Forged in Flame (32 page)

“You talk about them in the past tense. What I saw tonight was anything but.”

“
If
what you saw was The Order, we have a major problem.”

“Fill me in because we may have more than just one new problem.”

Nicholas took a moment to let the younger vampire’s words to sink in. “Samair. You think he’s stirring up trouble?”

“From what I’ve heard, he sees Zachary as a threat to his power. Considering my blood brother’s blood ties, he’s right to.”

Nicholas shook his head and rubbed his temples with one hand. “That’s a bridge we’ll have to cross if we get there. I don’t want to borrow more trouble if I can help it.” He took another sip from his glass and set it down on the counter. “So, what happened at the party? Explain why Morgan is passed out and covered in blood.”

Christophe poured himself another glass, held it up, looking through the amber liquid, considering where to pick up his story. After a moment, he sighed and began the second part of his story. He explained how Morgan had directed the cleanup, getting frightened donors out and coordinating moving the sick and deceased vampires. He finished with Morgan setting the building on fire and then fleeing the scene.

“So, as I said, she used her ability?”

“Yes,” Christophe let out a disbelieving laugh. “It was pretty amazing. Though, obviously it took a lot out of her.”

“I’ll let her sleep.” Nicholas shook his head and sighed. “I hope this is just overtaxing and not more permanent damage.”

“Well, I know she didn’t drink any of the poisoned champagne.”

“I’ll keep an eye on her tonight and let her rest. Hopefully, that will be enough.”

“I tried to call you, but you didn’t answer.”
 

“I was a little busy myself.” Nicholas offered a weak smile.
 

“Hunting for Jayson?”
 

Nicholas scoffed. “Yeah, same old, same old.”

“Has Eric’s human been any help?”

“Not yet. She’s still on the fence,” Nicholas took a deep breath and let it out. “She’s doesn’t quite believe what she’s seen and heard.”

“You trust her?”

“Yeah, for now.” Nicholas sighed and shook his head. “I don’t want to go into it right now.” He drained the last of the brandy from his glass. “Look, Christophe, I know you’re supposed to go back to LA tomorrow, but would you consider remaining in the city longer?” Nicholas asked, his mind spinning out of control.
 

“You’re fine with Morgan staying in town?”

“No, I’m not.” Nicholas chuckled, a nervous laugh. “But I know my wife, and I know she’s not going to leave me in San Francisco with everything going on. Besides, she’s got a lot to do here.”
 

Without hesitation, the younger vampire answered. “I’ll stay.”

“Thank you,” Nicholas whispered. He stood and walked behind the bar, setting the glass in the sink. The maid would take care of it in the morning. “I hope I’m overreacting, but I don’t want to risk it.”

“I understand.” Christophe finished off his own drink and placed the glass on the counter. “Look, we’re not going to figure anything out right now. Why don’t we call it a night? Go upstairs, take care of Morgan, and fuss over her. You know she’ll complain, but what she won’t tell you is that she really does enjoy it.” He chuckled as a slight smile creased his cheeks.
 

“Sage advice, my young friend. You’re welcome to stay here and sleep. There’s one open guest room on the second floor and another on the first.”
 

“Thank you, I think I will.”
 

“See you this evening.” Nicholas stood and went back upstairs to the master suite.
 

When he reached Morgan’s side and touched her cheek, she still had a fever, even above normal human temperature. He knew he should try to get her to drink some of the brew that sustained her life and kept the magic in her blood in check, but she looked so peaceful and couldn’t bear to disturb her.

Instead, he went down to the study where’d he’d set up his office and grabbed a few things before returning to the bedroom. Pulling one of the high-backed wing chairs over so he could sit beside Morgan, Nicholas settled in with his laptop to work.
 

29 - San Francisco, CA - November 5, 2012

Grace walked back to her desk, cup of hot, crappy coffee in her hand. Voices filled the room, inspectors, cops and witnesses all talking at once, blending to create a continuous cacophony. Partial walls of each cubicle helped muddy the sounds making it a muffled mess. She sat down at her desk, set the coffee down, put her headphones on and hit play on the next digital recording the tip line had flagged for her. In theory, the tip line helped focus the investigation. In truth, it served to scatter resources best put to use elsewhere. She yawned and sipped her coffee; the bitter taste burned the back of her throat.
 

“Can I help you?” the operator’s nasally voice asked.

“I have a tip on the vampire killer,” the caller said.
 

“Name please?” the operator replied with a yawn.

“I would like it to remain anonymous.”
 

“There’s a substantial reward for information leading to the capture of this killer.”
 

“I will remain anonymous.”

“Your call. What’s your tip?”

“You’re missing three victims.”
 

“What?” The operator sounded alert, no longer bored.

“What?” Grace echoed setting her coffee aside as she grabbed a notepad and prepared to take down the information.

“There are three deaths your department has missed: Victor Black, Amy Young, and Corrine Curtis.” The caller delivered the information in a deadpan manner. No inflection.
 

“How do you know this?” the operator asked, trying to keep the caller on the line. Greeted by silence, the operator spoke again. “Hello? Are you still there?”
 

The call continued for another minute, as the operator tried to get the caller to respond before the line went dead.
 

“Shit.” Grace slammed her hand down on her desk, enjoying the sensation that skittered up her arm for a moment before. Fingers flying across the keyboard, she researched every database available on the three victims.

She cursed in a whisper as her hand flew across the page, jotting the notes she would need to take to her lieutenant.

Victor Black, 27, white male last seen on October 1 at The Catacombs, a Goth club in the warehouse district. Found the next morning on the beach near the Presidio, forearms slit. Since he was found in the water, no blood. Medical examiner ruled it a suicide.

Corrine Curtis, 24-year-old Native American female, last seen on September 15 at Chrysis, a techno club in the downtown area. Found in her apartment, two days after an apparent suicide. Cut her femoral artery in the shower. Trace amounts of blood found in the drain.

Amy Young, 30, Asian female, last seen leaving a movie with friends on August 5. Found in an alley six days later near her home in the heights. Remains had been subjected to extensive scavenging before they were found and the ME couldn’t pinpoint cause of death.

When the third victim had been sketched out, she laid all three files out on the desk next to each another.

No obvious connection. Two clubgoers and one moviegoer, all about the same age, but different ethnicities and various locations. Either the tipster is full of shit or I’m missing something. Think like a vampire, think like a vampire.

“What the Hell am I thinking? God, what happened to Eric and Roberts that they thought I’d buy all the vampire crap? Like a cheap set of Hollywood rip-off fangs would convince me. What if they’re not lying? What if there’s more we’re missing because we’re not looking in the right place?”

Grace pulled up her case notes, even though she’d looked at them hundreds of times and began reading them again after adding in the new information. It wasn’t much, but she had a gut feeling. More than once she’d managed to convince her lieutenant to go along with her hunches because her instincts were usually proven right.
 

Half an hour later, Grace stalked back to her desk and threw the papers on top of it, garnering several concerned looks from her fellow inspectors. The meeting had not gone as she had hoped. If she were being honest, it went as well as it could.

The lieutenant hadn’t bought into her theory because she didn’t have enough evidence. He didn’t want to reopen three closed cases on the basis of her hunch; he needed facts. If she could find more evidence, he’d promised to view her theory with an open mind, but that wouldn’t help the next victim.

She sighed and flopped into her chair, folding her arms over her chest. The murder board across the room loomed in her line of sight, taunting her. Voices of the dead echoed through her mind… ridiculing and telling her that she’d screwed up the whole investigation. Cursing, she dropped her elbows on her desk and cradled her head.

“This isn’t a normal killer you’re dealing with.”
Eric’s words whispered through her mind.

Now, she knew he was right—the puzzle was coming together between Eric’s input and information the caller provided—this wasn’t a run-of-the-mill serial killer.

Of course he’s right, there’s no such thing as a run-of-the-mill serial killer.
Her mind turned over everything that years on the job and training told her about the men and women who had a compulsion to kill.

An hour later, Grace’s mind swam with theories, but none of them made any sense. She scrubbed her hands over her face and rubbed her temples, feeling a dull ache beginning behind her eyes.

“Nothing fits,” she whispered.
The idea that we have two serials, both active at the same time, doesn’t track. Another theory that it’s a pair or more working in concert is outrageous. One or more of them would have made a mistake and done something to leave a trace at one of the crime scenes. Some investigators think the victims were all killed at a different location and then dumped, but that doesn’t track if Corrine Curtis is one of the pattern because she was found at home, and the autopsy results showed the body hadn’t been moved.
Grace closed her eyes and leaned back in her chair feeling a monster of a headache descending down on her.
 

“We’re very good at covering our tracks. If we aren’t, then we die, it’s as simple as that.”
Eric’s words came back to her like TV reruns. His direct way of speaking that night had haunted her.

What if he was telling the truth?
she thought.
He must have been. Roberts agreed
.

Grace sat up straight and frowned, trying to remember more details of that night. She put her hands over her eyes and pictured Eric sitting in that room. Going through the entire conversation in her mind, she struggled to remember his tells from countless poker games played before she left New Orleans.

“Shit!” Grace stood up and stalked out of her cubicle. That man… vampire, whatever, is going to give me answers whether or not he wants to. She shook her head, hoping that it would help to clear the cobwebs.

Forty-five minutes later, Grace found herself in front of the house she’d run from a few nights ago. She frowned as memories of that night flooded back into her mind, including getting drunk with Roberts in a vampire bar as he’d spilled his guts about working with
them
.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she wrapped her hand around the heavy brass knocker and did the lift and slam thing, three times before letting it go. Irritated and impatient, Grace wanted to keep pounding on the door until someone answered. Then she thought better of it, not pissing off the immortal killers seemed like a good place to start.
 

“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice broke into her reverie.

Grace looked up to see Morgan, the raven-haired woman she’d met that night with Eric, standing in the doorway, waiting for something. The other woman smiled, and it made her green eyes flash in the streetlights.
 

“Is Eric in?” Grace asked, feeling like a school girl asking for her boyfriend.
 

The smile widened and something else flashed in the woman’s eyes, something mischievous. Grace realized she’d made a mistake.

“Why yes, he is. But before I show you to him, I would like to know what your intentions are where my protégé is concerned.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your intentions where Eric is concerned. What are they?” She leaned against the doorjamb and folded her arms across her chest.
 

“Why is it any of your business?”

“Because he’s young, and certain kinds of entanglements with human beings can be… tricky. I would like to know in advance, so I can speak with him about how to handle those situations.” She shrugged.

“Are you talking about personal relationships?”

“There’s more than just that.” Morgan smiled.

“I’ve known him for a long time,” Grace said, though she didn’t know why she felt like opening up to the other woman this way. “We drifted apart after I moved here. I’d like to go back to being friends.”