16. Another Mystery (S)
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Reuben and Jessica and I talked a little more in the back of the limo. It was actually the most either of them had spoken with me in three years. If not for the circumstances I might have suggested the four of us spend the rest of the night hanging out together so we could all catch up more.

At least it was good to know I still had the respect of some of my colleagues. I may have lost the rank and title, but I was still the same enforcer who earned that stuff in the first place.

For some reason Eric dropped Jessica off first. My place was the closest, Jess was the furthest, I'd have figured Tara and me would have been the first ones he'd drop off. On the other hand it gave us all more time together.

"Good night," Jess said as she climbed out of the limo. "Good to see you again, Samantha."

I nodded, "Stay safe Jessica. Watch your back."

As we pulled away from Jess's building, Rueben asked "How's your new recruit shaping up Sam?"

I couldn't help but smile as I told him what Tara did last night. I didn't even embellish the story all that much, but he seemed impressed.

He looked at Tara and grinned, "She shook off a forty-five at point blank range? You know those things were specifically designed for their stopping power?"

She blushed and tried to make herself look smaller, which was a bit ironic considering how much she hated being small.

I smirked, "She didn't just shake it off, she launched herself and levelled the guy with one blow. Then she picked him up and took a mouthful of blood that was going to waste. And if that wasn't enough, she climbed a two-story fire-escape ladder. And she did all that with a broken collarbone."

Reuben just chuckled softly as he shook his head, "So in other words she's as crazy as you are. That's just what we needed."

The limo pulled to a stop in front of his building and Reuben got out. He leaned back in the door and said, "Thanks Eric. Good to see you again Sam. And Tara, you keep listening to Samantha here. She might be young, but she knows what she's doing."

Then he closed the door and headed inside while Eric pulled away and set out for my place. I had another idea though.

"Hey Eric?" I asked, "Instead of taking us home can you drop us off down in the valley? On Bayview, under the viaduct?"

The chauffeur nodded, "Yes ma'am."

I sat back with Tara who was finally starting to relax.

She leaned closer and half-whispered, "You want to check out the scene of the crime?"

"Yeah," I nodded. "It's a long-shot, but maybe we'll find something."

Tara looked hesitant as she asked, "I thought you said silver didn't make good weapons? You said it wasn't a good metal for that."

I sighed, "Right. It's not that good for knives, and even worse for swords. You might get a silver butter knife on a fancy tea service, but you won't get a silver steak knife. It doesn't hold an edge, it doesn't make good blades. And it sucks for bullets too. I think it jams or gums up the barrel or something? I don't know. I just know silver bullets are more myth than reality."

She asked nervously, "So what were you talking about before? Reuben said something about a silver wire arrow?"

I shook my head, "The arrow's not made of silver wire. You take a normal arrow, wood or carbon fibre shaft, and you add silver wire down the length of it. The arrow that hit Carlos had a three-bladed head, and three lengths of silver wire on it. So the silver's not doing any cutting, the arrow's not made of it. The silver's just along for the ride. But that gets it inside the body, and having it running the length of the arrow means it's basically right through, from entry to exit."

Tara looked like she didn't want to know the answer, but she asked anyways. Her voice was even quieter though. "What would that do to someone?"

"It wouldn't make any difference to a human," I explained. "I mean, they're dealing with an arrow wound, they're fucked regardless. To a vampire though? It basically makes the wound as bad for us as it would be for a human. You know if you touch silver it stings right? Sort of burns, like picking up something hot? On the outside, like in your hand or on your arm or something, it's just a painful inconvenience. Get it actually inside you like that, the wound's not going to heal as long as it's in there, and it's going to be really slow to heal after you do get it out. And it's going to hurt worse than anything."

I sighed as I added, "Carlos wouldn't have had much of a chance. Hopefully it was quick, hopefully he didn't suffer too much."

She was quiet for a few minutes, then finally asked "So what happens if you or I get hit with an arrow like that?"

"If I ever get hit with something like that, you grab that arrow and rip it the fuck out of me as fast as you can. Then get some blood in me. And get us the fuck away from whoever's shooting those things. I'll do the same for you."

Tara looked paler than usual, and stayed quiet for the rest of the ride. We were down in the valley now, and Eric finally pulled over and stopped the car on the side of the road. He twisted around in his seat to look back at me and said "Ma'am, a word with you before you go?"

That caught me off-guard, he was usually silent and sort of aloof, like he always kind of acted like he wasn't really part of the conversation.

I nodded, "Yeah, what's up?"

He leaned down as if he was picking something up off the floor by the front seat, then reached back with an old leather folio case.

As he handed it to me, he said "I was asked to deliver that to you, ma'am."

"Thanks," I said as I took it from him. "Who's it from?"

Eric shook his head, "I'm not at liberty to discuss that ma'am. My instructions were to deliver it to you, then never speak of it again."

I sighed, like that wasn't creepy or mysterious. Good thing we didn't have any other pressing mysteries going on right now.

I opened the door and as I climbed out of the car I said, "Ok Eric, thanks again. Have a good night."

"Good night ma'am," he replied. Once Tara was out she closed the door, then the car pulled away and drove off.

Tara followed me as I set off towards the river, and asked "Aren't you going to open that and see what's in it?"

I shook my head, "When we get home."

"I'm going to scuff up my only good shoes," she complained as we went down the embankment and across the railroad tracks.

The crime scene was pretty obvious, there was still police tape around the bottom of one of the viaduct's concrete bases. I ignored Tara for now as I walked around studying the scene. Even one day was too long to find any good scents. There'd been too many humans here, too many scents mixed together. All the different kinds of perfume and aftershave and body wash and conditioner, not to mention boot polish and gun oil and whatever other chemicals the cops use in their jobs.

I couldn't even find Carlos's scent, after all the human traffic over the past day.

Tara stood nearby and watched for a bit, then she moved a short distance away and stared up at the viaduct above us.

There was a rumble as a subway passed overhead, the noise and squeal of the wheels on the old rails echoed about down here in the valley. Then it was gone and things became quiet again.

It only took me a minute or two to decide there wasn't much here. It was a long-shot anyways. Now we had a bit of a hike to get back home, including climbing up out of the valley.

"I don't smell any death or decay here," Tara said quietly as I moved away from the scene and over to her.

"Yeah," I sighed. "So many humans have been here in the past day, the scents are all gone. I couldn't pick up any trace of Carlos's scent either."

She said, "I don't mean his undead scent. I mean, I can't even smell just regular death. Like he decayed really fast afterwards right? That smell was really bad at the morgue. It's not here."

Tara had a point. If his body had been there for any length of time, that smell should have stuck around.

I frowned, "You're right. He couldn't have been here very long before his body was found."

"What now?" she asked quietly.

"Let's go home," I replied with a shrug. I added apologetically, "Sorry Tara. We're going to cut through the woods and head straight up and out. That's going to bring us right past the art school. Are you ok with that?"

Some vamps didn't like being reminded of where they died. Some didn't mind, but I figured it was better to ask instead of just assuming.

She looked hesitant for a moment before she nodded "It's fine."

Walking home from here could take an hour if we stuck to the roads and sidewalks. It wasn't a fun or easy trek but cutting straight through the woods and up the valley was quicker and shorter.

Tara complained again about getting her fancy shoes scuffed and dirty, but I figured they'd clean up ok. We didn't actually go too close to the art school, we sort of cut around it to the south, then across Rosedale Ravine.

We ended up taking another shortcut through St. James cemetery which made me smile. It always felt just a little too cliche, vampires wandering through a cemetery at night.

From there we were only a couple blocks from home and didn't take long for the two of us to reach the place. It was just past midnight, there were still several more hours of darkness outside and I was sort of torn between calling it a night or getting changed and heading back out to patrol.

I still had that leather folio with me though, and I figured I ought to at least have a look and see what that was all about before making any other decisions.

Tara sat next to me as I slumped down onto the sofa. I pulled the coffee table closer and set the folio on that. She was watching closely, she looked interested and slightly excited. Mysteries were fun I guess. I was a little more wary, considering everything else we had going on at the moment.

I thumbed the catch and the buckle popped open, then I unzipped the top of the folio and looked inside. The first thing I saw was a couple books and an envelope.

I started pulling things out one at a time and placed them all on the coffee table.

The envelope was large and white, and had my name written on it. I felt a slight chill as I recognized the handwriting. It was from Isabelle. I left it for now and continued emptying the folio.

Next was a leather-bound book, with a leather clasp and a tiny combination-style lock keeping it secured. Then a larger, thicker, and much older-looking book. It was also bound in leather, and had a strap and buckle holding it closed. No lock though.

Beneath all that I was surprised to find money. Five tightly-wrapped bundles of crisp hundred-dollar bills came out of the bag. According to the paper tabs holding the bundles, each little wad was ten thousand dollars.

Tara's eyebrows shot way up as she stared at the money, "That's fifty thousand dollars!"

At the bottom of the folio was a bundle of fabric, and I could tell by feel there was something wrapped up inside.

I pulled that out, then carefully unwrapped it. The fabric was a piece of clothing, a dark wool skirt. And wrapped up inside it I found four small glass bottles and an old dagger. The bottles looked like antiques. They actually looked hand-made, they were each about three inches high and an inch and a half in diameter at the thickest point. Each one had a cork jammed in the top, and the corks were sealed with red wax. And each bottle was half-full of some crusty black sludge, like some mystery fluid that dried out a few hundred years ago.

The dagger looked like another antique. The blade was about six inches long, double-edged, with a decorative black pattern inlaid along both sides. It was set in a black handle that wasn't wood or bone but it felt like some kind of natural material.

I ran my fingers over the flat of the blade, but pulled them back as soon as I touched that black inlay.

"Oh shit," I said quietly. "That's silver. It's tarnished, but it's silver, inlaid along the blade."

Tara's eyes went wide, "What? Why?"

"This is a dagger made to fuck up vampires," I replied quietly as I set it down next to the books.

I picked up the envelope and carefully tore it open. Inside were several sheets of paper, a long letter addressed to me. It was all written in Isabelle's careful perfect script.

According to the date at the top of the first page it was written thirteen years ago, from just before Isabelle became matriarch.

I had no idea what to expect, but I couldn't help feeling anxious as I started reading.

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