Body Count_SVS Book Two Read online

  He opens his mouth again. And of course that’s when my phone beeps. I ignore it, keeping my gaze on Frankie, my wrist unflinching in his grip. Even though this guy isn’t a Hallmark movie tween who lost her pet, my desire to help is just as strong for him as it was for Leora. I realize in that moment, I don’t even care if I have to work his case alone in order to do it without pay. He deserves to have someone on his side for whatever my sympathy might be worth compared to older and more experienced vampires.

  “Listen. I knew my whole life that this would end up happening to me. Everybody did. In fact, they made a deal on purpose so it’d happen.”

  “Who’s they?”

  “Mother and Father.”

  I search my mind for any scrap of information it might harbor about magical families. The only thing it comes up with is that there are three kinds and one of them is alchemy. There’s nothing I can ask or even say, so I wait again.

  “That’s just the way things are in our house. It's the Pickering way. Always has been for as far back as memory goes. One mundane son gets sacrificed every generation to keep up our end of the bargain. And it's not a blood sacrifice, either. They take us for breeding. Almost every time, they kill us afterward, too.”

  “So you’re not a magician like your niece?”

  “No, I’m completely normal except for my upbringing.” A throaty sound somewhere between a bark and a chuckle escapes his throat. “It took me years to figure out that my family’s twisted as a cyclone. Not normal. They treated me like an appliance. I can’t even remember them hugging me. Because they already sold me to a gang of perverted monster women, so why bother getting attached? Today they refused to take me back when I ended up surviving. There’s nothing you can do for me. I’m stuck, like I said before. Always have been.”

  But if that were true, poor Frankie would have been in his grave a long time ago instead of battling through his depression despite knowing his eventual fate. There’s got to be something he lived for. No. Not a thing. A person he's protecting.

  “Maybe I can help someone else, though.” I go with a hunch, reaching out with my free hand to run my pointer finger along the tattoo on his wrist. “So. You did everything you could to escape your fate. But at one point you quit that. Why?”

  I expect a one-word answer, a name.

  “Levi. My kid brother.”

  “He’s got no magic, just like you.”

  “He’s only thirteen. All we had was each other for his whole life. I wanted to off myself so bad, meet death on my own terms. But I couldn’t let it be him instead of me. And that’s what would have happened. If I’d succ—”

  “Completed. Completed suicide, Frankie. There’s no such thing as success in that.”

  “What are you, Catholic?”

  “Yeah.” I grin just widely enough to let him see the tips of my fangs. “Well, I was. No more church for little old undead me.”

  Frankie blinks. The dregs of his tears seep out at the corners of his eyes. Then, they multiply. Finally, he throws his head back and guffaws. He’s still got my arm in a vise grip so I shake right along with him. We're laughing in tandem.

  Some pain cuts us so deep through the heart after the fact. At the point where we just can’t bleed anymore. And that’s when we’ve got no choice but to laugh. I was there just over a month ago, the last time I tried to go into my church. But I went through that mostly by myself, unable to tell my parents or friends and surrounded by older vamps mostly assuming I’d screw up and get myself killed. But Frankie shouldn’t have to go through his physical and mental shitstorm the way I went through my spiritual one.

  He takes a few hitching breaths after the fit passes. “Tino, you might not be a Lamb but you’re a pariah, just like me. Outcast. Unclean. Alone.” I’ve got no idea what he means by Lamb yet but that doesn’t matter. I understand exactly what he’s saying and the fundamental element he’s missing.

  “Wrong on one count. I’m not alone. And neither are you. Not now and not going forward, either.” God help me, I’m making a new friend. Thought that sort of thing stopped happening after college.

  “I guess you learn something new every day.” Frankie sniffles. He lets go of my wrist to snag another tissue.

  “I guess so.” I grin, without the fangs this time.

  “Did it hurt?”

  “You mean getting turned?” I blink. This wasn’t the question I expected and nobody’s thought of asking since it happened. “Yeah, when her teeth went in. It was like bee stings. I got dizzy, passed out, woke up here. Got the facts of unlife talk from the sire, plus an apology. She was ordered to do it. And she’s still a pain in my neck. You know what’s fucked up? It hurts more that I can’t go to church than it did when she bit me.” I take a breath, hoping my light description doesn’t spook him. “How about you?”

  “I—” Frankie blows his nose. “When they told me about it, that actually hurt more than when it happened.” He glances at his tattoo and the scars under it. “They always treated me differently from my little sister, Sarah. She's the middle child, the one who got the magic. I was five. That’s when they laid it on me. The fact that I’m the Lamb this time, the sacrifice. I’m surprised the monsters left me alive. So were Mother and Father. Doesn’t usually happen that way.”

  His revelations are halting, disorganized. Natural for someone who’s never spoken aloud about their damage. I’ve had practice. I’m hoping Frankie will give himself time to get his own. But as we gaze into each other’s eyes, I understand that his entire existence is precarious. Supernatural beings like their masks and will kill to keep their privacy. Now that he’s talking, Frankie needs what little protection I can offer. But he’s got to agree to it first.

  “So, are you going to let me help you?”

  “Don’t know.” Frankie’s mouth stretches in a cavernous yawn. The whites of his eyes are veined with red. “Should sleep on it.”

  “Do what you’ve got to.” I glance up at the clock above the kitchen sink. “The sun’s coming up. I can’t make sure you get out of the building safely.” I stand, head to the curtains over the closet door and open them, revealing the bed. “So you should stay here.”

  “Okay.” He shuffles past me and gets in. Frankie’s breathing turns long and even only seconds after it hits the pillow. I grab my notebook and close the curtains to let him sleep.

  I jot down all the new information before I forget it. After that, I need to clear my head so I wash the dishes. Two mugs and the carafe aren’t much, so when that’s done it’s my turn to shower. I grab some pajamas and bring them in the bathroom with me. The notebook, too. My guest knows about vampires but I’m not sure how much. Even though it’s all in Latin, I can’t assume he hasn't studied that language. The notebook has some sensitive information in it. That’s an understatement.

  I didn’t get too messy in the tunnels we chased Sparky through, which is a relief. But when I take off my shirt, I notice a stain on the back. It’s slimy and glistens even though the fabric is already dark gray. That patch bothers me so I run out to grab another evidence bag. It can’t hurt to have that checked too. Even if it’s got nothing to do with Frankie’s problem, it might give us more insight into Leora’s.

  While I’m out there in the main room, my phone beeps again. I bring it into the bathroom where the steam from my shower obscures the screen. Oh well. Whatever it is, it can wait until I’m done.

  Vampires don’t need showers. But every vamp I’ve ever had the chance to ask loves them. It’s just about the only way we can change our body temperature. Some vampires can do things like fake a blush. One of them, the amazing Maya, even taught me how that little parlor trick works. But it’s not the same as a shower hot enough to make you feel a just a little bit human for ten minutes or so.

  I get out, dry off, dress, and bring the phone and my notebook with me as I go out. In the daytime, I usually like to sleep but my bed’s occupied and I don’t want to give Frankie the wrong idea. Or freak him
out, which is way more likely. The last thing he needs is another monster invading his physical space.

  I get in my comfy chair, drape the plush throw over my legs and check the phone again. No word from Esther on Leora yet, but that’s to be expected. She said sunset, and she’s always on time.

  I find a text from Maya, the one vampire I’ve met who doesn’t feel like a perpetual frenemy. She’s asking how my night went because I told her about the Sparky case. I send back a quick reply, then do the redundant thing and ask if I can ask her something. It never hurts to be polite when dealing with other vampires even if Maya and I get along like tomato and mozzarella.

  While waiting for her reply, I check the other one. It’s Scott, apologizing for bailing on me like that. I accept that olive branch and am about to pick up Shadow Over Innsmouth when he replies.

  Gramps wants to talk. Can I bring him over?

  Only if he’s okay with Frankie being here.

  Nope. Better come by here at sunset instead.

  Still going to be with Frankie.

  Your meeting’s outside, then.

  Fine. See you later.

  I can’t get my brain around all the cockamamie victim blaming here. But then again, I’m missing information about exactly what my new friend’s family sacrificed him to and what they get in exchange. Well, I can guess at that. It’s got to be power. I look down at the book in my hand and shudder because an entire flock of geese walk over my grave. Canadian ones. And they’re wicked pissed.

  I tap out another text, this one to Maury Weintraub, the Cranston PD Detective who I’ve known literally my whole life. I compose it carefully because he knows nothing about the supernatural and I’m required by vampire law to do everything in my power keep it that way.

  After hitting send, I glance over at the evidence bags on my kitchen counter. I’m not sure whether I want Maury to succeed at pulling the string that’ll let me get the slimy substance analyzed by Raphael Paolucci, the best CSI in the state. Any results will help. Raph getting nosy won’t. But Paolucci’s a busy guy. He probably has no time to do side sleuthing on Maury’s cases.

  I hope.

  I can’t send Frankie’s clothes to the lab until I get any ID he’s got on them out first. With gloves from my evidence kit covering my hands, I open the bag and reach in. His wallet is in the front pocket, along with a key ring, the kind that has a church key on it for opening bottled drinks. There’s a phone, but it’s both shattered and waterlogged, like it’s been dropped in a puddle and stomped on.

  Scott is my tech guy, not because I’m some stereotypical vampire Luddite but because I’ve never been good at dissecting hardware. I put the phone in my own pocket so I don’t forget to bring it when I visit the Fitzpatrick home later. Hopefully, the kid can either salvage something from it or knows a guy who can. It’s Rhode Island, knowing a guy is just part of how we do things here.

  Frankie is sleeping soundly so I figure it won’t hurt to have a look inside his wallet, get a little more information maybe about the asshole family who literally threw him to something way worse than the wolves. Scott’s family would never have done something so horrible to this poor guy.

  He has a Rhode Island State ID, not a driver’s license. His given name isn’t a nickname, it’s really Frankie. Pickering as he mentioned, not that it means anything to me yet. And I was right about his age. He’s turning nineteen next month. There’s an address of course, in Warwick on the border with Cranston by Pawtuxet Village. In case you haven’t been there that’s an area that’s heavy on the hoity with a healthy helping of toity.

  Frankie’s family aren’t just assholes. They’re rich assholes.

  Only one vampire I know has been willing and able to answer my questions about magicians. Raven. But I owe them a ton of favors already. There has to be another way. I flip through my notebook, back to the scrawls made the night I went into major debt with the King’s Attaché. And there it is, the tidbit my brain reached for but couldn’t quite manage.

  Three types of magic.

  But unfortunately, my notes don’t name any of them except Alchemy. If I want to know what Frankie’s family is packing in the magical department, asking around is unavoidable. But at least I have a name. I turn around in my chair and snag my laptop off the bookshelf behind it.

  Some searching of the address gives me a map of its location. And checking up on the Pickering family gives me an eyeful. They were one of the first Jewish families in Rhode Island, here even before Esther’s. I read about how they took the name Pickering while pretending to be gentiles in Europe, something that was common enough during the Inquisition. Mundane records on the Pickerings show that they came here to finally live as Jews again and escape religious persecution for doing being themselves. Ironically, Rhode Island didn’t consider them full citizens until decades after the Revolutionary War.

  Italian families like mine went through our share of issues coming to this country. Back in the early twentieth century, immigration got restricted in part because US citizens were scared of Organized Crime imported from Sicily. Jewish people from southern and eastern Europe dealt with the same sort of bias. Several in both groups became natural associates and later allies. What the Pickerings went through, how they were treated when they got here, is depressingly common even in later times.

  But Frankie’s family has no excuse for casting him out the way they did, after emotional neglect and setting him up to be a victim his whole life. A reason, maybe, because monsters are powerful, scary, and their demands seem absolute. But I can’t understand why they’d still shun their kid after the fact, even if he’s not magically talented.

  I’m going to have to phone a friend. But this time it can’t be Raven. I can’t afford the price because enough small favors add up to big favors, eventually reaching life-owing proportions. I don’t want to owe the King’s Attaché my unlife in my second month of vampirism.

  The phone beeps again. It’s Maury, getting back to me. He’ll bring my evidence to the CSI lab but he wants to know what kind of case I’m investigating. I fire back a message about how it’s an assault, possibly sexual, assailant unknown. A minute later, the phone rings. I get up and take it in the bathroom.

  “Tino, is your client a little girl?”

  “A kid? No, Maur. It’s a guy, adult even though he’s on the young side. From a wealthy family, too.” I give him that bit so he won’t insist I send Frankie directly to him.

  “Okay. Well, no wonder he wants to keep things discreet.”

  “You got something about a kid?” I lean back in the chair, knowing that if it still beat, my heart would have skipped a couple-few worrying about Leora. Why didn’t I insist on Scott walking her home? Esther wouldn’t have had to bust her behind making a tracker from raspberry jam if I’d done that. Apparently I’ve got some work to do in the logistical planning department.

  “Yeah, we do.”

  “What can you tell me about that?”

  “Missing persons cases. A mom and her little girl. The landlady reported them missing yesterday evening but thinks they’ve been gone for weeks now. We found the mother’s body and it ain’t even in the same universe as pretty.”

  “Oh shit, Maury.” I close my eyes, shake my head, do the right thing. “Leora Kupala.”

  “You’ve seen her?”

  “Yeah. Just did a case for her, found her missing pet.”

  “So the girl’s missing, the mom is dead, and she hires you to find Fido?”

  “It was a lizard, Maury, not a dog. A salamander.”

  “Salamanders are amphibians, Tino.”

  “Whatever.” I sigh. “I caught the critter, gave him back, and she paid me.”

  “When was this?”

  “Um,” I check the clock and see that it’s five in the morning. “Last night.”

  “If you have any of the bills she paid with, read me the serials.”

  I do that. As I’m reading off alpha-numeric codes, something occurs to me.
I stop in the middle of one of them.

  “Leora’s not a suspect.”

  “Can’t say, Tino.”

  “She’s definitely not.” But even I don’t really know. I might be able to find out if I can get her mother’s blood. I’ve got a painful but useful ability to see all the gory details about how a dead person met their end by drinking some of that.

  “Look, I have information you don’t about this.” Maury’s telling me this because he probably can’t share it. But I take the long shot and ask, anyway.

  “So help an old friend out.”

  “I’m already helping you by sending your evidence to CSI.”

  He’s got a point. I can’t really argue with it, either. The only thing I can do is try to track Leora down and get the story from her before Maury does. But I’m just a nocturnal sap with two weird partners while my bestie has the entire Cranston PD on his side. It’s unlikely I’ll outpace him, especially while I’m protecting Frankie. But I’ll try my best. In fact, I even know a guy who might be extremely interested in protecting a human kiddo from monsters. Well sort of a guy. But not really.

  “Tino? You there?”

  “Yeah. You’re right, Maury. Sorry I asked. It’s just a little too easy to forget that our professional relationship has to be quid pro quo.”

  “Look, if I were a Captain, you’d get what you want. I’m sure that you’re in business to help people. But I’m just a rookie detective who lost his partner last month. If you need info, you've got to find a different source. You know what I’m saying?” Maury means that he won’t stop me if I try to snoop around at the crime scene. If I can find out where it even is.

  “I understand, man.”

  “When can I pick that evidence up? And from where?”

  I tell him to meet me at my mom and dad’s house a half hour after sunset. That’ll work because the Fitzpatricks live right next door.

  “See you later, Maury.”

  “Later, Tino.”

  We hang up. I immediately send a message to Kayleigh Killarney. She’s my ex girlfriend from High School. Also, a hunter. Normally that'd mean we’re automatic enemies but we’ve got a truce going on because I got the bright idea to include protecting the innocent in my Trial ceremony proving I’ll be a nice, compliant vampire. Oh, also I’m working with Scott and Esther to mix up a magical cure for Kayleigh's fiance who’s in a coma. Esther says it’ll be maybe another week before it’s done.