Second Chance (3 page)

J
oss followed behind his uncle, crossing yet another street, and turned down an alley. They’d left the brownstone immediately after Abraham’s announcement, and Joss hadn’t questioned it. After all, he was there to follow orders.

At the end of the alley stood a group of people. Three men, three women. Two of the men were looking back over their shoulders at the approaching Slayers. The rest were focusing on whatever was lying on the ground at the center of their group. As Joss approached with his team, he, Morgan, Paty, Ash, and Cratian exchanged looks. What was going on exactly? Who was dead? Who were these people? Why were they here? And what exactly was causing the worried tingle that was crossing Joss’s nerves?

This had nothing to do with Vlad, or with the fact that Joss had tried and failed to kill the creature, under a private contract. Did it?

No. That would be ridiculous. Joss was just panicking. As long as he managed to keep his cool, everything would be fine and Uncle Abraham would be none the wiser.

With a deep, calming breath, Joss followed the others deeper into the alley. His stomach roiled when he saw the body lying on the ground. Its neck had been torn open on one side, but curiously, there was no pool of blood on the pavement beneath it. For a moment, Joss’s world tilted. But then it righted itself again. He’d never seen gore like this. Sure, he’d seen death before. But this seemed so deliberate, so . . . cruel.

A tall man with broad shoulders and stringy blond hair pressed a button on his cell phone and put it to his ear. “This is Mason. I need a cleanup in the alley between Tenth and Eleventh, off University Place. It’s open to the street, so entry should be easy. A man’s been killed. Fairly certain he was a victim of a vampire crime.”

After a pause, he said, “No assisted exit needed. My team’s on the scene.”

He hung up, and as he slipped the phone into his pocket, he addressed Joss’s Slayer family. “None of what I’m about to tell you leaves this group. Understood?”

Nods moved across the alley like a stadium crowd doing the wave. When they were finished, the newcomer continued. “We’re the Slayer team responsible for protecting Manhattan. It’s a daunting task, as the vampires seem to run wild here in the city. But lately, things have taken a turn for the worse.”

His eyes fell to the fresh corpse. Joss’s followed, but only for a moment, as he could feel his world tilting once again.

“There’s a serial killer on the loose, and we’re pretty damn sure it’s a vampire. The victims have had their necks torn open, and are, in most cases, completely drained of blood. Local police think it’s some kind of freak with a blood fetish, but this has vamp written all over it. The trouble is . . . we haven’t been able to locate the killer.”

With a glimmer of shame in his eyes, the man flicked a glance in Abraham’s direction before continuing. “After meeting with the Society elders, it’s been determined that perhaps our only option is to bring in a special-ops team to take the case over. And thanks to the skill demonstrated by young Mister McMillan here last summer in the Catskills, you’re that team.”

A small lump formed in Joss’s throat, but he swallowed it quickly, despite his growing nausea. No one knew that the explosion he’d caused last summer that had killed Sirus and the other vampires had been an accident. Not for certain, anyway. But Joss had a feeling that his uncle Abraham was highly suspicious by the way he’d acted toward Joss after the explosion.

Joss couldn’t tell his uncle the truth, that he hadn’t really killed all of those vampires on purpose. Because that would make Joss both a liar and a coward. And he very, very much preferred to be viewed as a Slayer, rather than either of those things.

Besides, who was it hurting to keep that little detail to himself? No one. But if the truth got out . . . that’s when the real pain would begin. The Society wouldn’t be very forgiving that he’d deceived them, and he could only imagine how his Slayer team would react. Not to mention Uncle Abraham. No. This was a secret best kept tucked carefully in the back of Joss’s mind, never to be spoken aloud.

“As far as this debriefing goes, I’m afraid we don’t have much to report. There’s no obvious pattern as to how the killer is choosing its victims. The victims themselves are pretty randomly chosen. Some men, some women. Ages ranging from the teen years to the elderly. Like I said, I’m afraid we don’t know much. But then, I guess that’s why the Society called you here.” Mason pursed his mouth a bit, as if something bitter had settled onto his tongue. “What we can tell you is that all of the deaths that we believe are connected have taken place here in Manhattan. Largely in Midtown, but they’ve been spread out all over Manhattan. Plus, we’ve seen an increase in vamp activity in the last few weeks. It’s like they’re gathering for some kind of meeting or something. So . . . that’s it. The show’s all yours. We’ve been told to focus on the outer boroughs. Until this serial killer is taken care of, Manhattan belongs to you.”

As if on cue, the other Slayers wordlessly filed back out the alley, eyeballing Abraham’s team as they exited. It was clear to Joss that they weren’t happy about handing over the reins, but what did they expect? If they had been charged with finding a killer and eradicating it, and had failed to do so, it was time for someone else to give it a go.

Morgan shook his head. “Am I getting this right? Is your team stepping completely aside?”

Mason pursed his lips a bit before answering. He was clearly unhappy with the change of pace, especially on his turf, but was stuck between a rock and a hard place. “On direct order of the Society . . . yes.”

Paty stepped forward, shaking her head as well. “You can’t step down without naming a new case handler. You know that. There are no assumptions in the Society.”

Barely a heartbeat had passed before Mason’s eyes fell on Joss. “Joss. You’re calling the shots on this case.”

Joss blinked. “What?”

“Believe me. It wasn’t my decision to make this time, or I would have chosen Abraham.”

Insult filled Joss to the brim. Just because he was only a teenager, Mason didn’t think he was up to the task? That was bull crap. Joss met his eyes with a falsely confident raised eyebrow. False, because he had no real idea if he meant what he was about to say. But he wasn’t about to let this guy know that. “I can do it. I can lead a team. I just . . . haven’t yet.”

A smirk appeared on Mason’s face. “Well, I look forward to seeing you succeed. Everyone in the Society shares my sentiment, I’m sure.”

Joss folded his arms in front of his chest. “Do you have any other pertinent information about the victims or killer, or are you just taking up space now?”

As Mason exited, he gave Joss’s shoulder a firm squeeze, the look in his dark eyes full of meaning. “Good luck, little man.”

Joss shook his shoulder away. He didn’t need luck. He had skill and cunning.

The Slayers exited, and the rest of his team breathed a collective sigh of relief. Something told Joss that Slayer teams tended not to intermingle, and maybe there was a good reason for that.

Paty was looking down at the dead man, her head tilted slightly to the side. “It’s so sad. I wonder who he was. If he has a family.”

A hand fell on Joss’s shoulder, and he looked over to see Morgan, who pulled slightly, urging Joss to come with him. “Come on, kid. There’s nothing to see here. Besides, Slayer teams aren’t allowed to remain during cleanup.”

“Why not?” It made sense to stay, to examine the scene, to assist in any cleanup that had to take place. So why were they leaving? Why was this something left to a mysterious Society crew, and not to the Slayers themselves?

Morgan leaned closer and spoke softly. “There are levels to the Society that you don’t understand yet—hell, I’m not even sure I understand them all myself. But we were told early on to exit prior to cleanup, and we do as we’re told. You’d be better off listening, kid. And not questioning the rules. Just trust me on this.”

Joss did trust him. But he wasn’t at all certain that he completely trusted the mysterious ways of the Slayer Society. Not that he dared put voice to his doubts. He trusted their beliefs, their actions, their wisdom, but their routines seemed just a little bit . . . off. Maybe it was because he was still green. Maybe he just needed time. That had to be it. They were the Slayer Society, after all. And he . . . he was just Joss.

“There’s one more thing,” Abraham spoke, his voice echoing slightly in the alley, even though his tone was eerily calm and even. Joss’s heart beat solidly inside his chest. “The elders in London called me there to give me some rather disturbing news that I thought you all might find interesting. It seems my nephew took a private job in Bathory.”

Joss widened his eyes and turned back to face his uncle. Morgan pulled his hand away and stepped back, as if Joss had spontaneously erupted in flames. Paty’s fingers found her mouth, more horrified at the notion of Joss’s betrayal than the murder victim lying before her. Ash and Cratian simply stared at him. A heavy air of disappointment filled the space. And Joss felt like he was shrinking, sinking down into the pavement, into the earth below.

If he could have, he would have.

Cratian shook his head. Shadows hung over the group. They looked like they’d been betrayed by one of their own. Largely because they had.

Joss looked from one Slayer to the next, avoiding his uncle’s eyes. He had no idea what to say. He’d been caught, and could offer up no explanation or apology that would right the wrong he had done. But all he could think of to say was, “I . . . I’m sorry. I just wanted to help my . . . my mother.”

It wasn’t a lie. His mother had been on every pill imaginable and attended therapy with many doctors since Cecile died. The bills were ridiculously high, adding stress to an already stressful time. And deep down, Joss wondered if maybe his father blamed his inaction that night for his mother’s now-fragile mind. He was right to place that blame. Joss had tapped over that first domino in this scenario. As far as he was concerned, he was the one who’d stolen his family from himself. And he had no idea how to set it right again.

Abraham lowered his voice even further. Not so much that his words were a whisper, but so that Joss did have to focus on what he was saying in order to really hear him. “Joss has betrayed us, betrayed the Slayer Society. And by Society law, such a betrayal warrants the punishment of death.”

The last spoken word echoed in Joss’s mind, reverberating through every cell in his body. He was going to die. His Slayer family was going to kill him. Just moments ago, they were all eating cake and laughing. Now he was going to perish in an alley at their hands for betraying them.

Paty chimed in then, her words full of sharp edges. “How could you, Joss? You know what we have to do now. You’ve given us no choice.”

Abraham held up a hand, silencing her. His eyes were on Joss, whose life was flashing through his mind like an old 8mm film. “After much pleading on my part, and promises that I only hope I can fulfill one day, Headquarters has done the unthinkable. They’ve instructed me
not
to kill Joss.”

Joss’s heart beat twice, then paused for a moment before continuing its hesitant rhythm.

“Not yet, anyway. Not unless he fails in his new assignment.” Abraham glared at him, utter disappointment oozing from his pores. “And let’s make no mistake about this. This is your last chance to prove your loyalty to the Society. If you fail, or if you screw up even the tiniest bit in the future, we will kill you, Joss. It’s what we do, and we’re damn good at it. I put my neck on the line, vouching for you, begging the council to give you a second chance. If you mess this up, it won’t just be bad for you. It’ll be bad for me, for the team. Screwing this up would mean betraying us all in ways that cannot be forgiven. And we don’t take betrayal lightly.”

The harsh reality of his circumstances settled onto his nerves like clinging cobwebs. But there was no turning back now. He’d made his choice. He’d have to live with the consequences.

“Thank you.” Joss blinked around at his fellow Slayers, guilt eating him alive. “Thank you for another chance. I . . . I’m so sorry. I won’t—”

“Joss. Zip it.” Ash’s eyebrows had drawn together in anger. “Just listen to what your uncle has to say.”

Immediately, Joss snapped his mouth closed and turned his attention to Abraham, who was now addressing the entire group, even though they all understood that this was Joss’s task, and his alone. “Headquarters has charged Joss with hunting down and extinguishing the vampire responsible for the Manhattan killings, as quickly and as quietly as he can. We are to offer him support, as well as ensure that his loyalties to our cause are intact.”

Joss swallowed hard. He wasn’t certain he was up to the task. Especially with his recent failure with Vlad not that far behind him. But he had to try, had to push past that self-doubt and get the job done. It was the only way to prove his loyalty to the Society. He might not be able to repair his actual family, but his relationship with his Slayer family was something he could mend. He moved his eyes from one Slayer to the next as he spoke, certain not to skip over his uncle. When he spoke, it was with conviction and certainty. “I will fix this. I promise you that.”

Morgan took a step closer and growled, but the sadness in his eyes belied his tone. “You’d better, little brother. You’d better.”

A
s Joss moved toward the street, Cratian stopped him with a large hand to the chest. “Where, exactly, do you think you’re going?”

Joss blinked. He wanted to say that he was going to go look for vampires—particularly any that might be serial killers—but on further thought, that seemed like a pretty stupid reply. So instead, he simply swallowed and stared at Cratian, hoping that he would tell him exactly where it was that he was supposed to be going.

Cratian sighed, reclaiming his hand. “We can’t just wander Manhattan, hoping to blindly discover the killer. We need a plan, kid.”

“Right. A plan.” Joss nodded eagerly.

Cratian crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked expectantly at Joss. “So . . . ? It’s your shootin’ match. What’s the plan?”

Joss’s heart sank into the pit of his stomach. Plan? He had no idea what the plan was! Shouldn’t someone more experienced with all things plan-making be in charge of this?

As his panic subsided, Joss snuck a pleading glance at Morgan, who, thankfully, knew a cue when he saw one. “Obviously, Joss wants to head to the morgue, so we can examine the body for clues.”

Joss gulped. Morgue? Who said anything about a morgue? All of the Slayers were staring at him, waiting for him to respond, to direct them in one manner or another. So he straightened his shoulders and nodded. “Obviously.”

Morgan grinned. “Not to mention the body’s friends. Right, Joss?”

Joss’s eyes went wide. Friends? There was more than one body waiting for them at the—gulp—morgue? “R-r-right. . . .”

Morgan slapped him roughly on the back. “So let’s go, little brother. We’ve got three corpses to examine. The most recent victims of a psychopathic serial killer, all laid out neatly and awaiting your skills as a medical examiner. Lead the way.”

Joss’s stomach shriveled up into a little ball. He had no idea where the morgue was, or how to get permission to go inside and poke around. And he certainly didn’t want to touch one dead body, let alone three! What was Morgan thinking?

After a moment, Paty, Ash, and Cratian chuckled. Then Morgan put a hand around Joss’s shoulders and led him away. “Come on, little brother. It’s this way.”

Joss’s stomach was already turning, and they hadn’t even opened the door yet. From the outside, the building didn’t look like an underground, secret morgue, run by the Slayer Society. Not that he was expecting a neon sign hanging out front or anything, but the outside of the building looked like a deli that hadn’t been open in a very long time. In the window was a dust-covered sign that proclaimed the building was available for lease, but Joss imagined that was just for show. The Society did everything they could to make things appear completely normal. That being said, he couldn’t help but wonder what they would say or do if a curious realtor or business owner contacted them to inquire about a lease. “Sorry,” he imagined them muttering into the phone. “But that property is in secret use. You see, we perform autopsies there on victims of vampires.”

Morgan pushed the small, filthy doorbell and stepped back, saying nothing to Joss. Joss had been hoping he’d speak, that he’d say something to lighten the mood. It was a somber occasion, yes, to go see a body and examine it for clues to a crime. But Joss needed something lighter to ease his stress, something to distract him for a moment. It had been difficult enough to see the man’s remains lying in that alley. But to walk into a room and witness his autopsy examination . . . that was seriously stressing Joss out. He’d seen tons of true crime shows and had watched several cop shows with his mom, but there was an enormous difference between television death and real death. Real death was scary. Real death was a taste of the future, a bite of the inevitable.

But Morgan wasn’t about to crack a joke to ease Joss’s stress. Maybe because he knew that Joss needed to take this seriously. Maybe because he knew that even a small joke wasn’t going to erase the fact that they were about to be incredibly close to a dead man. Maybe because he didn’t care. Joss didn’t know for sure. All he did know was that there was a shuffling noise inside the old deli, and then a figure appeared on the other side of the grimy glass.

Without uttering a single word, Morgan slipped his hand into his shirt pocket and withdrew something, slapping it against the glass for the mysterious figure to see. It was only as he was returning the item to his pocket that Joss realized it was Morgan’s Slayer coin. His own Slayer coin was in the left front pocket of his jeans. He mindlessly traced the coin with his thumb as the figure unlocked the door. Before stepping inside, Morgan threw him a glance. “Keep it cool, little brother. Don’t think too much about what you’re seeing. Just go through the motions, and you’ll be okay. In and out. You ready?”

Without thinking—perfect practice for this whole experience, he wagered—Joss nodded and followed Morgan inside.

What greeted him as he moved into the building was dust on dust on more dust, and echoes of what looked as if it had once been a bustling business. The menu board still listed dishes available for hungry customers—everything from sandwiches and fries to soup and salad. Small square tables sat piled at the far end of the room, and beside them were stacks of chairs. If it weren’t for the layers of dust and neglect, the furniture would have been bright red in color, matching every fourth tile in the floor. But what had once been filled with voices and movement and delicious, foody smells was now a forgotten place.

Joss’s footsteps were nearly soundless on the floor as he followed Morgan to the back of the deli. In front of them, leading the way, was a short, pudgy man. Thanks to Morgan’s broad shoulders and impressive height, Joss could barely get a look at him, but what he saw gave Joss the impression that the man was utterly humorless.

They moved swiftly through the dining area and kitchen, and slipped through a small door at the back of what might have been a storage area of some kind. As they descended the stairs wordlessly, Joss felt his heart flutter with uncertainty. He knew for a fact that if Morgan weren’t here, he certainly wouldn’t be following this strange, unpleasant man into a secret door and down some dusty stairs. But he trusted Morgan—maybe more than he trusted any of the other Slayers—and he knew that Morgan would never lead him into a situation that he couldn’t handle.

At the bottom of the stairs was a large metal door with enormous hinges, and when the nameless man opened it, puffs of fog rolled out, giving Joss pause. He’d seen enough crime shows to know that dead bodies were stored inside coolers, but he’d never seen an entire room that
was
a cooler.

Their host grabbed two large coats from hooks on the wall and tossed them to Joss and Morgan. Once the coats were on and zipped closed, he handed them each a pair of rubber gloves and led them inside. “Close that door.”

They were the first words he’d uttered to them since they got here.

The inside of the cooler room was lined with steel, all but the floor, which appeared to be solid cement. All along the far wall were metal gurneys, and on top of each was a black bag that was zippered closed.

Joss tucked down deeper inside his coat’s collar. He’d seen enough television, enough movies to know what those bags contained. They were body bags, and Joss was here to peer inside of not just one, but three.

Only he didn’t know exactly how he felt about that.

On one hand, he’d seen death before, so it was nothing new to him. But on the other . . . two of these bodies had been dead for a while. Long enough to exhibit things like rigor mortis, when a body goes stiff, and livor mortis, when a body turns a weird bluish color. Witnessing the decaying of a body somehow made the death so much more real to Joss. Truth be told, it frightened him to be confronted with death in this way. It scared the hell out of him.

But Slayers don’t turn and run. Slayers face their fears.

Their host pulled one gurney to the center of the room and looked pointedly at Morgan, then at Joss. “The one nearest the door just got here. Don’t touch any of the equipment. And when you’re done, hang those coats back up and make sure you close the door.”

Joss sputtered, “We will, sir.”

The man paused, as if he wasn’t used to being given due respect, and nodded before disappearing out the cooler room door.

Morgan slid his gloves on and Joss followed suit, hoping that he wouldn’t have to touch the body at all. Then Morgan looked at him as he stepped over to the gurney farthest from the door. “The first time I came to a Society morgue, your uncle made me open the body bag. He said it was better just to get it over with, to face that fear and move on. He said he was doing me a favor—one that I wouldn’t be grateful for until many years later. As it turns out, he was right.”

Joss inhaled deeply, which was a mistake. The smell of frigid temps, preservation fluids, and slowly rotting flesh filled his nose and coated his tongue. Joss gagged, clamping his gloved hand over his nose and mouth. It smelled like latex, which was awful, but so much more pleasant than the smell of the morgue’s occupants.

Morgan paused, waiting for Joss to recover. Joss could feel the heat of embarrassment crawl up his neck and paint his face red.

“I’m going to spare you that, little brother. I’m not going to make you do anything. The choice of whether or not you pull that zipper and open that body bag is completely and totally up to you. And after it’s done, no one needs to know how it all went down, but for you and me. You feel me?”

Joss nodded, and before he could second-guess what he was about to do, he spoke from behind his latex-covered hand. His voice was muffled, but his words still somehow rang clear. “I want to do it. I want to open it, Morgan.”

Morgan seemed to gauge him for a moment before nodding. “Okay, then. Open it up. Let’s see what we have.”

Joss reached out with his free hand and grasped the zipper pull. Only it didn’t go anywhere.

He held his breath and tried pulling it with two hands, and after a moment, it gave and the zipper unzipped. Joss practiced breathing lightly, and tried to ignore the smell, which had intensified once the bag was open. For a moment, he thought he was fine. Then he ran to the trash can on the other side of the room and lost his lunch.

When his stomach had settled some, Morgan pulled back the plastic of the body bag, revealing the corpse of a woman in her mid- to late-sixties. Around her neck was a string of pearls that reminded Joss of his aunt Petunia. Her eyes were closed, and from where Joss was standing, she simply appeared to be sleeping.

Like Cecile at her funeral.

“The first thing we want to look at is her wound and determine cause of death. Ahh . . . yeah, I can see it now. Laceration to her throat.” He peered over his shoulder at Joss. “You wanna take a look?”

Despite the fact that he really, really didn’t want to take a closer look, Joss nodded and moved in. As he did, Morgan gently moved her head to the side. The flesh on her throat had been ripped away. The pearls on that side were tinged with blood. He stared at her corpse for some time, thinking about Cecile. Not frightening, monster Cecile from his nightmares, but real Cecile. The sweet little girl who lay in a small white coffin at the front of the room, looking very much like she was asleep. He wondered if this woman had a family that was missing her, if she had a brother who loved her, the way that he had loved Cecile. The way that he still did.

Morgan had already examined the second body—another victim, this one a black male, not much older than Joss, with a large puncture wound in his chest. Then he opened the third bag, the one containing the gentleman Mason and his team had discovered earlier. “As we already examined this body as a team in the alley earlier, we can assume his cause of death was trauma to the jugular vein, and loss of blood. But there are no guarantees that that’s the truth. So we need to check for other injuries, such as a broken back or neck.”

Morgan gently lifted the man’s head, feeling along the top part of his spine. Then, in a moment that sent Joss’s jaw crashing to the floor, Morgan dropped the head back on the table and backed away, cursing loudly. Joss didn’t know what to do or say. “What? What is it, Morgan?”

Morgan growled. “His mouth.”

Joss looked from Morgan back to the corpse. Apart from hanging open, he didn’t notice anything unusual about it at all. All he could offer in response was a blank stare.

“Inside his—its—mouth, kid. Look inside its damn mouth!” Morgan yanked him closer, and Joss peered inside the body’s open mouth. Inside, just behind the canine teeth, were small teeth.

No. Tips of teeth. Tips of fangs. The man, the dead creature that they’d found, was a vampire.