Mixed Blessing (Mixed Blessing Mystery, Book 1) (5 page)

"All right, chick. I'll go take a look." She whooped in obvious delight. "Don't go getting your hopes up though. The scene will probably be cordoned off and I won't even be able to see a thing."

"I seriously doubt that," she replied, indignantly. "There are shadows and you're particularly good at using shadows."

I didn't need reminding, but I swallowed my retort. Kara was worried about Stu and as I had failed to talk to Mark earlier, this might just be my chance to rectify things.

I rang off and slipped my cellphone away. Taking a few deep breaths in and making sure my hair was still nicely tied back in a ponytail, I braced myself for Samson's scent as I walked back out to the bar. It was still there, lingering, somewhere.

I forced myself forward, breathing through my partially opened mouth in an effort to ignore that enticing scent, and sidled up to Doug at the bar. He glanced quickly at me and then returned his attention to the beer he was pouring.

"Something's come up," I said only loud enough for him to hear. Our code words for,
I feel the pull, I've gotta go hunt down some evil Dark vampire and thrust a stake through his unbeating heart before he kills an innocent.
So, it wasn't the pull that was making me skive off work, but something had definitely come up.

Doug gave me a more focused look, studied me for a moment. I almost held my breath, was he aware that I was fudging the truth? Could he smell a sharp citrus scent, tart lemon on the air around me? I forced myself to hold his gaze, breathe in and out normally and smile. He blinked slowly then nodded.

"I'll cover for you. Be careful." He turned back to his customer, in effect dismissing me.

I didn't waste any time. If I had been on a hunt, responding to the part of me that is vampire hunter, Nosferatin, I would be acting with a sense of urgency. So I grabbed my jacket and slipped it on as I walked purposely toward the front door, feeling the familiar weight of my stakes nestled surreptitiously inside.

I'd made it within a foot of the first vestibule door when he appeared in front of me. I yelped and jumped a foot or so in the air, hearing a snicker from some vamp off to the side. Then forced myself to breathe through my mouth and face the new threat in front of me.

"Going somewhere, Gigi?" A soft English voice said, wrapping around my neck and caressing down to my collar bone. I shifted uneasily under his gaze and embarrassingly licked my lips.

"Yes. Out," I managed, hopefully hiding all of the many emotions swirling inside me from my face.

"Do you need company?"

"No, Samson, it's a private matter." I couldn't spout off about it being a hunt, he'd only phone Lucinda to confirm she had felt the pull too.

He watched me closely, his
Sanguis Vitam
softly stroking around my body. I don't think he realised he even did it. I hadn't noticed him use his power this way with any others. It was as though he had no control over it. Just like I had no control over my desire to wrap my own
Sanguis Vitam
around his in return. I clasped my hands in fists at my sides and willed my emotions back in their box.

I could never get a handle on what Samson was feeling. For some reason I couldn't sense him with my empathic powers. Maybe it was because I was always in the throes of emotional turmoil when in his company. Fear. Anger. They were there in spades. But also, lust, desire. Damn him, but I still reacted to him, even though I didn't want to.

We stared at each other for a moment, I was sure he wanted to say something else. I was equally sure I didn't want to hear it.

"Gotta dash. Catch ya later." I pushed past him, allowing myself one small inhale of his scent and then practically ran across the vestibule and out into the night. The sounds of
Sensations
soon diminished the further I ran from the club. I forced myself to blend in with the throngs of late night pub crawlers and when a shadow appeared on the side of a building, used it to bleed into the night.

Not all vampires can do this. I guess you'd say it's another talent. I haven't shared it with anyone other than Kara. It's a defence mechanism. I can hide in the shadows and simply disappear. You never know when that will be the difference between life and the final death.

Grafton Oaks Hotel was more of a hostel or boarding house than what you would normally imagine a hotel to be. Situated down a small dead end lane in the shadow of Grafton Bridge. The bridge itself is about 100 years old, a concrete expanse with impressive arches beneath, which are lost on those who drive or walk above it. Those same arches though, are visible from Bridge Street where the Grafton Oaks can be found.

The Oaks itself is a big block of a building; grey, uninspiring, multi-windowed and bleak. There's a brasserie and bar out the front, with a dust covered, faded, old blue and yellow awning. Various beer companies are advertised along the length of it. The whole place reeked used and abused. I wondered how the victim here could possibly be related to Alison Danvers. The only correlation I could make was alcohol. But whereas Alison headed a top shelf Vodka company, the Oaks was all about beer.

I shrugged as I followed the shadows of the four storey Oaks towards the obvious scene of the crime. Yellow police tape marked the no-go zone, uniformed cops stood here and there about the perimeter. They didn't bother me, they wouldn't even see me as long as the shadows remained.

I couldn't get right up to the non-uniformed guys and those dressed in white crepe-like overalls, I'm guessing the forensics team, the lights from well placed huge wattage bulbs chased any natural shadows away. But I could still hear the conversation from where I stood, in the shadow of the Oaks.

Detective Mark Anderson was crouched down over what looked like a pile of rags. Homeless person, maybe? It was hard to tell from here. I concentrated on what he was saying to another detective who had that tired and worn look of a life-long cop. Been there, done that, seen it all.

"The slice is 8cm long. Same place, looks like left to right motion. Same depth. No weapon nearby and considering the cause of death, not much blood." He leant over, placing his face within millimetres of the dead body and inhaled. I frowned. If I didn't know better, I'd have thought he looked like a vamp. "Smells the same too. Peaches. Something burnt." He sniffed a little closer to the body's hair, then gagged. "Aside from the obvious street smell there's also something else. Apples, maybe cinnamon. The other one had that too."

The other detective snorted. "You'd think you were a bloody dog, Anderson. Who gives a toss what the vic' smells like."

Mark didn't even reply, just used a pen to lift the victim's shirt up an inch or so.

"Look here." He nodded towards something that I had no hope of seeing, despite trying to stand up on the tip of my toes to get a better view. It's times like these I wished I could fly. Also a talent some vamps possess, but not this one. Nah, I just smell or taste emotions and bleed into the friggin' shadows like some wraith.

"What?" Old surly guts said, not even looking at whatever Mark wanted him to see, too busy eyeing up one of the forensics team. A woman, I noticed on closer inspection. Hard to tell with those white caps covering their head and hair.

"Same marks. I'm telling you, its our perp."

The other detective swung his gaze back reluctantly to Mark and stooped down slightly to get a better look.

"Fuck. You're right. We've got a serial killer."

Mark stood slowly and glanced around the area. There were cars parked down the length of the Oaks building and on the other side, along the Grafton Gully embankment, leaves and paper and various fast food wrappers. A few bottles, no doubt discarded syringes and a shoe. Forensics was bagging that last. If it didn't belong to the victim, I'd hazard a guess it belonged to a drunken patron of the Oaks Bar.

I took a deep breath in through my nose, sifting through the multitude of smells permeating the small space we were all in. I could smell urine, damp earth, oil, sweat, tobacco, smog. The usual central city smells. But slowly, in amongst the crud, I found a few gems. Vanilla, raspberry, allspice. I wasn't sure if they belonged together, but they were intriguing. Tickled my nose. I rubbed my finger over the tip of my nose and began again. Splitting the scents of the humans aside and searching for something else. Something more telling.

It's hard to attribute an emotional smell to any one person when faced with so many and from this distance away. I could barely make out that Mark was frustrated. A small amount of oregano and sage tempted my nostrils. I could never really tell those two apart, maybe that's why they represented frustration to me. But, I was sure, if I was standing right next to Mark I could get a better handle on them both. He'd probably be doused in them.

I rolled my shoulders and worked through the rest of the scents in the lane. After singling out the various emotions for each human present; a varied spectrum of hunger, boredom, tiredness, frustration, determination and anger, I found one that didn't belong. It wasn't a natural body scent, I'd determined all of those who stood before me, this one though was fading, as though it had already left. And I couldn't determine if it was an emotion or the smell of someone's body. Peaches, with a hint of apple and cinnamon. Just like Mark had said.

But it wasn't coming from the victim, where Mark had picked it up, it was coming from the scarce bushes beneath the Grafton Bridge. I shifted down through the shadows beside the Oaks and flashed across a lit area when no one was paying any attention, ending up in the shadows of the bridge, looking down into the gully beneath. All that really was beyond the small bushes that edged the paved area we were all in, was the motorway. I could hear the traffic speeding along below. If the murderer had escaped this way, it would have been a steep decline to a busy four lane motorway. I doubted he would have had a car waiting for him down there, the motorway cops would have picked up a stationary vehicle instantly on their cameras. But I was sure he headed in that direction.

I glanced back at Mark. He didn't look like he was going to go anywhere for now. I could take a quick look, see if there was any obvious trail or clue and then come back and confront him then. Just what I was going to use as my opening statement, I did not know.
Hey Mark, just out for a walk and noticed all the fuss. How did this one die? Same as Alison Danvers? And by the way, why have you got Stu in custody anyway? What exactly is your proof he is to blame?

At least if this murder was performed by the same person as the one who killed Alison, then surely they would let Stu go. He couldn't exactly have killed the Hobo if he was locked behind bars, could he?

I slithered through the shadows of the bridge and bushes and slid down the steep bank under the arches of the Grafton Bridge. It wasn't a pretty sight. I'm not exactly clumsy, but the dirt was loose and dry and the decline steep. My boots lost their grip more than once and by the time I'd made it half a dozen feet, I'd landed on my butt twice and scraped most of the skin off my right palm. It healed almost instantly. A reminder that I had fed only last night.

I stopped when the small stones and dirt had ceased rolling and took another deep breath in. The smell of peaches, apple and cinnamon was definitely still on the air, but again, fading. Whoever belonged to those scents had passed through here and left. I glanced around for any signs of passage, lifted up branches and peered into the black inkiness of their depths using my preternatural sight. Nothing stood out. No miraculous nor obvious clue to who could possibly have killed the guy lying forlornly up the top.

What was I thinking? I could pull a
Columbo
and figure it all out in one night. The only thing I had to go on was the similarities between Stu's case and this one. And that smell. Peaches, apple and cinnamon. I continued to follow it for as long as I could. Ending up some 200 hundred metres down the motorway, still in the shadows of bushes and walls and high buildings that framed this side of the busy roadway. Then it simply disappeared.

Not faded, not sweeping off in a different direction and petering out. Nowhere near the motorway to have been able to get in a vehicle and mask the smell. No avenue of escape as the smell had vanished in a small shadowed clearing between a clump of bushes. One minute the faint, fading smell was there. The next it was simply gone. As though it had hit a brick wall and stopped dead in its track. But there was no brick wall here, just a small open amount of space. I hunted around for a good few minutes, but it was as I first had believed. There one minute, gone the next.

No human could do that. This was all supernatural. So what did that leave me? Not ghouls, they move in the same fashion as a human. Within the same parameters only stronger and faster. Not mages or shape shifters, they're limited in their abilities too. Not even a Nosferatin could simply vanish like that. It could have been a ward or spell, but I haven't had a problem detecting one of those before, so I had to assume as I couldn't now, one didn't exist. So? Vampire or Fairy. I didn't know much about the Fey, but I had seen them "pop" out of space here and there, they could easily do this disappearing act just as a vampire could, I was sure.

And Stu was neither of those. And if this smell was present at the Alison Danvers murder scene, then that was proof positive that he wasn't to blame. The same smell at both scenes, this one clearly making an escape, could only mean one thing. The murderer was either vampire or fairy. Not human. Not Stu.