[Draven's Crossing 1] Hidden Diversions (15 page)

The metallic aftertaste rolled over his taste buds demanding that he take more, find another,
quench
the need. The high pitch of a whistle pierced through the night air, fracturing his thoughts. With a snap of his head, he rose up off the filthy floor. His instincts forced him to follow the sound until he came upon a shrouded figure in a dark cloak. “Enough,” the person hissed. “You’ve fed well twice tonight.
Time to go home.
Now.”

Anger seared through him at the interruption of his blood fest. He considered making the shadowed figure his next victim but knew that would be futile. Obeying for now, he licked the remaining blood off his fingers, following the figure to a black SUV parked at the curb outside of the house and climbed in. The hunger punched him in the gut, but he smiled in spite of it. Soon there would be another unknown victim and another chance to feed. And
no one
would stop him this time.

Chapter Seven

THE KILLER HAS STRUCK AGAIN. WILL IT NEVER END?

The killer has hit close to home. When will this phantom menace be caught? -Isadora Jones, DC News Blast

Nervous tension filled Isy. She paced the wooden floor in Torger’s guest room. Urban had settled her in before going to his computer and typing away. Blues music blasted through the tinny speakers of his laptop while he searched for whatever it was that he was looking for. Urban had shut off her cell phone.
Supposedly to relax her.
Instead, she felt as if she was missing a limb. News was happening right now and she wasn’t party to it. Damn
him
for not letting her leave the house to do her nightly broadcast. Damn the killer for putting her in this position. Right now, she was the story and she couldn’t even tell anyone what had happened or what she knew. It was as if by bringing her here, Urban and Torger had secreted her away from the world. She longed to hear the chirp of her text alert or the ring of her cell letting her know Bill had a story for her or a source had a scoop. Isy needed to see Michaela walk through the door, arms laden with clipboard, diary, and a whole bunch of newspapers and magazines that she’d comb through to decided what next to cover. Now, all she had was Torger’s cabin and a warden who refused to let her check her email.

Sure the letter had been a shock. Wasn’t it her job to report the news, damn it? He had no right to treat her like a prisoner. There was no way for her to get back to town unless she went on foot. The forest may be a safe place but she didn’t want to go trouncing into the underbrush alone, in the dark and certainly not in the heels she’d stupidly decided to put on when leaving. It would have been idiotic to go to Torger’s house in her bedroom slippers, no matter how cute the plush, pink dragon shoes were. He wouldn’t have cared about her footwear but there was no way she’d not look her best in his home. So, full makeup, cute outfit, and the perfect shoes to match. Besides, her dragon refused to allow her to appear anything but her best. The reptile had pitched a fit about her choices in fashion, yelling as she’d pulled on the sweater and jeans, rather than the cute minidress that wouldn’t have made sense for a shock victim. Isy refused to play a victim card with Torger. A: he wouldn’t buy it. B: he’d think she was up to something and C: she refused to be a victim. It had been a shock, now that it was over.

A glance at the clock showed that it was close to her broadcasting post. Anxiety crawled all over her skin like ants at the thought of her vacation replacement telling everyone what had happened to her at the studio. People would think she was weak! Unable to stop herself, she marched out of the room, right up to Urban. “I need to call Bill. He needs to tell me what’s going on.”

“No.” Urban didn’t even look up when he answered.

Fury shook through her body in a red hot wave. She clenched her fists as she tried to keep from smacking him upside the head. “What do you mean no?” Her tone sounded calm to her ears but there was a slight edge.

Urban still didn’t look at her. “No. Torger doesn’t want you to work. Unless he says so, you don’t get your phone back. Now what do you want on your pizza? I’m hungry.” The loud growl of his stomach punctuated that declaration.

She let out a resigned sigh. “You’re always hungry. Pepperoni and is pizza all you eat?” She settled down in a chair next to him, hoping to get him nice and comfortable before she made a play for her phone.

“No, sometimes steak and sometimes, during a blue moon, actual veggies.”
Urban slipped out her cell from his pocket and dialed a pizza place.

She watched in silent anger at his audacity to use up her
All the Time
minutes. First, he ordered a pizza,
then
he used it to call someone named CyberCat. The conversation lasted so long the pizza had arrived and been half done by the time he hung up. All Isy could do was glower, eat and stew silently while he withheld information. A scream built up in her throat as her mind swirled over the possibilities of what he could have been talking about. None of what he’d said to CyberCat made sense. He was talking about illegal contests and medicine to suppress a Hyder persona. She’d never heard of any of it. Her mind traveled back to the house and the pill he’d found. Was he talking about that? Could Urban be talking about the new medicines aimed at the paranormal community to help newbies with the unending thirst they experienced in the beginning of their transformation? The questions didn’t stop there. She began spouting out theories of her own, that Evanson suffered from some unnamed medical condition. Maybe he was secretly a vampire who wasn’t trying to shove down the urge for blood. No one knew exactly what he was, but human was not an option. There had never been an answer given as to what he was and the questions were dropped as soon as they were asked during the first time he ran for office.

Unable to keep quiet anymore, she decided to take a shot and ask Urban what was going on. He wasn’t Torger but they still shared the same DNA. “Okay, what’s going on? This is driving me crazy.”

Urban looked up from the laptop, a slice of pizza in his hand and a beer in the other.
“Um.”
He put down the food and drink. He scratched the stubble on his chin before giving her an answer. “Well, CyberCat is a hacker. This is off the record, understand?”

She nodded and turned on her mental recorder.
May be off the record for him but could be a sweet news bit for me, maybe in a blog post
. “Sure.
Of course.”
Isy gave him her sweetest, butter-wouldn’t-melt-in-my-mouth smile but didn’t miss the tension lines around his eyes and the way his lips thinned before he returned her gesture. She doubted that he trusted her as far as he could throw her in dragon form. “Soo, CyberCat?”

Urban settled against the back of his chair, grabbed his beer, took a sip, and then fixed her with a hard stare. “Off.
The.
Record.
No ifs, ands, or buts. If she gets nabbed, I’ll stick so many crimes on you, you won’t be able to move and Torger won’t be able to help you in the least.” He gave her another smile before continuing. “CyberCat was telling me about the tracking info for the illegal contests that were being held by the Tourist Board. People were asked to enter certain information, such as place of birth, birth date and blood type. The last part was optional and supposed to be all in fun, a sort of matchup with your favorite vampire type thing.
Something stupid and directed at the vampire lovers.”

Isy didn’t miss the tinge of disgust that edged that last sentence. She wasn’t sure if it had anything to do with hatred for vampires in general or for this scheme that was unraveling before him. Rather than push, she waited for him to continue.

He took another sip of beer before he began talking again. “The winners of the contest seemed to be based on who added information to that part of the entry. There were other winners who hadn’t entered any info besides the basics that were required, but I assume that had more to do with making the contest look legit. Right now, we’re matching the contest winners with the victims and whether or not they gave their blood type or not. I was also tracking down more info on that pill I found in Evanson’s house. Basically it’s a prototype that hasn’t been approved by the FDA yet. In fact, there haven’t been any trials for it.”

Isy bit her lip to keep from asking any questions. Her brain was bursting with ideas, theories and speculations. It was hard to keep quiet. She squirmed in her seat. Her mouth ached from keeping her lips pressed together. Her fingers clutched the arms of her chair in a death grip as she tried to stay calm and not launch herself at him, pelting him with a million questions. Frantic energy coursed along her legs, demanding that she move, pace, and think out loud. She couldn’t take it anymore. “What the hell are the pills for?” she blurted out.

Urban stopped talking. He blinked as if he had just realized something. “Oh, sorry, thought I said. They’re an experimental drug for suppression of hunger. According to CyberCat, they’re used for werewolves and vampires when they’ve been newly changed. Unlike natural born shifters, a made shifter deals with rage and hunger issues. Sometimes they’re uncontrollable. They deal with bouts of violence and severe depressive cycles, almost suicidal. And during the shifting times, they can change without thought or even the revolution of a full moon. So it’s a cocktail for both races. I’m not sure what it would do to a natural born shifter or an older vampire or any of the other races. There’s not a lot of information on it yet. I’m going to have my people look into it.”

Isy thought about it and tried to add in what she knew and what she’d witnessed during the interview with Evanson. “Can it block off emotions? You know, I can help. I know people in the medical industry. Please, let me have my phone. Let me do some digging.” She waited for him to turn her down or ask about the emotional question.

He had a poker face on. No indication whatsoever at what his thoughts were. Seconds ticked by as the moments stretched out. Isy began to pray for Torger to come home and interrupt things.
What’s he thinking? Where is Torger?
Her palms dampened as the tips of her thumbs itched to send out a text to her informants and network to get the information they needed. Urban licked his lips and opened his mouth before shutting it again. A small whine of irritation slipped out before she could catch it. Urban smirked.

“Damn it, let me help you!” she shouted.

Urban chuckled. “Impatient little thing, aren’t you?” He grinned.
“Fine.”
He handed over her phone, which she snatched away from him.

Not waiting for him to say anything, she began to scroll through her contacts list and started calling people. “Name of drug?” she asked as she snatched a napkin and pen poised to write.

“PXR90-1,” Urban responded before taking a bite out of his pizza.

She got to work calling people and searching the web for more, as well as emailing people she knew who could possibly have the connections to get her what she needed. Urban tapped at his laptop, and the hours whittled away with no appearance of Torger, not even a phone call. She didn’t think anything of it, she was too deep in research mode but a small part of her missed him, wishing he were there, safe with her.

* * * *

Abbott paced around his sanctuary. His anger lashed out at the air as he tried to tamp down his rage. Isadora Jones hadn’t done her usual spot, nor was there any information on why or where she was. There were rumors of police at the studio. People said that someone tried to attack her and that’s why she wasn’t on air. He picked up a bottle of his special ink and threw it against the wall. Black liquid with red glints burst against the pale yellow paint, forming a bloody Rorschach test. Tendrils of onyx and red slid down the wall like dark tears. His rage only grew at the mess. He picked up a chair and threw it. The legs gave a deep twang as it fell mournfully on its side.

Ariel rushed through the door, red splotches on her face, fear dancing in her bright blue eyes.
“Master?”
Her voice quaked as her hand clutched the knob. She shuffled further into the room without taking her eyes off of him. But she didn’t let go of the handle.

“Get out,” he roared as he pushed aside the books and papers on his desk. Abbott picked up a vase and threw it. Flowers floated in the air as drops of water danced and glittered under the florescent lights. Candle flames flickered as he wound his way around the space in a storm of emotion. All he could see was the fact that the center of his world hadn’t been where she was supposed to be. His hands shook as he tried to rein in his temper. He reached up and clutched his hair as he tried to find his way through the maze of anger. “She’s been hurt, threatened. I must show her my solidarity in the only way I know how.”