Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. They are owned by Tanya Huff, Lifetime, and Insight, and hopefully I have returned them unharmed.
Lamentations of a Hand-Me-Down
Part 1
Late in the witching hour of a September night, Henry Fitzroy, son of a king, bent over a low table, calculating strategies and plotting his course. His face was still in concentration, holding a slight crease between nearly perfect brows. His clothes were loose and comfortable, made for a night of staying in. Blue eyes darted, laying out plans and redrawing battle lines. Every decision had to be correct, and every response anticipated. He lifted one graceful hand and made his move.
White Knight F4 to E6.
He lifted Vicki's bishop from the board with a pleased grin.
She sighed irritably and glared. So much for respecting the clergy.
"Do you even have a strategy?" he said, leaning back into the couch.
"Of course I do." Vicki picked over her pieces like fruit.
"Really." Henry watched her with delight.
"I make it up as I go along." She smirked and slid a rook forward to take his pawn.
He smiled indulgently. "That's not a strategy. That's jazz," he said, in a smooth, low voice. His hands brushed down the fabric of the couch, and he leaned forward, stretching toward the board.
"Maybe I like jazz," Vicki huffed.
"Maybe I do too. But it doesn't win war." He gave her an impish grin and picked his piece, sliding his own bishop clear across the board. "Checkmate." His eyes glittered gleefully.
Vicki stared down at the game and gave a small disgruntled noise. She sat back against her sofa and crossed her arms petulantly. Henry averted his gaze, smiled, and started putting the pieces back in their box. Real ebony. Real ivory. Very old.
"Don't you have any other games?"
He glanced at her. "I don't often find the time," he said, closing the wooden box of royals. "But . . ." He leaned over the table, elbows resting on his knees. "If it's other forms of entertainment you want . . . I do have plenty of ideas."
Incorrigible did not begin to describe him. And yet, Vicki felt herself quicken at the purr in his voice. She drew a breath to answer, possibly deny, but found herself just watching him as he stood in a gentle sweep and then settled onto the seat next to her. He could have appeared almost like magic. He chose not to and slung one arm over the back of the couch so he could face her. He resisted the urge to play with her hair, choosing instead to see what she would do.
The offer hung in the air.
Vicki shifted, mirroring the vampire's pose. He was so close, so open, just waiting. Her cheeks grew hot with the memory of having touched him, kissed him. Her heart pounded.
It could be nice. Lovely. It could be everything-for awhile.
She reached up slowly and touched the corner of his mouth with her thumb . . . drew it feather-light across his lips. She felt him sigh, eyelids falling closed. Henry turned into her hand and touched a light kiss to her palm. The brush of skin and breath made her gasp.
Vicki shivered in want, ready to grab a handful of his curly hair and pull him on like a blanket. She shivered in fear, too. And drew her hand away. But he followed, and in a blink she felt his breath on her face, hovering.
Henry pressed in for a kiss, letting his lips slide over hers. He sucked lightly and felt her breathe out a moan. The sound of it made him smile. He brushed a hand down her sides, over the soft mohair fabric, and then slid fingers up under the hem. She jumped as his cool skin met her warm stomach and then kissed him hard. Tongues met and mingled heat.
Henry's hand moved higher. Caressed her breast. Electric.
Vicki jerked, both hands coming to Henry's shoulders in a quick shove that parted them instantly.
"Don't . . ." she whispered hoarsely. Don't make me fall for you. She slithered away, panting.
What Henry heard was something different. Don't touch me. Don't love me. He gave her a look of sorrow and defeat as he sat back. And he wondered, as he had many times, if she saw the animal, still, when looked at him. He had to know if that was the reason. If it would only take time. He caught her eyes and moved to speak, but she was faster for once.
Vicki took his face in her hands and planted a lingering kiss on the crown of his head. His eyes closed as his question died on his lips. And then he watched her back away, taking her warmth and scent with her.
"I'll see you tomorrow," she said, heading for the door.
He said nothing as she left. But as the door to the apartment clicked shut, Fitzroy clenched his jaw and slowly nodded.
XXX
She ran. Through the dark streets, through a nameless park, across busy intersections with lights and sounds that burned her delicate senses. The clothes from the trunk were red. It was good they were red. And good it was dark.
She checked the newspaper ad clutched in one bony hand as though the address wasn't burned into her soul. This name. This place. Vicki Nelson would help. She just had to reach her. She just needed time. The city was so large, unlike it had been years ago. So much to cross. She just needed time.
Air rushed like coals in her chest as she ran and turned the corner under a bright street light. Her brown hair looked black in the night, and it flowed out behind her like a cape, falling unnaturally still and slick when she paused, or when she stumbled and stopped.
Force drew on her like the ocean before a wave, a deep inhale of power. And then it hit, smashing upon the rocks. She fell to the pavement, soft skin tearing on rough cement, and screamed a silent scream as everything inside felt cut and burned at once. The pain blotted out movement until there were only the involuntary spasms of trying to escape.
Time had run out.
She lay sprawled and helpless for a time that held no meaning. Too late. All that mattered was that she had been too late. Eventually, the pain in her stomach ebbed, and she staggered to her feet. She had been close.
Tears of frustration jumbled her vision as she checked the moon, found north, and started back. Every few minutes, phantom blades would cut anew and she would sink against a building for support until he stopped. She would not cry for the pain, not while she could taste the fresh air. Only for her failure to have made it all the way.
The master called, and she must make it . . . back.
Not home. Never home.
XXX
Detective Sergeant Mike Celluci stood in one of the deluxe suites of the newly opened Hazelton Hotel staring down with unearthly calm at the body of one Edward Ellis, investor. He sipped coffee that they'd gotten on the way and started picking out details. He gave the room a once over, just to see what all the buzz had been about. Designer lamps with squat, round shades, patterned rugs, modern but reasonable art. He could never afford a night at such a place, so this was about as close as he was ever going to get to the experience. His gaze came back around to the true center of the room: the bed. It was difficult to imagine the effect they'd been going for, what with the blood and corpse and all. Mike absently wondered when the sight of that much blood had stopped interrupting his need for breakfast.
Edward, by the state of undress, had not been alone when he was killed. That and the bullwhip were a fairly strong hint that Eddie had a plaything. Mike set his coffee on the closest table and crouched near the whip that lay spooled on the floor. Something about it seemed serious, authentic. He snagged the forensics kid snapping photos and pulled him down.
"What does this look like to you?" Mike said, not quite touching the plaits near the tip of the whip.
The tech's eyes narrowed at the darkened leather. "Could be more blood," he offered.
"Yeah. Make sure you get a photo of this, okay?" Celluci said as he stood. He looked over to see his partner, Dave, waving something through the air.
"Money and cards are still in his wallet," he announced.
Mike nodded slowly, eyes fixing on Edward's dead body and the spiked heel still protruding from his neck. "Yeah, I'm not thinking this was a robbery."
"Are you even thinking this is a murder? I mean, maybe he . . ." Dave stood at the foot of the bed and started twisting his head, mimicking the sprawl that the corpse had fallen in to. He tried to imagine the possibilities.
"Zigged when he should have zagged?" Mike laughed darkly. "No . . . that just gives you rug burn." He retrieved his coffee and sipped.
Dave snorted and started to make a reply when Gracie, one of the city's medical examiners, rolled in with a gurney and her bag of gear. She brushed her hand over her ear like she was tucking back her blonde hair, except that it was already pulled in a tight ponytail. She snapped on her gloves and glanced at Mike with a smile at the edges of her lips.
"Since when do you get here first?"
He shrugged and smiled. "Can't have you thinking I'm slacking off."
"Hmm." Her mouth twisted into a wry grin and she eyed his coffee. "Bring any for me?" she asked, pulling a thermometer from her kit.
Mike looked sheepish. "I didn-"
"You'll remember next time," she cut him off with a quip and a coy look that dared him to forget.
He smiled to himself and glanced around the room.
Gracie edged onto the blood-soaked bed to take a liver temperature. She kept staring at the shoe, torn between laughing and keeping her professional cool.
Celluci looked up when he heard her shift off the mattress. "Well?"
"Dead about ten hours."
"So 10pm last night." Mike turned to his partner. "Dave, check the staff schedules, see who was working then. Maids, bellhops. Maybe someone might have been up here."
The big man nodded. "You got it, man." And he hurried off for the main lobby, pushing by uniformed officers and the forensics team that was beginning to map the room for more thorough evidence collection.
When he was gone, Mike turned his attention back to the ME. She was returning the thermometer to its proper place.
"I assume you've noted the massive blood loss?" Gracie smirked.
"Extensively."
"Stab wound to the neck."
"Also did not escape my attention."
"Then there's not much more I can tell you here." She offered a slight smile and then waved for two of her assistants to help her move the body.
Mike took one last drink from his coffee cup and then raised it toward her. "Still hot?" he offered.
She wrinkled her nose. "Cop cooties."
And he just shook his head and laughed. "Thanks, Grace," he said, making for the door.
"Any time!" she called as Mike left.
He waved and followed in Dave's wake to the lobby to see what else he could get from the hotel.
Mike was flipping through the case file when Mohadevan called. She had interesting things that she wanted to show him in person.
"I'll be right down," he told her, taking the file with him.
Edward was grey under the bright, dazzling lights. He was also stitched together like a baseball, with neat, even sutures that would have been better placed on a living patient. Mike kept staring at the hole in Eddie's neck and picturing the shoe. A knot of giggles bounced around inside, but he kept it down and eyed the coroner with professional detachment.
"Well," she said, looking up from her microscope. "There were some epithelials left under his fingernails. But given the lack of defensive wounds, I can't quite tell you why. I also found a few hairs on him that were not, I can say with certainty, his own."
"DNA?"
She smiled apologetically. "I'm afraid that's where it gets strange."
Mike's eyes closed automatically, and he concentrated on the reddish-black. "Strange how?"
"Strange as in both samples match, but they're not quite human."
He made an exaggerated sigh.
"But they are quite female. Vaginal fluids confirm that Mr. Ellis had sex recently. With the same someone who left her skin under his nails."
Celluci opened his eyes and regarded her seriously. "If it isn't human . . . " He couldn't believe he'd said that. "Do you know what it could be? Are we talking another vampire here?"
Mohadevan drew a deep breath and looked thoughtful. "Whatever I tested last time is not the same as this. So . . . I really couldn't say."
"Anything else?" Mike asked, looking over Edward bleakly.
"She broke his neck when she kicked him. It's why he didn't move and still managed to bleed out."
Mike grimaced and turned to go. "Thanks, doc."
She grinned after him. "Always a pleasure!"
"Not quite human." He muttered and swore a blue streak under his breath all the way back up the stairs. Mike returned to his desk to find his partner hovering and looking sour.
"I assume you have bad news?" The detective sergeant dropped into his chair.
"No one from the staff was on that floor. Room was reserved in Edward's name with his own credit card. Cameras show him entering the hotel alone."
Detective Celluci shook his head lightly. "Phone records? Maybe she was from an escort service?"
"Sorry, man. Already checked. No calls."
"Cell phone?"
"Uniforms are still at his house. They might find one there."
Mike picked up a pen just to have the satisfaction of dropping it and then rubbed his hands over his face.
"So we're nowhere."
Dave shrugged, and Mike simply nodded. There was nothing for it. He'd have to wait for more evidence. With a sigh, he set Edward's case aside and started on the previous day's reports.
Mike rubbed his neck wearily as he closed the last file on his desk. Night was falling, his shift was over, and it was time to head out. He'd promised Vicki dinner as an apology for some slight against Henry that he couldn't remember. It'd gotten her pissed, though. And she was best pacified by fine food.
He turned his car on to College and headed east. Ink spread across the skyline, staining it purple and black. The lights from the signs and streetlamps danced a joyous carnival on either side of the road, blurring into streams of color as he drove. It was silent in the car, and the detective drifted into a light trance as he followed this path he'd followed a thousand times. There, the video store. There, the Tim Horton's. Stop for the light.
He kept the yellow lines in the right places and cruised, thinking about Edward Ellis. Killed during sex. Was that better or worse than other ways?
The turn for Vicki's office was coming.
Light. Light. Bump in the road. The tires hummed.
Woman.
Mike slammed on the brakes, and the car slammed into the woman, rolling her up onto the hood. As the cruiser lurched to a halt, she slid from the smooth rumpled metal and tumbled across the asphalt. For a breath, Mike stared, his heart pounding against his ribs in horrified terror. And then he was out, rushing to her side.
"Oh . . . God . . . Where did-miss, are you?"
She moved and whipped her long brown hair aside. Her cheeks and hands were torn and bleeding, and her thin limbs shook violently as she gave a dazed look around at the car, at Mike, at her wounds.
"Miss?" Mike reached for her arm to help her up.
She shrieked.
She shrieked and wrenched away, her eyes wide with wild fear.
"I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't see you. Are you okay?" Blood pounded in his ears, and he tried to reach for her again, only to have her cower away and bare her small teeth that were dark with blood. She needed an ambulance.
"Don't move, I'll call for help."
But she did move, scrambling backwards across the street. Away from the man; the one who grabbed.
Mike followed for a few steps, one hand out trying to calm her down and make her rest. "Please, you're hurt. I need you to-yes, this is Detective Celluci. I need an ambulance."
The woman staggered to her feet, eyes darting from Mike to the buildings beyond.
"Miss, something could be broken. You shouldn't walk." He moved again to touch her arm, and she swung at his hand, viciously snarling.
"Yes, just past the third light." He mumbled, recoiled from her strike, and almost dropped the phone.
She sucked rapid breaths as she backed away and looked at the paper she held crumpled in her hand. It wasn't fair. She shook involuntarily and started to cry.
Mike watched her cautiously as he slipped his phone into his pocket and held up both hands. "The paramedics will be here soon. They can take a look at you."
She stared at him, palms burning, bones aching, eyes streaming tears. And she stepped away. It was coming. She had taken too long, and the master knew. She moved up onto the sidewalk. Onto the grass.
Then the ocean pulled its waters deep inside. And pain came crashing at her back. She crumpled to the ground with a high-pitched grunt, hugging her arms around her body to keep from falling apart. The sound she heard must have been her own screaming, but it was hard to tell the burning in her throat from the searing in her stomach. Hands touched her small shoulders, and she wanted to vomit from their weight.
"Get away!" She flailed desperately in panic and rolled away as the cold pain dulled and her lungs opened so she could breathe. She came to her feet with unearthly grace and gave the man another savage flash of teeth.
Mike froze, startled by the violence and speed of her reaction. And before he could think beyond the blood on her beautiful cheek and the wholesale terror in her black opal eyes, she took off, sprinting with a lightness and speed that was . . .
"Not human."
Detective Celluci felt a grip in his gut as she vanished into the night. He let his eyes fall to the ground. A crumpled scrap of paper glared up at him. He picked it up and carried it to a streetlamp so he could see.
"Vicki Nelson Investigations. . . "
The strength went out of him. Of course. Of course she'd be looking for Vicki. The unnatural, it seemed, always were.
A flash of colored lights crossed Mike's vision, and he looked up to see the ambulance rolling to a stop. With great world-weariness, he sighed. After a few minutes' explanation, the paramedics were on their way and Mike was left to drive the last few blocks to Vicki's office with pointed, nervous caution. All thoughts of dinner had fled, replaced by the image of a bruised and bleeding woman beating at him like it meant her life.
He entered Vicki's building and took the stairs. The exercise was good for his body, now shaking as the adrenaline drained away. He leaned against the door frame and knocked.
Vicki answered. And she looked stunning. Her hair fell to her shoulders; it was swept and styled to frame and brush her golden cheeks. A simple black dress clung to her strong body. Mike didn't hide his roaming eyes as she stepped back to let him in. He knew every muscle and inch of skin, and yet the way the dress fell promised exciting possibilities, like a magician's scarf.
"You're late," she smirked and let him follow her into the reception room.
"Yeah, about that." He touched the paper in his pocket.
"Good evening, detective." The disembodied voice of Henry Fitzroy smiled from her office door.
Mike flinched and glared. "What's he doing here?" He looked at the vampire, spoke to Vicki.
She shrugged. "You were late."
"And you were going to tell us why." Henry strode forward, tilting his head in amusement.
His expression made Mike want to sneer, so he looked at Vicki instead. There was expectation in her eyes.
"I hit a woman tonight," he blurted.
"Who says chivalry isn't dead," Henry smiled as he stalked a circle around them.
"With my car! She was carrying this." He produced the newspaper ad, and Henry plucked it from his fingers as he passed.
"Is she okay?" Vicki asked.
They both watched Henry sniff the paper and jerk away from the scent of blood.
"Apparently," Mike said, snatching the paper back. "In fact, she got up and ran away."
The other two frowned.
"She was here looking for you, Vic. And . . . I think she killed a man last night."
"What makes you think it was her?" Vicki said. She took the ad and stared down at the bloody newsprint. Dark blotches obscured her name.
"Mohadevan said the hair samples were not quite human. And this woman? Who just got up like her leg wasn't busted? Something about her-"
"Wasn't quite human," Henry finished the thought for him and turned away, pacing the length of the office. When he turned back, his eyes were narrowed in thought. "You think she's a threat."
"If I'm right, she killed a man. Of course I think she's a threat."
Vicki could see it coming-the two of them leaping to her defense, positioning themselves as sentries outside her door. Something had to be done.
"Well!" She clapped Mike on the arm with enthusiasm. "Thanks for the heads up. I'll be sure to watch out for a . . ." She lifted her eyebrows in question.
"Small, thin woman with very long brown hair. Big dark eyes."
"Got it."
The men gave her a wary look.
"What? A thin small chick is not something I have to worry about. Now are you or are you not taking me to dinner an hour late?"
Mike's expression slid into a smile, and Henry's fell. As the two mortals linked arms, Fitzroy swept forward in a cloud of dark indifference. The very blankness on his pale face betrayed him. "Got dinner plans of my own," he said, with a brilliant, fake smile.
Vicki touched his arm as he passed, and he paused, turning to look her in the eyes.
"Be good," she said.
"Always am."
And then he was gone as though he had never been.
Vicki felt Mike's eyes on her. She looked to see just how much contempt they held but found only worry. It was an expression he wore far too often.
"What?" she said in her most innocent voice.
Mike glanced toward the open door. "Nothing. After you?" He gestured, and they strode out.
"So, you really hit a woman with your car?"
"Don't start."
XXX
Battered and aching, she returned to his house, the master's house. It was old and richly appointed. The smell of money clung to the climbing ivy. Everything about it was one more thing that she hated. She hated the wall and the fence, the gate, the walkway, and the trees. She hated the small windows that looked out on the grounds and the round window at the very summit in the attic. She hated the way it smelled forever like pine and how the floorboards creaked under the lightest foot.
She stepped up to the front door and rang the bell. She had no key. Would never have a key. Keys open things, reveal secrets. Her secrets were gone and not even hope remained.
The ghastly hand and pull of a distant force receded, and for a few blessed moments on the front step, it felt like she was free. Then the latch on the heavy front door lifted. And the door swung in.
He was red with fury. Red from his greying beard to his greying hair. Blue, pale eyes like ice pierced her soft flesh.
"You stupid whore!" he roared as his hand lashed out to snatch her by the hair. He hauled her inside with one powerful yank and slammed the door shut. Her body flailed like the end of a whip, an arm cracking against the banister that led upstairs. She shook before his anger and did not look at his eyes when he brought her face to his. A wolf's hot breath smothered her.
"Did you think I wouldn't find out?"
They were words she had heard before. Words out of history.
