by Amy Cross
"Keep looking," I tell her. "If you find anything, let me know immediately, and try to keep it to yourself, okay? I don't want other people to get involved. This is just a private project I'm working on right now. Don't tell anyone. Especially Duffield. He doesn't know anything about this one."
"Mum's the word," she replies. "I just hope she's worth it. All this effort, it'd be a shame if she turned out to just be another boring girl from out of the city."
"She's not boring," I say, walking over to the door. "Whatever else she might be, she's definitely not boring."
"You're not falling for her, are you?" Janet asks.
"This is purely professional interest," I reply, glancing back at her. "I'd appreciate your discretion. I'll be down in the archives, but if anyone asks for me, I'm not here."
Once I've left the room, I find myself unsure of my next move. There has to be more to Abigail Hart than I've uncovered so far, and I feel as if I'm at the start of a long process of discovery. If Abigail has made herself impossible to find in the records, she must be hiding something, and given everything I saw the other night, it's hard not to jump to the conclusion that her secret must be related to her somewhat unusual powers. I don't know what I'm going to find out, but I'm convinced that Abigail Hart has some dark secrets, and I'm going to bring them to the surface. By the time this is over, I'm going to know everything there is to know about Abigail Hart, including any dark secrets she might be trying to keep hidden.
Abby Hart
Opening my eyes, I realize that the pain has gone, and that the light in the room is now much warmer. Sitting up, I look at the window and listen to the sounds of the city outside. It's as if everything is back to normal, but the early evening skyline suggests I've been unconscious for a few hours.
Looking down, I see that the chains have been removed. I immediately get to my feet as I realize that somehow, for some reason, I'm free. The last thing I remember is feeling an agonizing pain in my head, followed by the presence of some kind of creature nearby. After that, I turned and saw... As soon as I try to remember the rest of what happened, I feel my mind starting to heave and strain. I have a vague memory that I was falling, and there was light all around me, and then... No matter how hard I try, I can't recall anything else from today, and as I keep pushing, I eventually start to feel another headache.
Opening the door, I head out into the main room of the apartment. To my surprise, Absalom is sitting on the sofa, while his two bald friends are standing over by the window. They seem strangely calm, as if this kind of thing happens to them every day. I have to give them a little credit: they make their work seem like a piece of cake, even though they also exude a quiet air of menace.
"You're awake," Absalom says, not looking up from the magazine he's reading. "How are you feeling? A little sore, I imagine. Don't worry, it'll pass. Well, maybe. I don't have a clue, to be honest. It might not pass. You might die. Time will tell. Well, maybe. You get the idea. No-one's ever talked directly to the Disgrace before. Not without a shield. I hope your sanity has managed to survive. Even if he was gentle, I'm not sure if you were physically or emotionally ready for such an incident."
Not wanting to let him know that I don't remember what happened in the room, I walk through to the kitchen and grab a glass of water. I feel as if somehow my body has been subjected to some kind of immense force that ripped my mind apart and then tried its best to put everything back together, and although I'm desperate to know whether I truly spoke to the Disgrace, I don't want to make myself seem weak by asking Absalom to fill me in on the details. I figure I'll work it out by myself eventually. I don't need anyone's help.
"The Disgrace was very impressed by you," he says, suddenly coming over to the doorway. "He said you were much stronger than he'd imagined. Trust me, he doesn't give out compliments freely. We're talking about someone who stood shoulder-to-shoulder with both Gothos and Patrick. There was a time when the three of them were feared throughout the seven worlds. Even the likes of Sangreth had to kneel before them. In a way, it's very sad that only the Disgrace is still alive from the old days, but the tides of time can't be held back forever. That's what I'm told, anyway."
I stare at him, trying to take this all in.
"He said that you remind him very much of Patrick. I wasn't sure whether you'd take that as a compliment or not, but I suppose you might as well know. He said you have the same stubbornness and the same refusal to yield. He was both disappointed and pleased by this revelation; disappointed because it's going to be impossible to control you, and pleased because he knows that Patrick was always his greatest ally. If you can even begin to tread the same path -"
"I'm not Patrick," I say, interrupting him.
"Well," he says with a smile, "of course not -"
"I'm like him," I continue, "in some ways. But not in others. I'm not just some kind of carbon copy of him."
"You certainly talk more than he did. At least in his later years. The guy was a terrible conversationalist, although he was unbeatable in a game of poker, absolutely unbeatable."
"What else did the Disgrace say about me?" I ask. "Did he tell you what we talked about?"
"You don't remember him, do you?" Absalom asks after a moment. "I can see it in your eyes, Abigail. You talked to him for hours, but you don't remember a second of it. You don't even remember what he looked like." He pauses. "It's not your fault, Abigail. The Disgrace burned the memories before your neurons could finish their work. That's probably a good thing. I imagine he was careful to tidy up after himself. He tends to make a mess when he goes into someone's head, but he usually puts everything back how he found it. But you really don't remember talking to him, do you?"
"I'm free," I say, preferring to avoid giving a definite answer. "I'm not chained down anymore."
"He chose to free you," he replies. "I have to admit, it was against my better judgment. I was going to keep you in chains until you broke, or..." His voice trails off. "In the spirit of honesty, I should probably admit that I was considering executing you if things hadn't gone well. The last thing anyone needs is another rogue vampire running around."
"From my point of view," I say, "you're the only rogue vampires in town."
"If you don't remember speaking directly to the Disgrace, I imagine you don't remember the agreement either." He pauses. "The Disgrace has decided to let you run free, Abigail. He feels that it would be unwise to demand the unflinching loyalty upon which he usually insists, and he's going to allow you to be your own boss. With occasional interventions from us, of course. You're going to be given a very long leash, but we retain the right to pull it tight with no warning. While the Disgrace has made this decision, he's not going to take a day-to-day interest in your activities. He has other things to consider, so I'm to be left in charge. Believe me, Abigail, I won't hesitate to yank you back into place if I think you're running out of control again."
"You think you can do that?" I reply, fighting the urge to teach him a lesson.
"I know the limits and scope of my power," he says. "Do you know the limits and scope of yours? Or are you a creature of chaos? Are you constantly in flux?"
"I need a drink," I mutter.
"Exactly my point," he replies. "You have no discipline, Abigail. You think you can muddle your way through, making things up as you go along. It's an admirable approach, and it's rather similar to the way your father went about things, but it's not going to work forever. Fortunately, you have us to guide you -"
"I don't need anyone to guide me," I say, taking a step toward him. "I don't need anyone for anything. I'm better off alone."
"And yet you spend so much time among humans."
"Humans are vermin," I reply. "They're disposable, so I don't have to worry about them. If one of them dies, I can easily pick up another. They're pretty much interchangeable. I don't get attached to them, though. They're not worth my time."
"Your mother was a human," he points out.
"She was weak
," I tell him. "She loved my father, even after he killed her."
"Have you ever been in love?" he asks.
"I'm not like my mother," I reply, even though I know that her humanity has influenced me in certain ways.
"If I were you," he replies, "I'd be more worried about whatever's hidden in your mind. Someone went to great lengths to bury something very deep, and even the Disgrace couldn't get to it. He hammered and hammered. He tried everything he could think of, but for the first time in his existence, he found his path blocked. Believe me, he wasn't best pleased about the whole thing. In fact, I think he's sulking. I can't even begin to imagine who would have the power to do such a thing."
"Are we done here?" I ask, figuring that there's no point letting this conversation drag out any further. "I don't know about you, but I've got things I need to be doing. I actually have a job."
"And how's that going?" he replies. "I must say, I was surprised when I heard you'd become a medical examiner."
"A job's a job," I tell him. "Besides, I wanted to stay close to the action."
"You sensed the oncoming storm?"
"I picked up the stench of a whole load of vampires," I reply, "and I figured they'd start causing trouble eventually."
"We'll be in touch," Absalom says, smiling as he reaches out to shake my hand. "You've got good instincts, Abigail. I think we can definitely help one another. The Disgrace is going to require your help from time to time. He's also going to want to get to the bottom of that secret that's wrapped up in your mind."
Ignoring the attempted handshake, I stand and stare at him for a moment. "In case you haven't noticed," I say eventually, "you're in my apartment. The sooner you get out of here, the sooner I can start fixing the wall you trashed."
"We can pay for it," he says. "We have funds."
"No need," I tell him. "I don't need your help and I don't need your money. Just get out."
"We'll keep a discreet distance," he continues, "but I can assure you that the Disgrace wants us to keep an eye on you. Even if you're not part of our organization, you can still be useful, and I feel that we can be useful to you in return. Doesn't that sound like a good arrangement?"
"Out," I say firmly.
"Don't get too jumpy," he replies, as he and his men head to the door, "but the Disgrace is of the opinion that there might be members of the Strix cult involved in recent activities. I'm sure you'll understand that this requires a great deal of caution. They're hardly a welcome presence, and it's going to be particularly difficult to keep an eye on them. It'll be more important than ever to have someone whose instincts are strong."
"A what?" I ask.
"A Strix cult," he replies. "Don't tell me you're not up on your vampire mythology, Abigail? If you need a push-start, you might begin by reading up about ancient Greek legends. You have the Book of Gothos in your possession, don't you? Now might be a good time to start using it."
"Maybe when I've fixed the wall," I reply bitterly.
"You need to be careful," he says. "The Strix and their allies can be very persuasive. Just because you feel lost, Abigail, don't allow yourself to be seduced into allying with those who seek to bring pain and misery back to the world. Don't take the easy path."
"I'll be fine," I say darkly, resenting the insinuation that I can't look after myself.
"Don't be a stranger," he calls out to me, pulling the door shut as he leaves.
Standing alone in the kitchen, I try to work out what he meant. I have no idea what the word strix means, but I definitely don't like the sound of it. In fact, I don't like the idea of the Disgrace in any shape or form. I've read about different types of vampire, and I know that there's great variation from one group to the next. Some of the more unusual strains can be kind of surprising in terms of their abilities, and it pays to keep abreast of all the different types. Still, I'm kind of rusty when it comes to the whole thing, and I'm not sure if I -
Suddenly I feel something brush against my shoulder. Turning, I see that there's nothing nearby... or at least, there doesn't appear to be anything. Still, this is far from the first time I've felt such a presence, and I'm far too wired and on edge to accept that it could be a coincidence.
"Strix," I mutter under my breath, before a moment of realization strikes me. I do remember that word after all. "Fuck," I mutter, running to get the Book of Gothos. This word strix had better not mean what I think it means. There are some types of vampire that are definitely worse than others. As soon as I reach my bedroom, I hurry to the wardrobe and pull out the blanket that I've been using to keep the Book of Gothos hidden. Pulling the folds open, however, I find that it's empty. I check, and then I double-check, and finally I feel a sense of horror start to rise through my body.
Someone has stolen the book.
Mark Gregory
Sitting alone in a dusty old archive room, I spend hours going through a series of files. I'm looking for something that might help me get a better handle on Abby Hart's identity. After all, based on everything I've discovered so far, it's almost as if she simply appeared from nowhere on a sunny New York day. Granted, it's possible for someone to slip through the cracks, but this seems like something a little more unusual. She's not just missing from a few databases; she's missing from almost all the databases, with the exception one or two pieces of information scattered throughout the system.
The most significant information I've managed to uncover so far is that she was found abandoned as a baby. Picked up from the banks of the river, she was taken to an adoption agency and, when efforts to trace her parents came to nothing, she was eventually sent to live with Evan and Ruth Parlour of Callerton, New Mexico. There's not too much information about her childhood, and she seems to have been a fairly normal child. The adoption agency checked on the Parlours from time to time, but if they noticed anything unusual, they certainly didn't leave any records of problems or doubts. Abby seems to have had no problems until she reached her later teenage years, which is where things become complicated.
At some stage, Abby left the Parlours and headed to Dedston. She seems to have obtained some information about her birth mother, a girl named Sophie Hart who was killed some years earlier by an unidentified assailant. There are a few files on Sophie's murder, most of them suggesting that she was the victim of a crazed and random attack. Sophie's brother, and Abby's uncle, Todd Hart became affiliated with an organization known as the Watchers, and once again there's precious little information about what, exactly, these people were trying to achieve. They seem to have been involved with Abby's decision to go to Dedston, however, and I'm starting to wonder if it's a coincidence that shortly after Abby left, the Parlours were brutally murdered in their home.
This is where things become even more tricky. Once she was with the Watchers, Abby effectively disappeared. There's no record of her for several years, although it's perhaps notable that during this period the Watchers were disbanded following some kind of incident at a facility in Dedston. As far as I can tell, Abby kept her head down for a while, but she eventually resurfaced as a medical student, quickly rising to the top of her class and, before long, ending up at New York's New Mercy hospital. She made a name for herself, and before long she moved into forensics, which I guess explains how she ended up working in my department. Still, that's quite a leap: how did she manage to find the money to study medicine, and what happened to her during those wilderness years?
Checking another set of files, I try to find some information about Sophie Hart and the mysterious Patrick. Sophie seems to have been a fairly unremarkable young woman from Dedston, and there's nothing of any great interest in her files prior to her death. As for Patrick, there's nothing at all. I guess it's possible that the name is wrong, or that there's some obfuscation going on here, but it's as if the guy just didn't exist. Someone named Patrick is mentioned, however, in relation to the Watchers, although once again there's a maddening lack of detail. There's certainly not enough information to help me work out
who he was or where he might be today, but the guy must have existed. Like Abigail, however, he seems to have slipped through the cracks.
Finally, feeling as if I'm at a dead end, I check out the files relating to Shelley Spineri. Like Sophie Hart, she seems to have been a fairly unremarkable girl from Dedston, although she spent some time in New York as some kind of nightclub promoter. The only really interesting thing about her is the manner of her death: her mutilated corpse was found in the basement of a hotel, and no-one was ever apprehended for the murder. As I read the detailed, grizzly medical report, however, something strikes me as being strangely familiar. Grabbing some of the other files, I take a look, and sure enough I'm right: the nature of Shelley Spineri's injuries seem to have been remarkably similar to the injuries that killed Sophie Hart, as if they were killed by the same person or, at the very least, in the same manner. In fact, in both cases, the coroner remarked that the wounds were almost reminiscent of the kind of thing you'd see after an attack by a large animal, maybe a cougar or even a bear.
Sitting back, I try to work out whether all of this is just fantasy. Were the deaths of Sophie Hart and Shelley Spineri linked in some way? Obviously Abby couldn't have killed her own mother when she was just a few months old, but I keep coming back to this Patrick guy. He appears, or at least his shadow appears, in so many elements of these conflicting stories. In fact, if I assume for a moment that there was a violent, dangerous individual named Patrick who was involved in the whole damn mess, the narrative kind of falls into place. Is it possible, therefore, that Abby had a father who was some kind of killer? If so, was she with him during that period before she turned up at medical school? I might not have all the answers yet, but I'm starting to feel as if I'm edging closer to the truth.
