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  Whether or not he was ultimately implicated in the Oak Tree fire or the group’s carefully laid upcoming plans, he’d tear Sabian down and take the whole bloodsucking community with her.

  A slow smile curved his lips as he blew a stream of smoke from his nostrils. The smoke curled around him, encircling his shoulders like a ghostly lover’s arms. Those damn vamps would be out of town by the end of the week, and Jefferson would return to its rightful owners—the good God-fearing human citizens of Nassau County.

  His smile turned to a chuckle and then to a full-bellied laugh.

  six

  ALEX TOYED WITH THE ZIPPER OF HER JACKET AND glanced at her watch. The original time for their meeting to find out the results of Eric Stromheimer’s autopsy had been two o’clock. They were two hours behind schedule, and her arm was hurting again.

  “Here, take these.” Varik shoved a bottle of water and two white tablets into her good hand.

  “I said I was fine.”

  “Bullshit. I promised your mother I would watch out for you. Now be a good girl and take your medicine.”

  “I knew you two were conspiring against me.” She popped the aspirin into her mouth and swallowed them dry. She struggled to open the water bottle with one hand. Finally conceding defeat, she handed it to Varik to open.

  He grinned and twisted the cap free. “We weren’t conspiring. She was merely asking that I keep an eye on her headstrong, impetuous daughter until she arrived.”

  Alex gulped down half the water before answering. “I still can’t believe she likes you, even after what happened between us.”

  He leaned against the cinder-block wall opposite her. “Emily and I understand one another. We’re older, from a different generation, as the humans would say.”

  “Are you saying that someone as headstrong and impetuous as me is incapable of understanding the world as you do?”

  “Not at all.” He pulled a small clear plastic tube from his pocket. “I’m saying someone as young as you has a different way of viewing the world than Emily and I.” He bent the tube until she heard a barely audible snap and then shook it. Dark liquid sloshed within its confines.

  Alex’s eyes widened as she recognized the vial. “Varik!”

  He stopped in mid-shake. “What?”

  “You’re going to do that here? Now?”

  “Yes.”

  Alex watched, speechless, as Varik tore the seal from the tube’s stopper and drank half of the synthetic blood in one gulp. His eyes closed, and he shuddered. When he opened his eyes again, they were an odd mixture of dark brown and gold that reminded her of the cooling lava flows she’d seen on television. “I can’t believe you just did that.” She looked up and down the corridor in which they stood. “What if someone had walked in and seen you?”

  “What’s the matter? Afraid to let a human see us for what we really are?” His voice was thick and breathy.

  “No, it’s just that—never mind.” She waved a dismissive hand. Even though she’d grown up in the years after humans had learned of vampires’ existence, she’d been counseled not to flaunt her reliance on blood or Vlad’s Tears, because it made many humans uncomfortable. “I thought you didn’t like Vlad’s Tears.”

  “I don’t.” He cleared his throat and looked at the tube in disgust.

  “Then why are you using it?”

  “It was a long drive from Louisville. Freddy, Reyes, and I were able to catch a few hours of sleep at the hotel, but unlike them, I didn’t have time to find a donor this morning. Since I seem to be banned from Crimson Swan, it’s this or nothing.”

  Alex felt a sharp stab of guilt when she looked at the healing bruise along his jaw. It had been hours since Stephen punched him. Instead of the bright bluish-purple of a recent injury, it was the sickly green-and-brown color human bruises turn after about a week. “Yeah, well, Stephen was right. You deserved it.”

  “That may be true, but that doesn’t make it hurt any less.” He saluted her with the tube. “Cheers.” He drained the rest of the liquid and shuddered again, stamping his foot as he swallowed.

  Alex couldn’t contain her chuckle. “You look like a kid being forced to take cough medicine.”

  “That’s what I feel like.” He tossed the empty tube into the trash bin. “You’d think they could at least make the stuff taste better.”

  “You want them to make it cherry-flavored or something?” She sipped her remaining water.

  “That would be nice, or grape. I always liked grape. Just think”—he adopted an exaggerated commercial voice-over tone—“Vlad’s Tears: now in thirty-two delicious flavors, including watermelon, butter pecan, and chocolate chip.”

  She laughed.

  Varik grinned. “It’s nice to hear you laughing again.”

  Her laughter died. “Don’t start, Varik.”

  “With what?”

  “The whole ‘let’s rekindle the flame’ thing.” She tossed her empty water bottle into the recycle bin.

  “I wasn’t. I was merely stating a fact.”

  “Whatever.”

  He held his hands up in mock surrender. “Could we please call a truce until after the autopsy?”

  Alex nodded and stared at the faded linoleum floor. She knew she was being too sensitive, but Varik’s sudden appearance coupled with everything that’d transpired—the disturbing dream she’d experienced that morning, her argument with Harvey, the shooting at Maggie’s Place—had left her feeling off balance.

  She hadn’t had time to analyze her dream, but the cemetery had been Saint Michael’s in Louisville, where they’d buried her father. Her childhood home had been only a few blocks away, and she knew the cemetery well. She and Stephen had often played there during the summer months, hiding among the gravestones and climbing the trees. Life had been much simpler then. Her thoughts drifted to the past, to her father.

  It was Valentine’s Day 1968, only a month before he was killed. He came home from work with a dozen red roses for her mother and a single white rose for Alex. He swept Alex up into his arms and gave her the flower with a peck on the cheek. “For Princess Alexandra,” he said, “the fairest in the land.”

  She giggled as the stubble of his beard tickled her face. He smelled of coffee, tobacco, and the chalk he used while teaching classes at the University of Louisville. His scent mingled with the sweet perfume of the rose. “Love you, Daddy,” she said, as she hugged him.

  He smiled, showing his perfectly human teeth. His strong arms held her tightly and he whispered, “I love you, too, Princess.”

  “Hey,” Varik’s voice and hand on her shoulder brought her back to the present. “They’re ready for us.”

  Alex shied away from his touch and entered the autopsy room. Even though she’d been there before, she was still struck by how closely it resembled an emergency room. Cabinets lined one wall and housed a large stainless-steel sink. Rolling tables were pushed up against the far wall, and shelves containing instruments, jars, and other containers filled yet another wall.

  Dr. Philip Hancock sat on a raised stool on the other side of the autopsy table, making his final notations. His bald head gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights when he looked up at her. “Ah, Alex.” He smiled warmly and pushed his soda-bottle glasses away from the end of his hooked nose. “Good to see you again.”

  Alex could hear the creaking and popping of his joints as he moved. “You, too, Doc.”

  The thickness of his glasses magnified his brown eyes and gave the doctor the look of a perpetually surprised owl. He shifted his larger-than-life eyes to Varik. “Who’s your friend?”

  Before Alex could answer, Varik stepped forward, extending his hand. “Enforcer Varik Baudelaire.”

  Dr. Hancock shook Varik’s hand limply, his gaze traveling over the tall vampire. He glanced at Alex and jerked his head toward Varik. “He helping or hindering?”

  “That remains to be seen,” she said.

  “I see.” The doctor sat down on the stool with a
loud groan. “You’ll have to forgive me for sitting, but I’m not as young as I used to be. The bones can only take so much.” He sighed heavily before fixing Alex with a somber stare. “How’s your arm?”

  “It’s been better, but I’ll heal.”

  “You should have a sling on it to keep it from bouncing around too much. Didn’t they give you one at the emergency room?”

  “She didn’t go to the ER,” Varik answered. “She refused.”

  “The hospital had enough incoming wounded without me adding to the chaos. Add in the five dead—”

  “Seven, actually,” Doc Hancock corrected. “One was DOA at the hospital and another died on the operating table. Four—including you, Alex—were sent home with minor injuries, and two more are listed in critical but stable condition in the ICU at Jefferson Memorial.”

  “I hadn’t heard the updated numbers,” Alex whispered. “That makes thirteen.”

  “Any idea who the shooter was?”

  “None, and it’s not our case. Sheriff Manser,” she sneered, “is handling it.”

  Doc Hancock rocked back on his stool. “Oh, my God in Heaven. Well, that’s going to be a clusterfuck if I’ve ever seen one.”

  Alex never expected to hear profanity from the man in front of her. She knew the shock registered on her face when he winked at her.

  He picked up his notes and tapped them on the side of the metal table. “Guess you want to know about Mr. Stromheimer.”

  Alex stepped up to the waist-high steel table. The body lying on it was completely covered by a white sheet, but standing beside it, she could smell copper and the faint aroma of veal. It was the scent of blood and flesh, of fresh death. Forcing herself to look at Dr. Hancock instead of the body, she swallowed the bile rising in her throat and realized she still hadn’t eaten. The coffee and sandwich she’d purchased were casualties of the shooting.

  “You okay?” Dr. Hancock’s owl eyes blinked at her. “You look a little green.”

  Alex nodded. “I’m fine.”

  Dr. Hancock watched her for a moment, then launched into his findings. “Well, this one’s not much different than Grant Williams or the first victim, John Doe Vampire. Death by exsanguination.” He looked up at Varik. “He bled out.”

  Varik stood silently with his arms folded over his chest.

  Flipping through his notes, Dr. Hancock continued. “Decapitation occurred postmortem, as did the staking. Judging from the damage to the neck tissue and spine, it appears the head was removed with a large blade, something like an ax or machete.”

  “What about the discoloration around the stake?” Alex fixed her gaze on the white sheet. Had it just moved?

  “Tattooing,” Dr. Hancock answered, reading his notes, “caused by unburned gunpowder hitting the skin.”

  “The victim was shot?” Varik shifted as he spoke. “And then staked?”

  Dr. Hancock’s eyes focused on him, and then he looked at Alex. “He’s a bright one, isn’t he?”

  “Top of his class.”

  The doctor grunted and continued. “Judging from the patterns and fragments I found inside the chest cavity, I’d say it was fired within a few feet of the victim’s chest. Most likely a nine-millimeter.”

  “Why use a stake if the victim’s already dead?” Varik brushed past Alex as he moved to the head of the table.

  “Cover,” Alex whispered, staring at the white mass spread before her. The sheet seemed to rise and fall with a phantom breath. Fear slithered up her spine, wrapped around her chest, and restricted her breathing. “Most humans still believe the only way to kill us is with a stake. Use both and make sure the vamp is dead while also covering your tracks.”

  “She’s right,” Dr. Hancock said. “The stake followed the track of the bullet, for the most part.”

  “Why didn’t you find this with the other two?” Varik lifted the edge of the sheet, peering underneath.

  The cloth fluttered, and Alex gripped the side of the table. Her stomach churned, and she felt dizzy. Little pinpoint starbursts danced before her eyes.

  “We didn’t know to look for it, but I went back to the other bodies after seeing this one. There’s no indication of tattooing or residue on the victims, and I didn’t find any bullet fragments in the chest cavity when I opened them up the first time. I checked again to be certain, but the stakes covered the bullet track, so it’s hard to tell how much damage is caused by the stake and how much is bullet-related.” Dr. Hancock turned to Alex. “You sure you’re okay?”

  The table shifted, and the victim’s hand sprang from beneath the sheet, brushing her fingers. She screamed and pulled away from it. The cold numbness of the grave iced her blood, freezing her in place.

  “Alex!” Varik grasped her shoulders as Dr. Hancock hurried around the table.

  Alex watched as the headless corpse sat up. She whimpered and struggled against Varik’s grip. The sheet slipped to the floor, revealing the gaping hole in the corpse’s chest and the crudely stitched Y-incision spanning its torso. “Let me go,” she whispered. “I have to go.”

  Varik tightened his grip. “What’s wrong? What do you see?”

  The corpse swung its legs over the side of the table and stood.

  Alex pulled one shoulder free, but her feet remained frozen. “He’s coming for me.”

  “Who? Who’s coming for you?”

  “Alex.” Dr. Hancock’s voice was low and steady, soothing. “There’s nothing there.”

  The corpse raised one arm, reaching for her. Air whistled through the gaping chest wound as it drew a ragged breath.

  “Alexandra,” the phantom voice of her father whispered to her.

  “Alex.” Varik shook her gently. “Who’s coming for you?”

  The pinpoint starbursts returned, and the room grew dim. Her legs gave way and she fell against Varik as darkness closed around her. “Daddy.”

  Tasha’s unmarked squad car rocked with the force of her slamming the door shut. She gripped the steering wheel and stared at the throng of crying families gathered in front of Jefferson Memorial’s emergency entrance. They deserved answers. Unfortunately, she didn’t have any to offer.

  Harvey had sent her to the hospital to interview the victims who weren’t critically injured. They’d all said essentially the same thing. “I didn’t see anyone. I don’t know why anyone would do something like this.”

  Maggie’s Place was outside the town’s corporate limits, and investigating the shooting fell to the sheriff’s department. He’d requested additional manpower from metro police, since his department was understaffed due to recent budget cutbacks. The JPD had suffered decreased funding as well, but they’d retained their forensic team.

  The irony was that Alex, as an FBPI Enforcer, had the best funding of any law enforcement in the area and access to a state-of-the-art mobile forensic lab. However, Harvey refused to entertain the thought of cooperating with her after Varik’s display in the diner.

  “Varik,” Tasha muttered. She didn’t trust him, and it was becoming obvious that relying on Alex for information about him would prove futile. Even though she knew Alex was tight-lipped about her past, Tasha couldn’t help but think there was more to their prior relationship than mentor and trainee. The only other person in Jefferson who would know and who might be willing to talk to her was Stephen.

  She made her decision and started the car. She lifted the microphone for her police radio and spoke into it. “Lieutenant Lockwood to Dispatch.”

  “Dispatch,” a woman’s voice crackled over the radio. “Go ahead, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m heading to Crimson Swan to follow up on some information with Stephen Sabian. If anyone needs me, page my cell phone.”

  “Ten-four,” the woman responded.

  “Lockwood, out.” She returned the microphone to the clip attached to the side of the radio. Pulling out of the hospital’s parking lot, she turned west and headed for Crimson Swan.

  She wove through the narrow one-way downtown
streets and passed through Old Towne, the historical residential neighborhood of Jefferson that was a strange mix of antebellum mansions, Victorian manors, and 1930s bungalows. Majestic oaks lined the wide streets, casting their graceful moss-laden shadows over perfectly manicured lawns and pristine wrought-iron fences.

  Tasha had been born and raised in Jefferson and had always admired Old Towne’s illusion of slower, simpler times. However, that’s all it was—an illusion. A single right turn and two stop signs brought her to Jefferson Boulevard, the commercial heart of the town. She turned left onto the divided four-lane street, and three traffic lights later, she pulled into Crimson Swan’s parking lot.

  Stephen’s blue Dodge pickup was one of several vehicles in the lot. Most of the customers would be those vampires who lived in the rural areas of Nassau County but worked within the town’s corporate limits. Even though several hours of daylight remained, as the day drew to a close, more vampires would begin congregating at the bar before going home to their families for the night.

  She suppressed a shudder as she reached for one of the wrought-iron handles on the blood bar’s massive double doors. Even though she’d grown up after vampires had gone public, the fact that she was willingly going into the lion’s den still unnerved her. Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she threw the door open and entered.

  Heads turned and conversations died. Tasha estimated at least a couple dozen eyes in varying shades of yellow staring at her. All vampires’ eyes changed to a variation of gold when they were under the influence of either blood-hunger or an intense emotion, such as anger. Judging from the hard glares directed at her, she could safely assume an even mix of the two in the bar’s patrons.

  She walked forward, hoping her legs weren’t shaking too badly for anyone to notice. A few humans, including a dark-haired woman behind the counter, watched her with curiosity before turning back to their vampire companions and conversations. Bars always made her feel vulnerable, regardless of whether they served humans or vampires. Ever since she stopped drinking ten years ago, she hadn’t set foot in a bar outside of official business. Her visit to Crimson Swan was official business—at least that’s what she told herself. Looking around at the dim lights, classic movie monster décor, and silent vampires, she wondered again if she was doing the right thing.