Red Widow (Vivian Xu, Book 1) (20 page)

“
Okay.” Her throat felt
parched even as she uttered that word. One simple word to signal
her defeat.

“
Thank you,
Vivian.”

“
Any time.” He hung up.
Without even the tiniest whimper, she threw her phone at the
wall.

She tiptoed down the spiral staircase
and waded into the glow of candlelight. Tiny flames wavered on
stumps of wax as Camilla typed away on her laptop, engrossed in the
latest string of vice. The keys rattled away under her fingertips,
a strangely soothing melody in the empty manor. There could be no
greater reward than weaving a tale to inform the public.

She raised her eyes from the glowing
screen as it painted a bony glow across her cheeks. Fragments of
words on the screen flitted across the lenses of her reading
glasses, but Vivian couldn’t decipher what they said.

“
Something the matter?”
Vivian meekly sidled into the elegant chair next to
hers.

“
The police just raided the
house.”

“
Did they find him?” she
excitedly said, leaning over her laptop. She need only look into
Vivian’s eyes to know the answer.

“
No. And Nikolai wants me
to go back to the house and explore a tunnel.”

“
What?
After all the danger you’ve gone through, he’s ready to
…
sacrifice you
?”
Her words stung because even Camilla could see she was just a pawn
in Nikolai’s clutches.

“
I have you with me… so I
won’t be alone.”

“
That’s true, but this is
insane. How can he do this to you?”

“
He can do whatever he
wants because he’s a cop and I’m the criminal.”

“
In my line of work, it’s
becoming increasingly difficult to separate the cops from
criminals.”

Vivian shrugged and pushed one of the
candles away, content to incubate in the oily shadows.

“
Well, he wields the power
now. I don’t have any choice until this killer is dead or behind
bars, whichever comes first.”

The strength poured out of Camilla’s
fingertips as they hovered above the keyboard. Finally, she sealed
her laptop shut.

“
Vivian, I want to
apologize for not being there. I said I would come with you to the
outskirts, but I didn’t. Maybe all of this could have been avoided
had I…”

“
You had an
assignment.”

“
I know, but I could have
made something up. I could have told my boss I was following a lead
or something.”

Vivian rose from her chair, itching to
leave the manor and confront the man who abducted her. He was still
lurking out there, fantasizing about his next victim as he prepared
a ritual of fresh torments.

She clenched her fists as rage boiled
deep inside her core. He would regret laying a finger on
her.

“
Well, if you really want
to make it up to me,” Vivian said, “come with me to the outskirts.
I need someone to watch my back when I return to the killer’s
house.”

“
You’re serious about going
back there?”

“
I already told you, I
don’t have a choice. Either I do as Nikolai says or I’m downgrading
from Vesely Manor to prison. Now you know as much as I do about
this investigation, Camilla. I could really use your help this
time.”

Camilla nodded and smiled.

“
I’ll be there.”

* * *

Jezebel delicately held the syringe
between her fingers, light scintillating off the finely honed tip
of the needle. She had already brushed the syringe for fingerprints
and found no trace. The perp had obviously used gloves—white, latex
gloves that stretched up to his elbows, according to Nikolai’s
informant.

If that didn’t merit shock and awe,
the killer wore a trench coat, back brace, rubber pants, knee-high
boots, and a gas mask.

When Jezebel inquired about Nikolai’s
informant, he simply told her to analyze the syringe. He was not
one to trade idle conversation, certainly not about criminal
informants. She giggled and smiled. Cops always became so defensive
when she asked about their sources. So many enigmas swirled around
Nikolai that she longed to examine. He would not so easily spill
his secrets like the corpses she sliced open on the autopsy table.
Hell, she could even decipher a dead man’s last meal if she truly
entertained the desire.

Nikolai, on the other hand, was like a
wall that repelled all questions. He wouldn’t even reveal his
middle name to her, no matter how much she pouted. Regardless, the
true reward was seeing Nikolai squirm when she teased him. She may
never know the man under that mask of detachment, but she certainly
knew how to irk him. What could possibly be more
delightful?

She lowered the syringe and squeezed
out a drop onto a glass slide.

At least this would distract her until
the undead population of the morgue increased. Alas, there was
never any shortage of empty shells that once roamed free under the
sky, traveling from one destination to the last, ultimately joining
billions of consciences in a vast network of souls.

Jezebel leaned over the microscope,
studying the mystery drug mixed with a sample of Krista LaCroix’s
blood.

An hour later, she powered down the
microscope and rubbed her bleary eyes. She was no closer to
understanding how it dispersed through the human body or targeted
the nervous system. The next thought that flickered across her mind
sent instinctive revulsion through her core.

Should she test the drug to evaluate
its effects? She would require a living host. She regarded her
hand, composed of millions of skin cells with equally as many
healthy blood cells. No, of course she couldn’t test it on a human,
but there was one avenue still afforded to her. Perhaps an animal
would suffice.

Any animal experimentation would
require approval by the Central Commission of Animal Welfare, but
the legal process could drag on for months. Did she really have
time for such bureaucracies when women were being
mutilated?

“
No, I don’t,” she
innocently said, looking at the syringe in her hand. She was
sickened by the idea of animal experimentation, but this was an
extraordinary circumstance. Unfortunately, the medical examiner
labs lacked the capacity for testing. She could only think of one
facility suitable for the task. Neurology Zikmund
Institute.

Jezebel spent twelve months there as a
medical student learning forensic toxicology. It was one of the
most exhilarating times of her life, learning the peculiarities of
forensic analysis and human biology. But how would she ever gain
access to that facility now?

A mischievous idea tickled her
brain.

Minutes later, Jezebel was
rummaging through the employee lockers.
Andrea, the front lobby receptionist, was always prattling on
about the exciting research she conducted at the institute.
Jezebel could never deny the stab of envy she felt
when Andrea
opened her mouth.

She was an insipid fool who
could barely hold a vial steady. The best she could do was admit
visitors to the medical examiner’s office, and even that was a
modest accomplishment at the end of the day. Jezebel truly belonged
at the institute, not her.
Twisting open
Andrea’s locker, she set her eyes on the black satin purse
inside.

Of course, it was a sin punishable by
death to rummage through another woman’s purse. Perhaps the
“punishable by death” part was a tad exaggerated, but Jezebel
wouldn’t hesitate to destroy anyone who violated her belongings.
Sifting through the chocolate bars and chapstick inside, she found
a security card with the Zikmund logo. Jezebel peeked over her
shoulder, ensuring the door was securely shut.

If Andrea walked in on her, she would
not only be forced to resign, she would also rack up a number of
potent criminal charges. Why did that excite her so
much?

She smiled at the photo ID of a woman
with ginger curls, nothing like Jezebel’s blonde hair. It was
nothing a few minor adjustments couldn’t take care of.

* * *

The overcast sky hinted at rain.
Fickle winds buffeted Prague, rolling over a numb population. Men
and women traversed the square with their heads bowed low, too
engrossed in their own whimsical fantasies to see the reality they
resided in. Visions of better days dangled before them, delusions
of a higher income, a reconciled marriage, a less daunting future
for their children.

Every now and then, the
gasping wind would jerk them awake and nudge them toward their
homes. In the midst of it all,
a great
basilica shielded the downtrodden from the swelling storm. The
ancient church was dotted with statues, the likeness of Christ
enthroned among his disciples. Minarets pierced the sky like ivory
fingers in search of God. A great winged lion reposed on the steps
leading to the entrance.

Tatiana had always adored
the statues that glazed
the basilicas and
churches, but they hardly compared to the girl wandering the
streets. She wound past crowds of tourists toward the Basilica of
St. Eurosia, her red hair popping up every now and then among the
throng of people.

Her milky white skin resembled the
statues, although Tatiana doubted any Greek artist would adorn a
statue in such provocative attire. A mini dress and a corset
squeezed her voluptuous figure. To top it off, a neck corset
encircled her swan-like throat.

The girl paused before the lion
statue, studying it as though the stone might melt into fur and
claws.

Tatiana wondered what significance she
held to Nikolai. She was, without a doubt, the same woman
consorting with Nikolai in the sewers. One look at her told Tatiana
she didn’t fit the profile of a typical sewer scavenger. Did that
girl report the body to Nikolai?

“
Who are you?” Tatiana
wondered aloud. The basilica doors boomed shut behind the girl,
shielding her in the sanctuary of God.

Tatiana lifted her eyes to one of the
angelic statues leering from the parapets, forbidding her from
trespassing with foul intent. She turned away, hardly keen on
bringing war to the doorstep of God’s kingdom.

She would seek out the girl in due
time.

* * *

The organ hummed solemnly in the
crevices of the basilica, milking the prayers from the lips of the
faithful.

Urns once host to precious relics
paved the way inside. The basilica radiated with the musk of
incense.

Vivian tiptoed past an
alcove, under the keen impression she was being watched. She turned
to look into the glassy eyes of a female statue, crushing a serpent
beneath her heel.
What a humbling depiction
of St. Eurosia
.

Even more hollow stares fell on her,
except these eyes belonged to parishioners made of flesh and blood.
The horrified priest looked like he might swallow his tongue.
Vivian almost expected him to fly down the aisle and splash her
with holy water to purify her soul. One of the curious couples
shielded their daughter’s eyes. Vivian took an awkward step back
from the wavering candlelight.

“
Maybe it wasn’t such a
good idea to wear a corset to church,” she whispered.

The filth of her sins stalked her all
the way down the aisle. After all, how many prostitutes settled
here on Sundays and sang God’s praise?

She looked around to find only a few
attendants with their heads bowed in reverence over beaded
rosaries.

Nikolai had instructed her to find a
Bible containing her next down payment. The pews were lined with
faded hymn books but very few Bibles. At this rate, she would be
tempted to dip her hand in the donations box if Nikolai didn’t pull
through.

Before that temptation could evolve
into more than just a thought, she noticed a book lying abandoned
on the stone tiles.

Vivian scurried down the aisle and
reached under the pew. She gasped as a nest of brown moths burst
forth, tickling her hair as they took wing in search of a new
asylum. They floated past elaborate stained glass windows, casting
fickle shapes in the candlelight.

Vivian regarded the Bible and flipped
through the ancient script. Her eyes widened when she saw the
envelope surreptitiously tucked between moth-eaten
pages.

Taking a deep breath, she pried it
open. Two thousand American dollars awaited her. She feverishly
stuffed the cash into her pockets.

She breathed a sigh of relief once the
last bill was safely tucked away. She studied the gargantuan cross
mounted on the wall, reminiscing of her younger days in church. She
hoped God was still watching over her even if sin stained her
flesh. Didn’t Jesus once forgive a prostitute who washed his feet?
She could barely remember the parable from a priest’s daunting
sermon.

Vivian continued to gaze beseechingly
at the cross, expecting His grace to wash through her.