conversation is most likely covering up Quick’s ranting speech. This is the important part, so I shush Tariq and focus back on the crazy pants senator.
He rambles on and on about bloodlines and how recklessly they’ve been mixed. The crowd seems into it, cheering at certain parts, nodding, saying things like “Amen.” I actually snort at that, as if any of these people are Christians. If they’re Christians, then I’m a two-headed pig in a tuxedo.
As Quick slows down on his tirade, he gives the crowd an indulgent smile. “I’m sorry for getting on my soapbox like that. It’s just that you’re a special crowd, aren’t you? You’re a crowd that knows about these things. You’re not sheep, like so many of our other citizens. And I can trust you with things like this, because you see the big picture.”
He looks around the room, making eye contact with many of the women. A few of them fan themselves after such attention. One or two actively squeeze their legs together, as if they’re aroused. Two touch their protruding, pregnant bellies. I try to catch all of this on camera.
“Thank you all for being so loyal. So vigilant,” Quick says. “The police continue to spin their wheels. They are no closer to me than they ever were, and that is thanks to so many of you, and to some who were willing to make the ultimate sacrifice just to keep our plan in place.”
Bingo. Winner winner chicken dinner. This guy is totally the same guy as Matthew Quick. They have to be the same person. But why has no one noticed this before?
“Of course,” Quick says, “We still have to stay one step ahead at all times. Our enemies are many. Our work is not complete. And there are always, always, eyes on us.”
At that, he looks straight up to where Tariq and I are hiding. He looks straight at us, his sharp gaze narrowing, and his smile smug.
“We have some special guests, you see,” he says, just as I feel the weight of someone’s arms around me. Something is placed over my head, something hits my temple, my vision goes black.
Chapter 4
It takes a long time to fully come to. I taste the coppery tang of blood in my mouth. My eyes are heavy, feel like they’re glued together. My head pounds and my tongue feels swollen. There’s a ringing in my ears.
I blink a few times, but at first, everything is just too bright. I close them again, and then try again. With each try, a little bit more comes into focus. My stomach turns. I worry I might vomit. I try to move but my hands are caught at my sides. My legs attached to something stiff, immobile.
Slowly, my faculties return and reality sets in. The crowd, once below me, now stares at me from the floor. I’m on the stage, tied to a big, wooden chair. Tariq is next to me, his eyes wide with worry. On my other side, Quick leers at me from the podium.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says, to the laughter of the crowd. “You took quick a blow to the head. I worried my staff had hit you just a little too hard.”
“Quick,” I say through clenched teeth. It makes my head hurt to talk. “Let us go.”
“Oh no, no,” he says with the shake of a finger. “You have caused me all kind of trouble, little detective. I’ve lost two of my strongest because of you.”
I squirm against my restraints, but they are too tight. I am not going anywhere.
“You were supposed to help fulfill the requirements of my work,” he says. “But you lived. You lived and you trapped my sweet, young Vivienne, leaving her only one choice. She died for this cause, for me, for righteousness, for purity. And you still live, your womb shattered, your police force shunning you, your life in shambles. It seems, perhaps, I will be doing you a favor tonight.”
Quick turns to the crowd and gives them an indulgent, wicked smile. “These are blood traitors,” he says. At this, the crowd jeers. “This woman is a filthy whore who sleeps with vampires. She has a Hunter for a boyfriend and a stinking, undead, bloodsucking creature for a lover. She fucks him. Let’s him suck her blood. Takes his in return.”
At this, Quick’s dedicated acolytes all hiss at me. Some scream insults.
“And her new friend, here,” Quick continues, gesturing to Tariq. “This man is a dirty-skinned, werewolf-loving piece of immigrant garbage. This man and this woman share our call to the dark arts. They are powerful, gifted beings. And yet…and yet they both choose to fornicate with the very creatures who would pollute our bloodlines. Half witch, half werewolf. Bah!”
The crowd goes crazy, booing and hissing. It’s so loud in here; the noise of the crowd makes it very hard to think.
“This is why this work is so important, my friends,” Quick says. He sounds like a preacher in a church. And I suppose he is, in a way. He is their chosen Messiah. He is promising to lead them to something better. At least, better in their eyes. “By breeding a pure race of witches, all tied by magic to me, we are building a generation of witches who will never betray us. They will never fornicate with creatures, will never put the needs of humans above those of witches. And, if all goes well, they won’t have to. We will have eradicated creatures from this city. We will have taken positions of power over the human population, and we will have moved forward into a brand new, beautifully pure world. Our righteous work will clean the slate of traitors and filth and we will all be better for it.”
The crowd goes wild, their cheers ringing in my ears as I look to Tariq. He looks utterly dumbfounded and I would be willing to bet I don’t look any different. This is utterly insane. I feel like I’m in Nazi Germany, if Nazi Germany had vampires and werewolves in it.
Quick closes his eyes and raises his hands, the Messiah being infused with the power of his Creator. He recites an enchantment in a language I do not understand. I lock eyes with Tariq, expecting him to look scared. Instead, though, he grins. He leans as far toward me as he can; trying to keep his voice low, though it is impossible to hear over the roaring of the rabid crowd.
“We are both going to burst into flames, as soon as he finishes the spell,” Tariq says.
“Well then why are you smiling?” I ask. I can hear the panic in my own voice.
Tariq, totally unbothered, winks at me. He winks. “You can thank me later for following you here,” he says.
“Thank you?!” I screech.
Just then, I feel the flames begin to rise around us, feel the scorching heat as the spell takes effect. And just as that happens, Tariq breaks into a full, wide smile and rips free from his restraints, two balls of fire in his hands, the ends of his ropes scorched black. He pushes the wall of fire away from us, toward Quick. The wall of flames rises like a tidal wave as he pushes it back against its creator. Quicks podium is engulfed, he pulls his hands away, screeching as if he’s been burnt. He backs away, trips on an electrical cord, falls to the ground. The flames make their way toward him and I see real fear in his eyes as his handlers race to grab him and pull him from danger.
Tariq t
urns and sends fireballs into the crowd. Well-placed, too, as they hit close enough to scare the crowd, to send them running to the exits, but not close enough to hurt anyone.
As the chaos ensues, he unties his legs and then runs for me, working at my restraints, freeing me, grabbing my hand. We run as the fire begins to grow. We run the opposite direction of the crowd, looking for an exit, looking for a way out.
We find out way into a maze that looks to have been offices.
“There has to be an exit back here,” I say. We check every door, every hallway. Finally, we find an emergency exit, but it is chained shut. We turn around, making our way back through the labyrinth, back out into a now-empty, burning main floor. We find the stairs and head back up to the balcony. I try to remember the steps and we finally, clumsily, find the stairwell and door through which we came in. We barrel down the stairs and outside, into the alleyway.
We just keep running, hand-in-hand, until we are far enough away that the ensuing sirens seem like they are blocks away. But then it occurs to me, my phone. I had evidence of Quick’s plan on my phone, and it’s not on me now.
“We have to go back,” I say frantically.
“Back?” Tariq asks. “Why would we go back?”
“My phone,” I recorded that whole speech.”
“Forget it, Amy,” Tariq says. “It’s too dangerous.”
“Fine, then,” I say. “You stay here. I’m going back on my own.
Tariq stares, open-mouthed. His face is wet with sweat, dark with soot. He looks completely pissed when he says, “Fine.”
Chapter 5
As we walk back, trying to look inconspicuous, Tariq asks again why we would be so stupid as to double-back to the place where we were almost burned alive.
