by Amy Cross
"Why are you linking this to a cult in New Jersey?" I ask. "Do you have any evidence?"
"We've been studying them for two years," he explains. "We have a very good understanding of what they've been up to, and it's my very strong opinion that these latest events fit the profile we've developed. We have agents working undercover, and we're waiting for final confirmation before we send a team in." Finally, a hint of a smile appears on his lips. "Basically, Detective Gregory, I'm confident we solved your case before we even got here."
I open my mouth to argue with him, but it's quickly apparent that there's no point. The guy seems to be supremely arrogant, to the point that he's unlikely to listen to a word I tell him. I feel as if I'm being swept out of the way, and I've got enough experience to know that there's no point pushing back. As far as this Agent Elba guy is concerned, I'm just some parochial detective who wandered into a big case. Maybe he's right, but I can't shake the feeling that all this talk of a New Jersey cult doesn't fit with anything I've uncovered so far.
"If I can be of any assistance," I tell him, "I'm -"
"Thank you," he replies, interrupting me yet again, "but there's really nothing you can do other than stay out of our way." He turns to walk away, before glancing back at me. "By the way, if anything like this ever comes up again, I'd appreciate it if you could call us immediately. We don't like hearing about potential biological incidents second-hand. I'm sure you'd love to play the superhero and solve this case all by yourself, Detective Gregory, but you'll only put more lives at risk. I'm confident we'll have the situation under control within twenty-four hours." He pauses. "You should keep an eye on the news," he adds sarcastically. "I'm sure you'll understand once it's all spelled out for you."
"I don't -"
"How are you doing these days, Detective Gregory?" he asks, interrupting me. "I read your personnel file. I hope you're feeling more stable now that you've got, I hope, the right medication." He pauses, and it's clear from the faint smile on his lips that he knows exactly what happened to me all those years ago. "I knew someone with post-traumatic stress disorder once. He sometimes had a hard time keeping a grip on reality. According to your file, you're fully recovered from the things that happened to you in Afghanistan. I hope that's true."
"Absolutely," I reply, fighting the urge to land a punch in the center of this guy's smug face.
"I can understand that a case such as this might re-open some memories."
I stare at him for a moment. "I don't know what you mean," I say eventually.
"I guess not," he replies. "Don't forget, though, that I've got high-level clearance. I've read your entire file from Afghanistan. Even the classified part." With that, he turns and walks away.
Once he's gone, I find myself standing in the doorway, with no idea what to do next. The old Mark Gregory would have been filled with rage right now, but the new Mark Gregory is able to take Elba's comments and carefully ignore them. I've never been removed from a case before, and that guy certainly seemed pretty confident that he can have the whole thing wrapped up sooner rather than later. Still, the idea of some cult from New Jersey being responsible for what happened is hard to believe. For one thing, there's the small matter of the creatures that attacked me in the parking lot the other night; for another, there's the question of why they'd take quite such a vast quantity of blood. I'm not saying that I'm ready to believe in vampires just yet, but I know what I've seen, and I know that Abby Hart has something to hide.
Heading through to the rest-room, I find that Abby is still asleep. I left her in here a couple of hours ago, after she collapsed, and it's clear that she needs to recover from everything that happened earlier. As I watch her, I can't help but wonder where she really comes from, and why she was at the hotel all those years ago when Shelley Spineri was murdered. Despite all my reservations, I'm starting to wonder if Dr. Abby Hart has secrets that I can't even hope to guess. One thing's clear, though. She's the only person who can help to deal with the killers who are stealing all this blood. While Agent Elba goes after some cult up in New Jersey, I need to find out what Abby knows about the people who are really behind these deaths.
Abby Hart
"This is wrong," I say, staring at the TV screen that's hanging on one wall of the crowded bar. "They've got the wrong people. You know that, right?"
As I watch the screen, the image changes to another live view of the New Jersey compound that's in the process of being raided. All the news channels have switched to the scene, claiming that an FBI operation is rounding up the members of the Shinzo Aka cult, who are being blamed for the bodies that were found in New York. The story's still developing and everything's kind of chaotic, but the gist seems to be that this cult have been carrying out vampiric rituals using the blood of their victims. Media reports are labeling Shinzo Aka as a group of lunatics who were putting men, woman and children at risk. As the latest information flashes across the bottom of the screen, the main image shows armed police storming a smoking rural building. It all seems very convincing and very neat, and in many ways it's perfectly believable, but there's a problem.
It's complete bullshit.
"You don't need to convince me," Mark says, taking a sip from his beer. "They're convinced, though. They think they've swooped in and solved the problem. They probably measure success by the number of body-bags they've got lined up at the end of the operation." He stares at the screen for a moment. "They've been looking to take down that cult for years, so they were happy to put the two cases together. There's no way they'll ever admit they were wrong. If we find more bodies, they'll just claim it's a copycat."
"Those people are dying for no reason," I reply, watching as an infographic flashes up on the screen and claims that seventeen members of the cult have been killed during the operation. "This is just more pain and death. I swear, it's almost as if humans enjoy killing each other."
"Some do," he says. "Some don't." He pauses, and it's clear that he's studying me intently. "When you talk about humans," he continues eventually, "it almost sounds like..." He pauses. "Well, it almost sounds like you're on the outside, looking in. It's like you're observing us."
"You're getting ahead of yourself," I tell him.
"Maybe," he replies.
"Meanwhile," I point out, hoping to change the subject, "the real killers are still out there. I'm sure they've noticed this little stunt, but it's not going to affect them. They're probably laughing at the whole mess. Besides, I'm sure they must be getting close to their target. They're becoming less concerned about getting caught, and with all the blood they've collected so far, they could raise Gothos himself."
"Who?"
"Never mind." I pause for a moment, still trying to work out how much information I can give to this guy. I should have got rid of him long ago, but I'm finding it useful to have someone around, someone I can discuss things with. I guess I'm getting weak. The problem with Detective Gregory is that, although he's a human, he's fairly smart. He saw through this bullshit Shinzo Aka cult story, but I still need to make sure he doesn't go back to the church we visited the other day. Based on what I saw through Clare Stamler's eyes, it's clear that the church is linked to what's been happening, but I need to go there alone. That's why I agreed to come and have this drink with Mark; I need to distract him.
"So who is responsible?" he asks.
I shrug.
"You know," he continues. "I can see it in your eyes. You're a bad liar."
"I'm a very good liar," I reply, "and besides, I really don't know. Just let me poke around a little. Maybe I'll have some good news in a few days."
"I keep thinking about that church," he says, "and the -"
"It's not the church!" I say firmly. "Why won't you listen to me?"
"I'm off the case," Mark says after a moment, clearly a little suspicious of my motives. "In fact, as far as anyone else is concerned, the case is over. They're going to be so busy celebrating their big success, they won't even listen if I try
to tell them that they've made a mistake."
"I can deal with this," I tell him. "Just give me twenty-four hours, and I'll have the whole thing sorted out."
"So you do know who's responsible," he replies.
"Just let me handle it," I say. "I don't need help."
"The last time you said that," he replies, "you immediately fainted."
"I didn't faint!" I say firmly. "I collapsed. There's a difference! If you'd experienced what I experienced, you'd have burned out completely, just like that girl. Trust me, I'm much better equipped for all of this." Glancing up at the TV screen, I see that the operation seems to be over, and bodies are being brought out of the compound. So much death, and for what? How am I supposed to value human lives when they don't even value themselves? Killing a vampire is a difficult task, but it brings a sense of satisfaction. Killing a human is like swatting a fly, and I can't pretend that I give a damn about their lives.
"I can help you," he says.
I shake my head.
"So what are you going to do?" he asks. "Walk into that church and start looking for trouble?"
"It's nothing to do with the church," I tell him for the thousandth time. "Thanks for the drink," I say eventually, pushing the glass away as I get to my feet, "but I'm not in the mood. I guess I'll see you around some time, but as far as this case is concerned, you need to take a step back. Let your friends pat themselves on the back for raiding that cult. Meanwhile, I'll go and deal with the real problem."
"But -"
"And let me be clear about one more thing," I say, determined to make sure he gets the message. "If you interfere in any way, I won't save you again. That time in the parking lot was a one-off. Next time, you're on your own." With that, I turn and walk away, hoping against hope that maybe that was the final time I ever have to deal with this guy. I always knew that getting involved with humans would be a mistake, and I've just proven myself right once again. Humans always, always, mess things up. I just need to make sure they leave me alone so I can put everything right and deal with whatever the Strix are doing in that church.
Part Four
Foreign Lands
Prologue
"And this will lead me away from this place?" Gothos asked, staring at the large black sphere. "This bridge will take me from the heart of the war to a new land?"
"The journey will be long," said the last Hecate, "but there is no doubt. You will survive, my Lord."
"Then it is settled," said Gothos, as the house shook once more. "Patrick is getting closer. I must be away before he reaches me. Is the machine ready?"
"You must understand one thing," the last Hecate continued. "Once you enter the machine, you will not be able to emerge until you are called forth with blood. You will not be conscious of the passage of time, but many years might slip past before you are released."
"So be it," Gothos replied, glancing over his shoulder as the house shook again. Patrick was clearly getting closer, his rage undimmed. "Is everything ready?" Gothos asked.
"Of course, my Lord," said the last Hecate. "You -"
Before he could finish, the doors at the far end of the room were flung open and an object was thrown through the air, landing just a few feet from Gothos' feet. To his shock, Gothos saw that the head of Rasmussen had been ripped from the man's shoulders, and was now staring up at him.
"I am ready," Gothos said, his heart filled with fear. "Get me out of here before that maniac arrives."
Today
Mark Gregory
Ten years ago
"You think being a cop would be any better than this?" asks Hoskins as we climb out of the jeep. "I'd rather be out here in Afghanistan than chasing after pimps in New York any day."
"Maybe," I mutter, checking my rifle for the thousandth time since we left base. "I just need to get the hell out of this place."
It's late afternoon, and Hoskins and I are on a routine patrol in one of the quieter parts of this town in northern Afghanistan. In theory, we're supposed to be far from harm's way. The really bad stuff is going on in other areas of the country, but our main task is simply to maintain a presence, keep things ticking over, and ensure that relations with the locals don't get too bad. In truth, most of the Afghan townspeople around here seem happy enough to have us here, even if I can't shake the feeling that there's some resentment simmering beneath the surface. Sometimes, I feel as if men like Hoskins are able to put all the worries to the back of their mind, while I'm the only soldier in the unit who still feels genuinely terrified whenever we're out on patrol. I can't wait to get out of the army and head back to the US.
"So what's the problem supposed to be, anyway?" I ask as we trudge across the dirt road, making for a small house on the outskirts of the town. Glancing back the way we came, I spot a group of children watching us from behind a damaged wall.
"Vampires," Hoskins says with a grin. "Some of the locals say that since our unit came to town, there's been some kind of vampire causing trouble." He laughs. "Fucking superstitious idiots, huh?"
"Vampires in Afghanistan?" I ask as we reach the house and Hoskins knocks on the door. "I guess I've heard of crazier things."
As soon as the door opens, an elderly man in traditional local clothing starts shouting at Hoskins in a language I don't understand. I've been out here for almost nine months now, and I still haven't picked up a word of Pashto or Dari or whatever else these guys are speaking. Fortunately, Hoskins is something of a renowned linguist, so he's quickly able to engage this old guy in conversation, while I turn and watch the children over by the wall. I can't help but worry that they might be planning something. I hate the way this war has made me suspicious of everything and everyone, but I can't help it. Even a child could turn out to be a killer.
Moments later, the old man heads back inside.
"He seems angry," I say nervously.
Before Hoskins can reply, the old man returns with what appears to be a large dead goat, which he drops at our feet. There's dried blood all around the creature's neck.
"Is he offering this to us?" I ask.
Ignoring me, Hoskins continues to talk to the man, and their discussion seems to be becoming increasingly heated. After a couple of minutes, the man starts gesticulating toward the goat, and I can't help but think that the entire scene is becoming a little surreal.
"Okay," Hoskins says with a sigh, "he claims there's a vampire in town. He says some of his goats have been killed by the thing, and a local kid had his neck ripped open. He insists that we have to go to the caves to the north and take a look. That's where this vampire apparently hangs out during the day, and then he comes down here at night and causes all sorts of shit. He claims this has been going on for a few months, and he's worried that it's bringing bad luck to the town, which I guess would be a fair point if, you know, there was any such thing as vampires."
"We're not actually gonna go out there, are we?" I ask.
He shrugs.
"We're not going to go looking for this vampire," I continue, starting to get worried. "Are we?"
"It'd keep him happy if we pretended," Hoskins replies.
"It's a trap!" I say, shocked that he could be so naive.
"Nah," he replies, "it's not a trap. These people are on our side, Mark. Trust me, I've been here long than you have. We just have to go out there and take a look, otherwise this guy's gonna be a pain in the ass. He's got connections with some of the local tribes, so it's kind of a good idea to keep him sweet. If he wants us to go to the caves and take a quick look around for a vampire, that's what we're gonna do."
Still standing in the doorway, the man says something else that I don't understand.
"He says we promised to protect the town," Hoskins says, sighing again. "He says that includes anything that threatens the community, including vampires. It'll take five minutes to drive up there and take a look. Maybe we can shoot off a couple of shots, just so the locals think we've done something. It's community relations, Mark. This is how we
win the peace."
"It's insane," I point out.
"Then you can stay here," he says, turning and heading to the jeep.
"Wait!" I call out, hurrying after him. "You can't go up there by yourself! What if it's an ambush?"
"What if a real vampire leaps out at me from the shadows?" he asks with a smile, climbing back into the jeep. "I've been out here for two years, Mark. I know how to keep the locals sweet. Sometimes we have to dance to their tune a little, but in the long run it makes things easier. I know you might not want to do it, and that's fine, but I'm gonna head up there for a few minutes. You're welcome to stay here if you want, but I'm gonna go up to that cave and make it look like I'm busy for a few minutes. If that's what it takes to keep these superstitious idiots happy, I don't see the fucking problem."
Glancing over at the house, I see that the old man is still watching us. I look at the wall nearby, and see that the children seem to be waiting to see what we'll do.
"Fine," I mutter, hurrying around the jeep and climbing into the passenger seat. "I just want to make it known, on the record, that this is by far the most fucking ridiculous thing I've done since I got out here."
"Ridiculous is better than dangerous," Hoskins says, laughing as he starts the engine and turns the jeep around. Soon we're heading out of town, making our way up the steep slope that leads to a set of caves on the edge of town.
As we park and get back out of the jeep, I can't help looking back at the town and noticing that the children have come to the edge of the dirt road, and now they're staring at us as if they expect something to happen. I swear to God, I've got the worst feeling about this, but Hoskins insists that there's no danger and, in a situation like this, it's impossible to ignore the fact that he's my superior.
"Come on," he says, wandering over to the cave entrance. "Let's go get ourselves a vampire."
