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

by Nicole Zoltack

  Down the block and around the corner, I spy a woman walking fast in heels. Her arms are crossed tightly around her to keep her coat closed. Seems to me that she’s leaving that bar, and a guy is walking fast enough to pull even with her.

  She glances over at him. “Look, I told you already, I’m not interested.”

  Hm. He’s smiling widely at her and his teeth are decidedly normal, albeit a little overcrowded. Although he’s not acting like a vamp or a vamp wannabe, he’s acting like a creeper all the same. I opt to trail behind, just in case.

  “I just want to walk you safely to your car. That’s all. There’s a lot of…” He glances around and drapes his arm across her shoulders. “…lowlifes around.”

  “The only lowlife around is you.” She tries to shove him away.

  He pushes her into an alley. “You’re so uptight.”

  “Hhhh!” She tries to scream, but he clamps a hand over her mouth.

  Okay, I’ve seen enough.

  “Hey, buddy. You’re the uptight one.” I stalk toward them.

  He jerks back, his hand still on her mouth, his other arm wrapped around her waist. “Want in on the action?” he asks with a smirk.

  I hold out my Louisville Slugger, pointing it at him. “Only if she gets a turn first.”

  His eyes widen. He backs up, forcing the woman to retreat, too, but then he shoves her toward me and takes off.

  The woman manages not to fall. She shakes a fist in his direction and releases a string of curses that would make a sailor blush.

  I only have the bat and no badge, so I let the guy go. “Do you want me to call the police?” I ask, not bothering to mention that I’m a cop myself.

  She shakes her head. “He’s nothing but a scumbag who thinks that every woman would be lucky if they spread their legs for him.”

  “Yeah, but guys like that, they’ll just keep trying to pick up other women. If they’re that persistent, you have to think they don’t take no for an answer, and…”

  And she doesn’t need to hear this.

  “Sorry. Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.” She pats her hair, trying to look composed, but she’s clearly flustered. Her eyes widen when she notices my bat. “What the…”

  “Want me to walk you to your car?” I shake the weapon. “In case another guy that comes along…”

  “You’re kinda scary, you know that?”

  I shrug.

  She nods, and I walk her the half block to her car. Once her taillights disappear into the gloom of the night, I debate what to do. That woman’s right. I am crazy. Walking around Bethlehem with a Louisville Slugger like some kind of crazy vigilante.

  Head down but taking notice of everything, I walk quickly toward my car. A quick peek inside, and I breathe easier. No one’s lurking in the back seat, not that I thought someone would break into my car. It’s too old to draw attention to a thief, but it runs well. I plan on running her into the ground.

  The bat rests on my shoulder as I press to unlock it. I’m just placing the bat on the passenger seat when a fog rolls by me, swift and severe and oh so cold. My teeth chatter as I shut the door and settle behind the wheel. I check the rearview mirror to pull out of the spot. Startled, I nearly jump out of my skin when I glimpse a man sitting behind me.

  The same man who broke into my house.

  My fingers curl around the bat as anger floods my system. “Get the…”

  He’s gone. Out of my car. Where did he go?

  My fingers don’t tremble as I shove the key into the ignition. Doesn’t matter. My door flings open.

  No one is there.

  I am so getting creeped out right now.

  Scared witless, I yank the door shut, ready to start the car and peel out of here, but a hand strong-arms the door open, making the metal screech, almost forcing the door clear off the frame!

  Another hand appears, grabbing my jacket. I seize the bat as I’m yanked out of the car.

  My feet hit the ground, and I swing with all of my might, but the man is gone.

  Behind me. Ridiculing me.

  “You need to be taught a lesson,” he threatens.

  Chapter 11

  “What are you going to do?” I ask in a taunting tone, not daring to give into the icy tendrils of fear lacing through me.

  Fright leads to mistakes. Fear leads to death. I’m not ready to die yet. I’m definitely not going to allow this long-toothed goon to gnaw on my jugular and drink my blood.

  “Are you really gonna fight me here,” I demand, voice not wavering, “within eyeshot of—”

  A gust of wind blows, and in the blink of an eye, I’m standing in Saucon Park.

  A closed and deserted Saucon Park.

  With no eyewitnesses.

  “You were saying?” The smirk on the vamp wannabe’s face needs to be forcibly removed.

  Here’s my chance. If I can just cuff him, arrest him, everyone would realize that I’m right, that I’m not a loon. Should I let him bite me, though, to prove the vamp wannabe bit?

  I’m certifiable that I even thought about doing that.

  I swing again. He doesn’t seem to move, but I still miss him. His grin widens, and his arm seems to extend too far, stretching like Gumby. His fingers reach for my neck.

  I swing again, and third time’s the charm. The bat connects with his arm. He takes the blow in stride, not reacting at all, his long fingers still reaching for me.

  I duck and slide to the left, bringing the bat back up, but he matches me stride for stride.

  Our awkward dance continues, awkward on my part only. I stumble a few times and almost fall, but his movements are fluid, graceful. He’s a master dancer of the macabre waltz, and I’m an abandoned puppet left to choke on my strings. My feet don’t know where to go. Rocks seem to jump out at me, daring me to trip. The bat feels like it weighs a ton in my hands. My arm muscles burn in agony at the thought of trying to swing for the hundredth time.

  But I push through the discomfort and keep on swinging, embracing the pain like it’s a long-lost lover. Better to feel pain than to feel the empty void of death.

  “I will not die,” I whisper, but my chant, my mantra, my hope comes out in a desperate plea that belies my will.

  He pauses, holding unnaturally still. “You will not die tonight. What’s the point of teaching you a lesson to just kill you?”

  In a sick and twisted way, he has a point.

  Undeterred, I swing the bat with all the hatred and disgust I can muster. His hand stops it. His fingers create impressions within the aluminum. He yanks it out of my hands so fast that my palms burn from the friction.

  He tosses the bat lazily over his shoulder. Somehow, it lands far away, out of sight, hidden within the shadows of the park. Without seeming to move, he’s in front of me, lifting me into the air as if I’m a ragdoll.

  But I’m not a doll. I’m not made of glass or porcelain, and I kick, scratch, claw, and bite.

  To no avail.

  Torn between fright and fury, I’m ready to fight some more, but his fingers squeeze. My vision darkens. I’m dismayed to realize I’m going to pass out. The last thing I’ll see is the mirth in his red eyes.

  He tilts my head to the side, moving my hair back.

  No way. I will not, will not, allow myself to be bitten.

  With both hands, I grip his wrist and twist, but he just laughs at me, the sound maniacal and demented.

  Fear wells within me despite myself, and I channel it, turning into a kind of circus performer. I kick my legs up and hook them over his arm, forcing him to break free of his hold on my neck. He bends down as he releases me, but then he straightens as I scramble to my feet. Yeah, I didn’t land properly.

  His shoe connects with my side, and I gasp and wheeze. He bull rushes me, his breath freezing against my neck. “You stick your nose where it doesn’t belong again. It’ll be bitten off before you’re drained of every drop of blood from your body.”

  With that, he th
rows me down to the ground.

  By the time I straighten to a sitting position, he’s long gone.

  Chapter 12

  I’m not sure how long I sit there. My chest aches with each breath. My legs don’t want to support me, so I just remain in this spot until my phone vibrates in my pocket. I’m about to decline the call when I see it’s Samantha.

  I answer with, “Are you busy?”

  “No. What do you need? A body bag and a shovel?”

  If I had my way with the vamp, the answer would be yes. Or a dustpan and brush for the ashes. I’m not sure if vamps are real or not, but this guy is making me wonder if they are. I’ve always been the kind to scoff at the supernatural and séances and all of that, but now I’m just not sure. Torn between dismay, resentment, and disgust, I find it so hard to not hate myself for failing to take down the vamp. Why couldn’t I have at least brought him in?

  “What is it?” she asks quietly.

  “I need a ride to the hospital.”

  “Where are you?”

  Within five minutes, which means she breaks every speed limit on the way, she arrives. She takes one look at me and heads straight for the emergency department at St. Luke’s.

  Thankfully, I’ve worked with the receptionist before at the homeless shelter she volunteers at on the weekends. Addicts sometimes hang out, and I’ve busted a few deals there. Thankfully, she pushes for me to go through almost immediately.

  Samantha refuses to leave my side, but I convince the nurse to force her to go to the café. My best friend, of course, resists, but the nurse is good at her job and ends up pushing Samantha out the door.

  I’m woozy and in and out a little, so I’m not sure how long it takes for the doctor to come in. Piercing gray eyes, black hair, tan skin, he kinda looks like a cover model, just like Samantha’s latest fitness client.

  “Clarissa Tempest, what happened to you? Do you want the police notified?”

  He’s good. He doesn’t appear shocked at my appearance, strictly professional. I appreciate that.

  “If you call the police, they’ll want to know about the other guy, and I don’t want that.”

  A look of pain crosses his features. “You shouldn’t feel like you have to defend an abuser—”

  “Believe me. It’s not what you think.” I rub my neck, so grateful that the skin remains unmarred, but when I think about how close I came to being bitten…

  He glances at my monitors, and my sudden rapid increased heart rate. “Would you like a sedative to help you sleep? The police can come—”

  “I don’t want the police to come. I’m a cop myself.” My head is killing me, and my mind feels foggy. The numbness in the rest of my body freaks me out, though. “Do you like cops?” I ask. “Not everyone does.”

  Why am I saying all of this? I need duct tape STAT. Or a staple gun. A suture kit! That would work! Anything to stop this verbal diarrhea.

  “I don’t know,” I continue when he doesn’t respond. Doesn’t he like cops? Maybe he doesn’t like me. Maybe I should shut up. “It’s not like cops are bad people. We just do our jobs like everyone else. You’re a good doctor, right?”

  “I like to think so.” He rubs the back of his neck.

  “I’m a good cop. Mostly. Kinda. I used to be.” I shake my head. “I’m dizzy. Why am I dizzy?”

  “Just relax,” he murmurs. “Breathe in through your—”

  “You never answered my question.” I glare at him. At all three of him. My vision’s a little blurred.

  “I appreciate that officers who do their job and protect our city and the city’s best interests.”

  I beam. “So you do like me!”

  Seriously. I need to just stop talking.

  I do tend to get a little rambling after a fight. Usually, it’s just a bunch of crazy thoughts. Nothing verbal. Some people want to fall into bed with someone, wanting to connect with someone after something so awful. Me, I just want to sort everything out.

  Right now, I’m not sorting much of anything out. It’s just a bunch of randomness.

  Maybe it’s the adrenaline rush and my wounds.

  “What injuries do I have?” I ask, grateful my traitorous tongue asks only that simple question and adds nothing else to embarrass me.

  “Bruised ribs, minor cuts, and lacerations. I suspect you’ll have a lot more bruises show up shortly.” He strokes his clean-shaven chin. He’d probably look even hotter with a five o’clock shadow. “I understand that you might feel embarrassed—”

  “So, you’re a shrink on top of being an ER doc. Wow. That’s impressive.” I grin so even though my words are delivered a little sharply, he’ll realize I’m only joking. Can a cat come along and get my tongue, please?

  “I’m not trying to pry. That’s not my job. It’s just that… Some women claim their injuries are self-inflicted when they’re trying to protect a loved one who is abusing them. It bothers me. I can only help treat their bodies and not their minds, not their hearts.”

  “What’s your name again? I’m sorry. I don’t remember.”

  His grin is quick to form. Five o’clock shadow or not, he is one seriously good-looking man. “Don’t worry about it. You’re allowed to be forgetful. I’m Dr. Cline. Dr. Dean Cline.”

  “Well, Dr. Dean, if I can take a gander at the whole shrink thing, I think you have a hero complex.”

  He places his hands on his chest and staggers back. “You got me.” Laughing, he reaches for the stethoscope around his neck. “Do you mind if I examine you now?”

  He’s efficient, quick but thorough. “You can go in a few hours. You might want to try and rest… Or not.”

  “Not.” I laugh and wince. Bruised ribs aren’t fun, even if they’re mostly numb.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” he says, walking backward to the door, “but I hope we don’t see each other again.”

  “You mean you don’t want to see me bruised and bleeding?”

  “Not at all.” His smile is so wide I think I spy a baby dimple.

  Hair falls forward, and itches against my neck. I brush it away impatiently. “Dr. Dean, can I ask you a question?”

  His eyes widen. “Of course.”

  I motion him closer.

  After a moment, he complies, his brow furrowing. “Is it about your attacker?”

  I nod, and even though we’ve been joking, I can’t maintain eye contact. “I know this is going to sound crazy and maybe you can’t tell me anything because of HIPAA, but…” Rubbing my neck only increases my anxiety. “I’m helping to investigate a murder—”

  “Jennifer Hamilton?”

  An informed doctor. He’s almost too good to be true. Move over, Marlon.

  “Yes. She had marks on her neck that might have been made from a blade or from… teeth. Have you seen anything like that before? A possible victim who survived?” I ask my questions in a rush.

  A moment passes, and I work up the courage to glance at him. He’s stroking his chin, his face expressionless. Then he nods. “One. She came in last night actually. I…”

  “Can you give me her name? Normally I would never ask, but it’s for the investigation. If you need me to get a court order for you to release the name, I will.” Actually, I might not be able to secure it, but I’d see if I can’t get it anyhow.

  “Without a subpoena, I can’t tell you much.” Doctor Dean glances around. “Her name is Calinda Moore. I can’t give you anything more than that.”

  “Great. Thank you so much, Dr. Dean.”

  His laugh is soft, pleasing. “No one calls me that.”

  My cheeks flush. “Sorry. Dr. Cline.”

  “You can call me whatever you like. Do you have any other questions for me?”

  “Go ahead and tend to your other patients. I’ll be fine.”

  He nods yet hesitates in the doorway. Maybe he has more information to share, but he walks out of the doorway and disappears from sight.

  I pick up my phone and quickly scroll through ne
ws stories on Calinda Moore. Details on her attack are vague. She’d been victimized a few blocks away from the hospital and walked here to St. Luke’s afterward. Sounds like a strong woman.

  Samantha comes back and argues with me that I should stay as long as the hospital offers me a bed. Nope. I want out. She takes the day off, explaining to her clients that rest days are important.

  “We all need to recharge and refuel our bodies.” She spins it in such a way that they thank her. She really has a gift for talking her way out of anything. Back in high school, I used to tease her that she could talk her way out of murder. She’d always say that I would catch her anyhow.

  After picking up my prescription, Samantha drives me back so I can pick up my car. It’s dented, and the one door won’t close right. Abandoning a damaged car would catch one of my coworkers’ attention. Can’t risk that.

  I drive back home and park in the back, Samantha following. As far as I can tell, we avoided detection from my detail. At least one thing’s going in my favor.

  All day long, we watch movies and catch up. It’s refreshing in a way but also stifling because I want to hunt down Calinda Moore. I’m torn between anger, frustration, and just wanting to relax without feeling guilty.

  Samantha suggests she should spend the night, but I draw the line. She opens the front door to leave but pauses. “Hey. That cop car’s been sitting there all day. Clarissa, you know I’m not one to pry, but if you want to talk about what’s going on, you know I have two ears.”

  “So does everyone else.”

  “Yes, but I have two ears and care about you.” She hugs me. “All right. I’m off. Call me if you need me!”

  I wave and lock up the door behind her. It’s too late to call Calinda Moore tonight, but first thing in the morning, I’m heading over to her house. As much as I hope she would be the last victim, I know better.

  Chapter 13

  Scratch that. Not first thing in the morning. I wake up stiff and sore and can hardly roll over in bed. Good thing I had the foresight to leave myself my medicine and a glass of water on my nightstand.