Bloody Bones (18 page)

“Ask,” he said.

“How young?”

“Twelve, fourteen, older if they look young enough.”

“Like Jeff Quinlan,” I said.

“I fear so.”

“Is this vampire into more than just kidnapping?”

“What do you mean,
ma petite
?”

“Murder, not just biting them, but murder.”

“What sort of murder?”

I hesitated. I didn't discuss ongoing police investigations with the monsters.

“I know you do not trust me,
ma petite
, but it is important. Tell me of these deaths, please.”

He didn't say please very often. I told him. Not in great detail, but enough.

“Were they violated?”

“What do you mean, violated?” I asked.

“Violated,
ma petite
, violated. There are other words for it, but none better for children.”

“Oh,” I said. “I don't know if they were sexually assaulted. They were still clothed.”

“There are things that can be done without removing clothing,
ma petite
. But the abuse would have happened before the killings. Systematic abuse over a period of weeks or months.”

“I'll find out if they were assaulted.” An idea occurred to me. “Would this vamp ever do a girl?”

“By ‘do,' you mean sex?”

“Yeah.”

“If pressed for company, he would take a young girl, pre-pubescent, but only if he could find nothing else.”

I swallowed hard. We were talking about children like they were things, objects. “No, this girl looked like a woman. She didn't look young.”

“Then, no, he would not willingly touch her.”

“What do you mean, willingly? What other choice would there be?”

“His master could order him to do it, and he might, if he feared the master enough. Though I cannot think of many people that he would fear enough to do something he found repugnant.”

“You know this vampire. Who is he? Give me a name.”

“When I arrive,
ma petite
.”

“Just give me the name.”

“So you can give it to the police?”

“That is their job.”

“No,
ma petite
. If it is who I think it is, it will not be a matter for the police.”

“Why not?”

“Put simply, he is too dangerous and too exotic to be revealed to the general public. If mortals found out we could have among us such things, they might turn on us all together. You must be aware of that nasty law floating around the Senate.”

“I'm aware.”

“Then you must understand my caution.”

“Maybe, but if more people die because of your caution, it's going to help Brewster's law get passed. You think about that.”

“Oh, I am,
ma petite
. Trust that I am. Now farewell. I have much to do.” He hung up.

I sat there staring at the phone. Damn him. What did he mean by exotic? What could this new vampire do that others couldn't? He could slim himself down enough to fit
through a doggie door. Maybe it made Houdini jealous, but it was hardly a crime. But I remembered its face. Not human. Not even just a corpse's face. It had been something else altogether. Something different. And I remembered those few seconds I lost, twice. Me, the great vampire hunter, helpless as any civilian for just a heartbeat. With vampires, a heartbeat was enough.

Visions of such things would get you talking of demons, which Quinlan had done briefly. The police ignored him, and I didn't back up his story. Quinlan had never met a real demon, or he wouldn't have made the mistake. Once you've been in the presence of demons, you never forget it. I'd rather fight a dozen vampires than one demonic presence. They don't give a shit about silver bullets.

17

I
T WAS AFTER
2:00
A
.
M
. before we got back to the graveyard. The Feds had kept us forever, like they didn't believe we were telling them the whole truth. Fancy that. I hated being accused of concealing evidence when I wasn't. Made me want to lie to them just so they wouldn't be disappointed. I think Freemont had painted a less than charitable picture of me. That'll teach me to be generous. But it seemed petty to point fingers at each other, and say she did it, when Beth St. John's blood was still wet on the carpet.

The wind that had all but promised rain had drifted away. The thick clouds that had obscured the woods while we were playing tag with vampires were suddenly gone. The moon rode high and two days past full. Since dating Richard, I'd paid more attention to the lunar cycles. Fancy that.

The moon sailed the shining night sky, gleaming like it had been polished. The moonlight was so strong it cast faint shadows. You didn't need a flashlight, but Raymond Stirling
had one. A big freaking halogen torch that filled his hand like a captive sun.

I watched him start to point it at Larry and me. I raised an arm and said, “Don't point it at us. You'll ruin our night vision.” It wasn't very diplomatic, but I was tired, and it had been a long night.

He hesitated in mid-motion. I didn't have to see his face to know he didn't like it. Men like Raymond give orders better than they take them.

He clicked off the light. Good for him. He waited with Ms. Harrison, Bayard, and Beau gathered around him. He was the only one with a flashlight. I bet that his entourage wasn't worried about night vision, and would have liked to have had a light.

Larry and I were still wearing the coveralls. I was getting tired of mine. What I really wanted to do was go back to the hotel and sleep. But once Jean-Claude arrived I wouldn't be sleeping anyway; might as well work. Besides, Stirling was my only paying client. Well, yeah I do get money for killing vampires if it's a legal kill, but it's not a lot of money. Stirling was financing this trip. He deserved his money's worth, I guess.

“We've been waiting for a very long time, Ms. Blake.”

“I'm sorry that the death of a young girl inconvenienced you, Mr. Stirling. Shall we go up?”

“I am not unsympathetic to another's loss, Ms. Blake, and I resent the implication that I am.” He stood there in the moonlit dark, very straight, very commanding. Ms. Harrison and Bayard moved a little closer, showing support. Beau just stood there, looking sort of amused behind Stirling's back. He was wearing a black slicker with a hood. He looked like a phantom.

I looked up at the clear, sparkling sky. Looked at Beau. He grinned broadly enough for his teeth to flash in the moonlight. I just shook my head and let it go. Maybe he'd been a Boy Scout, always prepared and all that.

“Fine, whatever you say. Let's get this over with.” I didn't wait for them. I just walked past them and started up.

Larry, at my side, said, “You're being rude.”

I glanced at him.

“Yeah, I am.”

“He is a paying client, Anita.”

“Look, I don't need you to chastise me, okay?”

“What's wrong with you?”

I stopped. “What we just left is what's wrong with me. I'd think it'd bother you a little more, too.”

“It bothers me, but I don't have to take it out on everyone else.”

I took a deep breath and let it out slow. He was right. Damn. “Alright, you've made your point. I'll try to be nicer.”

Stirling marched up to us, entourage in tow. “Are you coming, Ms. Blake?” He walked past us, his back ramrod-straight.

Ms. Harrison stumbled, and only Bayard's grab on her elbow kept her from falling flat on her butt. She was still wearing her high heels. Maybe it was against the executive secretary code to wear tennis shoes.

Beau followed with his black slicker flapping around his long legs. It made a distinctive
slap
-
slap
sound that was most irritating.

Okay, maybe everything was irritating right now. I was feeling decidedly grumpy. Jeff Quinlan was out there somewhere. He was either already dead or had one bite by now. It wasn't my fault. I'd told his father to put a piece of the host in front of every entrance. I would have thought of the doggie door if I'd seen it, but I'd never gone that far into the house. Even I would have thought it was paranoid to guard the doggie entrance. But I would have done it, and Beth St. John would be alive.

I'd dropped the ball. I couldn't bring Beth St. John back, but I could save Jeff. And I would. I would. I didn't want to avenge him by killing the vampire that killed him. For once I wanted to be in time. For once I wanted to save someone and leave revenge for someone else.

Was Jeff being violated, right this minute? Was that thing I'd seen in the Quinlans' living room doing more than just biting his neck? God, I hoped not. I was pretty sure I could
bring Jeff back from a vampire bite, but combine that with rape by a monster, and I wasn't so sure. What if I found him and there wasn't much left to save? The mind is a surprisingly fragile thing sometimes.

I prayed as we walked up the hill. I prayed and felt a measure of calm return. No visions. No angels singing. But a feeling of peace flowed over me. I took a deep breath, and something hard and tight and ugly in my heart let go. I took it as a good sign that I'd get to Jeff in time. But part of me was skeptical. God doesn't always save someone. Often He just helps you live through the loss. I guess I don't entirely trust God. I never doubt Him, but His motives are too beyond me. Through a glass darkly and all that. Just once I'd like to see through the damn glass clearly.

The moon shone down on the top of the hill like silver fire. The air was almost luminescent. The rain was gone, giving its blessing somewhere else. Heaven knows we could have used the rain, but personally I was just as glad I didn't have to walk the raw dirt in a downpour. Mud would have been just too perfect.

“Well, Ms. Blake, shall we begin?” Stirling asked.

I glanced at him. “Yeah.” I took a breath and swallowed the blunt things I wanted to say. Larry was right. Stirling was a pain in the ass, but he wasn't who I was mad at. He was just a convenient target.

“Mr. Kirkland and I will walk the graveyard. But you need to stay here. Other people moving around are very distracting.” There; that was diplomatic.

“If you were going to make us stand here like an audience, you could have said so at the bottom of this mountain. And saved us the walk.”

So much for diplomacy. “Would you have liked me telling you to stay at the bottom of the hill where you couldn't see what we were doing?”

He thought about that for a minute. “No, I suppose I wouldn't have liked it.”

“Then what are you complaining about?”

“Anita,” Larry said very softly under his breath.

I ignored him. “Look, Mr. Stirling, it has been a really
rough night. I am just out of niceness right now. Please, just let me do my job. The faster I get this done, the sooner we go home. Okay?”

Honesty. I was hoping profound honesty would work. It was about all I had left.

He hesitated a minute, then nodded. “All right, Ms. Blake. Do your job, but know this. You have been decidedly unpleasant. It better be pretty spectacular.”

I opened my mouth, and Larry touched my arm. He gripped my arm not too hard, but hard enough. I swallowed what I was going to say and walked away from all of them. Larry trailed after me. Brave Larry.

“What's the matter with you tonight?” he asked when we were out of earshot of Stirling and Co.

“I told you.”

“No,” he said, “it isn't just the murder tonight. Hell, I've seen you kill people and be less upset afterwards. What's wrong?”

I stopped walking and just stood there for a minute. He'd seen me kill people and be less upset. Was that true? I thought about it for a heartbeat. It was true. That was pretty damn sad.

I knew what was wrong. I'd seen too many slaughtered people in the last few months. Too much blood. Too much killing. I'd done some of the killing. Not all of it had been sanctioned by the state. I also wanted to be looking for Jeff Quinlan. I couldn't do anything until Jean-Claude arrived. I really couldn't. But I felt like my job was interfering with my police work. Was that a bad sign? Or a good one?

I took a deep breath of the cool mountain air. I let it out very slowly, concentrating on just breathing, in and out, in and out. When I felt calm again, I looked at Larry.

“I'm just a little on edge tonight, Larry. I'll be alright.”

“If I said a little on edge with a surprised lilt in my voice, would you get mad?”

I smiled. “Yeah, I would.”

“You've been in a blacker mood than usual since you talked to Jean-Claude. What's up?”

I stared into his smiling face and didn't want to tell him.
He wasn't that much older than Jeff Quinlan, four years. He could still have passed for a high-schooler. “Fine,” I said, and told him.

“A vampire pedophile; isn't that against the rules?”

“What rules?”

“That you can only be one kind of monster at a time.”

“It kind of caught me off guard, too.”

A strange look flashed across his face. “Sweet Jesus, Jeff Quinlan is with that thing.” He looked at me, all the horror, all the pain, or as much as he could imagine, flowing across his face. “We have to do something, Anita. We have to save him.” He turned as if to go back down the mountain.

I grabbed his arm. “We can't do anything until Jean-Claude arrives.”

“But we can't just do nothing.”

“We aren't doing nothing. We're doing our job.”

“But how can we . . .”

“Because we can't do anything else right now.”

Larry looked at me for a second, then nodded. “Okay; if you can be calm, so can I.”

“Good man.”

“Thanks. Now show me this nifty trick you've been talking about. I've never heard of anyone who could read the dead without raising them first.”

Truthfully, I didn't know if Larry could do it. But telling him he might not be able to was not going to help his confidence. Magic, if that was the right word, often rises and falls on your own belief in your abilities. I've seen very powerful people completely crippled by self-doubt.

“I'm going to walk the cemetery.” I tried to think of how to put it into words. How do you explain something that you don't fully understand yourself?

I have always had an affinity with the dead. Even as a small child, I always knew if the soul had fled the body. I remember my great-aunt Katerine's funeral. I'm named after her, my middle name. She was my father's favorite aunt. We went early to view the body and make sure everything was ready. I felt her soul hovering above the coffin. I looked up expecting to see it, but there was nothing for my eyes to hold
onto. I've never seen a soul. I've felt them, but I've never seen one.

I know now that Aunt Katerine's soul hung around a long time. Most souls leave within three days, some leave instantly, some don't. My mother's soul was gone by the time the funeral arrived. I didn't feel her there. There was nothing but a closed coffin and a blanket of pink roses over the coffin, as if the coffin would get cold.

It was at home where I felt my mother hovering close. Not her soul, not really, but some piece of her that couldn't let go immediately. I would hear her footsteps in the hall outside my bedroom as if she was coming to kiss me good night. She moved through the house for months, and I found it comforting. When she finally left, I was ready to let her go. I never told my father. I was only eight, but even then I knew that he couldn't hear her. Maybe he heard other things. I don't know. My father and I never talked much about my mother's death. It made him cry.

I'd been able to sense ghosts long before I could raise the dead. What I was about to do was just an extension of that, or maybe a combination of both skills. I don't know. But it was like trying to explain that there was a soul hovering over Aunt Katerine's coffin. Either you knew the soul was there or you didn't. Words didn't quite cover it.