The City Beneath (13 page)

“Not really. How do I begin a conversation about vampires without sounding insane?” I shook my head. “I'm still figuring that one out.”

“You can practice on me. I'm free tonight.” His hand resumed stroking my wrist.

I felt my cheeks flame, and as my embarrassment escalated, so did my temper. “I already have plans. Let go of my arm.”

Walker shifted his eyes to my arm, and his thumb stilled as he realized he was stroking my skin. He hesitated a moment before loosening his grip, but then his eyes met mine. He held his ground.

“Do you know how the change occurs from human to vampire, exactly how it's done, why their blood is addicting, and how to protect a home that they've already entered?” he asked. “There's so much I can teach you, and I'm more than willing to help.”

I opened my mouth and closed it again, unwilling to admit my complete and utter ignorance. How could I know
why
their blood was addicting if I didn't even know that it
was
addicting? How could I hope to protect myself when I knew next to nothing about vampires or about myself? I shook my head.

“Do you want to know?”

I narrowed my eyes. “How dare you use this situation against me? You
ma'am
this and
ma'am
that with your slow drawl and you think that makes you a gentleman, but gentlemen don't blackmail.”

“I'm not blackmailing you. I'm simply reminding you of the fact that I'm your friend and fellow night blood. Don't push me away, DiRocco. I need to talk to you in private, and I'm the only person who can answer all your vampire and night blood questions.”

I bit my lip, hating my indecision and knowing he was right. I had uncountable questions. “I have my own research and work at the
Sun
, and I'm staying with my brother tonight. I really don't have time to—”

“Perfect. We'll meet at your brother's apartment, and I'll educate the both of you.” Walker smiled, and his beauty blindsided me. His teeth were luminescent surrounded by his golden five o'clock shadow. The dimple on his cheek made him look boyishly charming even if the glint in his eyes indicated that he had something else entirely in mind than boyish intent.

“All right,” I grumbled and gave him Nathan's address despite my grudging reservations. “I'll need help with my brother anyway.”

“I'll bring Chinese. Do you have any recommendations?”

“I prefer sushi,” I muttered stubbornly.

His smile widened. “Sushi it is, then.” He brushed his hand down my arm as he pulled away, and a trailing, burning path of goose bumps cropped over my arm from the whisper of his touch. “I'll look forward to it.”

“Me, too, assuming you bring a California roll.”

Walker laughed. “You're incorrigible.”

I shrugged, and then took it as the compliment it was and smiled. “Did you want to share a cab?”

He jerked his thumb at the chrome and matte black Harley-Davidson curbed behind him.

“Guess that's a no.” I stepped back and started off toward the street to hail a cab.

“Did you want to share my ride? I've got a spare helmet and jacket.”

I shook my head. “See you tonight, Walker.”

As much as I attempted to feel neutral toward Walker and his
ma'am
s and dimples and unflagging charm, I could still feel the warmth and strength of his fingers and the scratch of his calluses against my forearm long after I'd hailed a cab. His lean figure disappeared around the corner as the cabbie turned onto New York Avenue. I kept my head buried in my phone and ignored his wave as we left him behind. I wasn't sure how I felt about sushi after my last sushi experience with Meredith, and in particular, how I felt about looking forward to sushi with him.

T
he slant of the sun's rays were just starting to narrow through my office window as I finished my piece on gang violence
.
It had come together easily, and I'd submitted it for print without the typical crunch to meet deadline. In my previous gang violence articles this month, I'd blamed society for our youth's corruption, so for this article, I decided to focus on the recent upswing in gang violence. I quoted Harroway and described how today's crime scene was likely connected to last week's murders. Meredith used a montage of different photos she'd collected from each scene: a boy with multiple stab wounds—his arm outstretched for his gun in death—close-ups of broken bodies, landscapes of fallen victims, bullet holes, stab wounds, and the gold wolf pendant.

I'd taken my time and crafted a piece I was proud to print, but writing that article was cake—just one of Jolene's mini-cupcakes I could munch on the road—compared to the article that was slowly cooking inside of me about vampires. Instead of going out with Meredith like I'd normally do after an early submission, I decided to stay for a little extra research on the history of Brooklyn's gang activity. I'd need more material for hooks if these crimes continued, and maybe I could convince Carter to allot some of the budget toward a retrospective piece on our police department's solved cases. Greta would love that, and I was nothing if not loyal to my sources.

According to the
Sun
's record, this year wasn't the first time that multiple articles on gang violence were written. Gang violence was a serious problem seven years ago in May of 2005. Looking further back, another wave of homicides was pinned on gang-related activity in May of 1998. I bit my lip. Spikes in gang violence occurred every seven years. I searched further back in our records, and sure enough, May of 1991 hit a record wave of two hundred fifty gang-related murders, beating the previous record of two hundred seven deaths during an especially bloody May in 1977.

Within the first week of May this year, we'd already experienced fifteen deaths. If this pattern continued, it looked as if we were headed toward another record. My stomach pitched, and I struggled not to scream as the truth was laid out, as undeniable and unavoidable as death. Brooklyn wasn't experiencing spikes in gang violence every seven years. We were experiencing spikes in vampire attacks made to look like gang violence, and those spikes coincided with Dominic's Leveling—just like he'd said.

I thought of today's crime scene—the knife wounds and execution-like bullet holes and gold wolf pendant—and a sick, curious part of me couldn't help but respect Dominic's resourcefulness. That scene had been the vampire attack from last night. Those victims were the people Kaden and his rebels had killed while chasing me, and Jillian and Dominic planted that evidence to fool everyone. I'd witnessed the real attack myself last night—hell, I'd known their plan to cover it up—and they'd even fooled me. Who could have guessed that the torn, ravaged bites from the vampire attack would be healed to look like knife wounds and gunshots? I'd just submitted another article to add to the hundreds of archived articles on gang violence in Brooklyn, and they were all false, every one of them. Even mine. Especially mine.

My cell phone vibrated inside my jacket pocket. I snapped out of my reverie and groaned at the time. It was already six thirty. I fumbled for my phone, wondering exactly when reality had unraveled so completely or if it had ever really been solidly beneath me at all.

Nathan's picture flashed on the screen in time with my phone's vibrations.

“Yo, bro,” I said, and I didn't have to fake the enthusiasm I felt at the thought of seeing him tonight. “A friend of mine is picking up sushi for us. Well, he thinks it's Chinese, so I'm really not sure what we're getting. Either way it'll be questionable because he doesn't—”

“You're staying with Greta tonight.”

“—live in the city,” I finished flatly. “What?”

“I thought about calling Meredith, but Greta will undoubtedly be better equipped should something occur, you know, after sunset.”

I squeezed the arm of my chair, and it shook under the pressure of my grip. “What are you talking about? I'm staying with you.”

“She'll protect you better than I can, at least for tonight,” he said.

“Guns won't protect us from what we're up against.”

“Someone who knows what we're up against needs to do something, Cass. Someone needs to bring these psychos to justice, and you know well enough that they're beyond the system.” Nathan's voice grew hoarse. “If no one remembers who's committing these murders, who else will fight back?”

A shiver of creeping dread crawled over me. “There are other people like us who remember. We can figure this out together. We can do something
together
.”

“Together or separate, it doesn't matter. We're no match for them. We need to even the playing field.”

“What are you talking about, Nathan? We can't—”

“Give yourself enough time to stop at your apartment,” he said, ignoring me. “Greta might have guns, but you have a ton of Mom's silver jewelry.”

“Where are you right now?” I snapped.

“My silver cuff links weren't really effective, but your crucifix is pretty sharp. You'll be able to do some damage.”

“Nothing can do damage to the creatures we're up against. It doesn't matter if we have guns and silver jewelry or cuff links. If they decide to kill us, we're dead. There is no ‘even playing field.'”

“Not yet there isn't.” Nathan was silent for a moment. One of the old floorboards in his apartment creaked in the background. He was pacing.

“What's that supposed to mean? Nathan, don't—”

“Keep safe tonight, and I'll see you tomorrow,” he said finally.

I shrugged on my jacket, snatched my leather satchel from under my desk, and sprinted out of the office. “Yeah, I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

By the time I caught a taxi and reached Nathan's apartment, he was already gone. I tossed his spare key into my shoulder bag and paced the creaking living room floor in his footsteps, hoping to divine where he might have bolted, but my pacing only confirmed that his apartment needed new floorboards.

My phone rang, and I yanked it from my leather bag, thinking Nathan had seen the light and changed his mind, but Greta's picture flashed on the screen. I groaned. Greta would be able to hear if something was wrong, so I took a deep breath, pounded the Answer button, and forced a measure of pep into my voice.

“DiRocco here.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I've been better, but I've been worse. You?”

“Oh, you know they only grow daisies and butterflies here at the precinct,” Greta said. “So I hear you need a ride from work?”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Don't worry about it. Nathan just feels guilty for bailing on me.”

“At least he feels guilty. Brothers rarely do,” Greta said, laughing. “How late are you staying at work? I get off shift at eight.”

“You don't have to pick me up at the office.” I forced a laugh to match hers. “I actually submitted my work early today.”
And the sun would undoubtedly set before eight
, I thought. I needed to hide for the night before sunset.

“Miracles do occur.”

“Once in a while. So if you want to meet at your apartment, maybe around seven, I could—”

“I don't get off until eight,” Greta said. “Nathan was pretty specific about picking you up from work.”

I could hear Harroway's big, bellowing voice in the background, teasing someone about something he probably shouldn't, as usual. I froze, realizing that if I could hear Harroway in the background, she might hear the creak of my pacing Nathan's apartment.

“Honestly, I'd just prefer not to walk after dark,” I admitted. “If you have a spare key, I could wait for you in your apartment.”

“I don't have a spare. If I pick you up at the office, you won't be walking home in the dark. You'll be driving home with me.”

I gritted my teeth. “That's true.”

“Why don't you want me picking you up from work, DiRocco?” Greta asked. An edge sharpened her voice.

The phone shook against my ear. “My office isn't exactly on your way home, G. Nathan's just overreacting, as usual, and putting you out.”

“No, he's not, and no one is putting me out,” Greta said. Her voice softened. “Don't worry about the drive. I got you.”

“All right.”
Fuck.

“I'll pick you up at the
Sun Accord
at eight.”

“Yeah, I'll see you then.” I swallowed and forced out the next words. “Thank you, Greta.”

“No problem.”

Greta hung up. I stared at my phone as the call ended, trying to think how I was going to meet Greta at the office at eight without us being caught out past sunset on our way back to her apartment. My cell phone case creaked under the increasing pressure of my grip, so I tossed it back into my satchel before I tossed it across the room.

If I didn't show at the office when Greta arrived to pick me up, I'd lose another notch of credibility, and I didn't have many left to lose. But if I waited for Greta until after sunset, I'd risk Kaden or Dominic picking me up instead. I covered my eyes with my hand, undoubtedly smearing my already smeared eyeliner. The certainty of losing credibility versus the risk of bodily harm was a contest I'd wagered and won before, and I had no doubt that by the time this case was through, it was a contest I'd have to wager on again.

My hip ached as I jogged down the stairs of Nathan's apartment and caught a taxi back to the
Sun Accord
.

 

I watched the digital clock in the corner of my computer screen flick to 8:07 p.m. and tore another nail with my teeth. The sun had just slipped below the horizon. An hour and a half after Greta's phone call, and I was still staring at the blinking cursor on my monitor, attempting to pass the time with another Pulitzer-winning masterpiece.

I'd written the title, “The City Beneath: Vampires Bite in the Big Apple,” and the cursor hadn't progressed down the page since.

I gnawed on the next nail, mercenary in my serial attack. I only had three more left before all ten were bitten, ripped, and nibbled to the quick.

My desk phone buzzed. I snatched the phone from its charging cradle and pounded the Talk button savagely.

“DiRocco here.”

“A man is here to see you, Ms. DiRocco,” the administrative assistant said, her voice uncommonly pleasant. Deborah's tone usually rasped from seventy years of smoking and disapproval. “He says it's urgent, that you had a meeting scheduled this evening that you missed.”

“Shit, I left Walker waiting at Nathan's apartment.” I checked my phone, and sure enough, I'd missed three calls in the last hour.

“I wasn't aware that you had a meeting today, Ms. DiRocco,” she said dreamily.

I gritted my teeth on a particularly stubborn cuticle and took pleasure in ripping it from the nail. “It's personal. You can let him in.”

“Of course,” Deborah breathed, sounding wistful and unconcerned.

I massaged my temples in an effort to relieve a pounding stress headache. Why wasn't Deborah stressed? With the last couple days I'd lived, it seemed like everyone should be stressed. I heard the door squeak open and then
snick
shut, foretelling Walker's approach.

“I'm sorry,” I said, holding my head in my hands. “I should have called, but honestly, I completely forgot that we were meeting tonight. Greta will be here any moment.”

“No, I don't believe that Detective Wahl will be joining us.”

My head snapped up at the silky formality in his voice. A man who was decidedly not Walker was striding toward me. The hair on the back of my neck stood at attention, and I couldn't look away. He was an exceptionally tall man dressed in Armani; no one I knew in this neighborhood wore Armani. His black dress shirt was open at the neck, so I could see a smooth hint of his throat. His thick black hair was cropped short on the sides near his face and styled longer at his crown, like Nathan's but without the spike. Most compelling were the man's strange blue eyes, their depths unfathomable. His eyes made me want to linger over his features and drown in his thoughts. I jerked my eyes away, and I suddenly noticed the harsh edge curling his lips. The man was angry, and that anger was targeted at me.

My gut curdled, but the man didn't resemble anyone in particular that I could recall. As he drew closer, however, I noticed the scar that sliced through his lip and over his chin before stopping near his carotid. I only knew one man with a scar like that, and with that realization, the rest of the man's features suddenly blended into something recognizable.

I stared at Dominic, my brain struggling between panic and confusion. My openmouthed astonishment must have amused him; even though his eyes retained the molten heat of their anger, he smiled. The scar was stiff, and prevented the left side of his lower lip from moving, but the rest of his mouth opened and spread wide, revealing the glistening points of his eyeteeth.

My gaze slid from Dominic to the document's headline plastered on my computer screen, and my stomach shriveled in unadulterated panic. He was nearly at my desk. I saved the document and clicked out of Word with two twitches of my finger on the mouse, but in that time, Dominic vaulted over my desk and stood alarmingly close to my chair. He was so unnaturally fast, my eyes couldn't process the individual movements; he was in front of my desk one moment, and the next, he was breathing down my neck.