Chapter 3
The vampire at the door wore a tuxedo and a scowl. It’d been awhile since I’d seen short, dark, suspicious Leon Rossi. Last time was at the July beach “clothing optional” bonfire Old Rossi had thrown. Leon worked night shift lead at the cannery and had been living in Ordinary for over a century.
“Chief.” He stepped aside so I could enter. Rossi’s home could at best be described as eclectic and at worst Winchester Mansion crazy.
“Didn’t know you were pulling butler duty, Leon. Tux looks good.” I unzipped my coat and he took it, holding it at arm’s length so it didn’t drip on his fancy shoes.
“Was out of town at a midnight wedding. Got the call about Sven. Didn’t take time to change.”
“Everybody here?” I asked.
“Yes. This isn’t something that Old Rossi will take lightly.”
“He shouldn’t. Someone in his family is dead.”
His eyes flashed that odd blue unique to angry fangers. “It’s rare to happen. Not death, but the manner of it.”
“Gunshot and blood symbols?”
His lips pressed together and I could see the slight indentation of his fangs pressing into his bottom lip. Leon was angry, and more than that, uncomfortable.
“Gunshot,” he said.
All right. I don’t know why he didn’t want to acknowledge the blood symbols. Maybe it was a vampire thing.
“Were you close to him?” I asked.
“Never saw him outside of family gatherings. Didn’t talk to him much then. He was nice. Followed the family rules.”
The Rossis weren’t related. The clan was made up of individual vampires Rossi had approved and given his family name. They passed themselves off as cousins, in-laws, and distant relations. They didn’t make a big deal about it, and the mortals in town didn’t question it. Since Old Rossi presented himself as a man who would rather make love than war, people expected him to help out his family members, take them in, line up employment, and help get them on their feet.
What most mortals in town didn’t know was that Rossi carefully vetted every vampire who came into Ordinary and upheld a strict set of rules for vampire behavior. If a vampire stepped outside those bounds, Rossi took them down, quietly, and with no trace left behind.
That was another of Ordinary’s agreements: Rossi took care of vampire behavior and violence, and Granny Wolfe took care of werewolf behavior and violence. As the police in town, we could arrest either type of creature if they were breaking the law, but if they dissolved into gang war or racial violence, Rossi and Granny put an end to it by putting an end to them.
Leon gestured me toward the interior of the house, and I followed.
“Where was the wedding?”
“Spokane. One of my coworkers needed a date. It was her sister’s wedding. Since it was at night, it worked for me.”
One of the reasons so many vampires came to Ordinary was because of the living conditions. Not only was it a quiet little town, it was also one of the few places in the world where daylight didn’t harm vamps.
Vampires in town could go out in daylight, though they usually kept most of their skin covered and wore sunblock. I’d asked Old Rossi why daylight in Ordinary didn’t hurt vampires and had gotten a vague lecture on geology, meteorology, and I’m pretty sure the Bermuda Triangle.
It didn’t make sense then, and I hadn’t asked again.
Outside of Ordinary, vampires accepted by Rossi could also move in daylight for limited times. That had something to do with his claim as their prime, the connection between them and him, and him and Ordinary.
If not for that, vampires would be night creatures only just like in the legends and movies.
“Her sister was furious she had a date.”
“Sibling rivalry?”
He grinned wide enough to show fangs. “Had to break up a fight. Between the bridesmaids.”
“Sounds like fun.”
“Open bar and a show. I enjoyed it.”
“By open bar you are talking alcohol, not jugular, right?”
“Sure, Chief.”
Vampire activity outside of Ordinary was beyond my jurisdiction. Over state lines it was definitely outside my jurisdiction.
“You tell me anymore, I’ll have to take you in, Leon.”
“I suppose you would.”
Well, now I was worried. Not that there was a lot I could do about it. If I found a dead body and told the cops a vampire drank them dry, I’d be laughed out of the station. Plus, there would be the problem of proof.
As in I had none.
Old Rossi kept some cutthroat lawyers on call for family members with legal problems. Lawyers who also happened to be vampires and would make sure I’d lose that sort of case.
Still, I’d do a quick check to make sure no one from Spokane had turned up dead after a wedding.
“I’m joking,” he said. “I drank alcohol, not blood.”
I tried not to let him see how glad I was to hear that. But he was a vampire. I’m sure he could tell my mood by my heart rate.
Voices grew louder as we neared a family room toward the back of the house that was the size of a hotel ballroom.
Leon wasn’t kidding all the Rossis were here. At last count, we had sixty-four vampires in town. Many of them were hermits on the outskirts of Ordinary whom I never saw. But I knew Rossi kept tabs on them, and their comings and goings. I scanned faces of the vamps I’d rarely seen, reacquainting myself with them. They, of course, hadn’t changed since I’d last seen them.
Long life had some advantages.
“He’s in his study.” Leon pointed to the door at my right.
“Who?”
“Old Rossi.”
“Did you tell him I was here?”
He smiled again. His eyes focused on my neck and did not budge. I knew he was messing with me. “He knows you are here. We all do.”
Right. If it wasn’t the scent of my blood that tipped them off, it was probably the whole vampire telepathy thing they all shared. I’m sure Leon had told Old Rossi I was at the door before I’d even rung the doorbell.
“Thanks.” Still, manners were manners. I knocked softly.
“Come in.”
I opened the dark wooden door and stepped into the room.
For a creature of the night, Old Rossi sure liked his pastels. The room was painted a soothing misty gray, the accents a soft white, the wood floor honey blond. Although this was his study, there were no books in this room and no desk. There was, instead, a curve of lush shell-blue couches, slender tables that seemed to have grown out of the honey flooring, and wall-to-wall white open-fronted cabinets with backlit glass shelves. All filled with carved eggshells.
Hundreds of eggshells, from huge ostrich eggs to tiny hummingbird eggs, all of them carved into impossible swirls, hollows and designs, perched on delicate glass pedestals that seemed too thin to for them to balance upon.
A few of the eggs were brushed with gilding or showed glints of diamonds and other precious gems and metals. A few were dyed so that the contrast in carved layers created landscapes and portraits. But most of them were simply soft shades of shell, carved into impossible twists and cages.
There was no carpeting on the floor. Every vibration of every movement in the house was telegraphed to the fragile sculptures. It said something about vampires that there could be dozens of them in this house and the shells weren’t even trembling.
I took in a breath and let it out slowly, hoping my heartbeat didn’t send anything tumbling.
Rossi sat on the couch, his back toward me so that I only saw his dark hair and wide shoulders.
“I need to speak with you,” I said.
“I know.”
I walked over to him, my feet falling as quietly as I could manage, the slightest rattle of glass and shell brushing the air with each step. When I rounded the couch, I could see what Rossi was looking at.
Sven Rossi lay upon a glass table in front of the couch. The glass table beneath him was low to the ground but both long and wide enough to hold him. It seemed to be the only sturdy thing in the room.
Sven was naked, a white satin sheet draped over his hips. The designs drawn in blood across his pale chest seemed too loud in the room, a gory shout against the silence of the artistic carved shells that surrounded us.
“What is on your mind, Delaney?” Old Rossi’s voice was toneless and soft, as if his words were sifting down from a long distance.
I tore my gaze away from Sven’s still form, shoving aside my sorrow. I hadn’t known Sven for long, but I’d liked him. To see him here, dead—totally dead and not just sort of undead—made me realize I’d miss him.
“Do you know how this happened?” I asked.
“Bullet to the head.”
“That doesn’t kill a vampire.”
“No, it doesn’t.”
“So how did he die?”
“Ichor techne.”
“Is that a kind of poison?”
For the first time since I’d entered the room, Old Rossi’s eyes flicked up to meet mine. I gasped, then felt stupid for letting him see my reaction.
His eyes were red, deep heart-blood irises swimming in eyes gone black. A vampire hunting might have red eyes. A vampire starving might have black. But a vampire with red and black eyes was either a breath away from hellish, vengeful violence, or insanity.
I had never seen red and black eyes. Never seen the devil so near.
“It is an art.” His voice was barely more than a hiss, a whisper of breath across tongue. “A very old blood art.”
“Art kills vampires?” My heart pumped so fast and strong, I felt like my entire body was shaking. Instinct told me to run, hide, flee, but I knew that would be the fastest way to feel fangs sinking into my throat.
Old Rossi’s gaze fixed on my throat, where I knew my heartbeat fluttered.
I didn’t know if it was the fear, or just a brain glitch, but I couldn’t stop the next words from falling from my mouth. “That would explain your interior decorating choices.”
His gaze snapped up to lock on mine. Then his eyebrow slowly rose.
“Are you insulting my interior decorating tastes?”
“On purpose?”
He waited
“Yes?” I said.
Oh, dear gods. Why had I been honest? I didn’t usually insult people when they were about to kill me. There was no denying that Mr. Devil and Darkness over there was a breath away from killing something. Probably a nervous police chief who was dripping rain on his wooden floor.
He blinked, and a wash of black faded to gray, the red to a ruddy amber. “I have impeccable taste.”
He sounded offended.
He looked offended.
Offended was better than deadly.
“Says the man with a room full of eggs in boxes.”
I resisted the urge to slap my hand over my mouth. His look of offense shifted to surprise.
“They are rare and valuable and beautiful and represent the fragility of life in balance with the universe.”
He was right. They were beautiful. I opened my mouth to tell him I agreed with him, but he was on a roll.
“And furthermore, I went to great time and expense to wring as much ambient light and good vibes as possible out of this room and the entire house. The flow of chi in this place would register as a Category 5 hurricane. I not only have taste, it’s good taste. For the eye and the soul.”
This is where I didn’t ask if vampires had souls. Certain creatures and deities in town would probably have an answer for that, and every one of them would be different.
So instead I said, “You know who else keeps eggs in boxes? Chickens.” I held his gaze and hoped I got a smile out of him.
Old Rossi inhaled a breath and sort of choked on it as he laughed. “Reeds. Un-fucking-flappable.” He finished half-laughing half-coughing, then eased back into the cushions of the couch. “I thought your father was droll.”
It was nice to see him relax out of his pounce and devour stance. Did wonders for my blood pressure.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said, gesturing toward Sven.
Black washed over his eyes, was gone in a blink. “No more so than I.” He waved one long, sturdy-fingered hand toward the loveseat to his left.
I walked around the dead body and took a seat. Not because I relished sitting down with a dead guy spread out in front of me like some macabre table cloth, but because my knees were threatening to buckle.
Adrenalin and seeing my own imminent death did that to a girl.
“Tell me what you see.” He was back to staring at Sven.
I reluctantly studied the body again. “He’s been shot in the head. I don’t see any other visible wounds. No other sign of struggle or bruising.”
“Is that all you see?”
“Other than the weird symbols in blood on his chest, yes.”
Rossi shifted his head. “You see that.”
“Who could miss it?” Red symbols on Sven’s pale skin was like blood on snow.
There was a soft knock on the door.
“Come in, Ben.”
Ben Rossi was one of Ordinary’s firefighters. He was a nice guy, currently dating Jame Wolfe who was also a firefighter and a werewolf. They’d moved in together a couple months back, and had thrown a big housewarming party where they invited all their relatives.
They wisely had invited me and my sisters to help maintain the peace at the party.
Vampires and werewolves did not get along, but here in Ordinary, Old Rossi and Granny Wolfe worked to keep the animosity to as low a level as possible.
The smile on Ben’s handsome face twisted into a grimace. His eyes scanned the room, looking anywhere but at Sven. “You wanted to see me?” His voice sounded strained, thin.
“Step into the room, please.”
Ben did as he was told, but I could tell he didn’t like it. He stopped as far away from the coffee table with the corpse as he could and faced Rossi.
“I’m sorry to ask this of you, Ben, but I need you to tell me what you see on my coffee table.” There was a hint of power in Old Rossi’s words, a weight that exerted pressure on Ben.
Ben’s eyes met mine briefly—a shadow of fear, of revulsion—before he turned to Sven.
Ben blinked hard several times, and squinted as if he was trying to stare into the sun.
“Sven is lying there.” Ben’s words were clipped, breathless. “He is dead.”
“Yes. Good.” The weight of Rossi’s words increased. “Tell me how he was killed.”
Ben was panting. A trickle of sweat glistened at his temple, another at the curve of his throat. He swallowed, blinked hard again, as if trying to bring an impossible thing into focus.
“Silver bullet. One. Through the brain.”
“What else?” Two words that made my ears feel like they needed to pop.
“I don’t know.” Ben whispered.
“His chest. Look at his chest.”
Ben blinked and blinked, his gaze scanning over Sven’s body, flitting across his face, neck, chest, unable to rest.
“I don’t see, can’t see anything else. A bullet. Just a bullet.”
Ben was so distressed I was about to tell Rossi to let him go. I didn’t understand what was going on, exactly, but I liked Ben and I didn’t like seeing him looking so cornered and panicked.
“Do you see blood?”
Ben was visibly trembling now, his thin T-shirt soaked with sweat. Still, he stayed where he was, his gaze searching the dead vampire.
“No. No blood.”
Holy crap. I could see the blood clear as day. Obviously Old Rossi could see the blood too. But Ben was not lying. Even I could see that.
“Thank you, Ben.” Rossi’s words were gentle, light and laced with the vampiric tone that both hypnotized and soothed. “That is all I need. I’m sorry to distress you. Get a drink of water and rest. I’ll talk to you soon.”
Ben nodded woodenly, swallowed again several times and then all but fled the room, closing the door so quietly not an egg rattled.
“Okay, so Ben can’t see the blood,” I said.
Old Rossi had pushed up to sit on the edge of the couch, elbows propped on his thighs, fingers linked together, thumbs pressed against his mouth. He nodded.
“And that blood plus that bullet killed Sven.”
Again, he nodded.
“So there’s a way to kill your kind that isn’t stakes, garlic, or solar power.”
“Garlic is a myth. Although severing our heads works quite well. And so do the blood arts.”
“Technical ichor?”
“Ichor techne. An art many centuries old. An art I thought burned, hidden, buried with the devils who first developed it.”
Two ways I could take this conversation: ask about the devils who had developed a way to kill vampires I had never heard of, or find out who might have found that art to use now. And why on Sven. So I guess that was three ways.
“Did you know them?”
“The devils? Yes.”
I waited. “Could they still be alive?”
“One of them is.”
“Who?”
“Me.”
Not what I expected. I wiped some of the sweat and rain off of my face and rubbed my palms on my jeans.
“Okay.” I took a second to process that. “Okay. I’ve never asked about your past, and Dad didn’t tell me anything more than we have noted in the family records. I’m going to assume you think this,” I spread fingers toward poor Sven, “is tangled up with your past life? Lives?”
“It is.”
“I’m going to need more than that if I’m going to solve this problem.”
“Is that what you’re going to do, Delaney? Solve this problem?” The fangs were starting to show, his usual hippy-chill attitude peeling away to give me a peek at the animal inside.
“I understand you take care of your own and the threats against them. But this is murder and I am the law in this town. Even if we buried Sven’s death under a convenient story of him leaving for brighter horizons, we know someone killed him.
“They left him like that so we could find him. So we would know what they did to a citizen of our town. That won’t stand with me. And it shouldn’t stand with you.”
He watched me with that damned steady gaze, the look that made me wonder how many of my fears he was cataloguing to use against me later.
“It wasn’t a threat.” Rossi said.
“Really? Because it looks like a threat to me.”
“It was an invitation.”
The biscuit and bacon I’d eaten earlier turned in my stomach. “Is that what the symbols mean? Some kind of invite?”
“No. The symbols are Sven’s plucking apart, his undoing, his final death. His body is the invitation.”
“To what?”
“War.”
I let that sit between us for a couple seconds. Someone must have closed a door too hard somewhere in the house because the egg shells on their glass pedestals shivered and chimed.
“All right. What war? With whom? Over what? And if other vampires can’t see this ichor techne, then was it an invite to you or to someone else, someone non-vampiric?”
“I was a mortal man many years ago, Delaney. When Rome seemed to rule the world.” A shadow crossed his eyes, but it was not the black of killing. I thought it might be memory or regret.
I couldn’t imagine looking back at memories from so long ago. Rossi had to be over two thousand years old.
Holy crap.
“This has something to do with Sven’s death?”
“I was a soldier,” he continued. “No different than the men beside me. Until we faced an army from the east. We were slaughtered, left broken and bleeding. Their soldiers defeated us. Overwhelmed by numbers, we fell.
“But it was that night, as the wounded got on with the business of becoming the dead that the true enemy arrived. Devils, demons with fangs and a hunger for blood. There were only two of them. Impossibly tall and pale.
“They moved through the wounded, searching, sniffing. I had fallen near another soldier. Near my brother-in-arms. My friend.”
He practically spat that last word.
“I don’t know which of us made a noise. Maybe it was me. That’s...” He shook his head. “Too long ago. But they heard and they came sniffing our way. We were both drawn up and feasted upon. They drank our blood. It was horrifying. Painful. Until it wasn’t. Until we begged for it.”
“Vampires,” I said to break the silence.
“Our makers. My maker.”
“Are they still alive? Do you think they’re behind this?”
“They are not behind this.”
“What about your friend? The other soldier.”
“Lavius is dead.”
“Are you sure?”
He just gave me a long look.
“Then what does this have to do with Sven?”
“Only Lavius and I knew of the ichor techne.”
“You must have learned it from someone. Knowledge gets written down, passed down. Who taught you about it?”
“No one. I created it.”
“Before you were a vampire?”
“No. Many years after.”
Which meant he must have used it to kill vampires. I didn’t know why a vampire would need some fancy way to kill one of his own, and really, that was beside the point.
“Did you have records of it here? Or anywhere else in the world?”
“No. I’ve made sure the art was wiped clean from history, and not even mentioned in the myths.”
Well, he’d done at least part of that. I’d never heard of it before, and I was in the know about the creatures in the world.
“So Sven being left with this drawn across his chest is someone telling you, specifically, they’ve found your old weapon? Other vampires can’t see the markings...how does that work?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you created this blood art thing.”
“Yes. I created it. And it has always been visible to me, to mortals, to creatures including other vampires. I do not know how it has been changed to hide it from vampire sight. I do not know why.”
“Totally ruins your reputation.”
“What reputation?”
“Of being a know-it-all.”
That got a fleeting smile out of him. “Focus, Delaney. This is a crime. You’re supposed to be good at this sort of thing.”
“All right. Tell me how this is a declaration of war.”
“Sven was one of mine.” The heat behind those words carried the strength of a thousand years. When Old Rossi brought a vampire under his wing, he became more than just their friend, he became their defender.
“Who wants to start a war with you? Someone you kicked out? Who hates you enough to want a war?”
Just because he accepted new vampires into Ordinary didn’t mean they always stayed here. Rossi had more rules about bringing in vampires than I did about bringing in gods. If vampires couldn’t live up to those rules, Rossi kicked them out.
Sometimes those partings were amicable, but not always.
“Do you have any enemies who would want you to suffer?”
He snorted. “Countless.”
“I’ll need a list.”
He smiled, and it was almost his normal smile—no teeth. Except for the glitter of red in his eyes, he was very nearly the love-not-war guy I’d known all my life. He leaned away, lounging into the couch, both arms spread wide across the back of it.
“I am not in the habit of measuring how many people hate me, only how many love me, baby.”
“Nice try, hippy. That’s not a love letter.” I pointed at Sven. Then a terrible thought crossed my mind. “Is it?”
“No. It is not.”
“So give me names. Who have you made angry who might also have access to the ichor techne?”
Old Rossi sighed, and rubbed one hand over his hair, the most human gesture I’d seen out of him since I had walked into the room. He stared at Sven as if unable to look anywhere else. “I don’t know. There is no one who comes to mind.”
“Really?”
“Despite what you must think of me, I am a fan of peace and non-violent conflict resolution.”
“Okay. So what do we do next?”
“We’ll bury him. Hold a memorial service.”
“I meant about his killer. About the invitation. The war.”
“I don’t know yet.”
“We need a plan. Is there anything here we can go on? Anything that could be a lead? This town has resources we can call on, both mundane and godly.”
“Let’s keep the gods out of it. The only ones who might do me any good would be carrying their power, and when they carry power they do not listen to the needs of the undead.”
“The gods in town could help even without their powers.”
“I’d rather snip my left nut off than owe any of them a favor.”
I could see he felt strongly about this.
“You might not have a choice in that. But I’ll start with police records. See if there have been any unusual deaths in the area, things involving blood markings or shots between the eyes.”
He was still staring at Sven, but grunted. I took that as an agreement and stood. I still hadn’t dried out from the rain and the back of my thighs and butt felt cold.
“We’re collecting information from the folks at the gas station and the people in the area who might have seen or heard something. I’ll let you know if I find anything. If there’s anything else you need, let me know.”
Just before I opened the door, he spoke.
“How much do you know about Ryder?”
That sent chills over my chills. “Ryder Bailey?” At least I hadn’t said: the guy I still can’t stop loving even though he dumped me?
“Ryder Bailey.”
“Um...well, we grew up together. His Dad retired to Florida and left him the cabin on Easy Lake that they remodeled together from the floor up. High school athlete, popular guy.”
Handsome, funny. Kind. Always helping anyone who needs a hand.
“Came back to town just over a year ago with a fancy degree and clients and set up his own architecture business.”
Folds origami, hangs his own art in his living room. Sexy as hell in bed. Gentle. Tastes like something deeper than caramel, something all his own. Something I wake up in the middle of the night craving.
“Hates rhubarb. Why?”
“That is Ryder’s blood.”
My stomach knotted and I glanced down at Sven. “Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure.”
“Just his?”
“No. It is mixed with Sven’s. That is an important part of the art.”
“Mortal blood and vampire blood?”
“Yes. Killer and victim.”
I shuddered. “You’re telling me Ryder killed Sven.”
“I’m telling you that’s his blood. We won’t know he’s the killer until I question him.”
I let go of the door knob. “You won’t be questioning him.”
Rossi shifted, his eyebrow lifted, eyes steady on mine. “Won’t I?”
“No. Ryder is a mortal. That means he falls under mortal law. I will question him and you’ll keep your hands off him.”
“No.”
“I’m not leaving this room until you agree to keep your hands—and everything else—off Ryder.”
“Why should I do that?”
I could lie. I could try to strong arm him with legal threats. He wasn’t the only one who could hire vampire lawyers. Just because Rossi ruled the vampires didn’t mean he ruled Ordinary. But I figured the truth would work best.
“You understand that I am the law over you, over the mortals, and over the gods of this town. If you do anything illegal, I will throw you out of town. Permanently.”
“You would never do that.”
“Test me.”
He glared at me. I glared right back.
“Do you love him?” he finally asked.
I don’t know what he saw in my eyes. Probably something I wished I knew how to hide.
Rossi blinked. Opened his mouth, shut it, blinked again. “Oh, Delaney,” he breathed, “are you sure?”
“No. Yes. Sometimes?”
“Is this recent? Since he’s returned to town?”
“Yes and not really. I’ve loved him for years, but never said anything. We finally tried it a couple months ago.”
“It? Sex?”
“Dating. And sex. But I got shot and we decided to take it slow.”
Red flashed across his eyes, a flame moving fast. “Did he dump you?”
“That doesn’t matter. I’m still sorting through the whole thing, which is personal and not a part of this case. You will stay away from him. I will find out if he is involved in Sven’s death. If he is, if I find anything to tie him to Sven—”
“Such as his blood?”
“Which could have been stolen, or taken without his agreement. If I have any solid proof he was actually involved, I will let you question him while I am in the room with both of you. Got that?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll also take your word that the other vampires in town will stay away from him.”
“I’ll let them know Ryder Bailey is untouchable. But Delaney, if he is involved, I will not stand aside. Not even for you.”
No pressure.
“If he’s involved you will talk to me. We’ll decide what’s best. Unlike the vampires in town, Ryder Bailey has family who would wonder what happened to him if he went missing. He has college friends, business colleagues. He can’t simply disappear without turning a lot of unwanted attention to our town.
“Remember, I am the police. I won’t allow the murder of any creature, deity, or mortal to go unpunished. Do you understand me, Travail?”
Very few people knew Old Rossi’s first name. Even fewer ever spoke it. Something like anger hardened his features and I could see in him the soldier, the warrior, he had once been.
“More than you would think, Delaney Reed.”
In those words were my dismissal. So I moved quietly through the door and closed it behind me, careful not to rattle a single, fragile shell.