The Darkest Kiss

"He's going through the council records for house approvals. He'll let us know if he finds site or floor plans."



"What can I do for you, Riley?" Sal said.



I shoved the phone to my ear, and said, "I need to be put through to a Jerry Mayberry. He used to be the local police officer up in Beechworth. He's retired, but apparently he's still living up there."



"Hang on, and I'll see what I can do." She put me on hold, and tinny elevator music blasted me. I winced and shifted the phone away from my ear.



"How is the cop going to help us?" Rhoan asked.



I glanced around at him. "He was the cop on duty when Aron Young disappeared. He might be able to tell us a little more than what was reported in the papers."



Sal came back online. "Okay, I found an address and a phone number. You want me to patch you through now?"



"Yes. Thanks, Sal."



"Hang on, then." I went back on hold for a second, then there was a click, and the phone was ringing.



And ringing.



Come on, come on, I thought, then glanced at the clock and realized I was actually ringing at an ungodly hour. The poor man was probably tucked up nice and warm in his bed.



Eventually a gruff voice said, "Hello?"



"Is this former sergeant Jerry Mayberry, from the Beechworth Police Station?"



"That would be me."



"Mr. Mayberry, it's Riley Jenson, from the Directorate. We're investigating several murders that appear to be linked to an old case of yours, and I was wondering if you could help me with some details."



"I'll try, but my memory is not as sharp as it used to be." He hesitated. "The Directorate, you say? Which section?"



"Guardian division, Mr. Mayberry."



"Martin Bass still in charge there?"



I smiled. There was nothing wrong with this man's mind. Nor, I suspected, his memory. "There's no Martin Bass working in the guardian division, sir. Jack Parnell has been in charge for the last eight years or so."



"Ah, yes." His tone softened a little. "What case we talking about?"



"Aron Young's disappearance."



"Ah. That was a strange one."



"In what way, Mr. Mayberry?"



"We had evidence of rope marks on a tree limb, we had blood splatters we believe came from the victim, and we're sure he was killed. But we never found a body and none of the kids would talk."



"But you think they knew something?"



"Oh, yeah. Half of them were drinking or taking drugs within weeks of Young's disappearance."



"How many kids we talking about?"



"Seven. They were good kids at heart, but a little wild. They tended to egg each other on when in a group situation."



And that was when a lot of bad things had happened. Peer pressure could be an incredibly powerful thing, especially when you were a teenager and trying too hard to fit in. As I suspected Young might have been. "What do you think might have happened?"



"Probably an initiation gone wrong. We had a gang problem at the time - most of the kids were in one, except for a couple of the wolf cubs. These seven represented the rowdiest of them."



"So initiations were common, as well?"



"Hell, yeah. Usually it was something simple like stealing a street sign or getting their head flushed down the toilet, but Harvey's mob believed in testing the strength and commitment of their inductees."



"How?"



"We had one kid crack his head open with a rock. Apparently he'd been told to hold it above his head for several hours - starting at noon, in midsummer."



"They sound like they were a bunch of charmers." And if that was a sample of their stunts, then it wasn't hard to imagine them slipping into more testing - and more dangerous tasks. "Who's this Harvey you mentioned?"



"He was the gang's leader. A real tough nut, with a mean streak a mile wide. He definitely didn't have a heart of gold."



"What happened to him?"



"He was found in the bush not far from where Aron Young was last seen. He'd been dead a few days by the time his body was discovered and the animals had gotten to him. His guts had been eaten away."



A chill ran through me. Bhutas fed on the intestines of the dead, and it seemed a little too coincidental that the man in charge of the gang just happened to be found that way. So why didn't he kill Denny back then? Or Ivan? Or even Cherry Barnes? Why wait until now?



"What did the coroner say?"



"There was a large contusion on the side of his head, but there was no indication of a struggle or other injuries. The coroner said he probably slipped and smacked his head open, and died as a result of blood loss and exposure."



And I was betting the blood loss had more to do with his guts being munched on than any head wound. "Time of death?"



"Ten o'clock, give or take an hour."



Bhutas could walk in daylight, so it definitely wasn't beyond the realm of possibility that Young was behind Harvey's death. "How soon after Harvey's death did Young's parents move out of town?"



"You're not thinking they were involved, are you?"



"No. Just curious."



He paused, and in the background a kettle whistled. "It wouldn't have been more than a week or so afterward that their house went up for sale. We did question them, by the way, before we got the coroner's report. They both had watertight alibis for the day of his death."



Of that I had no doubt. It was their son who wouldn't have, I bet.



So were they responsible for stopping Young's rampage before he could even fully begin it? Was he the reason behind their sudden decision to move? "Where exactly was Harvey's body found? We may need to go up there and have a look at the area."



"We didn't miss anything." His voice had sharpened slightly.



"I'm not saying you did, Mr. Mayberry. We just have new evidence about Young's disappearance, and it may help us understand it better if we see the area."



"Oh," he said, sounding mollified. "He was found in Historical Park, near where the gang used to meet. It was a clearing surrounded by granite outcrops and black cypress, which made it something of a natural amphitheater."



"You can't give me anything more direct than that?"



"Well, it was past the old powder magazine building, down near Spring Creek. You'll know it when you see it."



Great. We could be wandering around for hours. Which we didn't have. "There's nothing else you can tell us about the case? Any odd tidbit that might not have made the report but instinct said might be related?"



He hesitated. "Well, there were two kids I swear were witnesses - "



Witnesses. Puzzle pieces suddenly began clicking into place. "Not Jake Cowden and Ivan Lang?"



"The very ones. Like the wolf cubs, they tended to be loners, but they often used to sneak off and spy on the gangs. Cowden used to e-mail me photographs every now and again, which were often quite helpful when we were investigating minor incidents."



"Did he e-mail you anything about Young?"



"No, but he reported his camera missing the next day, and he was sporting quite a shiner. Ivan looked pretty messed up, too."



"But they never talked?"



"Refused to. Cowden started drinking not long after that, though."



"What about Cherry Barnes?"



He snorted. "That one was more trouble than she was worth."



"In what way?"



"She was Harvey's girlfriend, and a real tease. Harvey was always getting into fights because of her."



And she'd grown up to become a wannabe Trollop. Oddly appropriate. "Thanks for your help, Mr. Mayberry."



He grunted. "If you do find out what happened to Young, I'd appreciate a call."



"Will do, Mr. Mayberry." I hung up.



"Anything?" Rhoan asked.



"Maybe." I shoved my phone back into my pocket and repeated what Mayberry had told me. "I think it's highly likely Young will be going back to the scene of his death, rather than where he used to live."



"He'll probably think it'll be safer," Quinn commented. "After all, he knows the Directorate is onto him, and he also knows you can trace his home addresses. But finding the location of his death more than twenty years after the event is a different matter."



"I still don't understand why he's doing all this now," Rhoan said. "Why didn't he finish the lot of them when he finished off Harvey?"



"I suspect because his parents discovered what he was doing and stopped him. They had him locked up for years, remember."



"Being locked up in a room filled with silver wouldn't exactly enhance his sanity prospects, either," Quinn commented.



"No." I glanced at the clock again. "We need to be up there before dawn so we can have a chance of killing the bastard. How fast does this baby go?"



"Let's find out, shall we?" Quinn said, pressing the accelerator firmly. The car took off with a throaty roar.



"This isn't a sports car," Rhoan said dryly, "so just watch the shudder when you climb over one twenty. It'll do your arms in."



"One twenty won't get us into Beechworth before dawn, will it?" I asked.



"No."



"Then don't worry about the shudder and just get this rust trap moving."



Quinn glanced at me, amusement touching his lips and glinting in his dark eyes. My hormones did a happy little dance, but I shoved them back down and told them to behave. Now was not the time.



"Your wish is my command."



Rhoan snorted. "The day either of us believe that is the day we fall over dead."



"Who asked the peanut gallery for an opinion?"



"No one," Rhoan snapped. "So shut up and drive, my friend."



For a change, Quinn did exactly as he was told.



Maybe there was hope for him yet.



Red fingers of light were beginning to scrape across the sky by the time Quinn stopped the car beside the old stone walls that surrounded Beechworth's powder magazine building.



I climbed out of the car and sniffed the air, my nostrils flaring as I sampled the aromas within. The predawn air held a chill that felt like ice, but underneath it ran scents of eucalyptus, earth, and the freshness of water.



And underneath all that was the hint of fear.



Fear that was thick and strong, and coming from more than one source.



People were alive out there. Hopefully, Liander was still one of them. I grabbed my phone and dialed the Directorate, asking the cow to call in ambulances and any medical help she could find close by.



"I can hear heartbeats," Quinn said softly, as he came around the front of the car. "They're a ways off, so it makes it hard to define just how many."



"But there's definitely more than one," Rhoan said, closing the car door softly. "And that's good news for those of us needing some right now."



I squeezed his arm lightly. "How are we going to attack this?" I glanced at Quinn. "And how are we going to kill something that's not only invisible, but all but invincible in the daylight?"



Quinn glanced at the red-flagged sky. "We have a good half-hour before the sun actually rises. We need to attack him before then, or we'll be forced to wait until the following night."



"Waiting is not in my plans at this particular moment in time," Rhoan said, voice flat. "So do we attack as one, or as individuals?"



"Together," I said. "I've seen him fight. He's fast and he's strong, regardless of the fact he's been locked away for years."



"Insanity often gives people an edge." Quinn glanced at Rhoan. "I'll find and protect Liander and the other hostages. I'll leave the killing to you two. You're here officially. I'm not."



And Jack could sometimes get cranky about involving civilians in cases - unless, of course, he did it himself. I looked at my brother. "Don't suppose you've got an arsenal in the trunk?"



He grimaced. "No. I removed the guns and locked them up before I took the car to the car wash."



Obeying the rules, as usual. Whereas I would never have even washed the car, let alone obeyed Jack's safety rules about where to store weapons when not on duty. Which would undoubtedly get me in trouble one day, but on this day, it would have been a boon.



"So you've no weapons at all?"



"I've some stakes."



I glanced at Quinn. "Will they work?"



"If you stake him while he's visible, they will."



"Then stakes it is," Rhoan said.



He walked to the trunk and fetched them, then handed two to me and flexed his shoulders. "Let's go."



His gray eyes had become cold and dead. The eyes of the hunter. The eyes of the killer.



I glanced at Quinn. He gave me a smile that was a nice mix of confidence and desire, then turned and melted into the semidarkness. I switched to infrared and watched him run toward the tree line, then turned and followed my brother.



While I couldn't hear heartbeats like he and Quinn, I was still a wolf, and the scents of sweat and blood and fear that rode the air were unmistakable. And they were getting stronger.



As the granite outcrops began to grow more numerous, and the eucalyptus gave way to black cypress, Rhoan paused, pointing to the right then holding up five fingers. I nodded, but wondered if Young would actually give us that much time. He was a vampire after all, and he could hear heartbeats as well as either Rhoan or Quinn. No matter how caught up he was in his whole revenge scenario, he'd realize eventually that we were here.