He nods but doesn’t say anything. I shut the window and hurry back to the warmth of the bed. I pull the blankets up to my chin, telling myself Jacques’s standoffish behavior doesn’t bother me.
I slip back into sleep and my dreams take me to Jacques. He’s human again, and we’re back in the little cabin. Something about this dream feels weird, like I know I’m dreaming this time. Jacques is reading to me, smiling as he looks down at the book. He’s speaking in a language I don’t know, yet we both find what he’s reading humorous. I stand from the chair I was relaxing in, moving to stir whatever I’m cooking over an open fire.
The same sense of total contentment washes over me. Bright sunlight shines through the windows, and Jacques puts the book down. He takes my hand and leads me through the open door. We walk through the field to the edge of a cliff overlooking the ocean.
He moves behind me, arms wrapping around my waist, and we just stand there together, watching the waves rolling in and out. Everything around us is perfect. Peaceful. Calm and quiet. I close my eyes and spin in his arms, bringing his hands to my belly.
My lips curve into a grin as I tell Jacques I’m pregnant. Jacques smiles, lifts me up, spinning me and kissing me at the same time. I smile back at him, but the moment my feet hit the ground, the ocean turns red. Black clouds stretch over the sun and the air turns cold.
Jacques is standing at the edge of the cliff, face sullen and hands bloody. I try to go to him but I can’t move. It’s like I’m not there, not in a body at least, and I’m being forced to watch a film play out in front of me. I can’t talk, can’t call out to him.
The horizon starts to fade away and my ears ring. Blood starts to drip down Jacques’s face. His eyes fall shut to keep the blood from getting in them. An invisible knife slashes across his chest and red stains his white shirt. The air around us starts to buzz, and it’s like everything is closing in on itself all at once.
Something pops, and the world goes black. Everything hurts and I can’t move my arms. I blink, trying to get the blood out of my eyes, and realize I’m tied to a chair. Across the room, someone lights a candle, and soft, yellow light flickers around us, illuminating the pretty face of a woman.
A woman holding a knife in one hand and a spell book in the other. I’m seeing the world through her eyes, reading the thoughts in her head.
She is Braeya. The woman from the dreams. The one Jacques loves.
And she’s a witch.
Horror fills me as I realize she’s been casting spells on Jacques, making him see and feel things that aren’t real. The love he felt both for her and from her…the freedom of living together at the edge of the world…the baby. None of it was real.
It was only a spell.
20
I stretch my arms over my head, eyeing the clock. I have half an hour until I can leave work, and, assuming there are no occult-like murders, I get the weekend off. Thank. Fucking. God. It’s been a long day filled with briefings, meetings, and going over evidence. Nothing stacks up, and everyone is frustrated and confused. They’re looking for a killer who doesn’t exist. The baby vamps are dead and gone, but it’s only a matter of time before more rise from the ground and begin a new reign of terror.
I straighten up my desk, pull my notebook from my locked drawer and stuff it into my bag, and shut down my computer. Just a few more minutes. I need to go to my apartment, take another load of belongings over to the estate, and try to hunt down my landlord and ask for my money back. Then I’ll have to figure out moving, and it’s ironic, as I have four very strong friends who can’t be seen by anyone other than me.
I’ve lived a simple life over the last few years, but I’ve still managed to acquire my fair share of stuff. My furniture will be the hardest to move, which makes me lean toward selling everything but my bed. The estate has plenty of furniture in it already.
I miss the guys, and I want to talk to Jacques, though I’m not really sure what to say. Everything in the dreams felt so real—especially the sex. I saw every inch of him, and it wasn’t some fabrication. I really saw him, scars and all.
I saw him laugh. I saw him smile. I felt how much he’s capable of loving someone, and how he’d do anything for the person who holds his heart. Only, none of it was real.
The love, the perfect life, the baby…it was all mind games.
There’s a commotion at the front of the station, and I get up to see what’s going on. Two officers are trying to subdue Oliver McMillan, one of our “frequent flyers.” He bounces from homeless shelter to homeless shelter, then sometimes lives with his daughter until he gets too paranoid to stay there anymore. I know he’s been committed more than once, but due to lack of insurance and the fact he’s not a danger to anyone, he’s always let out to roam the streets again.
He’s a crazy older man who thinks the government is watching him and has more conspiracy theories than anyone. It’s rather sad, really.
“I need to talk to the person in charge,” he repeats, ignoring the officers. “I need to tell the boss about the vampires!”
“There are no vampires. Please, Mr. McMillan,” a young female cop says. She has compassion in her eyes, and I hope it stays. It’s easy for the compassion to turn into frustration and annoyance. “There is no such thing as vampires. The boss is busy.”
“Hey,” I say, and hurry to the front desk. “What’s going on?”
The female officer—Ella Cooper—turns to me, shaking her head. “He’s been in here all week wanting to talk about vampires. We’ve very nicely asked him to go home each time.” She gives her attention back to Mr. McMillan, trying to appeal to what little logic he has left.
“Vampires?” I echo, and Mr. McMillan stops struggling.
“Yes,” he says, sounding exasperated. “They’re killing everyone. We’re all in danger, but no one will listen.”
“I’ll listen,” I say, and Ella’s shoulders relax with relief. “Let’s go talk about this. Are you hungry?” I ask him. He eyes me suspiciously for a moment, and then nods. I motion for him to follow me, and we go outside and down the street to a cafe.
“You gonna tell me I’m crazy?” he asks when we slide into a booth.
“No.” I grab the menus from the side of the table and hand one to him. “Order whatever you want. It’s on me.”
He licks his lips at the thought of food but doesn’t look at the menu. Not yet. He’s still trying to figure me out.
“Why are you doing this?”
“I believe you,” I say softly, knowing the next few moments are critical. Mr. McMillan suffers from paranoia, and, while just minutes ago he was wanting to warn the public about vampires, he’ll shut down if he doesn’t trust me.
He narrows his eyes. “Why?”
I turn my head up, eyes meeting his, and look at him as just a person, not a cop. “I’ve seen things, things that can’t be explained.”
He continues to study me for another moment, then opens his menu. “You can stop the vampires?”
“I can try.” The waitress comes over to take our drink orders. I wait until she’s out of earshot to continue. “But I need your help. Can you tell me why you think there are vampires—”
“I don’t think! I know!” He brings his fist down on the table, getting attention from a couple at the table next to us.
“Sorry,” I say, and offer a smile. “I know you know. I mean, can you tell me how you found out about the vampires.”
“Yeah, okay…I can do that.” He shifts his weight, looking around nervously. “The sun is out. We’re safe as long as we stay by the window.”
I nod, reminding myself to have extra patience with this man. “The vampires are sleeping.”
He looks at the menu for a minute, closes it, and leans back, waiting for his coffee. Once it comes and we put in our order for food, he starts talking.
“I’ve been staying at Christian Haven. You know of it?”
“I do.” It’s a homeless shelter offered by a church.
“About a week or so ago, a new guy showed up. Said he’d been on the streets, but I didn’t buy it. He looked too…too put-together. Wasn’t ever hungry. And he smelled funny.”