Title: Wight Water - Part 1
Author: Darkmagess
Fandom: Blood Ties
Rating: R
Summary: People are dying all over the city, and Mike Celucci can't figure out a good reason why. Vicki and Henry are pulled into an investigation to try to put a stop to the senseless deaths before Toronto erupts in a full-scale panic.
Notes: French translations provided by Sonja Elen Kisa - Special thanks to pupnstuff, Ljuvefreya, mtffm, and epilj for other translation and beta reading services.
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.
Vicki gasped as Henry stroked his hand up her calf like a sculptor, sending waves of heat through her body and thrill across her skin. She watched him with wide, dark eyes as his fingers made their way to her knee. She squirmed, and he licked his lower lip in delight. A ticklish spot. Both hands grazed both knees and she squealed, laughing and breathless. He laughed with her, reveling in each discovery and smiling his broad, dimpled smile.
She reached for his face, rising to meet him, touching his eyes, caressing his cheek. Her breath was hot on his skin just before they kissed, energetic and joyous. Vicki felt him smile as their tongues darted and bubbles of giggles rose inside. God, she felt young.
And he felt young - smooth and perfect skin wherever she touched, strong bundles of muscle that rolled under her palms. She drew her nails across his back as she leaned away and watched as his eyes closed with a shudder. A thousand times wouldn't be enough. Then, there were new hands. Familiar. Mike's. They were calloused and heavy and tracing a line up her spine that ended in a shiver.
Mike started at her shoulder, pressing, kissing, tasting his way to the sensitive curve of her neck. She fell against him with an unbidden moan and felt Henry draw close, pressing their bodies together. Mike switched sides, nibbling at her neck, burying a hand in her tawny hair, and Henry slid a silky hand down her inner thigh, eliciting another gasp of pleasure.
They were cheek to cheek as he whispered in her ear, "I think we can do better," and flashed a smile.
As though of one mind, both men stroked their hands down her arms in a symmetry that made her whimper. Twin dragons, they raced over every curve, filling any emptiness the other had left. Vicki felt dizzy and closed her eyes, abandoning any semblance of control. There was only skin, cries, and panting, broken by laughter from Henry's tender mercies. They were maddening. And at last Vicki sought Mike's hands, entwining her fingers with his. He held her arms wide, held her open, as she drew deep ragged breaths. Henry traced a hand lightly across the bronze skin of her throat and then replaced it with the soft touch of his lips. His hair brushed gossamer against her breasts as he moved. Lower. God.
The car door slamming as Henry returned bearing coffee shocked Vicki awake. Her skin was slick, and she was panting, still feeling hands and heat and ache, passion leaving a trace. She stared at him across the short distance. She watched him half-smile in confusion and set the coffee aside. He must have said something, but all she could see were his lips, perfect and waiting. And all she could feel was trembling fire. Vicki dove, snatched Henry's shirt in her fists, and captured him in a kiss. She was fierce and insistent, sucking on his lower lip, exploring like her imagination had dreamed. He kept up, yielding to each demand.
Vicki sank back in her seat, dragging him over the center console. She broke the connection between them just long enough to recline the seat and slide it back as far as it would go. She felt crazy, but she needed to touch, to be touched.
Henry took a brief pause to collect himself. "Vicki . . ."
"Shut up." She looked at him with wide, hungry eyes and gripped his shirt again.
As his lady demanded . . . Henry slid over as best he could, bracing himself above Vicki with one hand against the wall of the car, the other on her seat. He looked down, and her face was screwed in concentration. She was undoing the buttons of his shirt as quickly as her rushed, wild body would allow. The awkward and cramped space suddenly didn't seem so important.
Fitzroy hummed in pleasure as Vicki began running her hands over his chest and stomach. She pulled him a little lower, and her mouth found purchase on his neck. Hot and wet. She kissed and sucked until he moaned, and then she shifted. Henry shuddered and growled lowly as her blunt teeth raked over one nipple. He arched and pressed, his eyes sweeping drunkenly around the car, down at Vicki, and errantly out into the night. Where their quarry was passing under a streetlight and quickly disappearing.
"Shit," Henry gasped. He sneered and with effort threw himself into the driver's seat.
Vicki grabbed for his arm. "What is it?"
He looked at her pointedly and then to the rear view mirror. The haze of lust began burning away as Vicki rolled and peered out the back window.
"Shit," she said, with an entirely different inflection.
Henry started the car and swung it around, still shaking some. The man they were after, Ciaran Burness, was an assistant curator at the Royal Ontario Museum-one suspected of having lifted a number of small artifacts. Company policy prohibited firing employees without proof, so Vicki had been hired to investigate.
So far, Ciaran had hit two bars after work, while his tails sat outside, restless and bored. Mostly. He hadn't brought anything in or accompanied anyone out either time.
Henry pulled the car to the next corner beyond where he'd seen the man vanish. There was a pregnant silence as Vicki's pulse slowed and Fitzroy pulled into a gas station lot filled with cars waiting to be repaired. She threw open the door before the engine stopped and was half-way across the street in the temperate darkness when Henry caught up.
He leaned in a little, rebuttoning his shirt as they went. "You kissed me," he said with a smile.
She struggled for a response but emerged with only a "Yeah."
"Raincheck?"
"I don't do rainchecks," she replied, her tone a bit colder than she'd intended. She winced.
Henry hesitated, pinned to the ground by the barb, a hurt look clouding his eyes. It was a few steps before Vicki felt the emptiness beside her and stopped. She cast a look over her shoulder.
"'m sorry."
It was a small gesture, but it was heartfelt. And it was enough. Henry caught up to her, though he moved with less energy than before. The street they turned on to housed a number of restaurants and small businesses. Many of them were closed at such a late hour.
"Did you see where he went?" Vicki whispered.
Henry just shook his head.
"Great."
Vicki chose to walk like she was strolling, giving each storefront an interested but innocuous once over. She scanned the street for signs of life, but nothing jumped out. The cleaner's seemed empty, as did the bagel shop. Then there was Finn's and a record store.
Vicki peered up at the sign above her head.
"Seems a bit early for a bar to be closed, don't you think?"
Henry wasn't paying attention. He had his ear to the window of the cleaner's. He pressed a finger to his lips for silence and closed his eyes to listen. Vicki drew close, sneakers soundless on the sidewalk, and watched him.
"People are talking," he said lowly.
"You can't make it out?"
He shook his head, stepping away. "They must be at the back."
She smirked and hurried down the street to the closest alley. No light reached the sheltered corridor, and she stopped, unable to see the way.
"Henry!" she whispered.
He touched her arm at the elbow. "It's going to rain soon," he added sullenly, drawing a deep lungful of air.
She eyed him, amused as his apparent displeasure. "I thought I was the Wicked Witch."
"More like the Tin Woodsman."
"Does that make you, the Cowardly Lion?" She shot back with a smile.
He drew close and brushed up against her ear, letting one warm breath pass. "The Hungry Tiger." And then he slipped around her into the darkness.
With one hand resting on her partner's back, Vicki followed, wondering at the reference, but unwilling to give Henry the satisfaction of asking. They emerged from the alley into the lighted square behind the shops, full of dumpsters and bags of trash. Vicki took the lead again, staying pressed against the building as she stepped toward the only open door on the lot. When even she could hear men's voices, she stopped.
Henry laid a hand on her shoulder, and she turned. He tapped his heart rhythmically and held up four fingers.
"Can you hear them?" She spoke almost inaudibly.
The vampire nodded once and set to listening, his brow furrowing in concentration. Vicki stood poised and tense, like a drawn bow.
"Ciaran's there," Fitzroy offered.
Vicki waited impatiently for the play by play.
"They're talking about a . . . robbery." Henry frowned and caught her eyes. "Celtic Mysteries exhibit."
Vicki's face lit up. Getting caught pulling a heist was as red-handed as you could ever hope for.
"They're discussing opening night, the number of tickets sold, the staff who will be on hand." The vampire's face turned grim. "He says it's worth many lives."
"I'll bet."
Vicki nodded to herself and started creeping back to the alley, away from possible earshot. Henry frowned, confused, but hurried to lead her back in safety and silence.
"Aren't we going to stop them?" he said as they stepped back into the glow of the streetlights.
Vicki flashed a smile. "I thought you didn't like unnecessary risk."
"You do," he said seriously, keeping at her side as she moved briskly to the car.
"What was a sticky-fingered employee is now grand larceny. But! We can't catch them for it before they do it." She got back in the Jag with a growing sense of excitement. She tried hiding her smile under her hand but failed. This would be real action-cops and robbers honest-type normal action.
Henry got in and started the car, reflecting her enthusiasm in his electric smile. "I assume we're going to the opening, then?"
She gave him a sidelong, mischievous glance and a sultry smile. "Wear something nice."
XXX
Mike stood in the oppressive, empty light of Mohadevan's morgue peering down at the body of one Geoff Carson. Nine in the morning was far too early to be a homicide cop.
"Detective Celluci," the M.E. said, snapping off her gloves. "Why am I not surprised."
Mike regarded her with curiosity. "And why's that?"
She handed him her preliminary report. "Geoff Carson, 32, black male, came in this morning."
"Yeah," Mike said, looking at his own notes. "They found him at Exhibition Place."
"More precisely, in the fountain at Exhibition Place."
"Cause of death?"
"Drowning," she said with a hint of amusement.
"That fountain's only like six inches deep."
"You're familiar with it?"
He shrugged. "Vic and I used to jog around there sometimes."
She gave a knowing nod. "Well, while it's not impossible for someone to drown in that amount of water, what is unusual is my inability to tell you why."
The detective frowned.
"Blood alcohol levels were normal. No drugs that I can find. No cuts. No abrasions. Not a mark on him. He was, as far as he's been able to tell me, perfectly healthy. And then he drowned."
Mike sighed. "He had help."
She shot him a smirk. "That's for you to determine."
Celluci left, nodding, and returned to his desk to find Crowley waiting for him. Her scowl spoke volumes. He slid Carson's file onto his desk and tried to look pleased to see her.
"You're going to have a bad day Celluci," she said without preamble, handing him a slip of paper with neatly written addresses.
He glanced at the paper and back up at her. Her expression softened some.
"You're not going to like the last one."
"Why not?" He found her almost human-like concern unnerving.
"Because there are kids."
Mike's eyes narrowed as his heart became painfully cinched. He nodded and read over the last address on the list. Kids were always the worst. Before he could say or ask anything more, Crowley turned and marched off.
"What do we got?" Dave, Mike's partner, asked, slinking over from his desk where he'd been watching.
Mike shook his head and handed him the sheet. "Let's go find out." His voice lacked enthusiasm, which seemed only proper. Sometimes he felt like a gravedigger, and he'd never met one of those who wasn't almost as sullen as the people he buried.
The first body was on Adelaide Street West, just off the center of the lane. Mike and Dave ducked under the police tape and strode over to the deceased, where a coroner was already making her assessment. She looked up, and Mike nodded a greeting.
"Gracie."
"Hey, Mike."
"What've you got?"
She scanned the body up and down. "Sharif al-Safyr, 55. Been dead about nine hours. Neighbors didn't notice him until they started to leave for work this morning."
Celluci nodded and crouched down to look over the victim's face and clothing. They were wet. It had rained some the previous night, as evidenced by a pool of rainwater caught in an asphalt swale not too far from Mr. al-Safyr. The whole road was a craggy mess.
"Anything else?'
"No signs of trauma. He was found face down in that puddle," she indicated the pool Mike found himself staring at.
He felt a strange flutter inside when he asked, but he had to. "Could he have drowned?"
Gracie stared hard at him and brushed a lock of blond hair behind her ear. She glanced at the film of water barely deep enough for a bird's feet and then back to Sharif's body.
"Not by accident. And you'd have to break his nose to get the nostrils and mouth even close to being underwater."
Mike scribbled some notes down on his pad as the M.E. continued.
"I don't see any bruising, so it seems unlikely to me that that happened."
The detective nodded and looked at her squarely. "As of right now, best guess as to cause of death?"
Gracie pressed her lips into a thin line. "Right now? Heart attack. But an autopsy could easily prove me wrong."
"Thanks, Grace." Mike said, pushing himself to standing. "Call me if you find anything?"
She smiled.
Mike waved Dave toward the car.
"Hey, Mike!" Gracie called after him.
He turned.
"Tell Dawson I call dibs! He'll know."
Celluci smiled and gave her a wave as he slipped under the yellow tape. Mike let Dave drive to the second scene. He didn't like where this seemed to be going. It could just be circumstance, of course. His mind seeing patterns in the randomness of clouds. He doubted it though. Crowley gave him all three cases for a reason.
"Hey, Mike," Dave said, breaking the heavy silence.
"Hmm?"
"Shouldn't we hit this playground first? Shaw isn't that far from here."
Mike turned his head slowly and gave his partner a sorrowful look, a deep weariness reflected in his blue eyes.
"Save it for last," he said quietly.
"But-"
"Dave! Just drive . . . please."
The other man frowned at the wasted time and his partner's uncharacteristic edginess. "Whatever you say."
They sped down Adelaide to the Don Valley Parkway. It was just late enough in the morning for traffic to have eased off to a pleasant level of annoying. Crime scene number two was a bit off the beaten track in the large and heavily wooded Sunnybrook Park. They pulled into a parking lot and followed a uniformed officer down a bike trail, shrouded by a canopy of trees. A green trestle bridge spanned the brook to their right. There was a sharp embankment leading down to the water's rock-strewn edge. From the trail, anyone walking or biking could see a fair way down the brook.
Mike's heart sank a little farther when he spotted Dawson leaning over a body laid out on a dry pebbly bit of riverbed. Part of him had hoped for a nice clean shooting. He shoved his hands in his pockets and ducked under the police barrier.
"Morning Dawson," he called down.
A man Mike's age looked up.
Mike continued, "Gracie says she's got dibs." He half-smiled.
The coroner pursed his lips and then looked down at the soggy corpse of the victim. "I suppose you'd like my assessment."
"Please."
Dawson stood. "Marco Viela, 22, Latin-American male. Found pretty much where you see him. No-"
"Immediate signs of trauma." Mike's jaw flexed, and Dawson gave him a scrutinizing gaze.
"I would place the time of death at 5 hours ago."
Detective Celluci sighed heavily and kicked a few stones off the embankment. "You suspect drowning."
"I suspect it, but we'll have to-"
"Wait for the autopsy," they said together.
Mike scratched his head in irritation. "Call me when you know."
"Of course."
He waited for Dave to finish gathering details from the assembled witnesses. The woman who called it in didn't have much to offer, really. She rode her bike on that trail every morning. The guy didn't look familiar, not a regular during her usual hours, but she couldn't really be sure. Lots of people pass through the park. She didn't see or hear anything. He was already dead when she found him. Together, the two detectives headed back to the car, Mike quiet and brooding, Dave practically bursting.
"Let it out," Mike said, his voice tight.
"Do we have a serial killer?" Dave demanded, a little excited and a little frightened. "I mean, this shit is weird right? People don't just drown all over the city."
Mike looked at him, a bit relieved. At least he wasn't the only one that was getting spooked. "Maybe. Drowning is an odd method of attack though. I just don't know yet. We need the official reports and whatever forensics can find."
Serial killers were uncommon at best, despite what television would have people believe. Mike didn't want to start a panic any more than he wanted to see another crime scene. Especially this next one.
He hadn't realized he'd come to a stop until Dave bumped him on the arm.
"Hey."
"Hmm?"
"Why are we avoiding this playground? You know we could have been wrapped up already if you didn't make me drive all the way out-"
"Because it's a playground," Mike said slowly, cutting him off.
Dave returned a blank stare and shrugged. "Whatever man."
Celluci watched him go with a sigh. He'd been sighing a lot this morning, wearing his job like waterlogged cloak. And Dave was certainly no Vicki. The mere thought of her, though, gave him courage, and he resolved to call as soon as he was back at his desk, as soon as this rotten morning had unveiled its full splendor of horror.
The final scene was the Fred Hamilton Playground off Shaw. Unlike the others, this one had drawn a crowd. Why anyone would want to stand around to be witness to this was anyone's guess. Mike suppressed the urge to scream at the throng as he pushed past. They should be at their jobs or with their families. They should leave these people in peace.
The park was on two levels. The upper portion was a natural area of grass and trees. Then came the bocci court and restrooms, both perched at the top of a steep slope that leveled out to a children's playground, complete with sandbox and colorful swing set.
A uniform sat on the only bench next to a bawling woman. 'Must be the mother,' Mike thought. His face took on a stony grimace as he eased himself down the hill toward the center of commotion.
"A wading pool," he said under his breath, oddly not even shocked.
The pool was a concrete cymbal pressed into the ground. A squat cement cylinder in the middle housed the pump and spouts. It only needed to be turned on long enough to fill the shallow depression, so it now sat strangely angular and ugly amidst the natural surroundings.
The bodies of two small children lay on the grass just beside the pool. They were just about to lift them into body bags and cart them away. The detective stared at their small faces. A boy and a girl. They looked about the same age, pale Asian skin not yet turned ashen. They might have been sleeping. His thoughts skipped to his nephew, and Mike's heart ached.
"Detective?" A voice at his side shocked him back.
"Yes, sorry." Mike turned. It was the new M.E. He couldn't remember her name. Barbara? Barbi? Something like that.
"I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."
He gave her a tight smile. "Long morning."
"Tell me about it," she said, turning to watch the gurneys pass. "As you saw, two kids, age eight. Mikomi and Kaisei Arai. It looks like they drowned in the pool, but I won't be able to confirm it until I get them back to the morgue."
"If it was an accident, how come this case went to homicide?"
Barbi shook her head and shrugged. "You're asking the wrong person."
Mike simply nodded and rubbed the bridge of his nose between the eyes. "Thanks. I gotta go . . ." he gestured to the mother.
The M.E. nodded and looked apologetic.
Celluci approached with caution and slow, delicate movements. He sat gingerly next to Mrs. Arai, uncomfortable in the presence of her grief. Even the crowd was oddly quiet. No one laughed or sniggered when she doubled over in a wail that carried until her breath gave out. Mike swallowed and reached out, setting a hand lightly on her shoulder. The woman gasped and bolted upright, taking the briefest moment to regain her strength before collapsing into sobs. She fell against Mike's chest and shook. And he offered her all he had, which was just the willingness to hold on.
There is not a word for a parent who outlives a child. That much grief does not know the bounds of language and will not suffer the indignity of being restrained. Without thinking, Mike had started to rock back and forth. Drawn into the stranger's sadness, he found a few tears rolling down his own cheeks. It could have been him. It could have been his sister. Her moans of agony and loss touched the secret fears he never shared that sometimes haunted dreams. God, he wished she'd stop.
Mike sniffed and cleared his throat as he felt the woman's sobs slow and breathing become more even. She drew back, wiping her red and swollen eyes.
"Mrs. Arai," he said softly. "Can you tell me what happened?"
"We . . . I . . . was just up the hill. The kids were on the swingset . . ." Her eyes rolled and her voice trembeled, but she fought for control.
"Was there anyone else here?"
She bit her lip and shook her head. "I didn't see. We come early, before work." She lifted a shaky hand and pointed across the street. "They play . . . and . . . go to school." Her voice came out in a pinched squeak.
"What did you see?"
"Nothing," she mouthed and took a deep breath. "I only went to use the washroom. A few minutes?" Her voice quavered, but she pressed on. "It's our family time. I work so much . . ."
She peered up at Mike with pleading in her eyes.
"It's not your fault," he said, and her face crinkled in a silent sob. Mike studied the ground for a second. Maybe it was her fault for taking her eyes off them. But he needed to get everything out of her and felt like scum for doing it.
"So, you were only out of sight for a few minutes. Came back out and . . ."
"I didn't see them right away." She pointed up to the washrooms and then out to the pool. "You can't . . . they were on the other side. I came running . . ."
The pump had briefly hidden their bodies from view. Celluci nodded. "And that's when you saw them."
Her thin shoulders began to shake with renewed torment. Mike lay a hand on her arm, and the change was almost immediate. Something in that sympathetic touch gave her strength.
He continued, "But you didn't see anyone coming or leaving the playground?"
"No." She looked at the wading pool, and her face grew very still. The tears dried from her eyes.
"Mrs. Arai?" He watched her carefully.
"They didn't splash," she said in a small, distant voice.
Mike frowned and focused on the pool himself.
"Shouldn't they have fought? Splashed?"
'Yes,' Mike thought. 'They should have.'
Mrs. Arai turned slowly and stared Mike in the eye. "My babies," she said in an exhale.
"I'll do what I can." His voice was strong and low.
She nodded vaguely, her soul in tatters, feeling like a ghost house, where once there had been joy and now there was only façade, barely supporting its own weight under the pressure of existing. She watched in silence as Mike stood up and left.
XXX
Mike sighed, running his fingers through his hair again, wearing furrows down to his scalp. He leaned back against his desk and looked at the big board again, as though it might help. Dave looked at him glumly, while Kate flipped through the file on Sharif for the third time.
She dropped the folder to Mike's desk in defeat. "There's nothing we've missed," she said, not sounding confident.
"Four locations within 15 km of each other. That's, hell, half the city." Mike sneered. His eyes burned, but he wasn't going to call it a night. "All the locations had water, but not necessarily water sources." He pointed to the picture of Sharif taped on the board.
Kate took up victimology. "The victims were all different ages. 8 to 55. Different socio-economic backgrounds. Different races. Killed at different times yesterday and today. We've run their personal data for possible connections, but so far none of them worked together, called one another, went to the same school, or lived near one another."
Dave piped up. "They could have taken the same transit. Maybe the same bus line or subway."
Mike perked and nodded imperceptibly. "That's good! That's something." He turned to his partner. "Try to reconstruct a day in life of Viela and Carson."
"I'll take al-Safyr and the kids," Kate offered, reaching for the files.
"Kate, no, that's not-"
She gave him a questioning look. Mike grinned, affection in his eyes.
"Thanks. But you don't have to do this."
Her lips slid into a coy smile. "I know," she said, taking the Arai file anyway.
Mike watched her go with a mix of gratitude and amusement. She was a good cop. A good woman. He sighed again and slid into his chair, flipping open Sharif's file. A few hours of solid policework later, the detectives were all fairly sure that if any of their victims crossed paths, it was completely coincidental.
"God dammit!" Celluci sank in his seat.
Dave hunched a little. "I'm sorry man. I thought-"
"No, no. It was a good thought." Mike rubbed a hand over his face, hoping to clear out some of the exhaustion. "Look, why don't you two head home. This isn't going anywhere else tonight."
Dave trundled away, grabbing his coat wearily. "Maybe tomorrow."
Mike gave him a wordless nod as he left and then gazed up at Kate. She looked him over with a commiserating smile.
"Get some sleep, Mike."
"Yeah," his head bobbed lazily. "You too."
She gave him a lingering look and slipped off to her desk.
Mike sat in silence. He knew what he wanted to do. Knew what his best chance was for solving this thing. His eyes flicked to the phone. He'd never live it down.
In resignation, Mike snatched the receiver and dialed Vicki's office.
"Vicki Nelson Investigations," Coreen's bright voice said.
"Hey, Coreen. Vicki there?"
"Hey, Mike," she sounded genuinely happy. "Sure, hold on."
There was a brief silence and then Vicki's voice. "Hey, Mike."
"Hey yourself."
"What's up?"
"I have a proposition for you," he said warmly.
"I'm listening." He could hear her smile.
"I've got a tough one here-"
"And you need my superior skills."
"And I'd like to pay you for them. An official consultant."
"Why?"
Mike leaned his elbow on his desk. "What do you mean 'why?'"
"You help me . . . I help you . . ." There was a definite twinge of suspicion in her tone.
"Be . . . cause money's been tight lately. You help me, I help you, right?"
No answer.
"Vicki . . ."
"Hey, if you're going to pay me for what I'd give away, who am I to argue?"
Mike relaxed into a smile. "Great. So I'll bring you copies of the files?"
"Now?"
He hadn't checked the time in many hours. It was nearly 11.
The weariness and frustration settled in his bones as he saw the time. "It's bad, Vic. And weird. And the hippogriff will be all over me."
"Hippo-what?"
"Hippogriff. Part bird of prey, part ass?" he said with a wry smile.
"Where did y-"
"Harry Potter, Vic. Get out some."
"I live in a movie. Why pay extra?"
He made a face into the phone. "So is that a yes?"
His eagerness must have made an impression because she was silent again for awhile.
"How bad is bad?" She said at last, suddenly somber.
"Five dead already."
More silence, and Mike found he was holding his breath.
"Bring 'em over."
XXX
Vicki squeezed her bleary eyes shut and tossed the Arai children's file on her desk. The office was dark and empty beyond the pool of light at her desk. A spring breeze blew in through a window left ajar, rustling some papers. She'd sent Mike home an hour ago. He looked like an old shoe when he walked in, chewed around the edges, beaten, and creased with worry lines that saw too much use. They'd spent a fair amount of time talking, mostly about his nephew Dylan. She knew why. She'd seen the scrawled doodles in the margins of that file. It wasn't helping the case any, but sometimes life had to be about the living. Coreen had gone home not long after Mike arrived-scampered off was more accurate. There wasn't anything for her to research, and Vicki and Mike could use some time alone, couldn't they?
Vicki leaned forward and picked up the files, just looking at the names. Viela. Young. Dead. Died in a river near where he went jogging. For a moment she wondered at people who could get up so early to jog. Who'd do that when they could be sleeping?
'People who need to clear their heads,' she thought to herself. Now that she could relate to. She glanced at the window into the world beyond. Maybe . . .
Vicki changed, grabbed a flashlight, and headed out toward the park. Not many people traveled those paths so late at night, so she didn't figure on there being trouble. Just her, the forest, and the night air. Gusts of cool air brushed her hair and face as she moved, heaving breaths in deep even gulps. At first, her legs burned, then seemed to melt, becoming just parts of the machine. Forward. Forward. Viela. Sharif. Carson. Mikomi. Kaisei. The details ran quickly through her mind, falling into and out of categories, shifting into patterns that could not hold. They whirled like autumn leaves. The evidence said accident each time. Experience said confluences like this weren't accidents.
She'd spent so much time thinking, she'd forgotten just where she was going, following instinct to guide her. Vicki slowed to walk, panting, sweat running down her back and legs. She swept the flashlight around for a second and suddenly knew precisely where she was: Brendan's grove. The boy she couldn't save.
Winded and hot, Vicki sat on the log by the grove, staring at the brown dirt that hadn't started to grow over. Her pounding heart slowed, and the sounds of the night began overtaking the rush of her own labored breathing. She thought of Brendan, wrapped up in lust. In love. If he could have known the difference. And look where it got him, falling for the wrong person, with not even an inkling that danger-death-was waiting for him. She wondered if he'd have said it was worth it. If he'd known enough to be afraid, would he have loved her anyway?
Love. Too often used. And no one ever knew what it meant. She smiled to herself. Henry liked the word passion. People don't use that one much anymore. Not the way he did. It offered everything and guaranteed nothing. Passion could be hot. It could be bright. It could be fickle. And that would be one hell of a darkness to be left in. Her thoughts ran in circles.
When you don't know what to do next, think about what you know. Start with truth.
Vicki let her vision blur. What did she know? Images of Henry, sensations of him, passed through her mind. What did she know. His laugh, his smile, his scowl, his voice. They were familiar. But what did she really know. The taste of his kiss, familiar. The feel of his curls. Familiar. That she had reveled in the sound of his pleasure. Now that she knew. And it made her quiver. It was a truth, a small gem. And through its facets, perhaps more things would seem clear.
Vicki drew a deep breath and listened. The breeze rustled leaves, like the sound of the ocean. And when it calmed, there were only crickets. She for awhile in solitude, letting all thought drift away. She let go of Brendan, of Mikomi, of Kaisei. She let go of it all, not thinking of anything but the air upon her skin.
A twig snapped.
Vicki turned sharply, swinging the light around, her heart suddenly racing. She saw nothing, but that meant little.
"Hello?" Her voice sounded strange and small, easily swallowed by the darkness all around.
Vicki exhaled and listened, moving the flashlight in a slow arc as she stood and turned. Just trees. Just grass. The breeze kicked up again, entirely different. A chill carried through Brendan's grove, dire, out of season, and the air took on the charge of a storm. Vicki shivered despite herself and hugged her arms over her chest, burying her only source of light against her arm. The breeze died, but the cold remained. In the brief moment when she had plunged herself into darkness, Vicki heard sounds she would not quickly forget. A few more branches broke as their leaves brushed something large and moving. Unfamiliar steps thudded on the packed dirt. Vicki whirled, expecting to see something bearing down, some prankster or lost circus freak. Just the trees. And the lingering shiver of branches coming back into their proper place. The world, for a moment, seemed to die.
She wanted to run. Needed to run. From behind, out of the stillness, forge bellow breath burned her neck in a snort, and she ran.
Branches and leaves whipped at her face as she ran a familiar path, flashlight useless as her arms pumped. Vicki felt the ground rising beneath her churning legs, a swale that would take her up to street level. Lungs burned and breath raced. And she cursed the darkness and her poor eyes, hoping memory would lead where vision could not. She passed with fierce effort up the hill and flew across the open road at a dead run, heedless of traffic, which was not heedless of her. Screeching tires followed in her wake, but she had only a single purpose: run and live. She didn't pause long enough to consider how much her legs hurt until she was up the stairs to her apartment, door slammed quickly behind her.
Vicki doubled over, panting, sweating, and shaking. She pressed herself up, hands on her thighs, and tried to think something rational. The first thing that came to mind was how stupid she was being, and she immediately felt foolish. Her face would have colored if it hadn't already been red from exertion. Afraid of the dark. She was a grown woman! Vicki willed her breathing back to normal and made herself walk calmly to her room. She stripped and showered with efficiency, taking solace in routine.
'I didn't see anything,' she told herself, sure that it was true.
The adrenaline drained from her body, leaving her tired, and she decided that sleep would make everything better and even calm that voice that kept telling her that cops aren't afraid of things that go bump.
XXX
She was on a hill, looking out over a green, rocky landscape. The air seemed peaceful and familiar, like coming home. Wind rushed up, tossing her fair with its warm hands. She heard the impatient stamping of feet and turned to see a glistening black stallion eyeing her. It was huge, with a long black mane and the feathered hocks of a draft horse. It tossed its giant head, and the muscles of its shoulders shuddered. The stallion stepped, dancing with energy. A slight shift in the breeze washed her senses in the creature's heavy musk. It watched with one dark eye and sidled closer, bringing its strong, corded neck and flank within her reach. It wanted contact.
Vicki stretched out a hand to touch. The stallion was so warm it almost burned. And she felt within it a sense of eager excitement. He strained to stand still for her. Somehow, within a blink, she was astride him, and they were running, galloping down green hills and across yellow fields. She gripped his mane and buried her face in his neck, taking in a breath of horse and sweat. His back slid powerfully between her thighs as they went, never slowing, never breaking stride. Warm wind and bright sun and freedom. She exhalted in the power, in the pleasure of movement. She gripped tighter as they crested a hill and relaxed as she felt the great beast slow, coming to a stop on the precipice. He took in huge draughts of air, panting with a dull roar, and his muscles beneath her quivered.
Vicki raised her head to see what the stallion had brought her to see: a lake. The edges were dotted with trees and large rocks. The water was mostly calm, reflecting sunlight when called to dance by the wind. It stretched on further than she could see.
Vicki slid from the stallion's back, determined to explore on her own. The beast angled his great head to watch her, still panting from his run. As she passed by, starting down the slope, a blast of his hot breath washed over her back and neck.
Vicki awoke with a start, feeling flushed and warm. She sat up and felt the nape of her neck with one hand. It was one hell of a vivid dream. She let out a calming sigh and checked the clock. 10AM. She hadn't meant to sleep that late, though found herself wishing it had been longer. She was still exhausted, with a battery of new aches thanks to the night before. She dressed quickly, not even bothering with a ponytail, and headed out for the office. Coreen was already there, hair gathered and parted into a lace design that was then dipped in pink. She waved, nodding in agreement to the person on the other end of the phone.
"I'll let her know. Thanks. Bye." The girl hung up and eyed Vicki as she offered her a cup of barely warm coffee. "Sleep wrong?" she asked.
"Hmm?" Vicki frowned a little as she took the sacred brew.
"Nothing. Just, you keep rubbing your neck." Her eyes suddenly flashed. "Or did Henry finally-"
"No, Henry did not finally."
Coreen looked deflated.
"I had a weird dream . . . maybe I did sleep wrong."
The girl leaned over her desk and smiled. "What kind of weird dream?"
For a moment Vicki thought about satisfying the girl's curiosity, but the memory of riding and moving and galloping was too potent to simply share. Coreen would get ideas.
"Nothing. I don't remember it anymore," she lied with a flippant tone that her assistant recognized immediately.
"Mmhmm." The girl replied with clipped professionalism, drawing herself up.
With a roll of her eyes, Vicki turned away and went to her desk. She pushed around the unsolved case folders with one finger.
"Hey, if Mike calls-"
"He has called."
Vicki made a face. "Well, if he does again, just tell him I'm working on it."
Coreen appeared in the doorway. "Anything else I should tell him?" she said suggestively.
Vicki shot her a testy glance and pointed to her desk. The girl turned, hiding her smirk. It was definitely that kind of dream.
"Oh, and that curator guy, Thomas. He wants an update on his case," Coreen called over her shoulder.
Vicki drew a deep breath and stepped slowly back out of her office with an exaggerated clacking of her heels. Coreen looked up.
"What?"
"That's going to be a problem."
"I thought you followed Burness."
"We did. And he's going to rob the museum."
"But?"
"But until he actually does, or tries, there's nothing to arrest him for."
Coreen nodded slowly, trying to piece together her boss's dilemma. "So . . . you think if you let on, then Thomas will fire him before it can happen. But, isn't that good?"
"Henry said the same thing." Vicki took a sip of coffee. "But if he fires Burness, that only stops Burness. It doesn't nab us his co-conspirators."
"You're not being paid to nab the co-conspirators," the girl pointed out.
Vicki watched her for a moment, silently wondering at the people she had gathered as friends. When had it become so wrong to do the right thing? At some point, her face had taken on scowl, and her voice sounded harsh, even to herself. "I didn't join the force for money. I joined it for justice, and that means stopping the bad people. Maybe that doesn't mean much to you, but it does to me."
Coreen looked away, chastised. She said quietly, "I was only thinking that maybe you should try asking for more."
Vicki felt her face flush. "Sorry. I just . . . Look, why don't you head home. I'm going to be at Mike's case all afternoon, and then on to this museum thing."
"Sure." Coreen turned off her computer and grabbed her bag silently, slipping around her desk without a whisper.
"Coreen . . ."
"It's fine." A weak smile. "I'll see you tomorrow."
Vicki clenched her jaw as the girl left. Not the best start to a day. She locked herself in her office with Mike's peculiar cases and tried to focus on the work. Sunset wasn't until 8:40, so she had plenty of time before the big heist. As she spread a map of the city over her light table, she absently hoped that her little black dress still fit.
XXX
Dusk was annoyingly late in spring. Henry had risen and gotten himself arranged by 9. He chose a simple suit in black with french cuffs and a crisp white shirt. It reminded one of a tuxedo, with just a tad less pomp. He was undecided on the cufflinks, but again elected to dress down. No good could come of bringing gems to a robbery. He listened intently as he closed the clasps, expecting a heartbeat at his door.
It turned out he heard her heels first.
Henry opened the door as Vicki lifted her hand to knock.
"Cute," she said, with a wry grin.
He drew a breath and stepped back, eyes sliding up and down the length of her. Hair done up with an artful spray escaping from a bun. Tight, silky asymmetrical dress that left one caramel arm and shoulder bare, the other draped in a full, flared sleeve. It was edgy, even daring. He got lost somewhere around her hip, where the dress stretched and caught every curve. Henry blinked and drew his gaze up to her face, which flicked between amused and unsure, and locked eyes long enough to feel a jolt.
"Beautiful."
Vicki flushed and turned aside. He listened to her quickening heart with a slight smile.
"Let's go," she said. "We're already late."
"All good things in time," he replied smoothly, offering his arm.
She cast him a sidelong glance and then smiled.
The Royal Ontario Museum was helpfully just across the street from Henry's apartment. They didn't even need a cab. The old section of the museum was classically Romanesque. The walls were thick, substantial, with arched windows and a few decorative columns. It stood for history, tradition, and culture. Someone, somewhere, however, decided that all that stateliness must have been unbecoming, because looming above, around, and beyond the old structure was a new construction. It looked like the Fortress of Solitude-a glass and metal crystal iceberg dropped in the middle of downtown. Many locals had given it the dubious honor of trying to reserve judgment until construction had been completed. Henry hated it. And he tested out his diatribe on "respect for history" on Vicki as they stepped into the old building. He fell silent as they passed through the rotunda and then muttered a phrase as if in prayer and inclined his head briefly skyward. Vicki looked up and saw a phrase in black tile set against the golden domed ceiling: That all men may know His work.
He took up his litany again, and Vicki watched her partner with an easy, disarming grin.
His complaints died on his lips when he saw it.
"What?"
Her reply was warm and curious. "It really means a lot to you, doesn't it?"
Fitzroy paused and looked around Samuel Hall, his expression thoughtful. "History is the world before we were born into it. I've been part of it a long time, as, I guess, it's been part of me."
She couldn't imagine. But something in his tone made her heart ache in sadness. She turned in just enough to reach his far cheek and draw the backs of her fingernails down in a single caress. He smiled, and that was all she wanted.
"You should work the crowd," she said, pulling back and letting his arm drop. "See if our guys are already here."
Henry's eyes alighted on the groups of attendees-beautiful women, striking men. "And you?"
"I'm going to find Ciaran Burness."
And so they parted. The vampire spun between groups of visitors, gliding like a water snake into their midsts, sharing stories, histories, and memories connected to the various artifacts on display. He wove entrancing tales, absorbed appreciative laughter, and left his new acquaintances with the sense that they had brushed greatness. Eyes followed him as he went, grateful for the attention and left wanting more.
While Henry charmed his way about the assembled guests, Vicki scouted unmarked doors. Off to the left of the reception hall was a small exhibit hallway featuring ancient Chinese architecture. The library was at the far end of the hall. But tucked in a corner, behind an old burial mound, was a plain door. She tried the handle, but it was locked. With a surreptitious glance around to see if anyone was watching, she slipped two metal rods from the bun in her hair and slid them into the lock. It was thankfully a simple mechanism, and the door gave way without too much effort. The flooring inside the hall was the same as it was outside, so she lost her heels behind the burial mound just to be safe.
The hallway seemed silent, so she crept to the first door and checked the nameplate. Accounting. Then, Public Relations. Ever so gently, Vicki tried one of the knobs to see if the offices were locked beyond business hours. They were, unsurprisingly, which meant that any knob that turned was to an office likely occupied. Near the end of the hall, she found a door with Ciaran's name on it. She pressed her ear to the door, wishing, not for the first time, that she had Henry's senses. It didn't seem like anyone was there. No talking, at any rate. Her hand slid to the doorknob and started to turn when she heard the garbled tinny wail of a cell phone with a pop music ringer.
Someone was home.
She eased off the knob and concentrated. Ciaran's voice was muffled. He kept repeating "I . . ." as though he couldn't get a word in edgewise. And then he started pacing his office; the floor carried the bounce of his steps as much as it did the sound.
Vicki heard the timber of his voice change as he let out a string of what might have been curses. Loud and angry, that's all she could get. A frown crossed her features as she weighed her options. It wasn't likely she'd get any good intel standing out in the hallway. She could fetch Henry, but the conversation would likely be over by then. She could wait by the burial mound for Ciaran to emerge and follow him from there. Or maybe she could interrupt him with a reasonable excuse and seductive smile. Vicki cursed and slipped back down the hallway, still no wiser as to the plan for the heist. She rounded the corner to the main exhibition hall, scanning the room for her partner.
He stood by a display of swords, swinging his hands in demonstration of a perfect killing blow. The women eyed him, unconsciously licking their lips after each sip of champagne. The men look animated, asking questions and laughing with just the right amount of reserve. She watched him bend in a slight bow as the story ended and then strode over to catch his arm before he moved on. Vicki steered them toward a less populated area, sauntering so as not to raise suspicion.
"So? What'd you get?"
Henry glanced at her with an enigmatic expression and pulled a wad of paper from his pocket. He passed it over, a Cheshire cat grin growing on his face. Vicki loosed his arm and slowed to almost a halt. She shuffled through the stack of napkins bearing a variety of names and numbers.
"Aww . . . Darla and Robby," she said with a saccharin drawl, holding one up. "How sweet!" She handed them back with pursed lips and a look of annoyance.
"How about something relevant?"
Fitzroy glanced at the napkins, still proffered in his hand and then focused on her face. "I'd burn them all if you asked me to." His voice was soft and serious. The simple truth it carried made Vicki blush, but only for a moment.
"To the case." She said in a hard voice, taking Henry's arm but turning to continue walking.
The vampire smirked, pocketing the napkins. "The thieves are not among the guests," he pronounced.
"And you know this because?"
"They all had heavy accents and-ow!" Henry flinched from a quick blow to his shoulder. He shot Vicki the indignant look of a wounded child.
"You never said anything about accents!" she hissed, so as not to be heard.
"You never asked," he responded in a slow staccato.
A shift in her body bringing them closer was all the apology offered.
"Ciaran got a call from someone a few minutes ago, but I couldn't hear what he said. He sounded agitated."
Vicki steered them to the right, where a narrow hallway would lead them back around toward the Chinese burial mound and architecture exhibit and the door to the curator's offices.
Henry frowned. They had precious little information for foiling an elaborate scheme. He took a breath, about to speak, when the door just around the corner slammed open and Burness came rushing out. He bore down on the first security guard he saw and muttered a few scant words. The other man looked stunned. Henry glided them both closer so he could hear.
"Look, we just have to get them all out. Start closing all the upper floors, get everyone outside," Burness said.
The guard looked unsure. "We should pull the alarms."
"And cause panic?"
"We have to call the police in anyway. There'll be panic no matter what."
Ciaran burned the man with a testy look. "I'll call, you start getting these people out of here!" He took out his cell phone, and Henry took a few hurried steps forward. His eyes closed as he listened. Whatever number the man was dialing, it wasn't 911.
Vicki tugged on his arm. "What did you hear?"
He gave her a dark look, calculating eyes darting to the guards now moving among the crowd. "They're evacuating," he said as a murmur grew among the assembled guests.
The murmur became a roar as the floodgates opened. Men and women began shouting and shoving at one another as they hurried through Samuel Hall. The word "bomb" bubbled up from their throats as the tide of them washed through the rotunda and out the main doors. Vicki and Henry exchanged glances as they retreated from the wave of frightened humanity.
"Burness said he'd call the police, but that's not the number he dialed!" Fitzroy said loudly into her ear to be heard over the shrill cry of terrified women.
Vicki's face tightened, her expression both grim and angry. He wasn't calling the police, he was calling his team. The pair had hidden themselves in an alcove by the bathrooms. Most of the guests were filling the rotunda, which was barely visible from the hiding spot. The security team, however, was starting their sweep, and they were drawing closer.
Vicki snatched Henry's hand and dragged him through the men's room door at their backs.
"I think they'll look here," he said seriously.
"So make them-"
On cue, a thin, pale security guard tossed open the door, a look of barely contained panic on his face.
"Hey! You guys can't be-"
Fitzroy was in front of him immediately, faster than the eye could follow. He gripped the young man's face in his hands and focused. His eyes dilated, and he spoke with unearthly persuasion.
"You saw nothing here. Leave. Quickly. And tell your boss that it's all clear."
The man gawked for a moment and then looked around as though scanning the bathroom. Henry released him, and the guard disappeared, calling an all clear over his radio as he walked away. The vampire stood, brimming with tension, as he listened for any further heartbeats. All those he could hear were moving away, save the dearest one.
Vicki slid a hand onto his shoulder.
"That is so handy."
He grimaced more than grinned in reply and moved so they could slip back into the hall. The ROM was eerily empty, and the pair stepped quietly from their alcove. There was no sign of Ciaran. But Vicki was sure he wouldn't have left. Not now. Not on the big night. He was either in the exhibit or in his office. She was betting on the exhibit.
Vicki moved to slink down to the main exhibit hall when Henry's hand closed around her upper arm.
"Sirens," he said at a whisper.
Confusion flashed across her features. "I thought you said he didn't call-"
"He didn't."
For a breath, they stared at one another.
"If that's not the bomb squad . . ."
Fitzroy nodded, a smile playing at his lips in a feral way.
"Bag Ciaran."
Vicki dug her phone from her clutch and called headquarters direct as the vampire headed off in a smooth stalk. "I want to report a robbery in progress at the ROM," she said with an air of authority that would brook no unbelievers.
Her air, however, was not enough to convince the city's finest. Not when the security system was still intact.
"If you don't . . . you're gonna be . . . Fine. Don't say I didn't warn you." Vicki slammed the phone shut. "Bitch."
The siren was getting close; even her human hearing could make out the wail undoubtedly being held up in traffic. Nothing was ever easy. If the P.D. wanted an alarm, she shrugged to herself, then the P.D. could have their alarm. She noted the fire alarm in the corner of the hall and then hurried to find Henry. Setting it off now would only let the criminals turn tail and run.
Whatever Vicki may have expected upon shuffling into the Celtic exhibit at a pace designed to keep her from snapping an ankle, it was not Henry Fitzroy kneeling next to Ciaran Burness in a corner talking to him like a small child. As she drew close, she could hear the thrum of coercion in his voice.
". . .yourself over." She heard him say, watching Ciaran nod dumbly.
Henry looked up, pupils still dark and alien. He smiled a wry smile as his features returned and shook his head. "Humans."
"Yeah, we're a pathetic lot."
Henry straightened and smoothed out his suit, leaving Burness sitting sullenly on the floor with a glazed look in his eyes. The vampire was about to reply when a loud clang rang through the ROM, the sound of doors slamming off something large and metal.
"Hurry up, lads!" A deep Scottish voice boomed from across the room, followed by the thunder of boots.
Vicki's eyes widened as she darted behind one of the large Celtic crosses. She caught Henry's eyes, and he nodded slowly. She peered around the edge of the cross and saw the reflections of men in bomb squad gear hauling a cart bearing a large box-the kind used for transporting explosives. Vicki pulled back and took a breath. Now was the time. They were here. They were phony. They just needed to be stopped.
Vicki gasped softly at a sudden rush of wind and Henry's body against her back.
"Your plan?" he said quietly, with urgency.
"Fire alarm."
"They'll run."
She half-turned and shrugged. "Stop them."
Henry let a growl rumble deep in his chest as he smiled and vanished into the maze of treasures. With no such advantages, Vicki slipped off her heels and crouched down, checking again for the thieves' position. They had all stopped half way to the middle of the room. The box from the cart appeared to be a prop, as it now lay on its side, exposing its particle board interior. Vicki's legs tensed, coiled like springs. Time seemed to stretch on as she waited for Henry to make some move, provide just enough distraction.
"Hey!" One of the men suddenly shouted and pointed, and Vicki flew as fast as her legs would carry. She was silent on the hard floor, pumping with all her effort until she reached the alarm. With a glance around, she pulled the switch, and the ROM erupted in bells.
"Bloody hell!"
The head man whirled around, looking at his mates, looking at the treasure they'd so carefully planned to take. The alarms in his ears spoke defeat, and he felt himself grow cold. The others were looking at him. Should they try it anyway?
"Out! Out, everyone out!" he bellowed and wheeled back toward the white double doors they'd come through. A man stood in his path, and the Scotsman brought his rifle up to bear.
"I don't think that's wise," Henry smiled at him.
"Out of the way, lad!" The man shouted over the ringing din. "I'll shoot if I have to!" His finger twitched for the trigger. His less confident, or less dedicated, compatriots kept their guns to their sides.
Henry's smile, once friendly, grew wicked. Eyes blinked black, and white fangs flashed. He scattered them like straw. In a blur, he charged the leader, taking the rifle in one hand and the man's throat in the other. With a quick shove, he sent the man flying into one of his squad, and both fell with a loud thud. Stirred to action, one on Henry's right tried to rush him, receiving a swift hard blow to the stomach with the butt of a rifle for his effort. Even through his armor, it was a crippling strike, and he fell to the floor with a cry.
That left two.
Henry dropped the gun and snarled, vicious and nightmarish, at the men still standing. Even over the alarms and approaching sirens, he could hear their hearts racing, promising blood and satisfaction. The vampire stepped forward, and one of the men broke and ran. He let him go and instead inclined his head toward the one that remained. The man paled and seemed to forget about the weapon in his hands. Fear poured off him in a cloud and filled his blood with a tempting luscious tang. Henry tensed and crouched slowly, watching panic spread through the eyes of his prey.
"Liam!" A shout came from behind, and the stunned bandit was shocked into motion. He made to fire.
Fitzroy's hand closed over the gun barrel before Liam even had the weapon shouldered. With a quick jerk, he cracked the gun against the man's skull and sent him to the floor in a lump. Henry turned on the man who had called out and restrained the nagging animal inside that wanted vengeance. It wanted the blood that such fights promised. He wanted that sweetness, that warmth, and that triumph. Hungered for it in his core. But he kept it down, and walked, rather than stalked, over to look down at the man struggling beneath the dead weight of his unconscious comrade.
The man gaped, jaw shuddering. "Don't . . ." he said, voice quailing.
The vampire narrowed his alien eyes and tugged at his shirt sleeves, speaking a single word vibrating with persuasion. "Sleep."
The fleeing bandit ran like the devil bit his heels. He passed upturned tables and chairs, jumped spilled food, and dodged pools of wine on his way to the main doors. To life. Away. The alarms were distant compared to the sound of his heart and breath in his ears. There existed only one thing: the way out. And that was how he missed a woman in a black dress popping out from behind a table. And that was why he failed to even slow down as she swung both fists, cupped together, like baseball bat at his head. With a single sharp cry, Vicki laid him out on a table, gun clattering to the floor. He groaned but didn't move.
"Vicki!" Henry's voice rang out clarion amidst the clamor with a tone of warning. She spotted him and ran. They needed to get out. Fast. The fire department and police should be throwing open the doors at any moment. As she neared, Vicki saw her abandoned heels dangling from one of her partner's hands. She smiled, despite her heavy breathing, and slid to a stop just before bowling him over.
Fitzroy shot the main doors a frown. "They're here. Come on!"
At the end of the Chinese architecture hall was a door to the outside. Henry shoved it open to the scream of snapping metal.
"Are you crazy?" Vicki hurried after him. "We're a floor-" She made a shocked squeak as she was lifted from the ground in a single sweep.
"Sorry." He smirked, not entirely sorry, and bounded up to the ledge in a leap.
Vicki's eyes went wide and she clutched his shoulders instinctively as they dropped a full story to the ground below. She stared at his face as he set her down and they unwound. His lips twitched and he held up her shoes in offering.
She blinked, slipped on the heels, and started to laugh a nervous, energetic laugh, following Henry as he led them back to the street and eventually back to his apartment.
XXX
The two burst through into the vampire's sanctuary giddy as children. Vicki flew to the window to watch as bodies were hauled from the ROM and whisked off in ambulances. She felt like fire. Powerful, liquid, and raging. They'd gotten them good. Off the cuff, improvised excitement and justice. She wished she was down there, slapping the cuffs on, reading them their rights.
Henry came up besides her, keen eyes watching the arrests. Keen ears attuned to the pulse of the woman beside him. He smiled a genuine and brilliant smile at her excitement.
"Do you want me to take you home?"
"You wanna go for a walk?"
They spoke over one another, and each laughed.
"Do I want you to take me home? Are you kidding! How could I sleep?"
Henry glanced to the floor for a moment and then met her eyes, a sly smile crossing his beautiful face.
She smirked. "Nice try."
"A walk then?" he said, still smiling.
Vicki was practically to the door when she turned and made a gesture that clearly said "Well?"
The car ride was quiet save the rustle of Vicki's leg against her dress as she bounced nervously, still high on adrenaline. Henry tried not to laugh and drove a little faster than necessary. He parked in the same spot as always and followed as Vicki headed across the street to the park. It was a heavily forested area, with cleared walking and biking paths worn or paved into the ground. She walked with determination at first, as though there was somewhere to go. But this wasn't about the destination.
Vicki slowed and curled her hand around Fitzroy's arm when he drew close. Their pace became leisurely as the excitement of the night vanished like vapors into the night air. The evening was quiet and bright. It was a full moon, which Vicki supposed should have meant something horrible, but for now, she paid it no mind. They passed from the open into the woods, following a jogging trail of compacted earth. Vicki felt Henry's arm tense under hand, and his manner shifted, not predatory, but alert. He turned and gave a mild, contented grin. Perhaps it was the warm, clean air or the rush of their adventure, but everything seemed more in focus than usual. As a breeze blew, she could hear the papery rustle of leaves, and it felt like brushes on her skin. She watched the way Henry's hair danced with the rising wind. And the way errant moonlight kissed the sensuous curve of his mouth.
She shivered.
Henry stepped closer, trying to share what little warmth he had. Precious little. He'd have offered his jacket, but she wouldn't have taken it. Instead, he let his arm fall and reached for her hand, a deep-bellied thrill flowing everywhere when she let him.
The trail grew darker from the canopy of trees, and Henry let his senses roam far. Something seemed off. Something made the air apple crisp. He let it go, giving full attention instead to the pressure Vicki was exerting on his side, leading what had seemed like a silent wandering with new purpose.
"Are we going somewhere?" he said softly, barely louder than the trees.
Vicki breathed deeply and squeezed his hand. "Do you remember Brendan?"
"The boy. The statue."
She nodded, but didn't seem inclined to say more, simply pressing on through the terrain off the trail. She was watching the ground. Though, he suspected, for more than just to keep from tripping.
Henry nodded his understanding. "You buried him out here."
"In a grove. It's . . . a good place to think sometimes."
"A hallowed place?"
She stopped and turned, a slight frown evident.
"It's what we bring that makes a place sacred," Henry offered.
Vicki considered it for a moment and then continued on. "I was here the other night," she confessed. "I'm not sure it was hallowed then. Haunted, maybe."
Fitzroy froze in place, his arm stretching up as she moved away, until she too had to stop. Or let go. She stopped and saw worry written on every feature.
"What?"
He regarded her seriously. "Haunted how?"
She rolled her eyes. "Henry, it was nothing."
"How?" he pressed.
"Like, cold. It was warm, then it was cold. And I felt like something was watching me. But there was nothing! I looked!" Her mouth twitched like she had more to say.
Henry closed the space between them and released her hand, instead raising a fingertip to her chin. He wanted her to see the fear that crawled like a living thing in his heart. Ghosts.
"There's more?" he asked at a gentle whisper.
Vicki drew back, feeling a flutter in her stomach at the memory. "There wasn't anything I could see . . . hot air on my neck. Like a breath." The darkness hid the subtle coloring of her face as she turned away. "I ran all the way home."
The thought of Vicki running terrified was almost laughable if she hadn't sounded so somber. Henry's face tightened. Ghosts.
"Where's this grove?"
Vicki lifted her bare arm and pointed to a small gathering of trees maybe 30 yards ahead down the sloping hill they were on. He started at a brisk, determined march.
"Henry . . ." Vicki hurried after. "Henry, it's not him! Why would the ghost of Brendan haunt me? I tried to save him!"
The vampire didn't answer. And as he moved further away, he began to melt into the night, Vicki's eyes no longer able to pick him out from the wall of black that marked the end of her vision. At least this was a path she knew. Only when she was on her own was it apparent how much her partner had been guiding their steps. Vicki stepped on a branch that scraped her leg and nearly tripped as her heels struck uneven ground. But the time she found him, lonely and beautiful in the grove, she couldn't decide if she was more grateful for the help when she had it or more annoyed at having lost it.
"Well?" she said with a huff, coming up behind him.
"I haven't sensed anything new."
"I told you."
"I said new."
She frowned at that.
"The air is wrong in these woods. I noticed-"
"As soon as we got here."
He quirked an eyebrow at her, and she shrugged. "I noticed you noticing."
Like a hunter, Fitzroy turned in a slow circle. He scented the air, listened for motion. Vicki remained calm and steady beside him.
"We should leave," he ground out.
And the night answered.
It came like a storm, an arctic blast from the north wind that plowed under any hint of spring. Vicki gasped audibly in shock, and Henry flashed his fangs. Riding closely on the heels of the wind came the scent of decay on water, stagnant with algae and blackened reeds. And then came the indescribable sensation of power. Henry felt it press against his skin like pins of ice, cold and burning at once. He turned in a wary circle and began moving around Vicki like a guard dog. His eyes saw only forest, dirt, and grass.
"Henry . . ." Her voice was tense.
He raised his hand for silence. And there came the heavy sound of hooves.
"Stay here!" The vampire growled and hurled himself toward the sound. He could hear the heavy steps and even smell the distinct musk of the creature, but it vanished as he arrived, leading him away.
For once, Vicki did as she was told. She turned sharply to every sound, every shiver, heart racing. There was a loud crack behind her, and she whirled with a gasp so see something out of a dream. Her dream.
A great black stallion stood on Brendan's grave, and for a moment, simply watched, its head held high. Vicki's breath caught. She knew this creature, knew what he felt like, knew how he smelled. The great beast lowered its powerful head and stepped forward, baring its flank. It swung its head close and looked her right in the eyes. An intelligence registered there, and the stallion let out a whinny, dancing on the dirt. He was marvelous and awe inspiring. He was the most perfect horse anyone could ever imagine. Who wouldn't want to ride him, to touch him, to own him.
Vicki found the good sense to breathe and reached out her hand to a cord of muscle on the beast's neck.
"Vicki, no!" Henry cried from up the hill. But even at his fastest, he was too slow.
Shocked from her enchantment by the sound of his voice, she tried to draw her hand back, but it was stuck fast, like it had grown there. Before she could protest, the giant horse bolted. It crashed through trees and bushes, dragging Vicki helplessly along even if she stumbled. She cried out from either pain or terror, in a sound that was neither tough nor controlled. The stallion aimed itself at a small creek, hauling its screaming cargo at a full gallop, dirt flying from the impact of his hooves.
Henry followed as quickly as he could, but it was like chasing a mirage. No matter how fast he moved, he was never closer. All he could do was keep it within his sight as they barreled toward the stream.
The black beast jumped. And its great body sank into the water and was gone. Henry splashed into the stream, breathless and filling with dread. He spun in place, looking at the water as it ran over his feet and legs as though nothing miraculous had just happened. She was gone. Screaming his name as she went, she was gone. Henry's eyes regained their pale blue as the man in him shuddered with fearful despair.