Kissing the Werewolf - An Izzy Cooper Novel (9 page)

Chapter Eleven

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” Ayden grumbled.

Our boss was making no secret of the fact that he wasn’t happy about bringing in a P.I for the supernatural.

In spite of the fact that he was with the Monster Squad of the FBI, I sometimes think he forgot what exactly it was we were dealing with. Ayden believed that the best way to solve a crime was with good old-fashioned police work. But as in this case, sometimes that wasn’t enough.

When the only trace evidence left behind didn’t make any sense, it was time to go for the weird and unusual.

Turns out that after receiving the results on the sample, Tim contacted the investigator while he was still on the mainland.

It was well after dark when the paranormal investigator arrived.

I was expecting a team of ghost busters to pull up in some shiny bus, with something like, West Coast Ghost Hunters painted on the side in huge red letters. Instead, it was one guy, and he was driving a beat up old Bronco.

Only one guy!

I couldn’t help but wonder how he was going to run all those gizmos that I’d seen ghost hunters using on those reality TV shows, without the help of at least one assistant.

The spook hunter met us with a smile, and held out his hand to Ayden first, who shook it reluctantly.

“Hi there. I’m Marty Morrison. You’re partner got in touch with me and said you might need some help out here.”

“So he did.” Ayden forced a smile.

The boss man was being really stiff tonight, even more than usual.

What was up with that?

As soon as I took Marty’s offered hand, I knew. He was as cold as a corpse, which could only mean he was either a zombie, not likely since he wasn’t rotting, or he was a vampire. That would explain why he couldn’t show up until late.

In a way, it was kind of exciting. I’d never met a vampire before.

Stepping back, I took a minute to study Marty Morrison. He didn’t look anything like what I’d imagined a vampire would look like. He wasn’t exactly sexy or charismatic. In fact, he looked like any middle-aged guy you’d see on the street. Hell, he could have been a city bus driver, or a janitor. He didn’t dress all that flashy either.

He wore his long sleeve blue plaid shirt tucked into his blue jeans, which had obviously seen better days. His thin brown hair was balding on top, and the glasses he was wearing had extra thick lenses.

Now from what I’d heard about vampires, he probably wouldn’t even need those glasses. It would seem that maybe he was a vampire who didn’t want to be a vampire, or else he was trying really hard to masquerade as a still breathing human.

I decided that meeting a vampire was extremely anticlimactic. You just couldn’t trust what you saw on TV. Not only was I misled by the entertainment industry about what to expect from a ghost hunter, but a vampire too.

Some of those movie and TV vampires were pretty hot, but not this guy. Even Jasper was hotter than this vampire, which was so totally yuk to think about.

I guess it was a good thing I had my Elias amnesia to obsess over, seeing as how I was now completely disillusioned with vampires.

“So where do we start?” Marty asked.

* * *

The most obvious place to start was the Sandbar. Not only was it the latest crime scene, but there was a good chance the victim was still alive.

Marty’s plan was to do a walk through using his EMF meter, which would measure the electromagnetic energy. According to Marty, if there were any spooks hanging around, he would be able to detect them with the meter.

I’d already known that much from watching TV.

Problem was, as soon as he turned on the EMF meter, it went all kinds of crazy.

After messing with it for several minutes, and checking various locations at the Sandbar, Marty shook his head. “There’s too much interference here. Maybe we should try the next location.

The next location was in back of the Sandbar.

“I’ll stay in here,” Ayden called to us as we headed to the Sandbar’s rear exit.

The boss man had been acting strange all night.

Leaving Ayden to stare at the mirrored wall behind the bar, we left the Sandbar by way of the back door.

As soon as Marty turned the EMF meter on, I knew we were going to get the same result. There was nothing but static.

“What could be the problem?” I asked.

“There’s probably a lot of electromagnetic interference in the atmosphere. When that happens, there’s no way to pick up traces left behind by spirits,” he explained.

“Wouldn’t a lot of electromagnetic energy give spirits more power?” I asked, deciding it was time to add some of my own knowledge to the mix. TV was a great teacher, with some things anyway, though obviously not vampires.

“It could,” Marty agreed. “But it could also cause hallucinations. That kind of energy tends to spark something in the brain that causes perception problems.”

“But a hallucination wouldn’t be able to kill or abduct someone,” I pointed out.

“No it wouldn’t,” he agreed.

Tim decided it was time to butt into the conversation. “It might influence the perception of the witness, but there’s also the sample.”

“Yeah … there’s that too,” I defended our theory. “A hallucination wouldn’t leave behind evidence that it was there. The evidence we found inside the sandbar corroborates what the witness claims.”

“What evidence?” Marty wanted to know.

Tim shook his head. “We can’t release that information, but I can tell you that the evidence found at the scene, supports the witness statement.”

A thoughtful look settled over Marty’s face. “I’ve heard rumors about Mystique Island being a power source or portal. If true, it would explain why the EMF meter is going nuts.”

“The island was cursed by an old Indian shaman from the Black River people.” It was my turn to put my two cents in. “These murders could have something to do with that.”

Cocking his head to one side, Marty the vampire, stared at me for a long time. “I’m not sure I believe in curses, but I’ll tell you what I can do. I have to get the last ferry back to the mainland, but I can do some research if you’d like … maybe talk to members of the tribe and find out what they know,” he offered.

“So you’re giving up?” I asked, a little deflated. Even the ghost hunt had turned out to be a bust.

Smiling sheepishly, he said, “I’m sure you understand that I have to be inside before sunrise.”

Because we hadn’t wanted to appear rude, no one, including myself, had mentioned Marty’s undead condition.

But now that he’d brought it up, I had tons of questions, like why he spent his time chasing ghosts, instead of his next victim, and were there any vampires as hot as the ones on TV?

Instead I asked, “What makes you think it’s not a curse?”

He shrugged. “Maybe it is … but in my experience, and I have a lot of it … ghosts are usually what fuels a curse, or mass hysteria. I’ve always had my suspicions about the Mystique Island curse, but I don’t want to say too much until I talk to the Black River people.”

Tim and I helped Marty pack up his equipment.

“I’ll see you to the ferry,” I offered.

“That’s nice of you,” Marty smiled widely.

There was a sparkle in his eyes, but I wasn’t sure if it was gratitude or bloodlust. Suddenly I had second thoughts.

How was I going to handle a vampire without my witchy powers?

“No problem.” I pretending not to be the least bit worried that I might become this guy’s dinner.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Tim asked. By the look on his face, it was obvious he was a little worried too.

“I’ll be okay,” I assured him. “Sooner or later, I’ll have to learn to deal with this kind of stuff on my own.”

“I have good hearing guys,” Marty called from where he was standing at the back of his Bronco.

“Sorry.” Tim and I apologized concurrently.

“We weren’t trying to be rude or offensive,” I explained with a nervous smile.

Looking over his shoulder, Marty winked at me. “I don’t feed on humans.”

Now what the hell kind of vampire doesn’t drink blood from humans?

My disillusionment grew, but I was glad to hear that I wouldn’t have to make a pit stop to buy garlic.

Why was it I knew so little about vampires?

Living in a place like Mystique Island, I should have been an expert on the undead, but as far as I knew, no vampires resided on the island, which was a bit strange.

After settling into Lady Luck’s driver’s seat, I started her engine and proceeded to pull onto the Island Loop Highway and follow Marty back to Storm Cove.

From the Sandbar, it was only a short drive before entering the Storm Cove city limits. Taking a left at the first stop sign would take you to Pier Alley, which is where the port is located.

Pier Alley ran along the bay’s shoreline, which of course is where the pier is, as well as several fishing shops, cafés, and the Mermaid Inn.

The Mermaid Inn was where Julius lived. It was actually an old pub and hotel, but with the building being nearly two hundred years old, it was a bit rundown. Decades ago they’d put aside a couple of rooms to accommodate the occasional guest or two, and turned the rest of the top floor into apartments.

Forcing my attention away from the Mermaid Inn, I noticed that the ferry was already in port and was beginning to board passengers. It was one of those really big ferries that carried vehicles too. The vessel was painted red and white, with Mystique Island Transport on its sides in bold black letters.

Dave Shaw’s family had owned and operated Mystique Island Transport for nearly as long as there had been a need for public transport to the mainland.

The Shaws were one of the few normal families on the island; at least I’d never noticed anything off about them.

On weeknights, the last ferry to the mainland left port at 8:00 pm, returning from Coos Bay at 9:30 pm. If you missed it, then you were stuck on the mainland overnight. Dave’s ferry was the only service to Mystique Island.

Marty was in line to drive onto the ferry, but there was still a van and dump truck in front of him.

Strolling up to Marty’s door, I motioned for him to roll down the window. “Do you need me to arrange your passage back?” I asked.

Marty shook his head. “I figured I’d be making a few trips out here, so I bought a pass.”

“Good. Well then I guess we’ll wait to hear from you?”

Nodding, he waved and rolled up his window. A second later, he pulled up to the little white shack and flashed his pass to the port guard.

I stared at the ferry almost wistfully. Every now and again, I couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if our parents had lived. We’d have gone to high school on the mainland, with no clue to Mystique Island’s mysteries, or our own origins.

The scenario was okay to think of every now and again, but then I remembered just how boring a mainlander’s life could be.

With it being so late, the large parking lot near the Storm Cove port office was nearly empty, which was a good thing. Trying to find parking near the Mermaid Inn could be a real bitch.

Hitting the remote lock on my key chain, I crossed the street and started down the narrow sidewalk to Julius’s place.

Suddenly, I noticed how dark the street was.

With most of the shops already closed for the night, the only light came from the dim streetlights. With the streetlights being fashioned to look like old nineteenth century gas lighting, they looked great but they weren’t very efficient at cutting through the dark.

Walking at night normally didn’t bother me, but for some reason I was getting spooked. Of course it didn’t help that thick fingers of fog were crawling in from the sea to cover the ground.

Passing Mystique Island Coffee Beans, I peered into the window to see if anyone was still there. I really needed a caffeine fix.

It was deserted, just like the business next to it, Blackbeard’s scooter rental.

One more block and I’d be at the Mermaid Inn. Unfortunately, that block went right by the old town square park, now known as Founder’s Park.

Typically when I walked by the park at this time of night, there was an old sailor sitting on one of the benches next to the statue of Reese Simmons, but the bench was empty. This was definitely strange, mostly because the sailor was a ghost. Although I could only see him at night, I knew he was always there.

So far, I hadn’t been able to get the ghost to acknowledge me, but night after night, he sat on that bench.

Not tonight though.

It was always possible that he’d resolved, whatever unfinished business he’d had that had kept him anchored to that bench, but I had my doubts. Old Salty, as I liked to call him,
was the kind of ghost that would take some serious work. Even then, he may never wake up.