After a fruitless search for witnesses, Myka and Steve went to meet Dr Calder at the morgue.
"I have nothing new to report, Sheriff. Same vampire, same marks, same MO. Whatever did this – it's sick. And it has to be stopped. Did you find out anything more from your source?"
"Not yet," she said, shortly.
"If you get any information that might help, please let me know."
"Sure thing, doc."
Myka got back in her cruiser, Steve shadowing her silently.
"Now we tell the kid's parents," she sighed.
She didn't know how to comfort people. Maybe there was something wrong with her, something missing in her that made it easy for other people and impossible for her. But the wave of red, of buzzing, thrumming pain – it nearly knocked her over. If Steve hadn't been there…but he was. And he never asked why she reacted the way she did. He dealt with the relatives while she stood there, useless set-dressing.
Afterwards, when they were back in the cruiser, she thanked him.
"I thought you were going to pass out for a minute there, boss," he said, eyes crinkled up against the brightness of midday.
"They loved him. So much. That's always harder," she said shortly.
He nodded. She started up the car and they returned to the office.
The afternoon was long and filled with endless paperwork. She tuned out the buzzing as best she could, but by 4.30 her eyes were red-rimmed and her headache was truly a thing of wonder.
She took some aspirin and made her way out slowly, handing over to Pete as usual before obeying orders and going back to Nielsen's office. The blonde didn't even look up, just said, "He's in there," and carried on filing her nails. Myka raised an eyebrow. If any of her staff had seen that face, they would have paled. She continued into the office, knocking before entering.
"Come in."
She went in, taking off her hat and smoothing down a few errant curls. The rest were plastered to her, as was her shirt, as usual. She sat, placing her hat on the table and looking at Arthur evenly.
"So, you came back."
It wasn't a question.
"Did I have a choice?"
That wasn't really a question, either. The little man toddled to the door and yelled for the blonde to fix them some coffee. Once she had reluctantly supplied the beverages, he waited until the door had closed behind her before speaking.
"You smell like whiskey."
"You smell like mothballs," Myka countered.
He glared at her.
"That's as may be, but we're not here about me, are we? You're the one with the problem."
She glared right back.
"I can teach you to control it. To limit what you hear, and to hone your skills so that you can pick one voice out of a crowd. I can help you make it a useful skill rather than a burden. Why wouldn't you want that?" he entreated, looking at her intently.
She looked at the scars on her arms. There were many of them, thin white lines. Even after years, it was still instinct to throw up your arms when someone was about to hit you.
Nielsen was standing behind her, suddenly, and he gently lifted her arm, studying the marks.
"Who?" he asked.
"One of my foster parents."
"They wanted you to stop hearing things?"
"No. They wanted me to keep hearing things, to listen to people so they could steal from them. Credit card numbers, PINs, login details. I wouldn't do it – after a while I couldn't, I blocked it too well."
"Okay."
He sat down, searching in his desk drawer for something. He passed her a business card.
"Go. Call her tomorrow, set up an appointment. She'll send you back to me when you're ready."
She looked at him uncertainly, and then looked at the business card.
Abigail Cho
Licensed Psychologist
"Go. I can't help you, not yet. But I hope I can, soon," he said, shooing her with his hands. But his voice was soft.
She nodded, head down. Picked up her hat and made her way out, slowly. Before she turned the handle, he spoke again.
"If you ever need…to talk, about anything. I'm here, Myka."
She nodded without turning, and left.
By 6.30 she was drunk again.
By 8.30 she was being noisily sick in the bushes by the porch. At 8.40, cool hands soothed her brow.
"Why are you doing this to yourself, darling?" a soft voice asked.
"They're trying to make me listen. I can't listen. It's wrong."
"It's okay, darling, you don't have to listen."
Strong arms lifted her, brought her inside. Gave her cold water and then strong coffee, sat with her silently.
By 10.30 she was moderately sober.
"Why did you help me?" she asked, exhausted.
"You needed help. I was here."
Myka's arm was touching the vampire's. The vampire's skin was cool; she could feel it even through the thin jacket the woman wore. It was soothing. Everything about her was soothing. Myka sighed and put her head on the woman's shoulder. She was exhausted.
At 6.30 am she woke, in her bed, dressed in the same pyjamas from the night before. Once again, there was a note beside the bed, with two aspirin and a glass of water. There were the remains of ice cubes in there; the vampire couldn't have left very long ago.
Sheriff
I hope you feel better this morning. I am sorry we did not get a chance to speak last night. You asked if I could help with your investigation. I have very little to tell you, other than this. I believe the killer is being assisted, or perhaps directed, by an older vampire. They are both connected to me, and it is entirely possible that I am the reason for this rampage. To get my attention, or to hurt me by causing others pain. I will ask you to be vigilant. If I am correct, they will hurt you or your colleagues if you get in their way. The child is out of control. The adult is quite different. Calculating, greedy, evil. Please warn your deputies, and arm them, if you are able, with silver.
Please keep yourself safe. If you need me, call.
Helena
Myka didn't call Abigail Cho. She went about her duties as always, keeping the station running smoothly. Claudia was looking into procuring silver bullets for the armoury. At 5.30 Myka was getting ready to leave when Mrs Frederic's voice emanated from behind her.
"Sheriff Bering."
She sat back down in her chair.
"You have a telephone number for Dr Cho in your possession. I suggest you use it." Mrs Frederic walked into view, stopping opposite her, one eyebrow raised challengingly.
Myka looked at her curiously.
"What makes you think you have the right to direct my personal life, Mrs Frederic? Last I heard, you were the Mayor, which makes you my boss, but you hold no sway over my private life."
Mrs Frederic looked at her steadily, her gaze penetrating as always.
"That's as may be, Sheriff. But you are not operating at full capacity. You are endangering yourself and others by ignoring your gift. You need to resolve this, to heal. It is time."
Myka thought hard before she spoke again.
"I understand your concern, Mrs Frederic. But I am a good Sheriff. I do my job. Whatever other…abilities I might have are my business. You hired me to be a Sheriff, not a psychic or a circus act."
"I did. I hired a fine officer of the law. Who has been drinking herself into a stupor for the last two nights at the very thought of confronting her fears. Are you really that much of a coward, Myka?"
She smoothed her tweed skirt – grey, today – and turned to the door.
"What you do with that card is, of course, your decision, Sheriff. But if I were you, I would think about the consequences of ignoring this matter any further. There are dark times coming for this town, and we will need you at your best to withstand them. "
She swept out, leaving Myka open mouthed and glaring.
She did not drink that night. At 8.30 she was sitting on her porch sipping coffee.
"Good evening, Sheriff."
"You can call me Myka."
"Very well, Myka. May I?" the vampire said, indicating the seat next to Myka with a quirk of her eyebrow.
Myka nodded. They sat in silence for some time.
"Why did you help me?"
"I told you. You needed my help."
"I wasn't aware that vampires were known for their generosity of spirit."
The vampire looked at her, black eyes drawing her in.
"Perhaps not. I can leave, if you wish."
"No. That's not necessary."
They sat in silence again for a long time. Myka relaxed. The feeling of someone sitting next to her, without the buzz of their noisy thoughts, their every fleeting emotion – it was almost exhilarating. And it made her feel serene, somehow.
"What are you?" the vampire asked quietly.
"What do you mean?" Myka asked.
"You are not afraid of me."
"Would it make a difference if I were?" Myka asked, cocking her head slightly.
"It would to me." The vampire was looking down, seeming almost sad.
"If you wanted to hurt me, could I stop you?"
"No," she admitted.
"Then why bother being afraid?" Myka shrugged.
The vampire eyed her curiously.
"You are different, Sheriff Bering."
"I thought I told you to call me Myka?"
The vampire inclined her head.
"My apologies, Myka. But you are different, are you not?"
"Yes."
The vampire waited, but Myka didn't elaborate. Helena began to stand. Myka grabbed her arm gently.
"Please. Don't go. Stay."
"Very well."
After another beat of silence, Myka spoke.
"You said that the vampires – they might be something to do with you."
"Yes."
"How?"
The vampire sighed.
"You ask me this, and you won't even answer a simple question from me?"
"I'm sorry. I just…I don't want to talk about it, not again. Not today."
Helena looked at her, blinking slowly. Her eyes were brown, Myka realised. They were just so dark that they appeared black. Along with her black hair and pale skin, it was striking. She was striking. Beautiful.
"I understand."
She shifted a little in the chair, an unspoken invitation in her posture. Myka relaxed and put her head on the other woman's shoulder, without thinking about it. It just felt right.
"He – the older vampire, that is – is my maker. James MacPherson. Born in London in 1740 or thereabouts. I was in born in 1828. James was a family friend, or so we thought. I don't believe my parents knew that their friend was a vampire, or even that such a thing was possible. He visited us often in London. He was already here in the Americas when we arrived by boat. I don't know how he made the journey safely. It would have involved relying on others, which he does not do very well. Nevertheless, he was here when we arrived. My parents were searching for a new life. London was dirty and smoggy and they were poor. This new country was filled with such promise. They did well, my parents. There is a town named after them in Lowndes County. They established several mills there."
Myka was listening intently. It was so different, listening to her speak. Her accent, her voice. The lack of any noise against her 'other' sense was wonderful.
"I did what girls were supposed to do in those days – I found a husband. William. He was a wonderful boy, and while I suspect he was more interested in the local boys than in me, we produced a child as we were expected to. Our daughter was called Christina. She was around six years old when I decided to take a walk late one night alone. James MacPherson took the opportunity and drained my body of blood, deciding at the last minute to make me a vampire instead of killing me. He wanted a companion. He had been alone for a long time by then."
Myka lifted her head a little.
"And your daughter?"
"William did his best without me. She was looked after adequately. I still had enough humanity left in me that I checked on her periodically."
"Why did MacPherson…?"
"Drain me? Or turn me?"
Myka shrugged.
"Either."
"Well, the first is easy. He was hungry. The population was much less dense then and people tended to stay indoors at night in groups. It was difficult to single out prey. Nowadays it's much easier. People get so drunk, it's easy to get enough blood without killing. Back then it was not so easy to find prey."
"And the second?"
"I couldn't honestly say. He was lonely. Or bored? Or perhaps he just wanted me, I don't know."
"He made you…?"
"Oh Myka, he didn't make me do anything. I was a vampire. In the first few years, at least, we are nothing but a vicious ball of appetites. I killed humans indiscriminately until I learned control. And a vampire's sexual appetite is almost as strong as the appetite for blood."
Myka met her gaze evenly. Helena's pupils were so dilated that the brown of the iris was almost invisible.
"And the child vampire? How does she know you?"
"I would rather not go into detail concerning her. But suffice it to say, I did her a great evil once. And I deserve her vengeance. You and your town's children do not, which is why I am here. She should be unable to kill people in this way without leaving an easy trail for me to follow. That is why I realised there must be someone else involved. James is the most likely candidate. He is evil and spiteful, and has never forgiven me for leaving him."
"Are there any other candidates?" Myka asked, resting her head on the vampire's shoulder again.
"Yes. Many. I have been alive for a very long time, Myka. One does not live for nearly two centuries as a vampire without acquiring a few enemies."
Cold was radiating from her.
"What is it like? Drinking from a human, I mean?" Myka blurted.
"The feeling of feeding from a human – it is indescribable."
Her voice was rich and dark and cold. Myka shivered.
"I'm sorry. Did I frighten you?" Helena asked, her dark eyes unreadable.
She moved away, turning her body slightly to face Myka.
"No." Myka stared at the vampire, her skin tingling. The vampire stared back, searching the sheriff's eyes.
"You are so very different. I hope I shall find out just how different," she murmured.
"So do I," Myka said, somewhat breathlessly.
There was a noise, a quiet 'snick'. The vampire's fangs extended.
Myka reached out, without conscious thought. Helena's hand shot up and caught her wrist. It was like being held in a vice.
"What are you doing?" Helena said, sounding almost panicked.
"I…wanted to see what they feel like," Myka said, confused.
"You wanted to touch my bloody fangs?" She was incredulous, and the expression looked somehow absurd on her face with her fangs extended. Myka just barely resisted the urge to laugh.
"Yes. Did I do something wrong?" she managed.
Helena stared.
"Do you know, Myka, why my fangs extended?"
"I assumed you were hungry," Myka said, shrugging.
"And yet, you were not concerned?"
"No."
Helena searched her eyes, looking for some indication of fear, presumably.
"You truly do not fear me."
Myka shook her head.
"How can I? You're so…calm."
Helena released her wrist. Myka extended her arm carefully, and when Helena did not object, she touched the edge of a fang curiously.
"It's so sharp. What happens, when you bite someone? Is it – does the blood go through the fangs, somehow? Or do you bite to open the vein and then drink?"
Helena looked at her for a moment curiously.
"We bite, and we drink. The blood does not go through our fangs."
Myka nodded and then shifted, putting her head back on Helena's shoulder.
"You are truly the strangest human I have ever met, Myka."
"Is that so?" she asked, wearily.
"It is."
A few moments later, she spoke again.
"Our fangs do not only extend when we are hungry."
Myka thought for a moment. Why else would they extend? Fear?
"Why, then?"
"You really can't think of any other reason? Any other kind of hunger?"
Her voice was husky and dark and cold. But it was calm and still and Myka craved it.
"Oh."
She didn't move, but she could feel her heart pounding. She knew the vampire must be able to hear it.
"Are you frightened now?" Helena asked, her lips close to Myka's ear.
"No."
"Good."
If she turned her head, Myka knew, she would be able to touch the vampire's cool lips with her own. To know what those fangs felt like against her own lips. How they tasted. Her breath came a little faster.
"I should go."
Myka blinked.
"Why?"
Helena sat up, turning again to look at Myka.
"I need to feed. I do not want to…do something you might regret, in my hunger."
Myka studied her face, trying to commit it to memory.
"Will you come back?"
"Do you want me to?" Helena asked, curiously.
"Yes," Myka stated simply.
"Why?"
"You make me feel…calm, and still. It's nice."
Helena eyed her uncertainly.
"Very well, Myka. Good night."
She was gone before Myka could blink. She sat there for a few minutes more, and then went inside to get some sleep.