“Right,” I say, remembering the little history I know about Templar Knights. They fought in the name of Christianity, which is something I’ve struggled to get behind my entire life. If there really was a higher power, why does so much bad shit happen? I see the worst of humanity on a daily basis.
“Detective,” Gilbert says slowly, looking into my eyes like he’s trying to remember something. “You use clues to solve crimes, and you work for law enforcement.”
“Yeah, that’s right. How do you know?”
“I’m not sure.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds. “It’s almost like a memory. The red thing you got into. It’s familiar.”
“The red thing is a car.” I rub my ice-cold hands together. Jacques steps behind me, sharing his warmth. “Some neurologists think we pick up on things around us while we sleep. People used to live in the house. They drove cars, talked, and probably watched a lot of TV. You would have heard life go on around you.”
“TV?” Thomas questions.
“You still have a lot to learn.”
“Go before they come,” Hasan says, and his deep voice sends a jolt through me. “We’ll handle this.”
“You’ve done this before.”
“Many times.” His dark eyes meet mine. “Go.”
“Meet me back at the house,” I tell them. “And don’t get seen.”
Once again, I shove the shock aside and take off, wiping away as much blood as I can as I backtrack to the ravine. I carefully pick my way down it and then up again, finding my flashlight glowing on the ground where I dropped it. My gun is a few feet from it.
I pick off the wet leaves and shove it back in the holster on my waist. Composing myself the best I can for the second time tonight, I walk back to the active crime scene and bullshit a story about falling down the steep drop-off thanks to slippery footing.
I start to finish up everything I have to do before I can go home, feeling a ball of guilt start to form in my stomach. The CSI team is working hard. Tiffany left her young baby and new husband to get out here and take photos of the body.
Everyone is working tirelessly on the case, desperate to catch a killer that doesn’t exist. I can’t keep quiet forever, can I? What would I say?
Vampires are responsible for the killings and they attacked me, too, but don’t worry, my gargoyle friends showed up and saved the day. Want evidence? Sorry, there is none, because the thousand-year-old friends I just mentioned are apparently experts on hiding bodies.
I’d be checked into a psych hospital faster than you can say vampires actually fucking exist.
“Ace!” Tiffany’s voice rings out across the field. “Where have you been?”
“Sorry.” I smooth out my hair, finding more wet leaves around the base of my neck. Regardless, I flip up my hood to try and hide the blood. “I went off following a lead. It was nothing.”
“Take somebody with you next time.” She shakes her head. “I do not want to photograph your dead body, you know.”
I walk into the light and her eyebrows go up.
“What the fuck happened to you?”
“I slipped in wet leaves.”
“You slipped and fell?”
“Yeah. Down a ravine with water at the bottom. Even I get clumsy every now and then.” I know the subconscious indications people do when they are lying, and I make sure to not do a single one. “I’m freezing.”
“I bet. I’m cold and I’m not wet and muddy. Go home before you get chilled.”
I’ve been chilled for a while now. “I’m almost done. What about you?”
“I think I got all I can. The coroner is bagging up the body.”
We walk back to the crime scene together, wrap up our work, and go to our cars. I’m parked near Tiffany.
“See you in the morning,” she says with a small wave. “Unless there’s another murder.”
“Yeah, see you.” I wave back. There won’t be any murders. Now that I know who’s behind this, I’m going to stop them.
I switch over my music from the ’90s XM station I usually listen to and turn on a local radio station. Just in case anyone calls in to say they saw something large flying through the sky.
I’ve never been more thankful for my heated seats than I am right now, and I peel off the soaked raincoat and toss it in the back before I head to my apartment. It’s a good thirty minutes from here and I know as soon as I walk through the doors I’m not going to want to leave.
Ever.
Because leaving means dealing, and dealing means accepting that everything I’ve fought for my whole life has been a lie. It’s more than just that, and I’m working hard to keep the thoughts from rising to the surface. Though no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep their faces from flashing before me.
Mom.
Dad.
Blood. Screaming. The horrible smell that until today I described as rotten eggs.
Sulfur.
The same way the vampires smelled. My parents weren’t killed in a way that would make me think vampire—not even now—but I can’t help but wonder, if vampires smell like sulfur, do other monsters?
Exhaustion hits me when I step out of the shower. Finally warm, I twist my wet hair into a bun on top of my head and sit on the foot of my bed, resting my sore body for just a moment. It’s nearing two AM and I got up yesterday at five-thirty for a run.
I pull on black leggings, tall socks, my favorite gray sweater, and then shove a blanket and clothes for tomorrow in a duffle bag. I zip it up, then decide I’d better bring extras just in case I get soaked again.
I fill another bag with snacks and bottles of water and wonder what the hell gargoyles eat. I myself am starving, and you can’t go wrong with pizza, right? I phone in an order and head out.
I’m not sure what to expect when I pull up at the estate. The gargoyles showed up to help me, but does that make them trustworthy? I spend the entire drive thinking about it, as well as fighting a battle to steal a piece of pizza while driving. It smells so good and I haven’t eaten since lunch.
My heart speeds up when I turn onto the gravel road and continues to beat rapidly the closer I get to the house. My hands threaten to tremble as I pull into the driveway and park near the house. I don’t know what to expect, and I can’t decide what I want.
The gargoyles back in their places, cast in stone once again?
The four of them sitting around the house, waiting for me?
I want one almost as much as I want the other, though I can’t ignore the nagging inside of me, the part wanting the gargoyles to be there. I kill the engine, toss my keys in my bag, and get out. My gun is on my hip, and I’ve left my right hand free—just in case.
Smoke rises from the chimney and a soft glow from the fireplace emanates through the house. An odd sense of welcoming spreads through my chest, and suddenly it’s like I can’t get in the house fast enough.
I strap my bags over my shoulder and pick up the pizzas. Unsure of how many pizzas to get to feed four regular men, let alone four I-just-woke-up-from-a-thousand-year-curse types, I got four larges, figuring one for each. I’ll steal two or three slices from someone.
The front door opens before I’m up the steps of the porch, and Gilbert’s blue eyes glisten under the moonlight.
“What is that?” he asks, sniffing the air.
“Pizza.”
“Can I eat it?”
“Yes,” I laugh. “You can.”
He steps aside, letting me through, then shuts and locks the door behind me. The same unexplainable sense of familiarity washes over me. I set down my bags in the foyer and carry the pizza into the large living room, then sit on the floor by the fire and set the boxes of pizza on the coffee table. This old house is drafty, and the small fire does little to warm it.
Hasan is standing across from me, looking out the window. A vision of him picking up the vampire like it was nothing flashes before me, and I can’t help the wave of heat it brings pulsing through my body.
Thomas is standing near the fire, holding his hands out to the flames. He turns, looking at the boxes of pizza curiously.
“It’s pizza,” I explain, and scoot the coffee table closer to me. I don’t want to move too far from the fire. “I assume you’re hungry, right?”
“It’s been so long since I felt hunger,” Jacques says, crouching down next to me. I try not to stare at his ornate wings.
“It’s been so long since I’ve felt a lot of other things,” Thomas mutters to Gilbert, who snickers in response.