Forged in Flame (27 page)

She wandered aimlessly until she found herself standing in front of a familiar bar, the chill seeping into her bones. Her old partner, Roberts, had taken her there a few times before he retired. Grace ran a hand through her hair standing on the threshold staring at the dingy door.. After what felt like minutes, she took a deep breath, let it out and pushed the door open.

The din of the bar washed over her, drowning out the thoughts that chased themselves around in her mind. She closed her eyes, breathing in the stale air as if it were the sweetest thing she’d ever smelled. When she opened her eyes, Grace walked over to the bar and took a stool at the end. She needed to think, but silence would have driven her mad.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender, a young woman with hazel eyes and flame red hair asked without any hint at small talk.
 

“Beer, whatever you’ve got that’s good and cold,” Grace ordered.
Just as long as it’s a damned beer.
She leaned on the bar, and when her drink arrived, she dropped a ten dollar bill on the bar, not caring whether or not she got change for it. The bartender left her change and moved on to other, more lively customers.

Grace nursed the bottle, enjoying the way it dulled the edges of memory, the warmth it created in her chest as it travelled through her body, and the way it let her convince herself that everything would to be all right… in the end… someday… maybe. She took another long pull of her beer.
 

“You look like you’ve been through six kinds of hell today, girl,” a man said, his voice drifting over her right shoulder. He sounded wise, with a hint of gravel that some men got as they moved into the later years of their lives.
 

Grace looked over her shoulder and couldn’t resist a smile. Her old partner, Roberts, stood at her right shoulder, one hand on the back of her barstool, waiting for her to offer him a seat or tell him to shove off.

“Long story, Partner.”

“Good thing we’ve got a few hours till last call.” Roberts settled on the barstool beside her and motioned for the bartender to bring them a round of whatever Grace had.

Her brow furrowed as the events of the evening flashed through her memory. “I’m not sure it’s something we should really talk about in here.”

He turned his full attention to her before asking, “Case?”

“Kind of.” She took another swig of her beer and shook her head. “There’s some weird shit involved, and well, it’s like the hits just keep on coming. Every time I turn around, something new is there to throw me a curve.”

“So, talk to me.” He nodded to the bartender as she dropped off the beers and took the bills he’d laid out on the bar.

“I’ve mentioned Eric from home.”

“A few dozen times a day at one point in time, but I wasn’t really keeping track,” Roberts said.

“Was it really that bad?”

“No, kid, it wasn’t. You had left home after some really bad stuff went down. I got why you needed to talk about it. You were still letting go.” He took a long pull of his beer, allowing the relative silence to settle between them before he continued, “So, what does Eric have to do with this new case and whatever it is that’s got you all tied up in knots?” Roberts pressed, knowing she wouldn’t open up without it.

“He’s here in San Francisco,” she said on an exhalation. “Apparently, he’s working for some corporate big wig. A few nights ago he came to me for some help with getting some information.”

“Information you’re not supposed to give him?”

“Exactly.” She danced around the full truth, not wanting to admit that she’d already broken the rules by getting Eric a copy of Daniel’s accident report. “I mean he’s not a cop anymore and… hell, even if he was… I couldn’t share unless he was invited in on the case.”

He shrugged and pursed his lips. “It doesn’t sound like there’s a problem to me.”

“Eric made some compelling arguments for helping him,” she said, rolling the bottle between her hands up and down. Her mind flashed to the image of his fangs, the ones that looked like something out of a Hollywood movie.
That’s got to be it. One of those self-styled fang masters, nothing more than a makeup artist’s handiwork.
She shook herself out of her momentary reverie when she realized Roberts had waited for her to say more. “He mentioned that the quote, unquote Vampire Killer is responsible for more deaths than SFPD have connected him to.”

“Why does he think that?”

“He claims that the killer
really is
a vampire.”
Don’t forget that he’s one too, can’t leave that out. Why am I doing this? He’s going to tell me to steer clear. Eric’s insane and there’s no changing that. I have to walk away because he’s not going to get help, and I can’t watch him slip into madness.

“What evidence does he have to back that up?” he asked without emotion—no mocking, no teasing, no disbelief—just genuine curiosity.
 

“He pointed to the fact that all of the victims were…” She paused and turned to face her former partner. “Wait, what did you ask?”

The retired inspector shrugged and said, “I asked what kind of evidence Kincade has to back up his claim that a vampire is roaming the streets.”

“Why aren’t you calling this crazy?” She turned to face Roberts, his face was serene as though she hadn’t just said that a creature out of myth and folklore had stepped out of a fantasy world and into the streets.

The enigmatic smile she knew too well curled his lips. He spoke with the slightest hint of a bad British accent. “There are more things in Heaven and Earth, Horatio than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

Grace laughed, because she had no other choice. Dropping her head into her hand as she continued laughing, she asked, “Did you just quote Hamlet to me?”

“I did.”

“What’s going on here?” She scrubbed her hands over her face and brought her laughter back under control before someone in the bar started to stare. “I feel like I’ve just fallen into some strange, alternate universe where left is right and up is down.”

“No. Your preconceived perceptions of the life have just been tweaked.” Roberts paused and took a swig of his beer, carefully studying her expression.

“I can’t believe it.”

“Look at the facts in front of you,” he said, encouraging her to find the answers on her own as he’d done when she first came to the city while learning the ins and outs of her new home and job.

“Two deaths in one building. Each of them lost a lot of blood, but little or none was found at the crime scenes.”

“Okay, that’s two deaths,” Roberts said and a slight frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Two too many, but still not a lot. We’re talking potential serial but not quite there yet.”

“Yes. That and Eric says we’re missing others. Ones the medical examiner has written off as suicide or accidental.”

“How many?”

“He said six total.”

Roberts let out a long, low whistle, “Six total? Yeah, that would be enough to get the Assassin to pay a visit.”

“The what?” Grace turned to Roberts, not sure she’d heard him right.

“The Assassin. He’s sort of a top cop of vampires from what I understand.”

She spun on her stool and glared at her friend. “You know about this? You
know?”

Roberts didn’t back down, keeping a neutral expression. “Yes.”

“How?”

“The Enforcer for San Francisco asked a detective for help a number of decades back. When I was young, it was my partner, my mentor. I had hoped to pass the duty on to my partner, but she wasn’t really open to the possibility despite coming from New Orleans.”

“Me? You wanted me to buy into this?” Staring down at her empty hands, she said, “this, madness?”

“It’s not madness.”

“Then what is it?”

“A balance. A truce. A bargain. Call it what you will, but the Enforcers do their best to keep humans safe from vampires who do not live within their laws.”

“Oh, and what of the humans who just become vampire-chow?”

“Vampire-chow. That’s a good one. I’ll have to remember it.” He chuckled.

“This
isn’t
funny.”

“No, it’s not. The vast majority of vampires don’t kill humans on a regular basis. They can’t hide if they’re causing too many deaths, and their most important law is to maintain secrecy.”

“So why are you telling me?” She looked around. “Here in a bar?”

“Because a vampire owns this bar. Most, if not all of the patrons already know what you’re being told.”

“This is crazy.”

“This isn’t how I’d planned for you to find out. I had hoped to talk with you before I retired. That stray bullet caught me, and you got dragged in a few dozen different directions.” He shrugged.

“So, everything Eric told me was true?”

“Yeah.”

“And the guys on the task force are chasing a vampire?”

“Yeah.”

“And if they find him first, they’re going to die?”

“It will be like sending lambs to slaughter.”

“I don’t know if I can handle this,” she shook her head. “I’m not sure that I want to know these things.”
 

Roberts shrugged and took another swig of his beer. “I know. I was once in exactly the position you are right now.”

“How’d you manage?”

“I got falling down drunk.”

“The way I’m feeling now, I might go for straight up shit faced.” Grace threw back another long swig of her beer.

“Mind if I stay and make sure you get home okay?” Roberts asked, holding out his left hand for her keys.
 

She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her keys. “It’s kind of a moot point. I left my car at some massive house on Vallejo.” She paused and frowned, “At least I think it was Vallejo.” Grace dropped the key ring into his hand but caught his wrist before he could pocket them. “Just don’t mention the V word to me again for the rest of the night. I’d like to wake up in the morning and pretend this was all some drunk hallucination.”

Roberts nodded, but said, “You’re going to need something stronger than beer for that.”

She rolled her eyes and shook her head. “Don’t remind me.”
 

He knew from her tone, and personal experience, that if he pushed her any further she would shut down. He smiled and drank his beer, leaning against the back of his stool with a satisfied look on his face. Grace shot him a dirty look but didn’t say anything as she continued to nurse hers.

26 - San Francisco, CA - October 28, 2012

Nicholas stepped into the courtyard and watched as Morgan went through the exercises that Richard demanded she do every night. The vampire leaned against the doorframe and waited. In the center of the courtyard, Morgan stood, one hand outstretched, her eyes closed, a serene look on her face. Nicholas had to stifle the involuntary gasp that threatened to escape his lips as the ball of orange, yellow, and red flames sprang to life less than an inch from her palm.

Though it had been three years since Morgan had been taken and had blood experiments performed on her, seeing the result still made his heart rate spike. At first the flames were small, no more than an inch around, a small speck of light in the darkened space, but it grew as she fed it power in a slow, steady stream.

When the orb had grown to something about the size of a softball, she began manipulating it. Morgan shaped the flame into new forms, starting with a teardrop, stretching and manipulating it into a long spiral. From there she teased the clean edges of the flaming lines so they created a pentacle before it collapsed in on itself to become a sphere again.

As Nicholas watched, she went through a long series of her nightly exercises. He frowned; the sorcerer was nowhere to be seen. He wracked his brain trying to remember the last time he’d seen or heard mention of Richard.
Was it really the night Grace found out that she was in a house full of vampires? Something about Morgan surprising him with some unexpected leap, again
.

Nicholas sighed.
When had everything become so complicated? What is our world coming to when we need to ask a human for help?

“We’ve been asking humans for help for centuries.” Morgan’s voice interrupted his silent reverie. At some point when he hadn’t been paying attention, she’d turned to face him, the sphere of fire dancing over her fingers as if held there by a force beyond the explanation of modern science.

“When it comes right down to it, you’re correct, my love. But this is different. I’ve never had to ask a human for help with a renegade before.”

“And you’ve never dealt with a renegade you believe is being helped by not one, but two, ancient and powerful vampires.” She tilted her head to the right and lifted the same shoulder.
 

Nicholas paused for a moment to consider her words. “This is true.”

Morgan nodded and continued following her train of thought. “And you can’t talk about your suspicions with anyone outside our little family.”

He shook his head. “Not even with my Sire.”

“So, it would stand to reason that you need some extra help,” she answered with a genuine and gentle smile as she continued to play with the fireball.