Authors: Michelle Rabe
A lovely young woman found dead in her apartment is always good for several column inches in the local paper, and the hometown news stations will pick it up as well, unless, of course, there’s some earth-shattering local sports or human interest story to cover.
Shaking his head at the thought, he picked up her purse from the counter and opened it.
Nothing unusual: brush, lipstick, powder compact, lotion and other items I can’t name and, I’m not sure I even want to try.
Near the bottom of the victim’s handbag, he found several wrinkled business cards. He pulled them out and started searching for another item he wasn’t sure he’d find. Two of the cards were for doctor appointments, one for a tanning salon, another for a hair stylist, and the last three bore names of nightclubs. Daniel recognized all three clubs as places some of the earlier victims had frequented. He sighed, knowing that he could no longer put off the inevitable.
“I have got to go meet with Samair.” Placing the cards back in the woman’s purse, he hoped the human police would make the same connection. If so, it might help slow the Renegade’s killing spree. He didn’t go so far as to hope the murder rampage would come to an end, but if it caused delays and meant fewer corpses, he’d be fine with that.
Daniel turned, ready to leave the apartment when something caught his eye, stopping him in his tracks. Snatching one of the photos off the front of the refrigerator, he studied the four people standing in a row, all in their early–to mid–twenties. In the snapshot, the dead woman stood on the left. The guy Daniel had found in the apartment upstairs stood next to her with his arm draped over her shoulder. To the right, another woman with flame red hair and brown eyes. Cursing under his breath, Daniel realized the blond guy on the right was the young man he had just passed in the hall. Upon closer examination, he recognized him.
Hello, Jayson.
Daniel sighed, recalling the young vampire from one of his recent audiences with Samair, leader of San Francisco’s Nomadic Vampire community.
He looked to be about the same age as the rest of the group, and if the vampire grapevine had ferreted out the truth, he’d changed about six months ago. In the photo, Jayson’s blond hair had been styled to appear messy. His blue-green eyes, made the elder vampire think he wore contacts.
Daniel frowned and slipped the photo into the inner pocket of his jacket, hoping none of the humans would notice. He lingered in the apartment for a few additional minutes, trying to figure out why Jayson had attacked this girl and her friend upstairs. None of the previous victims seemed to have a connection to their killer, but the two in this building had. Satisfied he had all he needed from both apartments, Daniel made his way out of the building, and back into the fog-shrouded night.
He drifted through the shadows, staying out of sight for several blocks. Slipping into a dark alley, he pulled the cheap burner phone from his front pocket and flipped it open. He dialed 911 without looking at it. A few minutes later he cut the call short when the operator asked for his name and contact information. Not bothering to end it before dropping the phone on the ground, instead he crushed the phone under his boot heel. After the device had been destroyed, he strode in long, even steps into the night, making his way back toward the apartment building. As the first wail of the sirens in the distance filled his ears, he melted into the shadows, becoming one with them as a single word filled his mind.
Renegade
.
They were three syllables that filled every enforcer with apprehension and a small measure of fear, the word that meant one thing… the situation had spun out of control, and there was only one option. Call in the…
Assassin.
3 – Hollywood, CA – September 20, 2012
Dark, moody rock orchestral music thundered through the club as hundreds of humans, vampires and others moved to the music. Lights bathed the stage in color and high above the former church's gothic arches disappeared into shadow. The club's co-owner and manager on duty, Christophe Marchon, strolled through the crowd, brushing up against some of the lithe young women in ways that could be considered seductive. His behavior bordered on scandalous, but his amethyst eyes never left the redheaded vampire waitress who’s strange behavior had caught his attention more than half an hour ago. She wove through the crowd, a tray of five drinks balanced on one hand, smiling to patrons as she moved. When she reached table fifteen, she shifted the tray and started handing out the drinks.
He watched as she smiled and chatted with the patrons for a few seconds, flashing the killer grin that had been one of the deciding factors in hiring her. The dark haired guy with a wannabe vampire complex slipped her a tip. Christophe's eyes narrowed and he ran a hand through his blond hair.
Ahh, cherie, what have you got there?,
he thought with a frown, watching the waitress as she continued to circulate among the patrons, hoping the tiny bag of white powder didn’t change hands again.
“What’d you see?” James the pseudo-skater, werewolf head of security on duty asked from over his left shoulder.
“It’s just as Thomas thought.” Christophe shook his head. “Keep an eye on her, and make certain the package doesn’t change hands again. When she comes back to the bar, have your guys get her off the floor. I’ll see what I can do about calling someone in ASAP to cover the rest of her shift. In the meantime, let Phillip know, he can alert the other servers and make sure our asses are covered until I can get someone here.”
James nodded and turned. The werewolf had taken half a step before the vampire grabbed his arm. “I don’t want a big production. No muss, no fuss.”
“Anything else you want me to do?” the werewolf asked, a hint of a growl coloring his words.
“Not that I can think of right now. When you get her off the floor, take her into one of the back rooms where we let hot heads cool off. I’ll call Morgan and see what the boss lady wants to do.” He checked his watch. “Maybe she hasn’t left for the airport yet.”
I don’t really want to bring this to her, but Morgan insists on knowing when we fire someone.
“She’s in the office. Danny saw her go up about twenty minutes ago.”
“What’s she doing here? I thought she was staying home before heading to New Orleans.”
James shrugged, “I don’t know. Keeping tabs on the boss when she’s not at the club isn’t part of my job as head of security.”
“All right. Just get
little miss I think I’m sneaky
off the floor.” He nodded to indicate the redhead. “I’ll go talk with the boss lady and see what she wants to do.” Christophe turned and headed up the spiral staircase to the converted choir loft that served as their shared office. The space wasn’t elaborate, with a desk, chairs and a plush leather sofa. A large window overlooked the dance floor and industrial strength sound proofing dulled the noise from below. Sufficient space and peace for him, Morgan and Charles to share while working at the club.
She sat behind the desk, running a hand through her raven tresses, staring at something on the laptop screen. Even from across the room, Christophe spotted the dark circles under Morgan’s eyes. Her skin looked paler than normal. After over 400 years of friendship, he knew that his mentor wasn’t sleeping well.
“Morgan, I thought you were taking the night off.” Christophe stood in the doorway and leaned against it, cocking one eyebrow, questioning without saying more.
She shrugged and tilted her head to the left, not meeting his eyes. “I remembered there were a few things that needed my attention first.”
“Yes.” Christophe shook his head. “And, before you left, you asked Charles and me to handle them. We have this, Morgan.” A nagging voice in the back of his head said there was more going on than met the eye.
“I know, and I trust you, but.” She sighed and gestured to the papers on the desk. “I just need to take care of this.” Her attention refocused on the papers.
Who does she think she’s kidding? I am 400 years old, give or take a decade or two. I truly do not have the time for this, but, when she is in a mood…
Christophe’s thoughts trailed off as he pushed away from the door, entered the room and closed it behind him, turning the thumb latch to give them an extra layer of privacy. He waited for some kind of response, but when none came for several moments and tension began to build, he asked, “What?”
She looked up at him, her brow furrowed and lips parted in a slight gasp, genuine confusion in her emerald eyes.
“What is so important that you don’t think we can handle it?”
“I don’t have time.” Morgan waved him away with a growl.
“How long have the nightmares been back?” He knew he’d hit a nerve when she flinched.
Mon Dieu, I wasn’t expecting to hit the nail on the head.
In the three years since Morgan had been kidnapped and used for experimentation, her extended vampiric family had tried to get her back to normal. Sometimes, it was impossible, especially when considering that she trained with a Sorcerer every night to control the magic in her blood. While other vampires fell into a death-like trance every day, Morgan sometimes had vivid and terrifying dreams.
“That’s quite a leap from having paperwork to do, to you thinking my nightmares are back.” She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in the swivel chair, leveling a cool gaze on him.
He didn’t say anything, but thrust his hands into his pockets and waited, an expression of sheer boredom on his face.
The standoff continued for a few moments before Morgan gave in and asked, “What makes you think they’re back?”
“You’ve got dark circles under your eyes. Also, it’s a giveaway that you’re here and not at home prepping for your trip to New Orleans. Besides, you’re moody.” He ticked off each reason on a finger and glanced up. “Would you like me to continue? I’m sure there are a few more.”
“So I’m not allowed to be moody without having nightmares?”
“No, you are.” He shrugged. “But moody wasn’t the only thing I mentioned.”
She held up one hand and shook her head. “I do not want to do this with you. Please, just let me do what I need to so I can get out of here.”
“Is it the meeting with Caitlynn in New Orleans? Are you worried about going back there for the first time since everything went down? You think it will stir up a lot of crap that you aren’t ready to deal with yet?” When she didn’t answer, he decided to push harder. “Are you obsessing over choosing the location for the new club? Did you have an argument with Nicholas? Oh no, did Mina forget how to use the litter box again? Ooor… is it something else?” The questions came in rapid fire, not giving her the chance to answer.
“Eric’s cat is using the box just fine.” Morgan rolled her eyes at her Blood Son. Another brief battle of wills happened before she capitulated and asked, “You’re not going to let go of this, are you?”
“No. So save us both some time and tell me what’s going on. Or do I have to get Nicholas on the phone? I’m sure that’s exactly what he needs to hear about now.” Christophe knew how to twist the knife deeper, but held back. He didn’t want to hurt her, just pause long enough to convince her to be more reasonable, careful.
“Bastard,” she swore under her breath, lips pulled back in a snarl. “Swear to me you will not tell Nicholas. He does not need to know.”
Christophe held his right hand up and folded the thumb over the pinky before saying. “I swear that Nicholas will not hear of your nightmares from me.”
Morgan shook her head and sighed. “Then, yes…to answer your question. The nightmares are about what happened to me three years ago.” Her right hand drifted to her left forearm and she gripped it tightly before she realized what she’d done.
“Reliving events?” Christophe asked. Their family still walked on eggshells around Morgan when it came to talking about events when she’d been held prisoner and drugged as part of an experiment.
We don’t know everything that happened when she was missing and worse we’ve got no clue why they were doing the experiments in the first place. None of it has ever made sense to me.
“Yes and no.” She closed her eyes and swallowed hard. “Some of the dreams are about what happened.” A fine tremor ran through her, and Christophe saw gooseflesh on her exposed arms. When she started speaking again her voice had an empty, hollow quality to it, that sent a chill through him. “I can see Lucian and the doctor with the needle. Feel the straps holding me down. Hear their laughter. Feel the drugs keeping me paralyzed. I can feel the blood burning me burning from the inside out.” She paused, taking a deep breath and holding it. When she continued, her voice sounded stronger, but a hint of terrified little girl remained. “The heat becomes too much and I can’t control the flames. I’m burning, dying and just when I’m about to slip into oblivion, I wake up.” Morgan crossed her arms over her chest and rubbed her forearms as though trying to create friction for warmth. “I hate going back to that so-called lab in my mind. It’s like I have no control over what’s happening all over again.”
She shuddered as some of the memories she never talked about slithered their way to the front of her mind.
Christophe nodded and leaned on the edge of the desk. Reaching out, he left his hand facing palm up for her to take if she wanted. “How long have the nightmares been back?”