Richard’s eyes flick over my body. I get that reaction a lot, actually. I’m tall and slender, athletic but not buff. My physical strength gets questioned every time I tell someone what I do for a living.
He smiles. “It’s nice having an officer of the law on our road.” He pulls his phone out of his pocket. “What division are you in? I have a buddy who’s on the force.”
“Homicide. I’m a detective,” I say, and give him my number. Jared crosses his arms, looking uncomfortable. The kid believes in gargoyles. I bet he believes in vampires, too, and I don’t want him going out looking for something that will rip him to shreds.
“Don’t go outside alone at night,” I say, eyes going right to Jared. “We’ve had a lot of calls lately about cars driving by houses with children after dark. Better safe than sorry, right? Best to stay inside and lock the doors.”
“I agree with you there. We’re headed out to pick up dinner and I think it’ll be a quiet night in for us.”
“Yay,” Jared says sarcastically, and rolls his eyes again.
“Be careful,” I direct to him. “And it was nice meeting you.”
“You, too. And if you ever need help with the house, I’m more than willing to lend a hand.” Richard smiles. “The time when your house was built is my area of expertise and I’d jump on any opportunity to help preserve the history of a structure so magnificent.”
“Thanks,” I tell him, and take a few steps back. Keeping my music off and my vigilance high, I start to my house again, running harder and faster than I should, and am out of breath and hotter than before by the time my feet hit the cobblestone path leading to the front door. Not wanting to get achy muscles from stopping too suddenly, I walk around the house and look at the yard.
The misty rain brings on fog, and with sunset quickly approaching, mutes the evening light. There’s a shed behind the house. It’s newer, put in by the last occupant of the house, according to the records I got at the bank. The dilapidated pile of splintering wood and shingles was the original barn to this place, and it looks like it’s been in a rotting heap for years. The chicken coop isn’t in bad shape, not that I’d ever have anything to do with it. I like to eat chicken, and I can’t eat an animal I’ve had in a little house in the backyard.
I roll my neck and stretch. My back is tight from stress, and I put one foot up on the step going to the back porch to try and stretch it out. It takes a while to get the knot to loosen enough to not be painful, and it’ll be good as new with a back rub. I subconsciously smile and feel a tingle between my legs when I think of the last massage I got.
“Is it sunset yet?” I ask, looking up at the roof. From this angle, I can only see the tips of Hasan’s wings. I walk backwards, keeping my eyes on my gargoyle, until I can see his face, twisted into something monstrous and set in stone.
Bending over to touch my toes in a final stretch before going inside to shower, I feel eyes on me. I snap up and turn around, suddenly unnerved. Taking a deep breath, I walk around to the front of the house. The fog is rolling in, getting thicker and thicker and harder to see through as the sun sinks lower in the sky.
“Hey, guys,” I say to Thomas and Gilbert, rounding the house and coming up to the front porch. I pull my key from the pocket on the back of my sports bra and stick it in the deadbolt.
And then I notice the scratches on the door frame and know right away what they’re from. Someone tried to break into the house.
23
I hurry inside, shutting and locking the door behind me. I flick on the foyer lights and hurry through the house to get my gun and a wooden stake. I leave the others soaking in the holy water. My heart beats rapidly in my chest, both from the run and from adrenaline.
Handling this like any other case, I do a quick check of the house, starting with the front. It’s too large to comb through perfectly. Someone could easily be in here, moving from room to room without me ever seeing them.
The front door was locked when I came home, just how I’d left it. The windows are locked and the other exterior doors downstairs are shut and locked, as well. I go up the rear stairs and head into the master bedroom first. The windows over the porch might not be locked, and my heart beats a little faster the closer I get.
The last I remember was opening them to talk to Jacques. I cannot for the life of me recall locking them again. I push back the lace curtain. Thank God. I locked them. I check the rest of the house, turning on lights and feeling way too exposed.
Not every room has curtains, and with the lights on, it’s easy to see in. And whoever is watching me is outside. I can feel it. I go back into the bedroom, the only room with curtains, and sit on the foot of the bed. I need a plan, but having no idea what I’m up against is a bit of a hindrance.
I carefully press the tip of the wooden stake against my finger to test the sharpness. My skin prickles, and I’m getting more and more anxious for nightfall. I want to kill these motherfuckers and end this once and for all. I go to the window, looking at the sky.
Then my phone rings, and the Star Wars theme song echoes through the large house. Having left my phone downstairs in the living room, it’s a wonder I can hear it up here. I hurry down the stairs and pick it up, seeing whoever is calling is from work.
“Detective Bisset,” I answer.
“Hi, Detective. It’s Jane Simons. I ran the name you gave me through the system.”
“Great, thanks, did you find anything.”
“Yes, and it doesn’t all add up, which is why I’m calling you instead of leaving the report on your desk.”
My heart speeds up. “Go on.”
“The HealthLife Clinic has Shawn Walsh on their employee records, and it looks like he started working six months ago. They were compliant with giving info and everything there went smoothly. But when I checked on the status of his nursing license, I found an issue. The only registered nurse in the state with the name of Shawn Walsh is a forty-three-year-old African-American.”
Shit. He’s using a fake name. I go over what to do with Jane for a few minutes before hanging up. Everything is coming together now. The sulfur-smelling nurse who has a fake name and just happens to work at a health clinic that pays homeless people for their blood.
Right down the street from a club that offers a vampire-sex service, so to speak.
They’re connected somehow and I’m going to start chipping away until I get to the bottom of it. This new sire made a big mistake setting up shop here.
I open Facebook to do a social media search on the guy. He didn’t look any older than twenty-five, making him an ideal candidate to have at least one social media profile. I find nothing. There are a handful of profiles belonging to guys named Shawn Walsh, and not one of them looks like the guy I saw today.
Before I can try Instagram, something thumps on the porch, and the wood creaks from someone walking across it. I trade my phone for the wooden stake and edge toward the window. The sun sets in forty-seven minutes. It’s too early for the guys to be up, but whatever is out there is heavy and doesn’t know about the creaky planks underfoot near the living room window.
The guys—even if they did wake up early—wouldn’t walk over there. They have no reason to look in the window, and they know about the weak and rotting wood close to the house. Sheer ivory curtains hang on the windows in the living room, preventing anyone from looking in and getting a clear view of me, but allowing them to make out shapes and shadows.
They know I’m here and they know I’m alone.
Tightening my grip on the stake, I shut off the light and see a shadow cross the porch. My heart jumps and I race to the front door, moving as quietly as possible. I’m light on my feet and make it to the door with almost no noise. The feeling of being watched intensifies, and I know without a doubt there will be someone—something—on the porch.