“Please tell Mr. Aspen that I apologize for coming unannounced and that I had an issue with my cell—thus the reason we were cut off,” I lie. “But something urgent has come up back in Cincinnati, and I must leave immediately.”
I’m full of lies today, but one does what they must. Especially now that my choices affect others. I must find a good place for that body. Or places. I will have to engage in little dissection-101 to make sure he’s never entirely found.
“Let me see what I can do,” she says, and I take a seat in one of the three shiny white plastic molded chairs with chrome legs. Everything is spotless. Must’ve been some mess to clean up.
I go back to looking at my phone, pulling up a satellite map of the area. Immediately, I notice there is plenty of open desert to the north and west. Great place for hiding bodies. And lucky me, I have a rather large SUV.
The door buzzes and pops open.
“Mr. Vanderhorst?” says a young brunette with green eyes and a short bob, wearing a red sweater and white slacks. “Mr. Aspen can see you now.”
“Thank you.” I stand and follow her inside. The heavy door thuds behind me, and immediately I’m impressed by how cheerful everything looks. Pale yellow walls, fake potted plants, and plenty of artificial light. No sunlight. There is a wall of filing cabinets and several desks with computers in the center of the room.
“Right this way.” I follow her up a set of stairs toward the back. It seems the entire top floor is Mr. Aspen’s office. He’s sitting behind a white and chrome desk. His thick blond hair is cropped short, and his suit is as cheap looking as his furniture.
“Mr. Vanderhorst.” He extends his hand over his desk, exposing a BVLGARI worth at least half a million dollars.
Yet his office furniture is from Ikea?
“Mr. Aspen.” We shake hands. “Thank you for rearranging your schedule.”
“Certainly. I understand this is a stressful time for you.” He gestures for me to take a seat, and I do. “I lost my maker ten years ago—a tragic roller-skating accident.”
Roller skating? I can’t claim I’ve heard that one before. Vampires do not roller skate, just like they don’t break-dance or yodel. I mean, that’s just silly. “My condolences.”
He bobs his head mournfully. “Yes, well, I suppose we all have to go sometime.”
Given why I’m here, that is a very insensitive thing to say. Clive’s death wasn’t sometime. He still had a lot to give to the world, which is why when I got the call yesterday that the society here had reported his murder, I simply couldn’t believe it.
I still don’t.
“So tell me,” I lean back, trying to remain calm, “who is the culprit, and what have you done about it?”
Mr. Aspen nods his head, avoiding eye contact. “At this moment, there are no leads. But I assure you, our best people are looking into the matter.”
My pulse rate explodes, and I squeeze my hands into tight fists. “What do you mean, no leads?”
“I’m very sorry.” He laces his fingers together and rests his hands on his desk—a gesture to communicate nonaggression. “We have no idea who killed him. We’re not even sure it was a vampire.”
My blood goes from boiling to pressure-cooker steaming. “What about the case he was on? You issued his visa, so you know who he met with. Have you interviewed them yet? How about witnesses where his remains were found?”
“You know that I am not permitted to discuss any details—it’s standard protocol for every society.”
“Yes, I’m very aware.” Vampires are known hotheads, and the rules are meant to prevent anyone from retaliating and starting a society war before the facts have been gathered. Even then, punishments are handed out and only made public after everything has been dealt with.
“Do you know what else is protocol?” I ask. “Actually finding out who killed him, and it seems that you’re not the least bit interested, for which there will be consequences.”
He chuckles like the smug, deceitful schlep I suspect him of being. “Clive Bakker was the head of one of the oldest and most respected societies on this continent. I assure you, we are doing everything in our power to resolve the matter.”
While I can tell that Mr. Aspen isn’t a fresh new vampire, he is weak and sneaky and has spent more of his existence being underhanded than he has living aboveboard. I know merely by looking at him. And it’s why he’s a terrible liar—he has had little practice telling the truth, so he hardly knows what it feels like. As for me, I’ve met a thousand Mr. Aspens, but he’s never met one of me.
I stand. “Then I’ll be taking Clive’s ashes and—”
“Yes, of course. Viviana will assist you, and I will call once the report is made public.”
He’s practically pushing me toward the stairs, and in an instant, the situation goes from outrageous to outrageously suspicious.
“I’ll come by tomorrow for an update,” I say, deciding I cannot leave town. Not until this matter is put to rest.
Aspen frowns with his golden brows that are almost too bushy to be called brows.
More like eyelid mustaches.
“Oh, I understood you were returning to Cincinnati immediately,” he says.
Christ. I forgot about my little issue with Miriam’s freshly expired boyfriend. I really should get out of town—it would certainly be the wisest choice. However, if I go, Mr. Aspen here will feel no pressure and Clive’s killer won’t be brought to justice.
On the other hand, today seems like a good day for bad choices, so what’s one more?
“I happened to get a text right before I walked in,” I say. “Seems that little fire back home has been put out.”
Aspen’s blue eyes twitch. “Didn’t you say your phone wasn’t working?”
I stare unblinkingly. “Must’ve been a glitch. All fixed now. And I will be staying.”
“I don’t recall you requesting a visa, Mr. Vanderhorst.”
“Why do I get the feeling you’re asking me to leave?” I say with a snarl on my lips.
“We don’t want you getting in the way of the investigation,” he snarls back.
“According to you, there are no leads, which means there is no investigation. Nevertheless, I do not plan on breaking protocol or stepping on any toes. I do, however, plan to show up here every day, inquiring on your progress.”
I know he’s about to pull away the welcome mat—it’s his right as head of this society to deny territory privileges to anyone. But I’m well aware of the rules that are meant to keep transient vampires on the move. No one wants trouble, and vampires with a business or employment are less likely to crap where they eat. Which is why I add, “In fact, I plan to stay indefinitely.”
His eyes bore into me. “You? Relocate here?”
“I just can’t seem to get enough of all this marvelous sunshine. I’ve even secured a job.” Now he can’t send me home. All five hundred and eighty-two societies worldwide have signed a pact to obey a common set of laws, and one of them is that a vampire in good standing will not be denied access to another’s territory when matters of business or employment are involved. With so many of our kind being business savvy, the territorialism of the old days was getting in the way. One could hardly prosper if they were limited to doing business and/or working in their own territory. For example, Marvin, a vampire in my territory, sells mining equipment. He has stores all across the US and a factory in Mexico. Personal travel is another matter altogether, but when it comes to making money, vampires have finally come out of the dark ages, and we all thrive because of it.
“Well.” Mr. Aspen swallows hard, likely his irritation with me scratching at his throat. “I am surprised to hear the news, especially given you’ve taken over Clive’s role as leader. Must be some new job you’ve found here.”
“It is something I have always dreamed of doing,” I lie.
He nods and thankfully doesn’t ask what my new title is. Or will be once I see Miriam. I hope she’s all right.
“Viviana can give you the required paperwork on your way out.” He’s back to rushing me out of his office and toward the stairs.
I’m sure this news will cause quite a stir. Leaders don’t up and leave their territories. Vampires as old as me don’t either. It’s unheard of. For the most part we are creatures of habit. Me, I’ve always been my own man—a vow I made to myself centuries ago. If I have to be this, I will do it on my own terms.
I make my way down the steps, feeling the air sizzle with anger. It only fuels my conviction that I’ve made the right decision. Because while staying poses a risk given this morning’s drama, I would rather take it than allow this society to sweep Clive under a rug. He meant far too much to me.
I turn and shake Mr. Aspen’s hand. “I look forward to being part of your family.”
His eyes turn cold. “We couldn’t be happier.”
I see Viviana on the way out, and she hands me a small can.
“Sorry. It’s the only label we had.” She shrugs.
I snarl down at what used to be Clive now packed in a sealed chicken soup can. It’s so bloody undignified. They could’ve at least put him in a nice can of artichoke hearts or black olives. But this is the way he must travel back home—in an inconspicuous, completely sealed can inside my luggage—per our rules.
I am furious but manage to keep calm. There is a time and place for everything. At the moment, I must find out who did this to Clive. And then I will take the Society of Arizona Sunshine Love out to the woodshed for a good, old-fashioned vampire thrashing. They won’t ever see me coming, and I will leave no traces.
CHAPTER FIVE
“I’m sorry, kid. Only family is permitted to see patients, and if you’re not family,” says the nurse with dark circles under her eyes.
“I’m a close friend,” I say. “Can you at least tell me if anyone is with her?” It somehow bothers me to think of Miriam all alone. Not after that. Not after what she’s just been through.
“No, but we don’t have contact information for her next of kin. If you’re able to provide it, that would be helpful.”
“I, uh…I’m sorry. But I’ll make a few phone calls and see what I can do.”
From the tone in her voice, I suspect the nurse is approaching the end of a very long day. I decide to try again after the shift changes. I will tell them I am Miriam’s younger brother. Not that she and I look alike, but I find a smile and the right attitude can sell almost anything. Especially from someone like me.
For the next hour, I watch carefully from a dark corner near the pay phones, noting that no one has come asking for Miriam. I also take the opportunity to search her name on the internet, hoping to track down a parent or someone related.
I dig her card from my coat pocket and cross-reference the library’s information with her full name. Miriam Murphy. I input the few other facts I know about her, such as where she went to school.
Jesus, what is this? Page after page comes up about her parents dying in a tragic car accident last year. I look through the obituaries and see she is an only child. There is even a picture of her, though she looks about twenty—my visual age. Her hair is neat, cut into a straight bob. She’s wearing a conservative, but formfitting blue dress.
Huh. I scratch my scruffy jaw. The photo looks like Miriam, but it’s not. I wonder if the change in appearance is due to the tragedy of her parents, which could explain why she allowed herself to be with such an unworthy man.
“Goodnight, Gale!” says a young pretty nurse with brunette hair and cats on her scrubs. The tired nurse leaves the front desk, and this is my chance.
I walk up, immediately putting on the charm. “Hi, uh…I was told my sister was in an accident and sent here? Please tell me she’s okay.”
“Your sister’s name?” the new nurse asks.
“Miriam Murphy.”
“And your name?” she asks.
“Michael Vanderhorst—Miriam is my half sister,” I explain.
“Let me get the doctor. She’ll need to fill you in.”
This isn’t a good sign. “Thank you.”
Ten minutes later, I’m called into a small room where a Dr. Evans, a tall thin woman with silver hair, explains that Miriam was the victim of a random attack and has a fractured skull, a broken neck, and severe brain swelling.
“What are you trying to say?” I ask.
“We have done what we can, but we don’t know if she’s going to make it.” My shock must be obvious because the doctor reaches for my arm, a look of deep pity in her eyes. “Have you called your parents yet?”
“Huh?” I can’t think straight, because I know this is my fault. Why did I hesitate with my ridiculous ten hand flexes? They cost me half a second, the time it would’ve taken to stop that man from striking a second blow. Why must I always be so careful, so perfectly controlled?
I wasn’t careful when I killed the bastard.
“Your parents?” she repeats.
“Oh. No.” I shake my head. “They’ve passed. I’m her only family.”
She nods with sympathetic eyes. “I’m very sorry. But I understand the police are searching for the man who did this. He fled the scene, but there were a few witnesses.”
That’s not good.
“Would you like to see her now?” she asks.
My hands start shaking. I am going to do something foolish. I just know it.
“Yes. I’d like to see her.” I follow Dr. Evans into the room. The walls are a pale blue and there are two beds. One is empty. The other holds Miriam in a vice of braces, tubes, straps and such.
“Christ.” Two blows did all this? The damage is a reminder of just how fragile humans are—nothing at all like the characters in those action films that are so popular today.
“I’ll give you a moment.” The doctor leaves, and I stare at Miriam’s sweet face: the fine line of her brown brows, the pert nose, the pink lips that are now taped around tubes.
She’s not going to live. I can smell it on her and all around us. Blood, death, the heat of her skin as her body fights to heal itself. It won’t win.
Sonofabitch. I want to help her. I feel I must, but I cannot. If I give her my blood and she lives, we will be bonded. If it fails and she dies, she will become like me. Still, I cannot sit on my hands.
No. What am I thinking? I can’t help. Yet, once again, I’m intrigued. I’ve never, not in all my years, considered giving anyone my blood. So why her? It’s simply too enticing a mystery to resist.
I look over my shoulder at the door and then back at Miriam.
I cannot believe I am doing this. I bite my thumb and draw a single drop of blood. Her mouth is taped shut, so I open her right eye and place the drop over her pupil.
“I’m sorry,” I tell her. “But it’s not your time yet.”
I gently close her lid and leave. For the time being, there’s nothing to do but wait. I will return tomorrow.
As for me, I’ve got a body to dismember and bury in the desert.
CHAPTER SIX
That evening, after five hours of driving and digging, I return to my suite at the Fairmont and take a long hot shower in the sprawling marble bathroom. I feel like every muscle in my body has been poisoned by my choices today.
Clive is gone.
I’ve killed a man.
I am staying indefinitely in the one place on this continent I couldn’t loathe more.
I’ve just given my blood to a librarian, and it looks like I’m going to be her assistant.
Within the space of twenty-four hours, I don’t know who I’ve become.
I finish rinsing my hair and hear my cell phone ringing in the other room. I shut off the shower, grab a towel to dry my hands, and go out to the bedroom. I see it’s Lula, my society’s secretary. The phone is sitting on the edge of the king-sized bed where I left it, and given that I’m dripping wet, I hit speaker.
Lula’s face pops up on the phone and the camera is aimed straight at my manhood at an upward a
ngle. “Michael, wow. That is an impressive view, but how about not teasing a girl, huh?”
I growl. “How many times have I told you not to Facetime me?” I’m technologically savvier than most vampires or humans, but I still forget to check what type of call it is.
“Your problem. Not mine.” Her smile takes up most of the screen. On the surface, she reminds me of Miriam. Big brown eyes, blonde hair, and a bit quirky. But Lula is over two hundred years old and still behaves like she’s sixteen—horny, impulsive, and belligerent. Regardless, I like her simply because she’s not stuffy like other vampires.
She adds, “You know I just love, love catching you off guard, and it’s precisely for moments like these! Can I get a hubba hubba?”
I grumble a minor insult, pick up the phone, and point it toward my face. “What do you want?”
“I can’t remember. I guess my head is full of wood?” She chuckles at herself.
“Funny.”
“I know, right? But hey, I’m calling because the phone’s been ringing off the hook; all of our families are demanding answers.”
“And they are asking…?”
“Is it true you’re leaving us for,” she makes a gag sound, “for that creepy Arizona sunshine cult?”
Wonderful. I still cannot believe how quickly information travels in this age. It’s going to take me another hundred years to grasp the concept that privacy is dead. By then, I’ll likely have my own reality TV show and not even know it.
“No. It is not true.” I fill her in on what’s happened, knowing that Lula can be trusted with my life. She obtained her role from Clive after he turned her. She was the daughter of Clive’s longtime friend, and she was diagnosed with leukemia. Back then, no one survived it. On her deathbed, as a favor to her father, Clive gave her his blood with the conditions that no one ever ask questions and she had to die on paper. Lula’s father, who became a historically beloved president, agreed. Lula became a ghost in the history books, the records showing she died as a child. In reality, she remained her father’s constant companion until his dying breath. She is a good woman—the definition of it.