When Vamps Bite: A Mayhem of Magic World Story (Bedlam in Bethlehem Book 1)

by Nicole Zoltack

  “Don’t ‘Clarissa’ me. I don’t need a babysitter.”

  “It’s just… between the kid and the attack you witnessed… you’ve been through a lot lately.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  “With the help of Dr. Harris.”

  “You really think I’m crazy?” I hope not.

  “No.” But he pauses before saying that, sounding a little guilty.

  “If not crazy, then what?” I almost don’t want to hear his answer.

  “Overly stressed, that’s all. You tend to do this.”

  “Do what?” I spit out.

  I’m rapidly growing angry even if it’s unfair. Only by focusing on why he’s doing this, from a place of concern, can I hold back my tongue.

  “You tend to bottle everything up,” he says. “It eats away at you. You need someone to talk to, and you don’t seem to be willing to talk to me. Maybe being forced to talk to Dr. Harris will help some.”

  I snort skeptically. “She’s in love with her own voice. She talks more than her patients.”

  “Just give it a shot, okay? You sure about dinner?”

  “Rain check,” I promise.

  Without waiting for him to respond, I hang up, not feeling any happier.

  I’m not lying when I say I’m not hungry. Instead of food, what’s on the menu is proving what I saw. I can’t do anything about the kid, so I’ll do something to help Jane Doe.

  I’m gonna find her killer.

  The so-called vampire.

  Chapter 6

  My issued gun is still in custody, but I have a backup, a sleek Smith & Wesson. It’s been a little while since I’ve handled it, so I clean it first before loading it.

  My cell’s fully charged. Good. I try to keep it charged at all times. Plus, I always carry a portable charger. As long as there’s reception, my cell shouldn’t ever die on me.

  So gun, phone, and charger, check. Flashlight, check. Handcuffs, Check. Everything’s accounted for. Time to take it to the streets.

  Do I feel guilty as I slip out of my place? No. All right, maybe a little. Going about this alone doesn’t do anything for my nerves, but I won’t be able to convince Travis to help me. I know him well enough to know he’ll discourage me. He might even mention it to the detective sergeant or the lieutenant. That I can’t have. I’m on my own.

  Which is fine by me. I’ll prove what I saw, and then everyone will believe me.

  Not that it’ll help the kid…

  All right, yeah, I’ll admit it. I’m a mess.

  I drive within a block of where Jane Doe had been killed. It isn’t always easy in this city to find a parking spot on the street, but I manage. Alert, wary, I walk to the exact area. It’s been cleaned up for the most part. Why I’m here I don’t know because I doubt the perp will be hanging around nearby. Or maybe he will be tonight. It’s getting late already, and in an hour or so, it’ll be dark. Maybe he only comes out with the moon.

  Oh, so now he’s part werewolf?

  I rub my forehead. I’m giving myself a migraine.

  Frowning, I make my way out of the alley and back to the sidewalk. There’s not an empty spot on either side of the street. If Jane Doe parked nearby, her car would’ve been towed away by now. Mental note, call the impound lot.

  My jacket really isn’t strong enough against this bitter wind. It’s unseasonably cold. I burrow into it as much as I can, shoulders hunched to protect my ears. Head down, I walk the nearby alleys and streets. Nothing seems out of the ordinary. All in all, it’s a calm night.

  I put in a quick call to forensics. It takes some convincing to get Greg Kinder to open up considering he knows I’m on pseudo-suspension. I’ve wasted my time. He can’t tell me much of anything anyhow. No fibers or hairs were found at the scene or on the body, outside of my own hairs and DNA.

  Of course not.

  The forensic unit has a ton of theories about why they found nothing. They’re all as unrealistic as vampires or vampire wannabes.

  That call eats up the last remaining minutes of daylight. My hands, deep in my pockets, still feel like ice. This is pointless. If anyone finds out what I’m doing, I could get in serious trouble. What if I do happen to stumble on the murderer? What if he tries to “vamp” me? To bite me?

  I try calling Henrietta, but she doesn’t answer, and I can’t risk leaving her a message. Mental note, call her again and ask about the blood.

  I’m just putting away my phone when I overhear a faint sound. At once, I’m on full alert and sneak along toward the noises in the next alley. It’s so déjà vu it’s unreal.

  In the next alley, a man is sneaking behind a woman who is picking up the spilled contents of her purse. Her back is to him.

  I freeze. Their backs are to me. I can’t see to tell if he’s the guy I want, not that I’m certain I’d recognize him. Plus, he hasn’t committed a crime.

  Yet.

  It feels wrong waiting for him to make his move before I can nab him. Doesn’t matter. Gotta do what I gotta do. I hold my ground, my hand by my gun.

  The moment the guy grabs her by the neck, my gun is out. “Freeze!” I threaten.

  I gotta give the woman credit. She isn’t just a powerless victim. She elbows him and jerks herself free. She runs down the alley screaming.

  The guy darts after her, not heeding me at all. I fire a warning shot, but he’s rounding the corner.

  Damn!

  Running on fury and disgust, I tear after him, careful not to step on the lipstick the woman never retrieved.

  The guy has almost reached the end of the alley. The woman is long gone.

  My legs churn even faster, and with a burst of adrenaline, I jump and knock into the guy. He slams against the ground, his head connecting with a thud. His eyes flutter close.

  I grip his shirt. “You’re under arrest.”

  Badge or no badge, it doesn’t matter. Anyone, including civilians, can arrest someone.

  “But I didn’t do nothing!” he protests, upper lip curled with disgust.

  Despite his squirming, I manage to cuff him. Once he realizes he’s powerless, he slumps over, depressed.

  “Really?” I ask dryly, seizing her purse from his hand.

  “I… I…”

  “Stop talking.”

  The man somewhat cooperates as I call it in. As we’re waiting for a cruiser, I can’t keep quiet.

  “So what were you going to do?” I demand aggressively. “You were going to bite her, weren’t you? You were going to suck her blood.”

  “What? You’re talking crazy, lady.” He shakes his head, eyes wide with confusion.

  “You grabbed her neck.”

  “I grabbed her purse strap,” he insists.

  The strap is ripped.

  I stare hard at this guy, trying to see if he resembles the vamp from the other night. This guy is blond, and his eyes aren’t clouded with hate.

  Not the same guy.

  But it’s not as if more than one guy can’t think he’s a vampire.

  The sirens are just starting, and I quickly dig through the purse. The purse belongs to a Karen Alberson. Her address is only two blocks away.

  The police come, and he’s pushed into the back of a car.

  Diego Garcia approaches me, like always, an unlit cig hanging from the corner of his mouth. I’ve never seen him light one. “Thought I heard you were—”

  “So I’m supposed to turn my back when I witness a crime?” I can’t help being defensive.

  “Didn’t you just witness another crime?” his partner Felix Kerns asks.

  “Maybe,” I mutter, disgusted that life in the city has taken such a downward spiral. “Mind if I hitch a ride?”

  It’s demeaning, but I have to sit next to the perp. He rants and raves about how I attacked him until Diego and Felix burst out laughing. They don’t even have to say anything, but the perp shuts up, all sullen and bitter.

  It’s the same old song and dance from last time. When I’m b
rought before the lieutenant, let’s just say it’s not good.

  “What the hell, Tempest? Do you mind explaining yourself?”

  He’s standing behind his desk, leaning against his white knuckles. Not a good sign. Not a good sign at all.

  “I saw Alan Duff stalk Karen Alberson. He grabbed her by the neck and—”

  “The neck again.” The lieutenant’s face is redder than scarlet. “Don’t tell me—”

  “I had to be sure, Lieutenant, and he did snatch her purse.”

  He wearily rubs a hand down his face. His disapproval is even worse than his anger. “Duff claims you fired at him. Tell me that’s not true.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “Now tell me you didn’t just lie to me.”

  My silence reveals my guilt.

  “Hand it over.” He holds out a thick hand.

  I’m shocked. He can’t be serious.

  “Lieutenant—”

  “Hand it over!”

  I do, avoiding eye contact, teeth on edge. I know I have to turn it in, but that doesn’t mean I want to.

  But I comply. Without another word, I turn to leave, furious and a little resentful.

  “Did you think he was the murderer?”

  “I thought he might be,” I say over my shoulder.

  “And he’s not, correct?”

  “No, he’s not.”

  “Did he make a move to bite her like the other?”

  “I was afraid—”

  “Answer the question.”

  “No,” I confess.

  “Face me. Tempest…” He rubs his chin. There’s stubble there, which is unusual for him. He normally is so clean shaven I wondered if he shaved multiple times a day to keep it that smooth.

  “I was a little overzealous, I’ll admit, but, sir, there is a murderer—”

  “Out there who killed a woman with a weapon.”

  “The wound was jagged—”

  “A serrated blade. Henrietta has already made her report.”

  My eyes widen. She really thinks a blade made that wound? I need to talk to her!

  “Don’t you dare even think about talking to her. You’re on vacation, remember?” he grumbles.

  “Lieutenant—”

  “Stay in your house or, better yet, go away. The Poconos. The shore.”

  “The shore at this time of year?”

  He glowers at me, looking like he’s ready to bite me himself, bite my head off, that is. “My point is that you shouldn’t be running around the city, sneaking around in alleys. You’re a witness to a horrific crime, and I’m sorry for that—”

  “Allow me to be on the case,” I plead.

  The lieutenant shakes his head, much to my dismay. “You’re too close to the case, and it’s affecting your judgment as it is. Keep your head down.”

  I’m so furious that a muscle jumps in my throat. “But—”

  “Damn it, Tempest. You saw the murderer. Hasn’t it occurred to you that he saw you, too?”

  Actually, I’ve been so caught up in his actions that this tiny tidbit has escaped my notice.

  In that case, I need a gun to protect myself.

  Luckily, I found my dad had one hidden away in a box in the attic. I went through all of their belongings a few months after they died, the earliest I could handle the memories.

  No one knows about that gun but me. I doubt my mom ever knew about it.

  “I’ll be careful,” I promise, hoping my sudden cooperation doesn’t arouse his suspicions.

  “I don’t want you to be careful,” he grumbles irritably. “I want you to be safe.”

  I nod. “Understood, sir.”

  “Now go home. Straight home, Tempest.”

  Head low, I leave the precinct. I haven’t felt this low in a long time, but at least things can’t get much worse.

  But, as it turns out, I’m wrong about that. So very wrong.

  Chapter 7

  My bath helps me relax a little. I only tend to take them when I’m super stressed. My muscles are so tight, especially in my neck. Maybe I should splurge and get a massage. My mom got me one for graduating high school. Going to the appointment she set up before her murder had been one of the hardest things I ever did. It also had been the first step for me to try to accept that my life went on without them.

  That had also been the only professional massage I ever took.

  Then again, you don’t witness a murder every day. And now I really am on suspension. It’s like the lieutenant wants to put me under house arrest.

  His suggestion to leave the city just isn’t going to happen. I have no desire to leave. Considering I am the only witness to the murder, I don’t see how, in good conscience, I can flee. Because that’s what it would be. Fleeing.

  When it comes to flight or fight, I always pick fight.

  You have to, in order to be a cop. Lieutenant Reynolds has to understand that. Maybe he does, considering he seems to realize I won’t be leaving as much as he wants me to.

  I do spend the night at home. I try to read but can’t focus on the words. When I have to reread the same paragraph for the fifth time, I toss the book onto my coffee table. Maybe there’s something good to watch on Netflix.

  Nope.

  All right. Loneliness is starting to creep in. I already called Henrietta as soon as I came home. She didn’t answer. Travis is either working or spending time with Ali, as he should be.

  I text my best friend Samantha Hendricks. When she doesn’t respond, I call her, but she doesn’t pick up either. I haven’t had a chance to tell her about everything. Travis is right. She’s as much of a workaholic as I am.

  Just to have background noise on, I put on a random movie from Netflix and sprawl out on the couch. My eyelids grow heavy, and I don’t fight sleep. When I wake up, goosebumps cover my arms and legs. My chest is tight, and a sense of panic overwhelms me. Whatever dream I had must’ve been a doozy. Most likely, it’d been a nightmare, and I’m glad I can’t recall it.

  Groaning, brushing aside remnants of fear and anxiety, I sit up and meander into the kitchen. I should make myself something for dinner. One of the worst parts about living alone is cooking dinner for one every night. It’s downright depressing. Either you have to make a new mini meal every night or you have leftovers for a month.

  Instead, I opt for more Touchdown Sundae ice cream. I settle onto the couch and flip through the channels. Suddenly, the hairs on the back of my neck rise, worrying me all over again.

  Someone is watching me.

  I pick up my father’s gun from the side table, wishing I took the time to get it in working order. At least it will look threatening to an intruder.

  If there is an intruder.

  Paranoid, I scan the windows I locked earlier. All closed, but someone could have popped the cheap locks and snuck in. Maybe that’s why I woke, from a noise I hadn’t actually registered, but my subconscious had.

  Or maybe I really am losing my mind.

  You’re pathetic, Clarissa. Jumpy and scared yet from a nightmare. What are you? Two? You should be ashamed of yourself.

  That’s when I see a dark form in the shadows near the stairs.

  “Who’s there?” I demand, voice loud, both hands holding the gun, arms outstretched, feet planted, eyes narrowed. Terror has no business taking residence within my house or within me. “You’re trespassing. If you leave now, I won’t call the police.”

  The form slowly detaches from the shadows. He’s taller than I am, maybe by an entire foot. As he steps closer, the bluish shine from the TV casts him in an eerie ethereal light. The glow reflects from his long, almost fang-like teeth.

  At first, I’m positive this is the same man from before, the murderer, but I can’t be sure. Had he been this tall? He had been hunched over the woman, his teeth, fangs, buried into her neck.

  Implants, maybe? Teeth aren’t that long, and they definitely aren’t filed down to points. He’s insane. A vamp wannabe.

  A scream
rings out from the TV, and I jolt, my heart thundering in my ears.

  He glances at the screen. Without moving, the TV is turned off. How? He couldn’t have moved that fast.

  His gaze falls on my gun.

  “I’ll shoot,” I warn. “Leave now—”

  “I’ll leave after you listen.” His voice is melodious, deep and lyrical, unlike any I’ve ever heard before. The more I look at him, the more I’m certain that he’s not the same man as the murderer. This man’s eyes are red. I would’ve noticed that about the murderer. Or would I have? It all happened so fast, and when he looked my way, I focused on his blood-smeared chin and bloodstained teeth… fangs…

  I shake away the mental image of the murderer and his victim and focus on the intruder standing before me.

  “You wanna talk to me, you can talk to me. From the other side of my front door.” I gesture toward the door with my gun.

  He doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. “If you—”

  “You stay right there.” I reach for my cell. He might be the murderer, he might not, but he’s going downtown. The lieutenant is gonna love this.

  My cell isn’t in my hand anymore. It’s in his.

  How in the world is he doing this?

  “Give me that back.”

  He closes his hands into a fist. My cell shatters, and he tosses the pieces my way. “If you want to wear the badge another day, you’ll give up the hunt.”

  Praying this won’t backfire, praying it’ll work, I pull the trigger. Reckless, yes, but this guy is threatening me. He’s clearly dangerous.

  The gun fires. The bullet pierces him square in his chest. A perfect shot.

  No blood forms from the wound. He doesn’t scream. He doesn’t react at all except to blink.

  “If you want to wear the badge another day, you’ll give up the hunt,” he repeats.

  And he disappears.

  Despite my mounting fright, I smile smugly, head to my PC, and look at what my cameras caught. I’ve never been so thankful for the idiot teens whose antics forced me to buy a surveillance system. Seriously, who breaks into a cop’s home to steal a DVD of Halloween that skips from being overplayed?

  To my dismay, my excitement turns into frustration. I should’ve bought a higher end model. One second, the guy is there, the next he’s gone. There’s a slight blur between the frames when the TV is on and then off. The footage is worthless.