Bloodless

by Tori Centanni

  “Which was?” I pressed.

  “None of your concern.”

  I stared, infusing as much “you have got to be kidding me” as I could into a single look. He did not elaborate. Here I was, paying his rent and feeding him and keeping him alive, and he was off doing who knew what at all hours of the night, refusing to let me in on whatever it was.

  “Fine. I’m going to bed.” I stood, moving stiffly due to my bruises and injuries, and grabbed the open bottle of wine off the counter.

  “Good night,” he said, shaking out the blankets to turn the sofa into a bed for himself. I stomped into my bedroom and slammed the door for good measure.

  His secrecy frustrated me, but I shouldn’t have been surprised by it. After all, what I knew about Cazimir could fill a thimble: Cazimir de Roi was not the name he was born with, and that he was over three hundred years old. I only knew that much for sure because he and Sean had a shared history in France around that time. And that was the sum total of facts I had about him. I didn’t know how old he was or who he’d been before he’d met Sean.

  Up until three weeks ago, I’d always thought of him as a ridiculous pain in the ass, a vampire so obsessed with being the “de rigueur” image of the quintessential Vampire King that he was more of a caricature than a person. That didn’t mean he hadn’t been dangerous, but he’d been playing a role, so he’d been somewhat predictable. I knew he was smart and resourceful, and I knew he was as determined as I was to be a vampire again. But that was about it.

  Over the past weeks, I’d convinced myself I’d actually gotten to know the real him. But that had been monumentally idiotic. Had I really expected to become friends with Cazimir? The guy was a walking cliché on purpose. He didn’t want friends. He wanted admirers and followers, and I was neither.

  I took a swig of the wine, but it tasted sour and I abandoned the bottle on my dresser. I brushed my teeth instead and crawled into bed.

  Chapter 7

  As I headed through the parking lot of Le Poisson, a woman in a suit got out of a car parked illegally off to the side, next to the curb of the driveway. She made sure to intercept me and stood between myself and the restaurant. It was three o’clock in the afternoon and the sun was high. Her skin was tan and wrinkled, and she was definitely human.

  “Harriet Allen?” she asked.

  That was the fake legal name I used for paperwork, the one that matched my current fake ID. I still told people to call me Henri, and most people accepted it was just one of those weird nicknames that didn’t match your real name.

  “Yes?” I said, shifting my purse on my shoulder and pulling out my phone to pointedly check the time.

  “I’m Detective Turner,” she said. “Do you have a minute?”

  “I’m supposed to clock in right now,” I said.

  “This will just a take a second,” she said. She pulled out a spiral-bound notepad and pen. “Are you aware there was a body found here the other night?”

  Since I’d given the police a statement along with the rest of my coworkers, I was pretty sure she already knew that I was. “Yes,” I said.

  “What about the fact that a second victim was found right outside your apartment building?” She watched my face closely, looking for a lie.

  “Yes,” I said stiffly, using impatience to hide my discomfort. I’d dealt with police a handful of times but I’d never liked doing it, which is why I’d never left evidence of my nefarious deeds behind like an idiot. Suddenly it hit me that maybe that was the point of these murders. That the bodies hadn’t been left to terrorize me like I’d assumed but had been strategically placed to frame me. A chill ran over my skin. “I’m sorry, what does this have to do with me?”

  “I just thought it was interesting when I noticed your name on the list of tenants provided by your landlord, seeing as you were here when the first victim was found.” Her eyes bored into me, trying to draw more information out.

  “Yeah. Doesn’t exactly make a girl feel safe,” I said. I cleared my throat, itching for a mint.

  After a long staring contest, which I was definitely winning, she dropped her eyes.

  “Did you happen to see anything? Someone lurking around your building, maybe a customer here? Anyone following you home?”

  “Nope,” I said. “Sorry. Guess that means you haven’t caught the guy yet, huh? Maybe I should invest in a better deadbolt.”

  She put away her notebook, shoving it into the inner pocket of her jacket. “How do you know it’s a guy?”

  “Aren’t serial killers usually guys?” I countered. I refused to let her rattle me.

  She smiled, but it was mirthless. She handed me a card. “If you think of anything, call me.”

  “Will do,” I said. She headed back to her car, pausing with her hand on the door. I didn’t wait to see if she thought of more questions. I hurried inside to clock in.

  Max was beside me in a second. “What was that about?”

  “Just a detective asking about the body,” I said.

  Max went a little green and went to grab lemons out of the walk-in.

  The restaurant was slammed, but at least our shift went by quickly.

  Max and I were both cut from the floor around the same time, and we helped Megan close the place down. Afterward, Max and I both decided we could use a drink. I drove us to Capitol Hill, the neighborhood where we both lived, and we hit a bar Max liked. Javier, his boyfriend, joined us for a few rounds, and I stumbled up to my apartment on foot a few hours later, feeling sort of invincible.

  All the weight of the bloodless bodies and the vampire politics and the police and the goddamn Cure seemed to evaporate from my shoulders. I knew it was only temporary, but man, it was nice to walk home on this warm summer night and not feel like anvils were hanging over me, ready to fall on my head.

  * * *

  When I walked in my door, there was no sign of Cazimir, though he’d been sitting on the sofa when I’d left earlier that afternoon. I called his name and got no answer, but then I heard water running in the bathroom and realized he was in there.

  I put on pajama shorts and a ratty t-shirt and settled on the couch with my phone to scroll through local news while I watched something mindless about tiny house hunting. If the police had better leads on the bloodless corpses, they weren’t broadcasting them, and I gave up checking news sites pretty fast.

  An hour later, Caz was still in the shower, and I was deeply regretting that third gin and tonic because I really had to use the restroom. I turned off the television and stared at the closed bathroom door, willing it to open.

  I was about to go bang on it and ask what the hell he was doing in there—short hair does not require that much maintenance—when the front door opened and Caz walked in.

  I stared at him, stunned, listening to the shower running. Maybe it was a neighbor’s shower? But I couldn’t recall ever hearing my neighbors’ plumbing that clearly before.

  “What?” he asked. He looked a little flushed, like he’d run up all five flights of stairs, and his expression was slightly startled.

  “I thought you were in the bathroom,” I said stupidly. Cazimir gave me one of his patented frowns. “The water is running,” I added by way of explanation.

  He tilted his head to listen, the short shag of his blond hair falling to one side. He was wearing dark jeans and a lightweight black jacket I’d never seen before. Despite the casual mundanity of his appearance, Cazimir stood tall and seemed more like the self-appointed vampire king I’d come to know and tolerate.

  “Who’s in there?” he asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  I got off the sofa and dug in my purse for my Taser, once again hating how vulnerable I felt. My heart slammed into my ribs. I’d been sitting for an hour alone with a stranger who was, for inexplicable reasons, using my shower. I hated that I lacked the immortal strength necessary to toss the intruder across the room and scare the hell out of them right back.

  Cazimir held up a
hand and crept up to the bathroom. I followed close behind him. He shoved his ear to the door and listened. His frown deepened and he shook his head at me, indicating he didn’t hear anything. He waggled his fingers in the direction of my Taser. I was reluctant to let go of the one weapon I had, but finally I uncurled my fingers from around the small plastic square and handed it over.

  Cazimir pushed the door open.

  The shower was on. It was a one of those bathtub/shower combos and the opaque black shower curtain was pulled closed. The mirror was fogged on the edges but no steam came from the shower. All of the hot water had probably been used up a while ago.

  Cazimir and I exchanged a look. My heart leapt into my throat as Cazimir took a single step into the bathroom. Nothing happened. Whoever was in there must have heard the door open, but they didn’t react to our presence in the small bathroom.

  I caught myself holding my breath and let it out. Cazimir tore the curtain aside. I saw a flash of white flesh and a scream crawled into my throat. I braced for the person to fly out and attack.

  Nothing happened.

  Cazimir sighed and set the Taser on the counter.

  “He’s dead,” Cazimir said.

  I stepped up beside him, blood still thrumming in my ears, and took a good look at the corpse. The body was the bone-pale color that only came with being drained of blood. His throat had been slashed. He was propped into the corner of the shower, sitting so his butt was in the tub and his body was propped against the back wall. I was going to need gallons of bleach. The corpse was soaked from being under the shower for god knew how long, his wet brown hair hanging down over his eyes.

  I leaned over the body and turned off the water. Then I pushed the wet hair out of the dead guy’s face.

  A jolt shot through my heart and set my pulse racing again. I recognized this guy. It was the dude who’d attacked me in Pioneer Square last night. The one who’d come at me with a stake.

  “What the fuck?” I exclaimed.

  Cazimir shook his head. “It appears your admirer has stepped up their game.”

  “This is the guy,” I said. “The one who jumped me.” I’d told Caz about the attacker earlier today.

  Cazimir raised an eyebrow and looked back at the corpse, examining him more closely. “That is interesting.”

  “Interesting? Caz, this is a fucking nightmare. What the hell is going on?”

  Caz, of course, didn’t know any more than I did.

  I went back into the living room and picked up my phone, hands shaking, but there was no one to call. If the police knew there was a body inside my apartment, there was no way they’d back off of me. Even if I had alibis for all the murders, they’d put me under surveillance for my own protection, unaware that they couldn’t protect me from whatever immortal monster was playing this sick game. And that was only if they didn’t assume I’d killed them anyhow.

  Cazimir came out of the bathroom a moment later.

  “We have to do something with the body,” I said.

  We both considered. Unlike the body left in Neha’s lab, this one would be incredibly hard to move without being seen. Neha’s lab was in a secluded area with no traffic at night. My apartment building was full of young people who were around at all hours, and the neighborhood was much the same. I couldn’t just drag the body to my car five blocks away without being seen by multiple witnesses.

  “Figuring out who left it here is more urgent,” Cazimir said.

  “We could burn down the building and move to Europe,” I suggested.

  “I hate to be the bearer of bad news,” Cazimir said.

  “No, you don’t.”

  He ignored me and continued, “But whoever is doing this clearly has their sights set on you, Henri. Whatever their goal, they will not be thwarted easily.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, I think the surprise shower corpse makes that pretty clear.”

  I went back into the bathroom to get another look at the body. I stepped up to it and studied the gaunt, lifeless face. His eyes had been so full of determination when he had attacked me with a stake last night. Now they were dull and empty. How the hell had he ended up dead in my bathroom?

  I glanced back into the apartment to make sure Cazimir wasn’t watching and then I shoved my finger into the wound in the guy’s neck. His blood was gelatinous and cool to the touch. I steeled myself and then stuck the bloody finger into my mouth.

  Terror exploded through me. His thoughts raced through my mind: he’d fucked up badly when he’d failed the test, and now he was going to die. He tried to open his mouth to reason with the vampire, but the knife slashed through his skin. The damn monster wasn’t even going to drink his blood! He screamed in pain and held his throat like he could hold the blood in, but it gushed out so fast and all he could do was clutch at his neck as his blood slipped, red and sticky, through his fingers.

  I took a moment to go over the thoughts again, trying to sift meaning from them. This guy had failed a test. What did that mean? Was the test to attack me? Why? A vampire could easily kill me themselves. Sure, it might piss off my sire, Sean, but it wasn’t like Sean was hovering around, letting anyone know that killing his former fledgling would have consequences. For all I knew, it wouldn’t. He was acting like I was a lost cause. Maybe, since I was human now, everyone had decided that wasn’t a concern.

  “Henri?” Cazimir’s voice jolted me from my thoughts and I turned to see him in the hall, his eyes narrowed.

  “He tried to kill me with a stake,” I said, pretending like I was only staring at the corpse and not shoving his dead blood in my mouth. The taste of pennies was hot on my tongue.

  “So you said. Odd choice, but perhaps it was only meant to scare you.”

  “And this is what? A gift? Or is this meant to scare me even more?”

  Cazimir considered the body, his lips pressed tightly together. Finally, he spoke. “It is a convoluted message from someone who does not know you well enough to know it will not be understood.”

  “That doesn’t tell me much.”

  “No,” Cazimir agreed. “It doesn’t.”

  I stared at the wide, dead eyes of the body and shivered. I wanted it gone, but the corpse itself didn’t scare me. The fact that someone could so easily slip into my apartment and leave such a thing did.

  Vampires can’t turn into smoke or bats and they can’t fly. Those are pure fantasies. But you don’t live hundreds of years without learning how to pick a lock. With vampire strength and agility, climbing up fire escapes or scaling walls is nothing. I’d always known on some level that I wasn’t safe from the monsters just because I locked my door, but I’d clung to that illusion. I’d needed that illusion to sleep and function as a human, since I no longer had immortal strength to defend myself.

  Sean breaking into my apartment was one thing. Hell, that was pretty much expected.

  But a stranger leaving a corpse in my shower? That left me feeling sick and violated in ways I hadn’t felt in a very long time.

  I left the bathroom and closed the door. The corpse was fresh enough that it didn’t stink, but I felt better having it behind a door.

  “How do we get rid of it?” I asked Cazimir. As a vampire, I’d been smart about killing, doing it in places where getting rid of the evidence would be easy. On occasion, I’d used Cazimir’s incinerator. Usually I’d found other ways. With super strength and speed, you can be like the Superman of body disposal: Is that a bird? A plane? No, it’s a vampire carrying a corpse too fast for you to clearly see or identify.

  Cazimir stared out the window, not answering my question. We’d both disposed of thousands of bodies as vampires, but now as humans it was an exponentially more difficult task. I was about to suggest calling Lark and asking if she’d send someone to get the body, just to see where Cazimir landed on that particular idea, when Cazimir stood and stepped closer to the window.

  “There’s a vampire outside,” he said.

  I rushed over and looked down, expecting to
see the dark-haired vampire in the hood. But it wasn’t him.

  Eva stood on the street across from my building, staring right back up at us. Something inside me snapped.

  Chapter 8

  Eva had what I wanted: immortality. And instead of enjoying it, she was stalking me like some kind of psychotic fangirl, hoping to get rid of the exact thing I’d kill to have.

  Between her following me around, the vampire with the dark hair lurking outside my building, and the bodies dropping at my feet, all my frustration and anger reached a boiling point. I was so goddamn tired of being a circus freak the vampires could gawk at, a miracle and dire warning depending on which group you spoke to, but always a fucking freak.

  And I was fucking tired of being human. The alcohol had worn off and left me sleepy and cranky and ready to hit the next person who inconvenienced me. Unfortunately, that person was currently dead in my shower and no amount of hitting would fix it.

  I marched to my bedroom and opened the closet. Pushing aside the hangers that held work shirts and dresses, I dragged a toolbox from the back. I opened it up and pulled out the construction-grade hacksaw. It wasn’t big, maybe a foot long, but it was razor sharp and it’d work. I grabbed the small power saw for good measure, though I’d only use that for the trickier parts as that kind of noise at this hour was bound to draw attention. This wouldn’t be the first corpse I’d ever dismembered. I didn’t have immortal muscles anymore, but I’d manage.

  I changed into sweat clothes I wasn’t too fond of and then I grabbed a box of big black plastic trash bags from the kitchen. I spread them out and taped them down on the bathroom floor and then stared at the body. It stared back.

  “Cazimir!” I yelled.

  “I am not a dog who comes when it’s called,” Cazimir said from the living room, his French accent theatrically thick.

  “You don’t want to piss me off right now. I already have one body to dismember. A second won’t make any difference.”