Blood Secrets

one

November 17

ALEXANDRA SABIAN SEARCHED THE HALL OF RECORDS for clues that would lead her to a killer. The only problem with her search was that she had no suspects, no witnesses, and the body had been buried for forty-one years.

Her father, Bernard Sabian, had been murdered in the spring of 1968, when she was only five. Someone had left his staked and beheaded body in a cemetery near her childhood home.

Simply because he was a vampire, like her.

At least that was her theory.

In the two weeks since she’d discovered she could access the Hall of Records—a metaphysical storehouse for the memories and experiences of every man, woman, and child who’d walked the face of the earth—she’d been searching through the records, trying to locate her father’s. She hoped once she did that she would uncover the clues she needed to find his killer.

It wasn’t an easy task she’d set for herself, considering her father was a lost soul, one of the wandering spirits who roamed the neutral zone between the physical and spirit realms. He claimed he’d chosen his fate, had traded his passage to the spirit world in favor of remaining in the Shadowlands. She couldn’t—she wouldn’t accept that her father would willingly condemn himself to an eternity of unrest and was determined to give him the peace he deserved.

And her quest began in the Hall of Records.

Crystals housed in a black granite access terminal projected the large screen before her. Names scrolled by in one column while the adjacent column held a series of numbers showing the location of a door that led to that person’s memory.

She hadn’t actually tried accessing anyone’s memory yet. The thought of viewing a stranger’s most intimate recollections made her skin crawl. It was a violation of the worst order. However, if it helped find her father’s killer, it was an issue she was willing to work around.

The screen flashed from white to red and bold black letters appeared: ACCESS DENIED.

“Damn it,” Alex muttered and dropped her head into her hands. Every time she sought her father’s name she met the same result. Varying the combination of search parameters hadn’t worked either. Perhaps his records truly were lost.

Sighing, she looked around the Hall. It had transformed since the first time she’d entered as a result of her experiments to manipulate this “reality.” What had been a single endless hallway had become a huge ornate multi-level rotunda. Countless doors lay hidden in shadows on each level of the massive round building. Large golden Corinthian-style columns supported each level, and she craned her neck to count ten floors before darkness consumed the topmost levels. Although moonlight streamed through a circular opening in the apex of the rotunda’s unseen dome, none of it reached the lower levels. The only light came from the screen in front of her and the softly glowing crystals beside each door.

“All I need are some crickets chirping in the background,” she said to no one in particular. She turned her attention back to the screen, ready to try a different approach to her search.

Somewhere in the distant shadows overhead, a door opened and closed.

Alex jerked, reaching for a sidearm she didn’t possess. While she’d known others could access the Hall, she’d never been present when it happened. Forcing herself to relax, she waited to see if someone appeared or if she heard footsteps.

No noise broke the silence. No one showed themselves.

“Hello,” she called. “Is someone there?”

Only her echoed voice answered.

Frowning, Alex peered into the gloom overhead. Had she imagined it? No. She could feel unseen eyes watching her and sense a presence lurking in the darkness. A feeling of familiarity tickled her mind like a forgotten dream dancing at the edges of awareness.

A persistent, steady beeping sounded from her wrist. She checked her watch and sighed. It was time to leave the Hall behind and return to the real world.

Casting a final glance toward the hidden observer, she rose from her seat and headed for a simple wooden door nestled in a tiny alcove. A series of grinding noises behind her signaled the access terminal’s dissolution. It had taken several trips for her to become accustomed to the terminal’s disappearance when she was ready to leave. Without looking back, she knew the terminal and chair had dissolved and once more melded with the stone floor, leaving only smooth granite throughout the rotunda. Dim light filled the alcove as she opened the partially concealed door and stepped through.

The moon had reigned over the Hall’s interior, but once outside, Alex found a sun low on the horizon and the creeping gloom of twilight. Gravestones stretched to either side in endless rows, casting elongated shadows over soft spring grass. Looking over her shoulder as she walked away, the Hall’s door appeared as the entrance to a small mausoleum, what may have been a family name worn away long ago.

“Curiouser and curiouser,” she muttered and then smirked at the reference to Alice in Wonderland, one of her favorite childhood books. Sometimes she definitely felt like Alice chasing the rabbit.

Parting the Veil, the thin sliver of psychic energy that separated the physical and spiritual planes, required concentration and wasn’t a task she’d fully mastered. If she wasn’t careful in melding her consciousness with her physical body, a dozen nasty fates awaited her, the least being death.

Her physical body lay in a hotel room in a meditative trance. To an observer, she would appear to be in a really deep sleep. However, waking someone in such a trance could be deadly. Separating the consciousness from the body was a risk, but it was one she was willing to accept if she could find clues to solve her father’s murder.

She sighed and closed her eyes, pushing aside the random thoughts that crowded her mind. Once awake, she would be groggy and disoriented, like someone coming out from under anesthesia. In order to shift her consciousness from the Shadowlands and back to the real world, she had to remember details of the room.

Gradually she recalled the feel of the bed beneath her, the coolness of the air, and the hum of machinery from the nearby elevators. The sensation of a pit yawning beneath her made her stomach roll. She’d learned to keep her eyes tightly shut against the kaleidoscopic whirlwind of colors and shadows as she passed through the Veil and returned to the physical plane.

Alex slowly awoke from the dreamlike trance and alarms immediately sounded in her mind. Her skin prickled under the gaze of an unseen watcher.

Darkness cloaked her surroundings. Disoriented, she searched with her senses, probing for signs of life. She steadied and measured her breathing as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. The greenish glow of a security light bathed the window beside the bed on which she lay and cast strange shadows on the wall.

Without turning her head, she looked around the small hotel room, trying to make sense of what she saw. One of the shadows in a far corner shifted and her focus narrowed on it. She eased her hand beneath her pillow, reaching for her loaded Glock G31 .357-caliber pistol.

The shadow detached from the wall and moved toward her.

Alex sat up quickly and aimed her pistol at the shadow as it launched itself onto the bed. Her finger found the trigger.

The shadow landed beside her with an inquisitive warble.

“Damn it, Dweezil,” Alex whispered, jerking her finger from the trigger as the large Maine coon cat swished its tail over her bare legs.

Dweezil head-butted her empty hand and purred.

She chuckled and scratched behind his large tufted ears with her free hand. “Don’t scare me like that. I almost shot you.”

His eyes flashed iridescent green in the light filtering through the window. He winked at her, as if to say, “Gotcha,” before moving to her still-warm pillow and curling into a tight ball.

“You sure are jumpy,” a voice announced from near the window.

Alex gasped and aimed her Glock at the newly perceived threat.

“It’s me, damn it!” A man’s silhouette raised his hands and the scent of sandalwood and cinnamon wafted toward her.

Recognition stopped her finger from pulling the trigger. She lowered the pistol, her breath leaving in an explosive puff.

Varik Baudelaire—Director of Special Operations for the Federal Bureau of Preternatural Investigation, her ex-fiancé, former mentor, and current lover—cautiously approached the bed and took the pistol from her. “F*cking-A, baby. What the hell’s got you so worked up?”

“Sorry. I’m not used to someone being here when I wake up.”

He placed the Glock on the bedside table. “Well, it’s little wonder if you make a habit of trying to kill your lovers.”

She moved Dweezil from her pillow. “Oh, f*ck you,” she spat and pulled the covers over her head.

The bed shifted with Varik’s added weight and his arms slipped around her. “That sounds like a fabulous idea,” he growled and nipped at her ear with his fangs.

Alex giggled and rolled to face him. “Is sex the only thing you think about?”

“No.” He kissed her neck. “Sometimes I think of food. Especially whipped cream.”

“Whipped cream?”

He pulled back enough that she could see his dark eyes had shifted to the color of molten gold. “It’s very versatile and has many uses.” His hand slipped beneath her University of Louisville T-shirt to cup her breast. “It’s especially good with melons.”

She laughed and shoved him away. “You really are a French pig, aren’t you?”

He captured her, pulling her close, and brushed his lips against hers as he whispered, “Le oink, le oink.”

His mouth covered hers, and his tongue lazily traced the curve of her lips. He rolled her bottom lip between his teeth, teasing her with the possibility of piercing her flesh. A warm tingle blossomed low in her belly when his tongue finally darted between her fangs, exploring and gliding alongside hers.

Alex entwined her fingers in his black hair, reveling in its thickness and the way it slipped over her skin like warm silk. Since taking over as Jefferson’s official Enforcer, he’d found having hair to his waist to be impractical and cut it, a decision with which she wholeheartedly agreed.

An upbeat techno song played, and Varik growled when she broke the kiss.

“Your phone is ringing,” she muttered.

He kissed the scar along the left side of her neck, making her shiver. “Ignore it.”

“It could be important.”

“It can wait.”

The beat cycled to the beginning, and she sighed. “Varik …”

Groaning, he rolled onto his side, reaching for his cell phone. The music died as he answered. “This had better be damn good.”

She could hear the distinctive bass rumble of Damian Alberez, Chief Enforcer for the FBPI and boss to both of them. Rather, he was Varik’s boss. She was cooling her heels on the Bureau’s shit list because she’d turned rogue a month ago and abandoned her oath to uphold the law.

As a result of her transgression, she’d been placed on administrative suspension and ordered to remain within the city limits until the powers-that-be called her to their headquarters in Louisville, Kentucky. Once summoned, she’d face an official inquiry before the Tribunal, the vampire equivalent of an internal affairs committee, and answer for numerous violations of the Enforcer code of conduct. The most serious charge was one of corruption, which if found guilty carried a mandatory death sentence.

“How long ago was the car found?” Varik asked, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Alex stretched and pushed herself into a seated position, back resting against the headboard.

“Are you certain about that?” He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Right. Yeah, I know where it is. I’m bringing Alex along for this one.”

She frowned as Damian’s voice rose, and Varik was forced to hold the cell phone away from his ear.

“—no way in hell you’re bringing her,” Damian shouted. “Sabian is suspended until further notice. You know that.”

“Yeah, I know that. I also know that if we’re going to get anywhere with this investigation, we need all the available talent we can get,” Varik snarled.

Damian remained silent.

“Varik,” Alex whispered. “If he—”

“Fine.” Damian’s grudging response cut her off. “Bring her along, but you’re responsible for her while she’s on-scene.”

Varik winked at her. “Agreed. We’re on our way.”

“What—” She gestured to his phone and shook her head. “How do you do that?”

He turned to face her squarely. “How do I do what?”

“Get Damian to agree to whatever you want.”

He grinned, showing the full extent of his fangs. “It’s part of my French pig charm, chérie.”

She rolled her eyes. “So what’s this scene we’re going to?”

“You’re familiar with the Mindy Johnson case?”

“The girl who disappeared three days ago.”

He nodded. “Someone located her car in front of the women’s dorms at Nassau County Community College. Damian and the forensic team are there now.”

“Sounds like the scene is under control. Why bring me in?”

Varik rose and pulled her up along with him. “Because you have an ability to see things others don’t.”

“You want me to use my psychometry to get a vision of what happened to Mindy?” She tried to move away but he held her close. “It doesn’t work like that, Varik. I can’t control the visions.”

“I know.”

“There is no guarantee I’ll even sense anything.”

He kissed her forehead. “Will you at least try?”

Reluctantly, she nodded.

“Thank you.”

They took turns in the bathroom, and she was surprised by how easily they fell into a familiar routine. As she washed up, Alex checked her reflection in the age-spotted mirror above the sink. The bruising that had encompassed her ribs, stomach, and the right side of her face had finally disappeared but the fractured cheekbone hadn’t fully healed. She could still feel the soreness when she smiled. A bright pink scar ran diagonally over her right biceps, the result of a sniper’s bullet grazing her arm.

She secured her shoulder-length auburn hair in a low ponytail. Another scar marred the left side of her neck, a jagged slash starting behind her ear and extending to her collarbone. She fingered the scar, a permanent reminder of a chapter in her life she thought was behind her. Fate, however, had other plans for her.

As if summoned by her thoughts, Varik appeared in the mirror, leaning against the doorjamb. His dark eyes steadily meeting her reflected gaze. “Ready to go?”

She nodded. “I just have to get my sidearm.”

He grabbed her arm as she tried to push past him. His thumb traced the blemish on her neck. “I’m sorry I caused you pain,” he murmured.

Six years ago, when they’d been engaged to be married, he attacked her, savaging her neck. He’d taken her blood and forged a psychic bond between them. Time and distance had weakened the blood-bond, but a few weeks ago she’d turned the tables and attacked him, re-strengthening the bond. It hadn’t been a conscious thought, unlike when she later slept with him and continued to sleep with him even though a portion of her said she shouldn’t.

Her attention flicked to a matching mark on his neck. She followed the jagged edge of the healed wound with her finger. “I know,” she whispered. “But now isn’t the time to discuss it.”

“You always say that.”

“We’ll discuss it later.” She gave him a quick kiss. “I swear.”

He released her in silent agreement.

She grabbed her Glock from the side table and paused to give Dweezil’s exposed belly a quick rub. “Behave yourself,” she told the purring cat. “No barfing on the bed or carpet.”

Dweezil yawned and stretched in response.

Varik was shaking his head when she joined him at the door. “Sometimes I think you like that cat more than me.”

“Love me, love my cat.”

The door automatically locked behind them as they headed for the elevators. “Actually, I’m quite fond of your pus—”

She punched his arm. “Don’t you dare complete that sentence, Varik Baudelaire, or I’ll kick your ass right here.”

He clutched his shoulder, laughing. “Promises, promises.”

Alex growled in frustration and hurried ahead, wanting to place some distance between them before she really did hurt him, and pressed the elevator call button. She was still sorting out her feelings for Varik, and even though she cared for him, he often irritated her, especially with his insistence on providing for her.

Her apartment had been damaged in a fire and wasn’t ready for her return. She’d been staying with her brother, Stephen, in a studio apartment he rented out over Crimson Swan, Jefferson’s only legal blood bar for vampires. However, arsonists led by Harvey Manser, the now former sheriff of Nassau County, had destroyed the bar, leaving her homeless once again.

The hotel room that became her temporary shelter had originally been reserved by Varik when he first arrived in town. Her suspension from the Bureau left Jefferson without an Enforcer so the Bureau had assigned Varik as her provisional replacement and had provided him with a short-term apartment, not that he’d been there often. He gave his hotel room to Alex and had been staying with her most nights. She’d offered to reserve her own room but he’d insisted, claiming that the room was already paid in advance.

She didn’t believe his story. However, a check with the hotel’s manager had yielded no information of value other than gaining access to the hotel’s after-hours gym.

The elevator arrived as Varik joined her, and the doors slid open. He gestured for her to enter first then walked in with a knowing smirk. She ignored him and pushed the button that would take them to the lobby.

As the doors shut, she heard another door open and close somewhere in the distance, bringing to mind her encounter—or lack of an encounter—in the Hall of Records. In the excitement that followed her trip to the Shadowlands, she’d forgotten about it. She was certain someone had been in the Hall. Why had they not shown themselves?

Machinery whirred overhead and while the elevator descended, she was on edge. Dread settled over her like a shroud and she couldn’t shake it. Irrational visions of monsters lying in wait in the lobby flittered through her mind. The same sense of a forgotten dream nibbling at the corners of her consciousness made her shudder.

Varik draped an arm over her shoulders. “Are you okay?”

She nodded and stepped away. “Just a little nervous to face Damian,” she lied.

His eyes narrowed but he didn’t press her.

The elevator reached the first floor, and the doors opened to reveal a well-lit and empty lobby.

Alex silently chided herself as they passed the vacant front desk. She had an opportunity to make up for some of her mistakes and was allowing the events of recent weeks to get to her. She was back in the field, where she wanted to be, and she needed to get her head in the right place.

And yet when she stepped into the rainy dawn, the sense that some unseen menace lay in wait, watching her from the darkness, made her reach for Varik’s hand.

He shot her a questioning look, but he never broke stride, and gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

Once surrounded by the security of his sleek black Corvette and heading into the morning in silence, Alex pushed aside the anxiety that still swirled around her like a palpable cloud, determined not to squander the opportunity she’d been given.

And even more determined to stop jumping at shadows.

Basements weren’t possible in southern Mississippi for two reasons: a high water table and a layer of shifting clay within the ground. That was why so many old houses had immense attic space to compensate.

Above- or belowground didn’t matter to Peter. All he needed was privacy and the attic offered it. It had taken him nearly a year to perfect the space, tailoring it to his needs. The time had been wisely spent.

A door in the second-floor hall opened to stairs that led to one section of the attic. A very small portion used for actual storage.

The doorway to the remainder was well hidden. He’d made certain it wouldn’t be noticed by the casual observer. Not that he had any visitors.

A false panel concealed behind an oversized print of Marcel Duchamp’s Nude Descending a Staircase, No. 2 hid another set of narrow stairs. The Cubist painting depicted both a woman and a staircase consisting of blocks and overlapping angles with little separating the moving nude figure from the irregular background.

The irony was too much. He laughed every time he opened the panel and climbed the hidden stairs, as he did now. Reaching the top step, he entered the wide expanse that was his private heaven.

Shelves containing his most precious collection lined the walls. Bins filled with all the bits needed to create his masterpieces were arranged in a neat row on his workstation. Lamps hung overhead and bathed the table in soft light.

As Peter crossed the time-worn wooden flooring, he felt a rush of power filtering up from the archaic sigils he’d carefully carved into the boards. Each held meaning and purpose, and all were designed to bring him the one thing he most desired.

He pulled a rolling stool from under the table and sat down with a sigh. It felt good to be returning to work. He pushed a button on a remote control and the opening overture for Carmen filtered through concealed speakers. His eyes slipped shut. The music surrounded him, caressed him, and lulled his senses into a peaceful calm.

Last night had been a very good night. He’d seen her. It had been a brief glimpse only, but it had been enough to rekindle his desire, to assure him that his work was not in vain.

He’d even heard her voice. Her sweet, angelic voice calling to him, seeking him out. He’d wanted to answer, to go to her, but he abstained. She wasn’t ready, and he had to be patient. She would come to him soon enough.

Opening his eyes, he removed the protective drape from his current work. It was crude but the subtle features were taking shape in the face. Each doll he created was perfect, an exact copy of his models. However, this one was a replica of a very special model, and like the others, it would be imbued with a vital essence that would bring her to him.

His gaze flickered across the attic to his latest acquisition.

She stared at him, eyes wide and full of wonder. She hadn’t struggled in the same manner as her predecessor so the bindings were minimal. Bands across her forehead and throat kept her head immobile. Her arms lay naturally along her sides with black straps holding them securely in place at the elbows and wrists. A special harness crossed over her shoulders and then over her stomach. More straps held her thighs and shins in place.

Her mouth remained uncovered, however, and she said nothing. The drugs kept her pliant.

Peter smiled and picked up the new doll’s head from the table.

This one was special.

This was the one that would finally bring Alexandra to him.

This was the one that would make her his.

Forever.