Tales of the Otherworld (38 page)

“I’d like to—”

“We should—”

We spoke in unison, then laughed. I waved for Paige to go first.

“I’m all for it, taking Sean’s case,” she said. “Sure, I’d like to help him. And anything vampire-related
is
a concern. But, being totally selfish—”

“It would be a welcome opportunity to work together.”

She smiled. “Exactly. Close enough to home to commute. Unless your schedule’s changed, you’re home next week …”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll clear some time from mine. Besides, you could use a break from thinking about this satellite office problem.”

“It’s agreed, then. Nothing stands in our way.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that. There is one obstacle. A less-than-pleasant aspect to the case that may have us both regretting our decision.”

“And that is…?”

“We’ll have to work with Cassandra.”

I
F THERE WAS A HEAD VAMPIRE IN NORTH
America, Cassandra DuCharme would be it. Had she not been the oldest, she could have laid claim to the position by attitude alone. Cassandra could teach Cabal CEOs lessons in imperiousness.

Because she was the senior council delegate for the vampire community, anything affecting that community should be brought to her attention. Yet as Cassandra neared the end of her life, she found it increasingly difficult to care about the rest of her community—a condition made worse, I suspect, by a preexisting lack of natural empathy.

This alone would be an excellent excuse to bypass Cassandra and go straight to her codelegate Aaron, who was far more likely to know—and care—about vampires in the Pacific Northwest. But as Paige pointed out, Cassandra was trying to overcome her disconnection and involve herself more fully in vampire affairs. To go directly to Aaron would not only be rude, it would undermine and denigrate her efforts.

So off to Cassandra it was. And we did need to go
to
her. Flying across the country was ridiculous in an age of telephones and e-mail, but one doesn’t tell a 350-year-old vampire that one doesn’t believe she’s worth the effort of a personal visit.

We couldn’t even claim want of funds. As soon as we’d agreed to take the case, Sean had whipped off a check for ten thousand dollars as a retainer. An exorbitant amount, and both Paige and I had protested, but Savannah had snatched up the check with a thanks. As for Sean, he couldn’t write it out fast enough. Come Sunday morning, he was heading back to Los Angeles, and we were off to see Cassandra.

On the plane, we read through the pages Paige had printed off the Internet, on chupacabras in general and the Middleton incidents in particular. Savannah was with us, having told Sean how important it was for her to be involved in interracial council business from a young age. He’d bought it, and insisted we include expenses for Savannah’s participation. After he’d left, Paige had tried to persuade Savannah to stay behind, but an opportunity to bedevil Cassandra was not one Savannah could pass up.

So we were seated on a small commuter flight, Paige and me on one side of the aisle, and Savannah on the other. This part of an investigation—researching a mythological beast—she was interested in…particularly if it provided support for her theory that your average human was a gullible fool.

As for the indiscretion of discussing such matters on a public flight, it wasn’t a concern. Those hearing Savannah passing us tidbits like “Oooh, look, this one has bat wings” merely glanced at her with amused tolerance. Even Paige, leaning over to see, only earned the occasional “Should you really be encouraging her?” look.

According to the most reliable sources we found, chupacabras were a relatively recent addition to the pantheon of paranormal beasts. First reported in Puerto Rico in 1975, they’d been blamed for attacks on farm animals. Livestock had been found with neck incisions, their corpses drained of blood. Sporadic Puerto Rican reports continued for twenty years, then like many Puerto Ricans, the creature decided to investigate opportunities on the mainland.

Over the last ten years, chupacabra attacks had been reported in Mexico, Chile, Central America, and the southern United States. It was when they reached Chile that another requisite component of any decent supernatural legend was added—some of the creatures had been caught by U.S. government officials who were, of course, denying all allegations.

As for exactly
what
a chupacabra was, the most common representation looked like the flying monkeys from
The Wizard of Oz.
The creature was said to be about four feet tall, with leathery gray skin, coarse hair, fangs, and glowing eyes.

As for how one arrived in Washington State, none of the local papers speculated. One article mentioned a Michigan report of a chupacabra
attacking a cat, so perhaps that was supposed to be proof that a northern precedent had already been set.

The Middleton case had begun just over a month ago, when a couple that ran an organic sheep farm found one of their animals dead, drained of blood with throat incisions. The death was blamed on local youths. Then, when a pig was found with the same marks, the rumors of El Chupacabra hit Middleton, and from that first whisper, a local legend was born.

A few chickens and an aging goat had followed, along with a sighting of the beast itself, making off with a cat. From the tone of the articles, though, no one in Middleton seemed particularly worried about having a demonic beast ravaging their livestock. The outbreaks were contained, few animals were affected, and on the whole it seemed to be viewed as a welcome break of frivolous speculation after a long, dull winter.

Then Billy Arnell died with puncture wounds in his neck, and everything changed.

Paige rang the bell on Cassandra’s condo. We waited two minutes, then Paige turned and started down the steps.

“We called, we came, we made every effort—” she began.

The door opened.

“Damn,” she muttered. “So close.”

“Paige, Lucas, finally,” Cassandra said, opening the door. Her gaze turned left and her polite smile faltered. “Savannah. Don’t you have school?”

“Not on Sunday,” Savannah said, brushing past and walking inside. “And you got my name right. That’s the third time in a row. You
can
still remember people. You just don’t bother.”

Cassandra turned to Paige. “Still working on her manners, I see.”

“They gave up,” Savannah said. “They kept thinking I’d grow out of my rudeness, but then they’d look at you and …” She shrugged. “Proof that it doesn’t always happen.”

Cassandra shook her head and opened the closet so we could hang our jackets.

“Did I mention I’m considering going to college near here?” Savannah said. “I thought maybe I’d room with you. That’d be okay, right?”

“Certainly. So long as you abide by the house rules.” Cassandra smiled, flashing her fangs. “Boarders have to provide dinner for the host.”

Savannah only laughed and strode into the living room. “Any new paintings?”

“In the sitting room. It’s a—”

“Don’t tell me. Let’s see if I can figure it out.”

Cassandra’s green eyes glittered. “Twenty dollars if you do. Artist and period. It’s a difficult one.”

Savannah accepted the bet and strode off.

We walked into the living room. Large, airy, and modern, it was hardly what one would expect from a vampire, particularly with the sunlight streaming through the three large windows. We sat on the sofa—a modern designer piece that I was sure was worth more than our entire living room suite. All the furnishings in the room were modern, including the paintings. It seemed odd for someone who made a living dealing in antiques and historical art. But as Paige says, trying to determine Cassandra’s motivation for anything is an exercise in futility.

“Savannah is joking, isn’t she?” Cassandra said as she sat down. “About college. She can’t possibly be old enough.”

“One more year of high school,” Paige said. “Though she’s kidding about coming here. She’s thinking of taking a year at a local college first. She’d move out, live on campus or close to it, but still be in Portland. I’d like that.”

“Yes, I imagine you’re eager to get her out of the house.”

“I meant the ‘living close for a year’ part, not the ‘moving out’ part.”

I cut in. “In regards to this potential vampire problem …”

Paige told Cassandra the story.

“Oh, that is preposterous,” she said when Paige finished. “I can’t believe someone is wasting their money and your time to prove the obvious. It’s clearly not a vampire.”

“Yes,” I said, “but do you know of any living in the Washington area?”

“Am I talking to myself? This is
not
a vampire and, while I can forgive
you for not knowing better, Paige should. Vampires do not leave their annual kills just lying about—”

“May 1979,” Paige said. “The council investigated reports of a corpse found in New Orleans—”

“Oh, that’s New Orleans. It doesn’t count.”

“September 1963. Philadelphia.”

“That was a mistake. An untrained new vampire. There are no new vampires in North America right now.”

“Recent immigrants?”

“Not that I’ve heard of.”

Paige looked at Cassandra. She said nothing, but they both understood what her look imparted—the reminder that Cassandra wasn’t always up to date on vampire activity. Cassandra conceded the point with a dip of her head.

“But still, to leave gaping neck wounds? Unnecessary, which you know, Paige. That alone should rule out vampires—”

“New York, 1985.”

Cassandra let out an exasperated sigh. “Do you memorize the council records?”

“No, I just came prepared.”

“Then you know that New York case was special. The vampire was interrupted and the body was discovered before she could finish and dispose of it.”

A moment of silence, then Paige said, “Do you want to call Aaron? You’re right. This almost certainly isn’t a vampire, so there’s no reason for you to get involved. We just want to warn any vampires living in the area, in case the Cabals get wind of this and give them a hard time. Aaron can answer our questions and leave you out of it.”

Cassandra looked out the front window, and I could see she was struggling not to give in to what must have been an overwhelming urge to say: “Yes, give it to Aaron.”

“Aaron could use the experience …” she mused.

“Okay, then, we’ll call.”

Cassandra continued, as if not hearing Paige, her gaze still on the window. “But if the Cabals do get involved, they’ve been looking for an excuse for retaliation, after Edward and Natasha. Though it seems obvious
a vampire is not responsible, the outward appearance of a vampire kill may be enough to provide that excuse …”

“That’s our fear,” I said.

“
Are
there any vampires living in Washington, Cassandra?” Paige asked.

“I believe there is one. Let me call Aaron.”

A
ARON DARNELL WAS CASSANDRA’S CODELEGATE
on the interracial council. Their relationship went back further than that—much further, as is often the case with vampires. While I had the impression it ended with a betrayal, I knew none of the details, though I would presume Cassandra had done the betraying. It was in her character as much as it was
not
in Aaron’s.

I did not know any vampires well. Like werewolves, they play no role in Cabals, and while I always say, half jokingly, that’s because Cabals are loath to employ anyone who might mistake them for lunch, the antipathy goes far deeper than that. It’s fear of the other. That’s what werewolves and vampires are, even to supernaturals. The other. Too different. Too foreign.

Sorcerers and witches can harness the power of magic, necromancers can speak to the dead, half-demons can influence weather or create fire, and shamans can project their spirits from their bodies, but we are all essentially human. We look human. We share a human anatomy. We live a human life, with human vulnerabilities, and die a human death. Should we choose to deny our powers, we can pass for human.

While it’s true that werewolves and vampires can live undetected among humans, they cannot deny their essential selves. Werewolves must change into wolves regularly. Vampires must feed from humans and take one life per year. Werewolves are long-lived and slow-aging. Vampires live for hundreds of years without aging, and are invulnerable to injury.

Centuries ago, when the sorcerer families began building Cabals,
they looked at the potential workforce and made their choices. Sorcerers, half-demons, shamans, necromancers, and minor races? Yes. Witches…if necessary. Vampires and werewolves? No. Too much “the other.” And, perhaps, at some level, too much a threat. Too uncontrollable. Too…predatory.

I grew up with that prejudice, though I work to overcome it. It doesn’t help that the vampire and werewolf communities are so small that I rarely encounter one. Paige’s ties with the werewolf Pack immersed me in that culture by necessity, and I can now count werewolves among my friends. Vampires, though? I can work with them. But comfortably? I still struggled with that.