“That was the first thing I had my men check for. Mr. Mayer most definitely was not a slayer.”
“Could it have been the killer’s?” A cold chill skittered across Gabe’s skin. “You don’t think I—”
“No, of course not. If I suspected you, we’d be having a very different conversation right now.” The sharp gaze of his eyes let Gabe know it was no idle threat. “Not that it hadn’t crossed my mind. Fortunately, your whereabouts are accounted for.”
Gabe had spent the previous night with Harvey’s friends, Stan, Ray and Dill, at their house. After Dill’s rescue, Gabe had developed a hunch of either Stan or Ray or both being in direct contact with Augustine, and now his suspicions were confirmed.
“You think there might be another slayer in town?” Gabe asked.
Augustine spread his hands. “There have been no attacks on us, and why would a slayer kill a regular person?”
“It’s a strange thing to find at a murder scene, don’t you think?”
“You can buy wooden stakes online these days. We used to be the stuff of nightmares. Now young people think it’s romantic to be a vampire,” Augustine said with an air of disdain.
“It’ll pass. Another hundred years or so and everything will be back to normal,” Gabe assured him.
Augustine’s brows twitched. Gabe guessed he’d either amused or annoyed the vampire. It was hard to tell.
“This is a copy of the police report.” Augustine finally handed the folder to Gabe.
Gabe was long past being surprised at the extent of Augustine’s connections in town and his ability to procure classified information. Putting his glass down on the antique side table, Gabe leafed through the pages. He had no previous experience with police reports, but this one appeared pretty thorough, with photos and descriptions. One thing was missing. “There’s no autopsy report.”
“It’s not done yet, but I’ll have it as soon as it is. You can take that with you.” Augustine waved at the pile of papers in Gabe’s lap.
Gabe picked up his drink and lifted it to his lips, running over the details of the case in his mind while savoring the brandy. “And what is your man supposed to do to help?”
“Mr. Mills has the ability to communicate with the dead.”
Gabe managed not to choke on his drink. If it was anyone else, he would’ve voiced his skepticism, but you didn’t argue with Victor Augustine. “Right. I better go, then.”
The ghost of a smile flickered over Augustine’s lips as Gabe took his leave. From Augustine’s secretary, Ellie, Gabe collected Mills’s address and a black envelope he was supposed to give the man. Judging from its size and thickness, it contained cash.
Considering that Mills wasn’t one of the children-of-the-night brood, Gabe decided to wait till morning to pay him a visit. So he drove back to the apartment.
He found Harvey furiously typing at the laptop.
“What are you up to?” Gabe asked, stopping behind him.
“Disseminating false information,” Harvey boasted.
“About what?”
Harvey’s pale skin gave a stark contrast to the dark T-shirt he wore. Gabe ran his thumb along Harvey’s neck, following its curve from hairline to the hem of the shirt and a couple of inches past. Tiny goose bumps appeared in its wake.
“Vampires, what else?” Harvey’s fingers halted over the keyboard, and he leaned back to turn his face up to look up at Gabe. “Good meeting?”
Instead of answering, Gabe leaned down and kissed Harvey. It was an awkward angle, but he made up for it by sliding his hands under Harvey’s shirt. Harvey arched into his touch.
“So what’s with the misinformation?” Gabe asked, breaking off the kiss.
Harvey made a small humming sound before opening his eyes. “Oh that. There’s this website for the community of pretend vampires, with guides, FAQs and forums. I’m currently embroiled in a vicious flame war about whether vampires can be photographed or not.”
“They have websites for this stuff?”
“Hell yeah! Thanks to TV, books and the movies, every other teenager wants to be a vampire. I blame Anne Rice. Plus the vamp fad mixes well with the goth style—it’s practically the same thing, only with fangs.”
“But they’re not real vampires, right?”
“Nah. Except for a few of us, but the rest don’t know that. And then there are the crazy people who think they’re vampires but are not. I always get a kick out of it when they prove to me I’m a fake.”
“Why would a real vampire join an online society of fake ones?”
“For fun, of course, and to disseminate false information, as I’ve told you. The thing about vamps not showing up in photographs is totally bogus, but the kiddies like to post pictures of themselves in their full get-ups, and I enjoy yanking their chains.”
While Harvey talked, Gabe went to the kitchen counter and fixed himself a cup of coffee. Waiting for it to percolate, he cleaned up the countertop, washed the measuring cups and things Harvey had left lying around, as usual. Gabe’s mother had instilled in him the need for orderliness—there had never been a thing out of place in her kitchen. Oblivious, Harvey kept tapping away at the keyboard.
With coffee in hand, Gabe strolled back to the table. He stole a glance at the screen before sitting down. Blocks of text and garish pictures seared his eyes.
“You’re evil,” he noted.
Harvey grinned. “I’m supposed to be. To be fair, not all these people are teenagers. Some are in their twenties and thirties. They even have their parties and conventions. There was a big one last summer where the vampires and werewolves came together.”
“To do what?”
“Whatever people do at conventions: talk shop, get drunk and hook up. I’ve never done it, but a few real vampires go to these events.”
“Only a few?” Gabe thought a gaggle of vamp groupies would be a cozy place for a real bloodsucker.
“The costumes and acting your role are a real bother if you’re not truly into the scene. There are much simpler ways to feed. It’s a niche thing. Personally, if I was to put on a costume, I’d go for steampunk.”
“Steamwhat?”
“Never mind.” Harvey gave him a pitying look. “So anyway, I’m in this huge feud that started with the photographs but is now getting deeply philosophical about whether vampires have souls or not. There’s heavy quoting of the holy texts, like
Buffy
,
Interview with the Vampire
and
Blade
, among others. I have my own sources,” Harvey said, patting the thick, hard-bound book splayed facedown next to the laptop. It had
Vampire
written on its spine with big red letters.
Gabe groaned. “Why?”
“Flame wars are entertaining as long as you don’t take them seriously, but the forum stuff is a smokescreen for the most part. The main admin of the site is a real vamp, and among all the pretend stuff there is some actual vamp-to-vamp convo going on. I put up the recipe for my new and improved tonic. Needless to say, next I had to log in with my other account and flame myself to scare the kiddies away from it.”
“At the risk of sounding like a broken record, why? The tonic’s safe, isn’t it? You made me try the blasted thing.” A hint of accusation slipped into Gabe’s tone.
“Of course the tonic’s safe, but it’s not exactly FDA approved.”
“You don’t have to worry. Nobody will try the thing twice, as long as they have taste buds.”
“It’s not
that
bad.” The false pitch of Harvey’s voice revealed his lack of conviction.
“Maybe not to you, but the rest of us regular people beg to differ.” Harvey’s brew was unpleasantly bitter, even to Gabe, who drank his coffee black. Although to vampires it didn’t taste much like anything, so he was told.
“That’s a relief,” Harvey muttered.
“Cheer up. Flavor isn’t a factor for your target customer.”
Harvey remained morose. He closed the laptop with a frown and pushed it away. “The truth is, it’s hopeless. Blood is life; it contains your essence. When you drink it, it’s…indescribable. Every person feels different. Blood’s addictive. No vamp will give that up for my bland substitute.”
“You did.”
“I’m atypical.”
“No kidding.”
Gabe was joking, but Harvey looked back at him with absolute seriousness. “Really, I am. Stan and Ray gave me blood after they’d found me. It totally fucked me up.”
“Blood made you sick?”
“Worse. I went wild, I wanted more, couldn’t think of anything else. I think…no, I’m sure I would’ve killed someone. They had to tie me down. Fortunately, I was weak.”
“Then how did you survive?”
Harvey wrinkled his nose. “They gave me cow’s blood. That worked.”
“Oh. I thought it had to be human’s.”
“Nah, any mammal’s will do. Theirs doesn’t taste anything like human’s, though. Cow’s is very bland, but it was ideal for me. So as you see, I’m not a perfect vegetarian.”
“Where do you get cow’s blood in Chicago?”
“As you know, Stan is a CPA, and Ray is a tax attorney. Between the two of them, they know almost every vamp in the greater Chicago area. There’s one who owns an organic dairy farm not too far out of town. Stan does his books. That’s where I got my weekly supply till I switched to my tonic.”
Gabe couldn’t hold his incredulity back. “A vampire-owned organic dairy farm?”
Harvey looked back at him unfazed. “Why not? It’s a business, like any other.”
“If you say so. Have you tried human blood since?”
These reminders of Harvey’s essential nature made Gabe uneasy. It was one thing knowing Harvey was a vampire, another imagining him ripping open the flesh of another human being to suck their blood.
“No. I’m scared what I might do. Syl doesn’t think there’s a danger anymore, but she could be wrong. Blood’s a strange thing. If I wanted to make my tonic successful, it would have to be like methadone. And I don’t see that happening.”
“Bummer.”
“I did what I could. The recipe is out there.” Harvey leaned closer to Gabe and the cup of coffee and took a deep breath.
“Do you ever have the yearning for human blood?” Gabe asked.
“Hadn’t till I met you.” Harvey’s smile and voice were jesting, but he didn’t look Gabe quite in the eye. Not for the first time, Gabe had a hard time sussing out if Harvey was serious or not. Gabe’s discomfort grew. The idea of Harvey wanting him that much was troubling, but even worse, it also had perverse appeal.
Harvey took Gabe’s hand and pressed a kiss over his wrist. Harvey’s presence was like a constant low hum to Gabe’s special senses by now. He even missed the sensation when they were apart. It scared him to be so involved with someone. Time to time, he had the urge to run away, into the safe familiarity of being lonely and miserable.
And then for brief moments, like right now, something different and new shot through Gabe’s awareness. These unfamiliar pangs went as quick as they came, before Gabe could analyze them. Harvey let go of Gabe’s hand and pushed his chair back. “C’mon, Angel, let’s go out,” he said and marched out of the room without waiting for a reply.
Being Saturday night, Nightcrawler was packed, mostly with the living, but the persistent prickling sensation alerted Gabe to the presence of several vampires as well. He was more or less a regular there by now, but it still felt odd, like shark-diving without a protective cage. He had this itchy feeling urging him to act, fix what felt amiss, but that was exactly what he wasn’t supposed to do. In lieu of action, he practiced his tracking skills, picking out the vamps from the crowd. Visual clues didn’t help much. All the patrons looked alike; leather and tats were all around.
Gustav, the bartender—size of a small mountain—was a prime example. From the waist up, he only wore a leather vest and studded leather wrist straps, but his vast expanse of exposed skin was covered in rough renditions of mermaids and sea monsters. He and Harvey had a whispered conversation out of earshot. Gabe watched Harvey’s slender frame leaning over the bar, and Gustav stooped over him. Their pose said they were at ease with each other, and Gabe didn’t like it. He and Gustav were barely on civil terms.
Someone jostled Gabe from the other direction, and he turned to find out the source of the disturbance. The man was about Gabe’s age and coloration but much bigger. Not as big as Gustav, but several inches taller and wider than Gabe. He wore jeans and a leather jacket over a dark shirt. His face was ordinary, except for a small scar that cut through his left eyebrow. Also, he was fully human and smelled like a distillery.
“I’m sorry, man. You ’kay?” the guy slurred through a thick accent that reminded Gabe of his time in Eastern Europe.
“I’m fine,” Gabe assured him.
“Busy night,” the stranger added with alcohol-soaked chumminess. “I’m Joe.”
Not-so-average Joe
—the thought skipped through Gabe’s mind as he accepted the proffered meaty hand and shook it. Joe had a firm grip despite his inebriated state. “Gabe. Do you come here often?” He didn’t remember seeing the man before.
“Few times. I go to many places like this back east.” His eyes went out of focus with some unspecified sorrow or longing. Or so Gabe thought.
“Can I buy you another drink?” Gabe asked, looking at the empty glass in front of his newfound buddy.
Taking the man’s grin as a yes, Gabe waved his glass in the direction of the bartender. Gustav peeled his attention away from Harvey and glared at Gabe.
“Can I and my friend get a couple of refills here?” Gabe asked, a shade too loud.
Gustav said nothing, but a minute later he plonked down their fresh drinks in front of them. He also took Gabe’s old one, even though it was still mostly full. Gabe didn’t much care, he’d always been a moderate drinker. Not so his new friend.
Joe leaned unsteadily toward Gabe. “He looks like a pirate, yes? A real pirate, not like those pretty boys on film.”
Looking at Gustav’s tats, Gabe thought Joe’s theory had merit. However, he had no desire to discuss Gustav with a stranger. “Where’s your accent from?” he asked instead.
A shadow passed over Joe’s face. “Mother Russia.” He also grumbled something in an unfamiliar language that could’ve been Russian and took a deep swig of his drink.