December 12, 1808

New York. The winter was harsh. Mother and father perished on the boat before we docked. I have nothing. Nowhere to go. No money. I will die here, I think. 

January 3, 1809

I have been taken in. They are kind. They tell me they have allergies, and cannot go out in the sunlight. I am given food and shelter, in turn I am tasked with assisting with what they cannot. 

April 6, 1814

My birthday. I am an adult now. My gift from the family was responsibility. I have been given a task. One I am not sure I’m ready for. I am to take a person. From the street. Anyone will do, I am told. Anyone who will not be missed.

April 8, 1814

The screams haunt me. I was not privy to what was done after I presented the captive. It must have been horrific. 

August 24, 1820

I have grown used to this, I am afraid. What kind of person leads others to their death?

May 30, 1823

There is a new tenant at the manor. I am told I am to teach them how to take. Abscond with people unknown.

February 2, 1835

I am to be brought into the fold. I am told this is a grand gift. One bestowed on few. I have proven my worth. 

February 6, 1835

I am strong. I am told I will be a fierce hunter. Better than I was in life. I was confused at first. When I was told I had died. The afterlife seems to be very similar to life. Though I am hungry, I cannot eat.

February 12, 1835

The one I taught to take. They now bring my supper. The screams no longer bother me, for I am wrapped in the ecstasy of the blood. The screams are garnish on my meals. The flesh, dessert.

December 8, 1836

I am told New York has too many predators. If the prey learns of us, they will fight back. We must spread ourselves thin. I am traveling West. I hear of plans. A new settlement to be built on Lake Michigan. I will make my home there. There my prey will nourish me. 

March 12, 1900

I met a man. He taught me secrets. Magics kept from me even by my kin. Blood is power. Blood is magic. Reality itself bends to my will. 

July 5, 1900

The man has taught me much and more. But he is reckless. Cares not if his drained prey is found. He is a danger to us all. We survive in the shadows. We draw no attention to ourselves, and we feed with impunity. This man hunts, and the prey becomes predator. 

November 9, 1910

My family grows. I have turned them. Twin girls. They have taken to the hunt with ease. Natural predators. 

June 5, 2003

When I was a child I was taken in. It was my duty to safeguard the family. Times have changed. I have had a century to grow my wealth. Taking in strays is not enough protection for my family. I have contracted a private military. They will watch the grounds during the day, so my kin can hunt the night in peace. There are those who know of our kind. The secret could not be held forever. 

—*—

I closed the journal. There was more. Right up to the night before I left the author’s brains a smear on their desk. I felt I had gotten through the important parts, though. The early 1900’s entries interested me the most. The author had mentioned meeting the one who turned me, and killed Tess. There were a few other vampires mentioned throughout the journal, but I had a feeling about that one. The way he was described matched what Tess and I had faced. No name was written. Every entry about that vamp was about their propensity for magic or, to quote, how ‘deliciously brutal’ they were. They seemed to look up to the one that turned me. James T. Stillwell, the author and recipient of a .45-70 brain implant, had lost their humanity long ago. Even before they were turned themselves. That didn’t bode well for me. It seemed even proximity to vampires rotted someone’s soul. How long before I relished in bloody screams? I had thought I had been off to a good, or as good a start as possible, but I had still fed on a living person. I had liked it. Really liked it. I hated how the phrase ‘ecstasy of the blood’ resonated. I knew what that felt like. I wanted more. I wanted more, and I could never grant myself that. Still no twelve steps for me, but I knew the signs of what I was facing. There was a wide gap between blood and bourbon, but when one vice goes, something needs to take its place. 

“Learn anything good?” Tess asked me.

“A bit. Vampires are fucked. From a scared little boy, to a critic of bloodshed.”

“Jane, I know what you're thinking. This is just one vampire. You're not like them. You won't turn out like that.”

“Won't I? I've been a vampire for what? Two? Three months now? Who's to say who I'll be in a hundred years.”

Tess squeezed my hand, “in a hundred years, you'll still be who you are. The kind woman I married.”

I smiled at her, “I wish I thought as highly of myself as you think of me.”

She smiled back, “and hey! In a hundred years you might get around to seeing your worth!”

I stuck my tongue out at her, “make it two hundred, and you've got a deal.”

“Done!”

I stood, and returned the journal to the end table where I had been keeping it. I pulled out the little book I had taken from the vampire manor along with the journal. I ran a thumb over the cover, and the word engraved there. I hadn't started reading this one yet. I had wanted to get through the journal first to make sure I had the context necessary to understand. I knew, vaguely, what grimoire meant and that wasn't something I wanted to dive into without knowing as much as I could about the person behind it. I sat on our bed. Tess joined me and laid her legs across my lap. 

“Which ones that?” she asked me. 

“The grimoire.”

“If it belonged to a vampire, what do you think the odds are this is real magic?”

I opened the cover. The paper was old. Brittle. “Still seems weird that real magic is an actual possibility.”

“Hey!” Tess said, “careful! Reading books this old is delicate!” Her museum experience coming to the forefront. 

With some coaching from Tess, I managed to turn a few pages without hurting anything. I scowled. The first three spells were boil someone's blood, dominate someone's mind, and one that just straight up kills someone. 

“You're scowling.”

I tried to soften my expression for Tess, “I don't really know what I was expecting from blood magic, but these seem pretty awful so far.” 

“Dawn did tell us that blood magic was really bad. Plague bad. But they can't all Be awful, can they?”

I glanced at the journal. Would the person who wrote that be interested in magic that didn't hurt people? “We'll see. I'm not hopeful, though. Worst case we'll have a better idea of what vampires are capable of.”

The middle of the book was actually more useful. The majority of these spells were wards, and other protective type things. 

“Oh, are you kidding me!?” I exclaimed. 

“What?” Tess asked. 

“Here,” I pointed at the page, and the drawing of a symbol filled circle, “its a trap for Loup-garou. Fucking werewolves. Vampires and magic are real, so why not fucking werewolves?”

Tess nodded, “well, Canadian werewolves, at least.” 

“No doubt, there's an American variety, too.” I turned to the next page and froze. I leapt to my feet. The grimoire fell to the floor. 

“Jane?” Tess asked. 

I hadn't opened my work bag in a while. I clawed through it trying to find— there! My notebook. I flipped through it until a loose page fell out. A drawing. One I had traced what felt like a lifetime ago. I picked the grimoire off the floor and compared the page to my drawing. 

Tess looked over my shoulder, “how did you have a blood magic spell in your notebook?”

“I— it's from the Renfrue murder.” I read the page. The description of the spell's execution perfectly matched the scene I had found.

“What does it do?”

“Christ. It's a summoning thing? Says it's meant to summon a demon, and compel them to answer a few questions. I guess demons have a broader knowledge base?”

“So demons are real, too?”

“Well fuck. I guess they are. Goddamn, there's a whole other world here I was totally out of the loop on.”

“So the victim in that murder was the sacrifice?”

“Seems like. Fuck of a way to go.” I read and re-read the page. “Shit. I need to call Jules.”

The call dropped after the first ring. Jules called back after a few minutes, “Sorry. Had to get out of the lunch room. Long time no talk, Jane! How are things going with the vampirism?”

“Getting into a routine. Listen, I've got a lead for you.”

“A lead? I already know you're my serial lab thief.”

“Not for that one.”

Jules was quiet. 

“The Renfrue murder,” I said. 

“Shit. What's the lead?”

“You're not going to like it.”

“Just rip the bandaid off, Jane. Tell me.”

“It was a vampire.”

“Fuck. I guess that makes sense, but how do you know?”

“Found a big book of magic spells, and—”

“Wait, magic is real?”

“So are vampires,” I said. 

“Fair. Sorry to interrupt, go on.”

“So I found a book of spells. The symbols that were on the wall behind Mrs. Renfrue? They're in the book. She wasn't just murdered, she was sacrificed to pull off some pretty heavy magic.”

“Fucking Christ. Any suspects? I can chase the lead on my own time, and maybe pin something on them a court would accept.”

“Not at the moment. Guy I got the book from wasn't the guy at that crime scene. All I know right now is that the markings were blood magic, and only vampires can do blood magic.”

“Damn. Well, not like I could bring anyone in for questioning on suspicion of doing vampire magic.”

“Case is still open, yeah?”

“For now.”

“This is a lead I can chase. I'll see where it goes, and leave an anonymous tip if I find anything not supernatural to tag on the guy.”

“What if you can't?”

“Like you said, the justice system doesn't really account for vampires.”

“Shit. Okay. Okay. Keep me in the loop, yeah?”

“Yeah. Standard rates? I'll send a contract.”

“Jane—”

“Joking!”

“Almost had me. Anyway, business aside, how's life? Wait, death? Been ages since we caught up.”

“Well I'm not floundering anymore. Getting a better grasp of what's happened to me. Tess and I have had some time to spruce up this place, so it's feeling a little more like home.”

“That's good to hear.”

“Things work out with Rachel? Moved on to date three?”

“And then some. Turns out we're on the same shift rotation, so we've been seeing each other a lot.”

“That's great! She book a u-haul yet?”

“Not yet. Say, have you given any thought to finding a way to clear your name off the suspect list for Tess’ murder?”

“Not really, no. Figured it was just something I'd have to live with. Why do you ask?”

“I've got a good feeling about Rachel. Too early to tell, but I might need you free and clear to be my Best Maid.”

“Damn! Have you booked the u-haul yet?”

“Very funny, Jane. I'm serious.”

“Right. I'll give it some thought. Not sure how, but gotta be something.”

—*—

Detective work was far less glamorous than fiction might lead one to believe. The reality is a lot less exciting. Case in point, my never ending stream of divorce cases. Sherlock gave people the impression that detectives were savants, solving a case with a glance at disparate clues, but at its core, detective work, real detective work, is just talking to people. Asking the right questions of the right people. Well, that and a pretty solid grasp of the human condition. Now I was having to relearn an old trade, and give myself a crash course in vampire psychology with only a single vampire's journal as my basis. I had a lifetime of learned intuition with humans. Figuring out what made vampires tick was a monumental task. I wish the hunters hadn't burned me. I was curious about their tracking methods. Their insight into a vampire's mind would've been extremely helpful here. Really, the only thing I had going for me was that I was a vampire myself. I knew our needs, and I knew a vampire couldn't exist without support from the living. That would be my angle, I thought. Find the Bently, find the human help, find my mark. Easy when laid out like that. The plate had been registered to a dead guy. Both mine and Jules’ first thought about that was either stolen plates. Now that I knew vampires that lived centuries was an option, I figured a Highlander type situation was most likely. Leave your things to yourself in your will. The address on the dead plates had been a PO box, but if the car had been registered multiple times over the years to the same vampire, an older registration might have more details. I called Jules and explained my theory, and asked if she could pull records for the car based on the VIN, not the plate. She gave me a hard time about only calling when I needed something, but did agree. The car was purchased new in 1959, and registered to one Henry Smith. In 1973 it was sold and registered to, drum roll please, also Henry Smith. Barring an unlikely coincidence, I figured my Highlander guess was on the money. Sold again in 2000. That was also when the registration was shifted to the PO box in Chicago. Before that, the vehicle was registered to a place in the South east side of St. Louis. Well shit. This might get complicated. At least we were well into winter now, and the sun was going down before 1700. It was four or five hours to St. Louis, and I'd have to find a hiding hole before the sun rose once I got there. I closed my laptop, and packed my work bag. It felt good to be back on a case. 

—*—

Tess and I had moved our car to a new storage unit. It was risky tying her to me, but Jules had offered to put the unit on her credit card, given my current financial problems. I dropped my work bag, duffle, and cooler over the spare tire. I was bringing enough blood with me to last quite a while. I hoped. I slipped into the driver's seat, and started the engine. It wasn't stock. The guy Tess had bought it from had swapped in a 4.9 liter V8, and I could feel it through the seat. It was a lot of engine for a car on the lighter side of average. Obviously Tess hadn't meant it when she got it for me, but now I felt the metaphor was apt. Under the hood was a barely restrained beast, ready to break free if given just a little too much leash. And I, the driver, with the beast of barely contained vampiric compulsion. Straining against my will to break free. I backed out and left it in neutral to secure the storage unit. I made for the highway, and tried to strike a delicate balance between speed, and avoiding getting pulled over. A challenge, considering the power at my feet, and the subtle vibration through the gear shift. I had always loved driving stick. Made me feel a part of the machine. Made driving an experience rather than a task. The time flew by as fast as the miles. Before I knew it, the sign reading ‘Welcome to St. Louis’ was illuminated by my headlights. I pulled in for gas, and paid cash. The clerk gave me directions to a cheap motel. I checked in close to midnight. The do not disturb placard was the first thing. Didn’t want a housekeeper letting the sun in. Second thing was pinning moving blankets over the windows, and taping the edges to the wall. How in the fuck did vampires travel? This was some bullshit. Six hours to dawn. No point dallying. I returned to the car, and made my way to the address Jules had texted. I hoped the V8 didn’t wake the sleepy neighbourhood. A brick faced apartment across from a park was not what I had expected for a centuries old vampire. I double checked the address to make sure I was in the right spot. Yup. This was it. Normally, I’d case the area. Find a discreet spot to watch the building from and set up to wait. Now that I was officially banned from the sun I had had to assess alternatives. Perk of the park was a tall tree across the way with a good vantage point. I parked around the block, and walked back. I scrambled up the tree, faster and higher than I ever could have managed in life. I zip tied the trail camera to the tree, and slid down. The next few days were a routine of checking the camera for what I missed during the day, and staking the apartment in person by night. I queued up the shots for the fourth day, hoping something of use would be revealed before I ran out of money for the hotel. My patience paid off. Mostly. The camera angle caught half the bus stop. A man got off the bus. 5'11”. Drab gray business casual. And he looked around before entering the apartment of my interest. Was this Henry? Definitely not the one I was looking for, out in the day as they were. Was my newspaper clipping just a coincidence like Tess had thought? Who had a Bently registered to them, but still took public transit? Unless— Well. I supposed my plan of action was going better than I expected. I had found the Bently. Kind of. And if my hunch was right, I had found the human help. Now to find a way to talk to them after the sun went down. Easier done than said, apparently. I was still going through the trail cam pictures when the man in question left his apartment and started walking towards the bus stop. Well shit. I stowed the camera in my bag and followed at a distance. I walked slow enough to arrive at the stop at the same time as the bus. I dropped in my fare and took a seat close to the back. My mark was near the front. They rode facing straight ahead, unmoving. Fucking bizarre. The bus took us downtown. I watched for them to pull the stop cord, and slipped off the bus through the middle door as they stepped clear of the front door. They only walked a block before turning into a bar. Stairs down. Iron rail. Green door with more chipped paint than not. A sign read ‘The Dive.’ I stepped through. At least they were honest about their name. No two chairs matched style, and every table had innumerable bottle cap sized rings carved into the surface. Henry, if that's who this was, sat at the bar. Given he had a drink without ordering I figured he was a regular here. I, on the other hand, had to order. I watched Henry drink. I discreetly dumped a splash of mine on the floor so it looked like I was drinking. My boots were already sticky, so I was sure no one would notice. I waited for Henry to be close to done his second pint. I sidled up to the bar, and sat next to him. 

“You always drink alone?” I asked, before turning my attention to the bartender and laying a bill on the bar, “another pint for my friend, here.”

“Usually. I keep odd hours.”

I grinned and slapped his back, “odd hours is my middle name! Or names, or whatever.” I used the slap to slip my free hand into his pocket, and relieved him of his phone. With a fresh beer in front of him, I held my glass up to cheers, “what are we drinking to tonight?” 

He clinked his glass against mine and took a sip. I feigned the same. 

“Job well done,” he said, “working out of town with my boss. Grand success. He was pleased with our accomplishments.”

“Oh yeah? What do you do?”

He was quiet. Thinking. No way his next words would be anywhere close to the truth. He took another drink to fill the time. 

“Catering. Of a sort. My boss has particular taste.”

“Ah, a true gourmand?”

“Aged red meat.”

I nodded, “I'm rather fond of steak myself.” I snapped my fingers as though an idea had just popped in, “say, a friend of mine is getting married soon. She's looking for a caterer. Are you and your boss for hire? Got a card?”

“I— No— We— are you really looking for a caterer in a place like this?”

I shrugged, “told her I'd keep an eye open for options. And hey! Never know who you'll meet in a place like this! Folks from all walks of life,” I decided to gamble, “and death are drawn in.”

He froze. Got him. I pretended to take another drink, and used the motion to let my coat fall open. The stake tucked behind my gun was unmistakable. I may have still been learning vampirism, but humans were predictable. Let him think I was a hunter, and he'd go running back to his boss when he realized he couldn't call.

“Thanks for the drink,” he muttered, standing. 

I held my glass in an unreturned toast. The door closed behind him. I placed the phone on the bar, “new friend dropped this. I'll go let him know it's here. Thanks for the drinks!”

Henry stood at the bus stop, checking his watch frequently. I kept my distance, and wrapped the shadows around myself. Couldn't ride the bus this time. Well, not inside. The bus stopped. Henry looked around frantically to make sure I wasn't following. He stepped aboard. I stepped forward and leapt, landing quietly on top of the bus. I had been practicing the invisibility trick, and could maintain it for three or four steps now. An hour bus ride, and one rather complicated transfer for me later, and Henry disembarked for the last time. We had arrived in the Bellefontaine area of town. Old. Rich. Henry walked fast. Like a hunted man. I guess he was. More or less. I followed at a discreet distance. Well fuck. How did all these vampires have such big houses? I lived in a run down water pump! Henry let himself in. No lights appeared through the windows. Basement, probably. The garage was detached from the house. The glass paneled door showed a distorted Bently. I grinned. Rare that a hunch played out this well. The side door fell prey to my picks, and I let myself in. I briefly considered calling Jules. The car put him at the scene of the crime. Easily enough to bring him in for questioning. But what would happen when mortal cops tried to put cuffs on a vampire? No. Better I deal with this vampire now, and leave the cops to clean up the mess after. The house was dark, save one room. I heard one heartbeat. Fast. Scared. I stepped into the light. Henry was on his knees. Next to him stood the Renfrue murderer, one hand rested on Henry's shoulder. Dangerously close to the neck. Damn. I should've prepared a one-liner for this. “You're under arrest,” was all I could manage on short notice, and with no authority to back it up. 

Tess tugged insistently on my sleeve. 

“Detective,” the vampire said, “so nice of you to visit.”

Shit. My hand brushed by my badge. Hidden. How had he known?

“Jane.” Tess hissed. 

I cocked my head to the side to listen. 

“That's the guy who killed me,” she whispered.