Bare Bones (17 page)

Dario reached down and turned the woman’s head again, pointing to a hole at the base of her neck. “Did the others have this?”

I nodded. “Yeah. That’s the same mark the humans had. The killer had to have known this was a vampire though. I mean, even before she attacked her. There’s no way either a human
or
a supernatural creature would go into a fight with a vampire unaware and walk away, let alone actually manage to kill one.”

“Well, kill one she did, although I’m not ruling out that there may have been two attackers. Perhaps the female lured the vampires in, tried to incapacitate them, then the other joined her once the vampire was down.”

I took a deep breath, trying to sort through all this. “So if this is the girl then she’s not the innocent accomplice we thought. All three took skins and, if the girl is doing the same as the two boys, all three assumed their skin’s identities.”

I squinted and thought through my research. There was still a chance this was a really freaky demon possession, but I was leaning toward either a skinwalker or a shapeshifter. If they were to collect enough skins, they’d have myriad disguises and a variety of skills—and powers in the case of this dead vampire.

Three theories was two too many. I felt like throwing my hands in the air and walking away from the whole tangled mess.

Dario turned and jerked his head to the side for me to follow him. I made my way carefully down the dirt path, noticing the two vampires left behind were wrapping the body in a tarp. Normally I’d insist on the police being involved so this latest victim could help provide evidence that might lead to the killer, but the vampires wouldn’t want the medical examiner seeing those fangs. I wasn’t sure I would either. Some things were better left in the dark, in the realm of nightmares.

“So it looks like the intriguing not-paranormal serial-killer case has landed in your lap after all.” Dario paused once we were clear of the dumpster, the two employees still watching us as they smoked. How long
was
their break time?

“Yeah. Now I just need to figure out what these things are. I wonder if the blood means anything? Although from what I’ve read of demons, skinwalkers, and shapeshifters, none of them drink or do anything associated with blood.”

“We’re not the only bloodsuckers,” Dario commented. “Maybe these three are something else—something that drinks blood as well as takes skins.”

The world was filled with supernatural beings who enjoyed a liquid meal. The skin taking and assuming the victim’s identity was the most limiting factor in all of this. I needed to concentrate on that and assume the blood thing was irrelevant, or an anomaly.

I rubbed my face. “Guess I need to do more research. Do you think the skin wearing…whatever who is wearing this vampire’s skin would try to team up with the other renegades or form her own
Balaj
?”

“Not likely.” Dario glanced behind him up the trail. “Solitary vampires are suspicious. She might try to find a partner, but other vampires would notice the slightest thing that was off about her and run for it.”

It would take forever for the rumors of an “off” vampire to reach Dario’s
Balaj
, especially on the outskirts of their territory. It might be easier to track through the other two killers instead.

“What
about
the skin? Will it survive sunlight exposure? Can you all locate it somehow through smell?”

“Yes, if any of us meet someone posing as this vampire by wearing her skin, we’ll know. And no, the skin will not survive sunlight exposure. The vampirism mutation is at a cellular level. I’m assuming if the killer knew enough to take the heart, then she knows enough to preserve the skin appropriately.”

But what the heck
was
she? The other question running through my head—what would have happened had she not removed the vampire’s heart—was far too gruesome for me to even ask.

“She would have recovered if the killer hadn’t taken her heart.” Dario shot me a grim smile. “We regenerate. Limbs, most organs, skin. It would have been a long and painful week, but she would have recovered had she kept her heart.”

Ew. I really didn’t need to have that visual, but it did make me think about something else.

“What about the blood? Let’s assume that the killer is drinking it and not just draining the body to make skinning easier. Is there any reason to drink a vampire’s blood?”

“Skinning a vampire would be just as much of a bloody chore as skinning a human. If she’s drinking the blood…” He shrugged. “There are some healing properties transferred to humans who drink our blood, but they’re not substantial. I can’t imagine any creature choosing to drink vampire blood. It doesn’t have the same life-giving qualities of human blood. Technically we’re dead. There’s no life-force to transfer with the blood.”

Yet another mystery to add to the pile. Dario walked me to my car and I looked at the horizon, calculating about six hours left until sunrise.

“How much longer are you going to be up here?” I grumbled.

He smiled, opening my door for me, bypassing the lock as usual. “What, Ramen noodle dinners not doing it for you? You’re wanting me to hurry this up so you can eat decent food once again?”

Yeah. It was the food, not him I missed. Right. “If you don’t get back soon, I’m going to start losing weight. It’s taken me a month to get some hint of curves going on here. Don’t put me back to square one, malnourished and without my daily red wine.”

Dario wedged me against the door, his hands in his pockets. I could have edged around him, scooted aside, but I froze, enjoying the feeling of having him so close. We stood there, silent. Each breath I took brushed my breasts lightly against his shirt. Every cell tingled. If only he’d bend his head down and kiss me, press himself against me, run his hands down my body.

“Hopefully just a few more days.” His breath was cool on my forehead and I swayed against him. “Think you can hold out until then?”

No. I swallowed and tried to get my traitorous, sex-starved body under control. “Extra cannoli when you get back?”

I felt the rumble of his laughter against me. “Of course.”

He stepped back, but not before placing his lips on my forehead for a quick kiss. “Try not to wind up in Philadelphia this time.”

And with that he was gone, vanished with a blur of vampire speed while I stood against my car door. I managed to make it home in record time, for once not losing my way and circling the beltway multiple times. It was quiet at my apartment, the parking lot vacant as other tenants enjoyed their night out. I was the only one home early, climbing the steps and thinking of my tangled mess of theories instead of drinking and partying with friends.

I was so engrossed in thought that I almost missed the white box right in front of my door. A hastily penned note sat on top of it.

Boss said to bring this by, but I can’t get in your house. Did you magic it or something? These are for you, so you don’t starve to death in the next two days. Please call if there is anything you need and I will provide. Aaron

Below the name was a phone number. I carefully lifted the box, untied the twine and peeked inside, even though I knew what it held. Cannoli, neatly in a line on top of parchment paper.

Dario had sent a Renfield to bring me cannoli. And he’d told the man to put himself at my disposal. All thoughts about our doomed future, about Giselle, about Zac, vanished. He missed me. All the little, as well as the big, things he’d done for me suddenly fit together like pieces of a puzzle.

I unlocked my door and walked in, carefully placing the cannoli in the fridge. It wasn’t just the food and the wine, it was everything. This was more than business, it was more than friendship, and it sure as heck was more than just lust.

I wasn’t falling in love with Dario, I already was in love with him. And as tragically as this might end, there was no turning back.

T
HERE WAS A
message on the whiteboard when I woke up. I wasn’t sure it was in English, but it was definitely a message.

Peterson’s buok. Soot in mybxk. Lolgru.

“Your penmanship is disgraceful,” I told the fox figurine. “Seriously, Raven. I can’t make any of this out beyond ‘Peterson’s.’”

My cup shattered in a flying whirlwind of pottery, the air around me crackling. I quickly moved books out of the way of the spreading coffee and grabbed a roll of paper towels. “All right. I get that you’re frustrated, but I’m trying to bring some humor to this situation. We’ll work it out. Just have a little patience.”

Words bloomed in lime green on the white board.
Suorg

Sorry. Okay, so G’s might be Y’s and U’s might be O’s and O’s might be R’s. That made her previous statement even more confusing.

“I’ve got a better idea.” Out came my laptop. I opened the word processing program and put the resin fox in front of it. Typing had to be easier than trying to write without movable hands.

The curser blinked, but no words appeared—either on the laptop or on the whiteboard. Had she worn herself out? That burst of temper had been pretty impressive.

I finished cleaning up the coffee, and made myself a fresh cup, but there was still no further communication upon my return to the table. The little fox’s eyes seemed a duller red. I reached down and rubbed my thumb across the resin head. “Rest. Try again when you feel able to. I’ll leave the laptop here and if it’s in sleep mode or something when you’re ready, just bust up another coffee cup to get my attention, okay?”

The eyes glittered red before dimming once more. I smiled, knowing that my friend was starting to regain her usual humor. This was progress. From rolling around the floor to this? She’d managed to identify herself to me, and although the words on the whiteboard were gibberish, I had a feeling they soon wouldn’t be. Just a few more days, and I was certain Raven would be able to communicate in at least short, choppy sentences.

But did I have time to wait? Russell had said she was angry, and I had just experienced her frustration. There had to be something important she was trying to tell me—something that could be life or death. Or she was telling me I was leaving the stove on. Or that I had black mold in the kitchen.

Just to be sure I pulled my Peterson’s book onto my lap and leafed through it, just as I’d done pretty much every day since the little fox had taken to perching on it. Nothing. At least nothing I hadn’t been reading in the last few days.

I sighed and went to set the book on the table, realizing that with the white board, the laptop, and a bunch of boxes there wasn’t any room. This place was a mess. Again. I was up early. Raven clearly needed to rest before any further attempts at communication. Might as well clean up a bit before starting in on further skinwalker/shapeshifter research.

Starting with the boxes. They were filled with Raven’s books, and given her specialty with Goetic demons, there might be something in one of them about possession and skinning victims. I grabbed the edges of the cardboard and tore at the tape, gently lifting out the contents and sorting them. Within minutes I was lost in the delight of books—old and new. There were references filled with demon names, attributes, and sigils, grimoires that had been published as well as battered copies that looked like she’d scooped them up at a garage sale. There was even a collection of personal grimoires from modern magicians—no doubt deceased. The handwritten pages were yellowed and stained, but a fascinating window into the practice of mages from the last century.

The next box held a wider variety of tomes. Herbal and other naturalist identification reference books as well as spells and incantations from other disciplines. As I reached the bottom of the box, I smiled to see a few books on the history of Templars. Raven had read up on me.

There was one more at the very bottom. It was brand new, with a glossy cover and an uncreased spine. It was a book I never would have thought to find in a Goetic mage’s collection, one Reynard or any of the other members of Haul Du would probably never open.

It was Peterson’s
Monsters of the New World
.

Why in the world would Raven have this book? I glanced over at my copy, and then back to the pristine version I’d just removed from the box. Maybe
this
was the Peterson’s she’d been trying to get me to look at. Was it a different edition? Was there something in this particular book that wasn’t in mine?

Peterson’s buok. Soot in mybxk. Lolgru.
It was what Raven had written on the white board.
Peterson’s book. Look in my box?
Lolgru
—what the heck did that mean? I sat cross-legged on the floor and hefted the big book onto my lap. Lorelai? Solgrun? I fanned the pages, stopping at one that was a slightly different texture.

Loup-garou. Only after the first page, the following one wasn’t Peterson’s dry, informative narrative, it was a handwritten page that had been carefully inserted in place of the original. I squinted, recognizing Raven’s tight print. As I read, my heart stuttered, tears welling up in my eyes. It was the ritual to remove the demon mark. That’s why Raven had delayed in D.C. rather than heading straight to my parents’ house. She’d copied Dark Iron’s ritual and secreted it away in this book, taking the original with her. If something happened, no one would think to look here—no one but me, eventually, after Reynard delivered the books she’d willed to me.

Oh, God. My friend had come through. Even after death, she’d come through for me. I wiped away the tears and carefully read the ritual. It wouldn’t be easy, but I could manage this. The only hitch was it needed to be done at a specific date and time—Halloween, midnight.

Luckily that was only a little more than a month away. One month, and I’d be free of this demon mark. My soul might never be clean after what I’d done to Dark Iron, but without Balsur breathing down my neck, I might be able to stay on a righteous path.

T
HE RELIEF I
felt at finally having a solution in sight to my demon mark meant I was able to turn with renewed energy to the problem of our local band of killers. They had blood that tasted like a rotted corpse, and wore the skin of a human to assume their identity. Skinwalker? Shapeshifter? A stealthier-than-usual demon with a really twisted sense of humor? Or some sort of zombie? Either way, I’d exhausted pretty much every book in my own research library. It was time to turn to someone with a far more extensive collection, who’d spent decades devoted to information on the supernatural. I set the fox figure in front of the computer, just in case Raven was able to communicate again, and picked up my phone.