Chapter 2
Laurie
I was late—very late. But that was nothing new, and I couldn’t quite summon the energy to feel bad about it. After the kind of day I’d had, guilt was one burden too many.
The bar was nearly empty by the time I got there: a few old-timers hunched over their whiskeys, a bored bartender tinkering on her phone—and Arlon. His expression brightened the moment he spotted me, tinted with a brief flicker of stark relief.
I should’ve felt a pang of gratitude that someone cared enough to look so concerned, but all I did was brace myself. The warmth in his eyes sent an uncomfortable twist through my gut and I sunk deeper into the collar of my jacket. Don’t do that. Don’t be so happy to see me.
“Hey, you made it.” Arlon stood from the stool he’d claimed, oozing calm and caution in equal measure. “I was starting to wonder if—”
“Traffic,” I said shortly, though it was only partly true. I’d lingered in the shower for longer than I’d meant to, and then I’d lingered outside for a solid ten minutes before summoning the courage to walk through the door. “Sorry.”
“No worries, I’m just glad you showed up.” Arlon gestured at the empty seat beside him, and I hesitated, scanning the bar for a safer corner. Realizing nowhere else offered even a modicum of privacy, I relented and slid onto the stool.
Arlon watched me with that unwavering gaze of a cop who’d seen too much. Even off duty he carried himself like that, alert and attentive under that easy smile of his. I shifted in my seat and kept my eyes on the countertop, tracking water rings across the varnished surface.
“You doing all right?”
I tried not to wince. It was a question I’d been dreading—because I didn’t have a good answer for him. Nothing that would wipe that concerned streak from his gaze. So I lied. I shrugged, nodded, and deliberately ignored the way he was looking at me. “Yep, peachy.”
The words tasted as stale as the unventilated air in that cramped space, but it was the best I could do. No point letting him dig around in old wounds that still festered.
I liked Arlon, or at least appreciated what he was trying to do for me.
The faintest scar lining his cheek made him an oddly comforting presence…
sometimes. He was the one and only friend I had who had some idea of the hell I’d been through.
But right now, I didn’t want comfort; I just wanted to focus on the reason I’d agreed to meet him in the first place.
I wasn’t sure what it said about me that I was more comfortable talking about cold cases and paper trails than letting anyone show me a speck of kindness.
Arlon sipped his drink. Silence stretched out between us, broken only by the low rumble of the jukebox in the corner. Then he cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Laurie, I don’t want to push, but—”
“Then don’t,” I cut in, sharper than intended. When Arlon’s face fell, I exhaled and fixed my eyes on the row of liquor bottles glinting behind the bar. “Really, I’m fine. Just… tired.”
“Right.” Arlon set his drink down and I wrung my wrists in my lap. Then he squared his shoulders and leaned an elbow on the bar. “How about a drink then? My treat.”
My chest tightened. I glanced his way and then wished that I hadn’t. I couldn’t handle that look in his eye—hopeful, almost tender, the kind of look that made me want to run very fast in the opposite direction.
I couldn’t give him what he wanted. And even if I could, he deserved better than… Well, me.
“No, I’m good.” I let my shoulders drop, forcing a neutral tone—walking the line between friendly, grateful, and definitely not interested.
“Look, can we just…” I paused, grappling for the right words to soften the blow.
“Can we just talk about the case, please? I can’t—I can’t handle anything else right now. I’m not… ready.”
Arlon blinked, once, then exhaled with a resigned, dragging sigh. “Yeah, I figured.”
My stomach writhed in discomfort. I didn’t want to hurt him—it was the last thing I wanted to do—but I couldn’t shoulder his affection. Not when I was barely getting by under the weight of my own baggage. I stared down at my hands, fingernails bitten to the quick. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Arlon mumbled, working up a small shrug that definitely looked forced. “It’s okay. I get it.”
But he didn’t ‘get it’. He could never understand. All he could do was watch from the sidelines while I tore myself to pieces over a bitter history he could never comprehend.
There was a beat of tense silence, then a quick flicker of his eyes as he retreated back into that professional cover he wore so well. “So,” he straightened up, voice turning brisk, “how about we talk business instead?”
“Sure.” Relief was a balm to my nerves. This was a conversation I could handle. This was safe. “How’s the case going? Yesterday you mentioned a breakthrough.”
Arlon grimaced. “I’m making progress, just—slowly.
This group…” He hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t make him sound like a paranoid nutcase.
I understood the struggle. “They’re elusive, bigger than we thought, and their influence goes deep.
They have resources, connections. My gut says there’s something… I don’t know—something off about them.”
I swallowed a grimace of my own. Off indeed. If only he knew the full extent.
But I pressed my lips together, forcing back the truth. It wasn’t just some shady cartel or underground syndicate that Arlon was investigating on my behalf. It was something far more sinister. Something intrinsically entwined with the supernatural.
Arlon would never believe that part, though. And there was no point in revealing a truth that would only complicate his life further. I was complication enough. The guy did too much for me already.
“Any suspects?” I asked softly, carefully steering toward the practical details he could share.
“A few. Nothing solid yet.” A heavy sigh escaped him, and his shoulders sagged. “It’s not an easy investigation by a long shot. All I have to go on is what I’ve learned from you, and these people are really good at covering their tracks. Too good.”
I sighed and stretched out over the bar counter, squishing a cheek against the sticky surface. “Figures. Two whole years of digging and we’ve barely scratched the surface.”
Then my eyes narrowed. A lone bag sat perched on the counter near my nose, straps dangling loose over the edge. I lifted my head and turned back to Arlon.
“Hey,” I murmured, jerking my chin at the abandoned item. “Whose is that?”
“Hmm?” Arlon glanced over, frowning. “Oh shit. I think it belongs to this woman I was chatting with earlier. She left in a hurry.” He shrugged, tilting his head back to gulp down the last of his drink. “I guess she forgot it.”
Nudging off the counter, I reached for the bag. “Maybe there’s an ID or something in here,” I murmured, wrestling with the embroidered buckles. “Might as well let her know she left it behind.”
“She was actually pretty cool.” Arlon was musing at my shoulder, holding his empty glass suspended at his lips. “If you’re ever thinking of replacing me as your honorary detective, she’d be a good substitute.”
“Uh-huh.” I was only half-listening as I rummaged through the bag, suddenly struck by the oddness of the contents.
A deck of tarot cards, edges worn from overuse. A tangle of charms—some looked handmade, little bits of string and stone. A battered notebook with scribbles in swirling ink. Random baubles, lighters, a snippet of rope?
What the…?
Something glinted at the bottom of the bag—small and cylindrical. Multiple somethings. A collection of small vials, all clinking together when I jostled the bag onto my lap. I lifted one and hunched over to inspect it.
Inside, something red and viscous. Blood.
A jolt of alarm shot up my spine and I swallowed, concealing the vial before Arlon could see it. Hell. A normal person might think it was fake, or some bizarre herbal tincture. But that was blood—I knew it well—and there was a lot of it.
Arlon raised a brow, clocking my sudden silence. “Something up?”
I shook my head, forcing a tight smile. “Nah, just some random doodads in here.” I tried not to let the horror show on my face and kept digging until my fingers found a wallet. I pulled it out.
“Huh,” I muttered, flipping through the small compartments—no ID, just a blank business card with a phone number scrawled on it, and no name or address. “There’s a number,” I told Arlon out loud, hoping to sound casual about it. “I could call her. She might still be nearby.”
Internally, my mind was racing. The supernatural world I’d brushed up against was full of strange tokens and stranger habits. If this woman carried around a literal bag of blood, she might be one of them. Or at least connected to them. She could be the lead that I needed.
I shot a glance at Arlon. “This woman—did she seem a little… off to you?”
“Huh?” Arlon’s brow crinkled. “Off, how?”
“Just… like…” I shrugged, dancing around the details my mind dredged up against my will. Teeth, claws, blood and bone. Needles, vials, tubes and beakers. I shook my head, but the memories burned bright and blinding behind my eyes. “Just—off.”
“She was really hot—sorry—attractive. Does that count?”
“Uh–no.” Arlon’s response was ridiculous enough to snap me out of it. I closed up the bag and slipped the straps over my shoulder. “You know what, never mind. I gotta go.”
Arlon’s expression fell. “But you just got here!”
“Yeah, well, I showed up late, and it’s only getting later,” I murmured, slipping off the barstool while Arlon looked on in open dismay.
“At least let me drive you home?”
I shook my head, feeling slightly guilty for dipping so quickly, but it was time to do some detective work of my own. “Really, dude, I’ll be fine. I’ll get this bag to its owner, see if she’s still around somewhere. And I’ll… I’ll call you if I run into trouble. Okay?”
Arlon sighed, raking his hand through a swath of sandy hair. Eventually, he nodded. “All right, fine. I’ll see you around.”
All I could offer was a weak smile in return. “Text me if you get any further with the case.” And then I was off, bolting through the doors with the strange woman’s bag clutched tightly to my chest.
Outside was colder than I remembered, the air crisp and brittle and bone-dry in my lungs. I took a few steps away from the entrance and pulled out the bland business card, reading the looping script by the glow of the streetlight. No name, no identification at all, just digits.
I stared at the numbers, chewing on my lip. “Who are you?” And what do you know?
I’d have an answer soon enough. Hauling out my phone, I tapped in the number and brought the cell to my ear. The dial tone rattled through my skull. Pick up. If she did, maybe I’d finally have a tangible connection to them. If not, I’d have to hunt her down myself—
“Hello?”
My heart lurched into my throat. The answer came so suddenly I nearly dropped my phone in the gutter. But it was her, the owner of the bag and the unnerving bottles of blood. Now that I had her on the line, I wasn’t quite sure what to say.
Suddenly this didn’t seem like such a good idea. What if she really was one of them? What if they found me? What if they took me back…
Blood and bone and bandages. Syringes and spotlights and shapes in the dark—
“Hellooo?” The voice came again and I blinked away the phantom visions behind my eyes.
“Uh—hi,” I croaked out through a painfully dry throat. “I–uh. I think I found your bag?”
There was a pause, and then the woman exhaled. “Right. I left it at the bar, didn’t I?” She sounded… not at all surprised. “Could I come get it? Where are you?”
“Uh…” I shot a glance back at the bar. “I’ll come to you. What’s your address?”
There was a lengthy pause on the other end of the line and I worried I’d made my intentions too obvious. But then, eventually she said, “Bowery Street, big house with all the plants out front—you can’t miss it. That not too far for you?”
“No, I can get there!” I answered—a little too quickly—and then sucked in a breath. “Bowery Street. I’ll be there soon.”
“All right.” The line clicked dead. No further questions, no thank yous. I stuffed my phone back in my pocket and swallowed the bile in my throat.
She didn’t even give me a name. But if my instincts were correct, this woman was connected to that hidden world. The one I’d been chasing for two years now. The one I had sworn to destroy.
Blood. Bone. Needles. Tears. I set off into the dark.
This was the lead I’d been looking for. This was a foot in the door that Arlon could not secure. His position in the police force could only take me so far—he could not give me what I wanted most of all.
Arlon thought I was after justice, to put my abusers behind bars.
That’s why he was helping me. That’s why he’d been investigating the organization on my behalf.
To him, it was a simple case of tracking down the people who’d hurt me, hauling them into the spotlight, and sending them off to prison where he believed they belonged.
But you can’t cage a vampire. You can’t even catch one. You can only kill it. And that was exactly what I intended to do.
If this woman was one of them—and judging by the contents in her bag, that was certainly the case—then she could lead me straight to the top. To the leader of the organization that stole five years of my life. And that wasn’t all they had taken from me.
I would find him, that shadowy figure at the very top, and I would kill him myself.
Or I would die trying.