Mixed Blessing (Mixed Blessing Mystery, Book 1) (19 page)

But it served its purpose tonight. The forensic team assessing this scene had placed their lighting around the crumpled body of the victim, the area well cordoned off from prying eyes. A contingency of uniformed officers closing down the park completely from any night time wanderer - or drug dealer. This place now belonged to science and detective work, and my
Sanguis Vitam
when the time came.

I decided to give Mark a chance to take in the scene before I interfered. He might see something I didn't. Due to the lack of public witnesses all of those present seemed far more relaxed than I'd seen them at the other scenes. Even a few jokes were being bandied about, granted their lean was more in the realm of black humour, but it surprised me they could make funny with a dead body in their midst. It just goes to show how desensitised you can become to something, if you see it often enough.

Mark watched the forensic team for a few moments, Grumpy Guts getting in on the odd joke or two, before the lead detective had obviously had enough.

"All right, all right. Tell me what you've got," he demanded of one of the white crepe coveralled people.

The laughter died down and a more serious atmosphere replaced the one of before.

"Same obvious cause of death. Sliced throat, leading to rapid exsanguination of the victim. The addition of multiple contusions across the upper torso, no more than a centimetre in depth and displayed in the same pattern as previous vics. No obvious reason detected for those marks or patterns that we can see."

"Other than the perp is a pervert and likes to cause pain before he slices their throat," Grumpy Guts offered, Mark scowled. I hadn't seen what the marks on the chests were. I had noticed at the Grafton Oaks scene that Mark had mentioned further disfigurement to the body, but I had never been in a position to see them myself, nor had I heard them described. I now had evidence of them existing on each body so far and the police had no explanation for them at all.

They discussed a few other points of notice, none of which seemed too pertinent to the cases. No DNA under the nails, no evidence of sexual misconduct, no subliminal message that they could see. In other words no clues.

After a few minutes Mark and Grumpy Guts concluded their perusal of the body and left the scene. I waited until they had reached their car outside the park's gates and then I took a deep breath in, and sent my
Sanguis Vitam
out into the air. The loud
pop, pop, pop
of each of the high wattage lights that lit the scene rang out in the night, followed predictably by the screams and shouts of surprise from those officers and forensic team members left at the scene. I made sure that every light in the area was destroyed and then followed up with a small explosion off to the side by the power transformer for the park. The officers headed in that direction to determine if the Fire Department would be needed and the forensic team all retreated to the safety of their make-shift tent. It was now or never.

I continued to draw on the now multitude of shadows in the park and glided over to the body. Hardly an ounce of
Sanguis Vitam
required, which was a blessing, because I was starting to feel a little faint. It took several seconds for my vampire night vision to kick in, the change from powerful artificial light to moonlight requiring a moment to adjust. But before I knew it, I was staring down at the quite clearly dead body of a young teenage boy. Homeless, I would hazard a guess. We'd had executives, to moderately well dressed mainstream city workers, to homeless and a bum. There seemed to be no connection, other than the clean slice to their throat and loss of blood.

But this kid, and he definitely looked like a kid now that the life had left his shell, was dirty and dishevelled. His clothes hanging off him as though they were two sizes too big, and also in layers. He wore several jerseys, ripped holes in the outer one obvious in the dim moonlight between the clouds above. But I could see at least three more different coloured jumpers beneath the lime green of the one on top. Likewise his trousers were layered over a second pair of jeans. I was sure he wore several layers of socks too. This kid wore his wardrobe on his body, because he had nowhere else to hang his clothes.

I felt a little sick at the thought that people actually slept under bridges in the City of Sails. We have a social security system that should have made something like this avoidable. Where were his parents? What did he do for shelter? What did he eat? Not much, if the slim build of him was any indication. The smudges under his eyes only adding to the bleak outlook for this boy.

I crouched down and took a subtle breath in, noting the scents, sifting through them and cataloguing each one. The murderer had been here of course, the kid's own signature scent and a small smattering of Jett's. Faint, overlaid with many others. Not a pure indication that he had been present, but an indication that one of those that had been, had also been close to Jett at one stage perhaps. I couldn't rule out that he'd come this way, that he'd been involved, but I also couldn't confirm it either. Still, any link was not a good link.

Bitter sweet chocolate. So much I felt saliva pool in my mouth. I can't eat chocolate anymore, but I sure as hell remember the taste and like Pavlov's dogs, my automatic conditioned response is to salivate. But I didn't hunger for the chocolate I could smell, I hungered for the blood that pooled beneath this boy's head. Before I realised what I was doing, I'd dipped a finger in the puddle beside his lilly white neck and brought the blood soaked digit to my mouth. I spat the
dead
blood out immediately and forced myself not to hurl.

Get a grip.
I focused my attention on his neck as I wiped my finger on my shirt. One clean slice from a sharp knife. There was no tearing, no curl to the flesh that gaped at the wound. It was precise and perfectly placed, as though the killer intended every inch of the harsh slash he had made. I leaned in and sniffed the wound. Nothing obvious sprang out to slap me in the face, just increased bitter sweet chocolate, mixed with bold grapefruit and lime. The kid had been scared and alarmed in equal degrees. Who wouldn't as your throat got slashed. I pulled at the wound carefully, but no matter what I couldn't find evidence of a bite mark hidden by the perfect slice to his throat. If a vampire had committed this murder, I couldn't tell.

I was stumped, again. Why this kid? By whom? None of this was making any sense. I took a quick look over my shoulder to determine how much longer I had undisturbed. The fire department had arrived to extinguish the transformer fire and the forensics team had started to huddle at the entrance of their 'safe' tent. It wouldn't be long until the cops returned and the lights would be replaced.

I returned my attention to the torso, pulling the sheet that covered the boy down to his waist, then sat back on my heels and tried to take in what I was seeing. Seven small chunks were missing over his chest and upper stomach. They were balanced, if viewed from the kid's feet. Three on one side in a sideways triangular pattern, mirrored by three on the other, with the seventh directly in between, in the centre of each trio of marks. They could have been made by the tip of a knife, simply dug out of the flesh like you'd core an apple. But something about their placement unsettled me. It took several moments for me to realise what it was.

I'd seen this exact combination of marks before, just not on the dead body of a person. I shook my head and started to back away. It could mean anything. Their positioning could be random, a coincidence, although the precision of their placement led to anything but. Maybe they represented infinity, the figure of eight on its side. Maybe they had a personal meaning to the murderer, something none of us could possibly understand. It could mean absolutely anything at all, it didn't have to mean what I was trying futilely to ignore.

Just because Kara and I'd had a secret symbol growing up and that Stu had been aware of it too, didn't mean the murderer was. Just because that symbol we'd associated with our friendship, with the closeness of our bond, matched the placement of each of the marks on the body before me, didn't mean that it was intended in that way at all.

But no matter what I told myself, I couldn't stop seeing
our sign
. Right there, carved into the milky white flesh of a young homeless man. A message to whomever investigated these murders or a signature of sorts.

I wanted to believe the latter, but my gut - or the Dark Shadow in all her perceptive wisdom - did not subscribe to that point of view. The murderer was talking to me, with a near blinding brightness of clarity I shouldn't have felt at all, I knew this.

And suddenly this game became so much more deceptive, so much more dangerous and personal. First Stu gets charged for the murders, now the murderer is talking to me through artfully placed and macabre symbols on dead flesh.

I spun on my heels and fled from the scene, dragging the shadows with me and using the last of my
Sanguis Vitam
to hide from the awful truth.

I was no longer the hunter, but the hunted.

And didn't that just suck.

I'd made it all the way to my apartment before I realised that I hadn't stopped to feed. Too shell-shocked. I stood in the shadows outside the front door to the building, debating the wisdom of entering before satisfying the Dark Shadow's persistent hunger. My fangs were down, my eyes would have been pure red, but the contacts I still wore hid the horror of what I had become. My stomach growled, matched only in its fierceness by the growl of the Dark Shadow inside. She was hungry.
I
was hungry. But I couldn't face feeding right now.

It was too close to my last feed, too soon to the feeding from Samson, and the attempt to feed from Aliath. I had spent the past two months carefully managing my feeding. Once every three days, sometimes longer. I knew the result of using too much
Sanguis Vitam
, of letting the Dark Shadow have too much rein, but I avoided that usually.

Until now. Until these murders. Until my best friend's cousin was falsely accused of them. Until Jett pushed me further to solve these crimes. Until Aliath interfered and somehow managed to direct me further down this path too.

I had never allowed myself to get this hungry before, but then I had never been placed under such stress, had to use so much
Sanguis Vitam
. I knew how dangerous the situation was, but that stubborn part of me refused to acknowledge I didn't have a choice. That I couldn't control this, manage it, minimise it.

So, I walked in the door of the apartment building, only releasing the shadows as I stumbled across the threshold of my apartment itself. The door clicked shut behind me and in a haze I headed to my bathroom and climbed under the cold spray of the shower, fully clothed. Then settled down in a crouch, my body closing in on itself, arms wrapped around my knees, face bent to rest on top of them. And let the water pound into me, soaking everything I wore, trying in vain to wash away who I was. What I had become.

I don't know how long I stayed there, I hadn't used any hot water, just cold, so the chattering of my teeth came on pretty quickly, but still I didn't move. Numbed by the chill, somehow it helped to numb the hunger and pain. Was this my life now? This constant battle for my humanity. What good came out of what had happened to me? I survived, but at what cost? I hate what I am, I refuse to let it overtake me, rule me. But I think I am losing.

Tears had joined the shower water, racking sobs shook my body as it continued to chatter with the cold. My jaws clenched, my fangs digging painfully into my lower lip, the smell of my own blood making me hunger further. A vicious circle that I had no hope of escaping.

Suddenly the shower door was yanked opened and a large shadow blocked out the light from the bathroom halogens. I couldn't hear what the person was saying, but I knew instinctively they were human. Food. Prey. A growl emitted from the back of my throat, my hands clenched into claws at my side. The Dark Shadow was awake and waiting for me to pounce.

The shower water stopped, a towel was wrapped around me and I have no idea how, but the human managed to get me out of the stall and started to dry me, all the while talking non-stop. I couldn't decipher a word. The vampire in me wanted to feed, to take advantage of this good Samaritan and drink his blood until there was no more, but somehow there was still something of me within, because I fought it. I tried so hard to determine what was happening, who this was, what they were saying. It was all so hazy, so confusing.

Too much.

I'd been stripped and wrapped in a towelling robe and brought out to the lounge to sit in front of my space heater. The human was in the kitchen - still talking, still an indecipherable garble of noise - making a cup of tea. The thought that I could discern what he was doing was a relief, the idea that he was going to offer me tea instead of a vein was annoying.

The annoying won.

The Dark Shadow won.

I lost.

The human lost.

I don't remember him handing me the tea, but he must have got close enough as I could see the mug on the floor at my feet, the brown liquid soaking into my cream carpet. I watched it slowly sink in further, spread out in a warped circle, little tendrils of tea reaching outwards. I studied it, perplexed at how it had got there. I was always so careful not to drop a thing on the pristine cream carpet in my flat. A spillover from my childhood and a father who couldn't abide any mess at all. But I had made a mistake today, I had made a mess.

The small child in me cringed at what my father would say when he got home. Then a bubble of laughter worked its way up my throat at the absurdity of that fact. I hadn't seen my father in over two years. This wasn't his home, but mine.

The laughter lodged in my throat, it took a moment to realise why. I couldn't laugh, because I was drinking. But not the tea, that was still on the floor, staining my carpet. I was drinking something much more appealing than tea. A fine wine, the ambrosia of life, power, warmth, light. Blood. The Dark Shadow purred, I joined her. This was what I had been hungering for. This is what I denied myself. Why?

It didn't make any sense to me right at that moment. Why deny yourself what is essential to survive? Survive at all costs. That was all that mattered and I
needed
this blood to survive. It was my right to take it, to consume it and if I took too much and the donor was depleted, then so be it. I am vampyre. This is what I do.

The slowing beat of a heart interrupted my thoughts. The Dark Shadow snarled at my mental retreat from her. Sounds returned. Colours invaded my eyelids. I flicked them open and took in the scene in a instant. My apartment. Tea from a spilled cup on the floor. The whimper of the human beneath my fangs, gripped by my hands mercilessly on his shoulders. The crumpled light grey suit, the press of a gun in my side. Not my gun, his. Short, spiky, brown hair - a military style cut. Broad shoulders quaking beneath my hold.

My fangs withdrew and retracted, I licked the wound closed automatically, without thought and then I stilled. My breath as rapid as Mark's.

Oh fuck.

He didn't move, just a small sound of pain and fear on each exhaled breath. He'd stopped shaking, but his heartbeat was still too slow, too irregular. How much had I drunk? Too much, that was clear. In a split second I had extricated myself from beneath him and had him lying on his back on the couch. I stood over him and took in his pallor. So pale. I bit my bottom lip and contemplated my options. I could call someone. Samson? Lucinda maybe? But how much trouble would I get into and how could I face the shame? I had lost control, fed from an unwilling donor. Almost killed him.

And he is a cop.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck. Oh fuck.

I rushed to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of
Coke
and then thought maybe some food would be good, so picked up the phone and ordered in take-out from an old flyer still lurking inside one of my kitchen drawers from before
that
day. Clutching the
Coke
and a blanket from my bedroom cupboard, I returned to the supine figure of Detective Mark Anderson on my couch. I covered him, checked his neck to make sure it no longer bled and then lifted his head and tried to make him drink the
Coke
. It was full of sugar and the best I could for now.

He managed to drink a few sips and then finally his eyes opened and he stared directly at me. I held my breath for the tirade that was surely to come. There was fear there, not surprisingly, but also an understanding and a compassion that had no right to feature on his face right then.

"So," he said, his voice sounding weaker than normal. He cleared his throat in attempt to strengthen it. "You greet all your guests like this?"

I frowned. This was not how it was meant to happen. He should be screaming blue murder, or at the very least, scrabbling across the floor in an attempt to flee from the monster. I ducked my head down in shame, knowing full well that the blush I felt on my cheeks would be obvious now I had fed. I stood up awkwardly and backed away from the couch. I didn't stop until my body was pressed into a corner of the room, my arms wrapped securely around my stomach, my eyes anywhere but on Mark's face.

"Your door was unlocked and you didn't answer the doorbell," he said from out of nowhere. "I knew you were expecting me, so I popped my head inside to call out, that's when I heard the shower and the sound of you sobbing." He went quiet for a moment, I still refused to look at him. "Gigi, what's going on?" His voice was stronger now, but his tone was soft.

I shook my head. "I've got food coming, you should eat. Replenish... I..." I licked my lips, nervously. "As soon as you're well enough I can call a taxi for you. If you like, I can stay in the bedroom while you recover. Or I can just leave you here. Whatever you prefer."

"I'd prefer it if you talk to me," he replied steadily. I could feel the weight of his gaze on my body, but I still refused to look at him. I heard him sigh.

"Gigi," he commanded in an authoritative, policeman-like voice. "Look at me."

I didn't want to, I was too afraid of what I would see, but he deserved that at least. I had used him to give myself strength, he had given me life-saving blood, even if it hadn't been given with consent, I owed him at least a look in the eyes. I lifted my head slowly and held his impassive gaze. I was guessing this was Mark's cop face, when presented with something he needed to show no response to, this was the face he used. It hurt a little that he felt the need to use it now, but that hurt made me feel better. I deserved to be in pain, I had caused him pain. I was sure I hadn't tempered that bite at all. Too far gone, to even contemplate his comfort. I felt sick to my stomach with that thought.

"I... I'm sorry," I stuttered, my lips trembling with the effort not to cry.

He sighed again and ran a hand through his short hair. He was sitting upright now, well enough to sit without falling over from lack of blood. He'd also continued to drink the
Coke
, it was empty, the bottle now sitting innocuously on the coffee table between us.

"OK," he said as though coming to some decision. "If you're not going to talk, I will. Just nod if I'm right or shake your head if I get this wrong." He held my gaze for a long moment, I reluctantly nodded. Just where was he going with this? "Your eyes. That's not your normal eye colour. I remember it from school. And in the bar the other night, it was different, almost purple. Now it's dark blue. I'm guessing coloured contact lenses. Is that right?"

I nodded, it was a simple enough conclusion.

"So, you cover natural colour changes by wearing coloured lenses every now and then, but not all the time. Right?"

A nod. This was proving easier than talking, than admitting or confiding my secrets. But also somehow cathartic, as though I needed him to work this out. I needed another person other than Kara to know what I was. The more people who knew, the more dangerous and perhaps a part of me wanted to court danger. But it wasn't just that. The more humans who knew, the closer I was to humanity. Kara was my only link to what was left of my human side. Could Mark also be another to anchor me to the human world?

I wasn't sure, but I was prepared to take the chance. Mark was one of the good guys, one of the few really decent souls out there. I knew it was a risk, an enormous risk. I couldn't glaze him to forget this if he chose to use it against me, but then, who would believe him? If he came out with any of this stuff his career would be over. Jett would see to that.

I let a breath out at those thoughts. Not exactly human were they?

Mark went on, having let me have a moment to accept that last conclusion. "The question is, why?" I didn't move. "All right," he said in acknowledgement of my silence. "We'll come back to that." He sat still for a moment too, gathering his thoughts. "You seem different from school, but I put that down to maturity. You have grown up." His eyes did a quick scan of my body, making me realise I was still wrapped in nothing but a robe. "I seem to lose all train of thought around you. Not all the time, but suddenly I'll find myself focused on your eyes, or on your voice. As though nothing else in the world matters." He laughed a little. "Forgive me, Gigi, but I am not the sort of guy to get distracted. Even by a beautiful young woman such as yourself. I'm the youngest lead detective at Auckland Central Police, I didn't get there by not being single minded. But when I'm with you, it's as though I'm not myself anymore. It's... unnatural."

He watched me for a reaction, I stayed deadly still. Part of me praying he'd figure it out, the rest of me dreading he would.

"OK, add to that what happened tonight. Officer Denton was clearly not himself when he came to tell me my dinner had arrived. I thought perhaps he was on something, but his pupils weren't dilated, despite the fact that he was breathing rapidly and his eyes seemed vacant. Then as soon as we both approached you, him being way more forceful than I had ever witnessed before, he recovered. Like a flicked switch."

I had stopped breathing, but forced myself to take in air. In, out, in, out. I held his gaze silently. This was going to be a mistake.

He took a deep breath in, I think to fortify himself for the next conclusion. "I got a report from Albert Park after we left. The lights all blew, the transformer nearby burst into flames. The scene was coated in darkness for fifteen minutes. The body of the victim there left unattended by the forensic team during that time, but when they returned the sheet had been lowered down the body." I cringed internally at my error. My expression remained immobile on the outside. "They were adamant that the body had been covered before the lights went out, but was on display afterwards." He looked me in the eye, giving me what I can only assume was his cop stare. Daring me to lie. "Was that you?"