Blood of Eden Page 2

  Wondering what the acronym PBAU stood for, I headed straight for the open area where the unit members’ desks sat in tidy rows. It was exactly as I’d imagined the Behavioral Analysis Unit, aka BAU, would look. Semitransparent half walls separated a half-dozen identical cubicles from each other. And around the back ran a raised walk, which led to a couple of rooms closed off from the main space. But this wasn’t the home of the BAU; it was the PBAU. And instead of a bustling room full of busy agents, it was eerily silent.

  “I’m very happy to be a part of the team. I’m eager to get started,” I said.

  “We’ll be meeting for our first case review in a few minutes. I want you to join us.”

  Join them? I almost giggled like a little girl, I got so excited. I never giggled, not even when I was five and I’d built my first robot, using Legos and a few electronic bits I’d “borrowed” from various sources around the house. Mom didn’t need that old drill, anyway. Or the toaster. We never ate toast. And the computer ... it had been useless, outdated, and begging to become spare parts for Heathcliff, my new best friend. “Sure.”

  My new boss tapped the back of a chair, tucked under a nearby cubicle desk. “This’ll be your work space. We’ll get you a computer, supplies, and phone by the end of the week.”

  “I get a desk of my own?” I peered at the inhabitants of the adjoining cubicles, thinking I’d introduce myself, but both had their backs to me.

  “Sure. Of course you get a desk,” Chief Peyton answered.

  “Well, thanks. Don’t worry about the computer. I brought my own.” I lifted my computer case.

  “We’ll need to have it checked for security before you can log into our system.”

  “No problem.” I set my case on my desk and unzipped it. “This is great. It’s like I’m a permanent part of the team.” Trying not to think about the fact that this whole thing sounded too good to be true, I tried the chair out for size. It was a perfect fit.

  “Perhaps you will be someday.” Chief Peyton patted my shoulder, then announced, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Case review in five minutes. Let’s take it up in the conference room.”

  Scuffling and chatter followed; in less than five, I was introduced to the three other members of the PBAU.

  Of course, there was Chief Peyton. Also on the team were Special Agent Jordan Thomas, Special Agent Chad Fischer, the media liaison, and Special Agent Brittany Hough, the computer specialist/techie geek. They had all transferred to the PBAU from other units. That meant I was the only clueless newbie. Each greeted me with a friendly smile and a handshake.

  Finally, with the introductions over, we all took our seats. Standing in front of a whiteboard, Fischer taped up a color photograph of a dead body. Fischer launched into his presentation. “The Baltimore PD is asking for our help solving a suspected murder case. At this point, all indicators are pointing to a nonmortal suspect... .”

  Did he just say “nonmortal”? No way.

  “... Bite wounds on the victim’s neck suggest we may be looking for a vampiric predator... .”

  Vampiric?

  “... It’s too early to say what the cause of death is, but local law enforcement doesn’t want to wait. The media’s hot to cover the story, and they can’t be held off for long.”

  Had Chief Peyton known all along who my father was and what he’d researched?

  No. Okay, maybe. Crazier things have happened.

  “... It appears to be a single vampire killing, blitz attack. We don’t know much, but one thing is certain. This unknown subject—unsub—won’t stop until we catch him.”

  They all looked at me.

  What were they expecting? Should I have whipped out a wooden stake and led the charge, yelling, “Die, you bloodsucking bastard”?

  My phone, set on vibrate, started buzzing.

  “Skye, what are your thoughts?” Chief Peyton asked.

  “Well ...” Lucky me, not only was my mother calling, asking me to solve another crisis, no doubt, but it also seemed I’d just been dubbed the FBI’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer. There was only one problem. My mother had taught me plenty—Latin, vector integral calculus, quantum physics. For some silly reason, though, she’d eschewed vampire psychology and comparative biology of shape-shifters.

  I didn’t know a Sasquatch from a yeti.

  When no coherent response came from my direction, Chief Peyton turned back to Fischer. “I agree. If the unsub is a young vampire on a feeding frenzy, there will be more. And soon.”

  Vampire. They were actually thinking this crime was the act of a vampire?

  Again, I should’ve known it was too good to be true. This had to be some kind of joke. A freaking brilliant, absolutely hilarious one. Gabe Wagner was behind this. It had his name written all over it.

  “Not only must we profile our killer’s personality, but also his species,” Chief Peyton said.

  Species? God, this was good. Anytime now, one of Gabe’s’s friends was going to pop out of a corner and shout, “You’ve been punked!” Then everyone was going to laugh, including me. And then I’d be escorted to my real boss, and I’d find out I don’t get a nice desk and my own computer and phone, but rather a rusty old file cabinet, a yellow legal pad, and that crappy broken chair, shoved into a supply closet.

  “Excellent point,” Fischer said. “The being’s physical characteristics will influence his behavior as much as psychological factors.”

  Yep, any minute now ...

  My phone, sitting in my lap, started vibrating against my leg.

  Gabe?

  No. Mom again.

  I ignored the call and played along with Peyton’s game, nodding at the appropriate moments, raising eyebrows, and scribbling notes on the pad of paper that I’d dug out of my laptop case.

  Very interesting. The body had bite marks on the neck.

  Oh, yes. Fang marks were most definitely a sign of a vampire attack.

  It appeared blood was missing from the victim’s body, but if so, the body hadn’t been completely drained.

  Hmm. “Perhaps the unsub had been interrupted midfeed-ing. Cena interruptus,” I offered.

  Everyone concurred with a nod.

  Okay, this practical joke was stretching on too long. I leaned back and tried to peer around the corner. I didn’t see any sign of Gabe or his posse. Where was he? This had to be a joke. It couldn’t be real.

  I checked my phone, thinking maybe I’d missed his call. Nope. Nobody had called but my mother.

  At the end of Fischer’s presentation, the team members stood, each one giving me a look as they filed out of the room. Finally Chief Peyton walked to my side of the table, pulled the chair out next to me, and sat down. “We’d like you to come with us.”

  “You would.”

  “To Baltimore. We’ll be leaving in just over an hour.”

  “Oh. Um, I don’t know.” I am so rarely struck completely mute, but this situation had done just that. There were so many questions clogging my brain, I couldn’t think.

  “This case is local, but I should mention, every member of my team has to keep a ‘go bag’ with them at all times, stocked with the basics—a couple changes of clothes, toothbrush, makeup, hairbrush—”

  “Excuse me, but what exactly does PBAU stand for?” I asked.

  “Paranormal Behavioral Analysis Unit. Like the BAU, the mission of the PBAU is to provide behavioral-based investigative support to local FBI field offices. Unlike the BAU, the cases we are called to assist with all involve acts of violence that have some tie to the unknown, the paranormal, or the occult.”

  Seriously?

  I couldn’t help asking, “You don’t really believe there are Edward Cullens running around, chomping people in the neck. Do you?”

  “Not the kind of vampires you see in movies, no. Of course not.” Finally this very sensible-looking woman was saying something reasonable. I pulled in a lungful of air and let it out slowly. “I have yet to see a vampire that sparkles,” she added, loo
king dead serious. “Now, come on, I’ll tell you more in the car. I thought we’d all drive together. It’ll give us a chance to discuss the case.” She checked her wristwatch. “Time’s tight. We need to get going. Sunset’s a few minutes after nine tonight.” Not waiting for me, she headed for the conference room door.

  I followed her. “Is it too dangerous to be outside after dark?”

  “We’d like to get as much time as possible at the crime scene during daylight hours. It’s hard to see after sunset.”

  Why did I feel like I’d just said something totally stupid? “Gotcha.”

  She waved Jordan Thomas over. As I’d noticed earlier, he was the closest to my age. Fischer and Chief Peyton were older, thirties, maybe early forties. I’d noticed another thing about him too—he wasn’t hard on the eyes. He had nice ... glasses. “JT, I need you to give Skye a rundown of our policies and procedures before we leave.”

  “Sure, Chief.”

  Chief Peyton tapped my arm and looked me straight in the eyes. “Are you with us, Skye?”

  That was the fifty-thousand-dollar question, wasn’t it?

  The way I saw it, I had two options: either forget about an internship with the FBI, and let my mom down; or chase imaginary monsters.

  When I looked at it that way, spending three months profiling vampires and werewolves couldn’t be any worse than emptying Porta-Potties in the county parks. And that I’d done, for more summers than I cared to remember.

  I shrugged. “Sure. I’m in.”

  I would rather live in a world where my life is surrounded by mystery than live in a world so small that my mind could comprehend it.

  —Harry Emerson Fosdick

  2

  “According to Wikipedia, a vampire feeds on a mortal being’s life essence, which is most often defined as blood,” Fischer recited as Chief Peyton navigated her black government-issue Suburban through thick Baltimore traffic.

  Chief Peyton flipped on her turn signal and changed lanes, somehow defying the rules of geometry by wedging the huge vehicle into a space the size of a Chevy Volt. “I think we all know this. But I suppose I’d better ask, since this is the team’s first case, does anyone not have a rudimentary grasp of vampire legend?”

  Riding shotgun, I raised my hand, hoping I wouldn’t be the only one. About a half minute later, I learned I was. And I couldn’t help laughing at the irony. Throughout all my years in school, that had never happened. Not even after skipping one grade in elementary school, one in middle school, another in high school, and starting college at the age of fifteen. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know something that everyone else did.

  I was both amused and mortified.

  If Chief Peyton was disappointed in my lack of knowledge of supernatural beings, she hid it well. “I guess we’ll start from the top, then.” She pointed at the file sitting on my lap. “Skye, you’ll need to review everything in that file. I hope you’re a fast reader.”

  “I am,” I assured her.

  “Excellent. Fischer, continue.”

  Sitting directly behind Chief Peyton, Fischer read from a book. “‘While ancient cultures all had some form of vampire-like creatures within their legend systems, the being most commonly associated with the word vampire has roots in eighteenth century Eastern European lore. This being is commonly described as ruddy or purple-ish in color, bloated—’”

  “Not skeletal and pale, like Bram Stoker’s Dracula? Sorry for interrupting,” I interjected, somewhat confused by the difference between the vampire I was vaguely familiar with and the one Fischer was describing. I’d caught maybe twenty minutes of Dracula playing on television one Halloween. To say my exposure to vampire legend was limited was a gross understatement.

  “Don’t apologize. You’re a part of this team for a reason, and I want you to keep asking questions. Questions lead to answers. Or, in some cases, more important questions.” After a beat, Chief Peyton continued as she cut across three lanes of traffic to exit onto I-295. “The type of creature you’re describing is what we’d call the contemporary vampire. It’s an adaptation of older vampire legend. Fischer, could you please give Skye the book you’re reading?”

  “Sure.” Fischer handed the heavy hardcover to me.

  “I understand. But I have to ask, aren’t there living, breathing, mortal people who think they’re vampires? Or pretend to be vampires? And if so, couldn’t this murder have been committed by a human being with an unusual fetish?”

  Chief Peyton nodded. “Sure. Our job is to develop a profile that local agents and police personnel can use to eliminate suspects. While we’re talking as if it’s a given the unsub is a vampire, until we have enough information to make a clear determination, we will not set our minds on any one possibility.”

  “Got it.” I set the case file on top of the book and flipped it open. The very first thing I found was a photograph of the victim, a woman, lying with arms and legs askew, on a sidewalk. Like every dead person I’d ever had the misfortune of seeing, she looked like a mannequin. It was hard to guess her age, but I estimated her at about thirty-five. Judging from her clothes, hairstyle, and level of skin wrinkling, she appeared to be older than me but younger than my mother. Her mouth was slightly open, eyes staring blindly. Her clothing was still in place, shoes on her feet, hair slightly mussed. Overall, she looked like she’d simply collapsed and died of natural causes.

  Except there were those puncture marks on her neck.

  “The wounds were made before she died.” JT, who’d been inhabiting the seat directly behind mine, leaned over my shoulder. He indicated the redness around the injury. “See here, she bled. Dead people don’t bleed.”

  “Yeah. No heartbeat, no circulation.” I leaned to the side, a smidge uneasy by how close he was. With his shaggy brown hair, dark eyes, razor-sharp cheekbones, and adorable dimples, he was a little too good-looking for my comfort. He also smelled really nice. Normally, this wouldn’t be a problem. But I was an intern. He was an agent. That made him strictly off-limits to me, and me to him.

  Reading my body language, he sat back. “Didn’t mean to crowd you.”

  “It’s okay.” I shifted in my seat and stared down at the file on my lap. My cheeks were burning, which wasn’t good. But I knew he couldn’t see them, since he was still sitting behind me. When I was almost positive my cheeks weren’t the color of the traffic light we were stopped at, I twisted, facing the back of the vehicle. “I’m a little overwhelmed. I didn’t expect to be hitting the road my first day, profiling a murderer. I mean, I’m just an intern. I assumed I’d be filing paperwork and fetching coffee.”

  Fischer, busy reading the rest of the documents in the case file, responded to my confession with a quick smile.

  JT leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. The seat was big and cushiony, but he was bulky enough to make it look small. The guy obviously spent some serious time in the gym. “Since this is our first case, we’re all a little overwhelmed. And excited. We have a lot to prove.”

  “Are you new to the FBI?” I asked him.

  “To the FBI, sort of. I was a field agent, low on the food chain. I’ve only been out of the academy a year, not long enough to apply to the BAU. When I heard about the PBAU, though, I knew it was the place for me. Luckily, the qualifications aren’t as strict.” He motioned for me to come closer and whispered, “I think they’re having a hard time staffing the unit. Most of the agents in the bureau—the ones that know about it—think it’s a joke.”

  “I did too ... kind of.”

  JT nodded, his expression clear of any anger or defensiveness. “None of us would have taken it personally if you’d said, ‘Thanks, but no thanks’ to Peyton’s offer. We know we’re neck deep in The X-Files territory, risking ridicule. But we’re all determined to do our best and hopefully save lives by helping local authorities get killers off their streets, whether they end up being homicidal vampires, psychotic werewolves, or sociopathic mortals.”

  I like
d this guy. “A noble cause, for sure,” I said.

  “The cases we’ll be taking are the ones no other units want to touch. For the victims of these crimes, we are their voice.” After a moment, he pointed at the photograph on his lap. “Notice anything else?”

  “No. Did I miss something?” I opened my file and stared at the picture.

  “Look again. A good profiler will pay attention to every minute detail.”

  Slightly bothered by the fact that I wasn’t catching everything I should, I concentrated, starting at the upper left corner of the image and moving across the photo slowly enough to give my mind time to register everything I saw. I scrutinized the woman’s hair, eyes, face, neck, shoulders, the patch of cement sidewalk beneath her. “There’s no blood on the sidewalk.”

  JT lifted the photo and pointed at the dry area just under her neck. “She stopped bleeding before she collapsed.”

  “Did that mean she was already dead when she was placed here?”

  “Good question.” He handed me a pencil and pocket-sized notebook. “You’ll want to make some notes for yourself, so you’ll remember to ask the right questions when we’re at the crime scene.”

  “Thanks.”

  He set his hand on my headrest. “We’re in this together. We all want the same thing—to do our jobs and do them well. And I know, once you get your feet beneath you, you’re going to be a valuable member of this team.”

  “Thanks.”

  JT’s words echoed in my head during the rest of the drive as I read The Vampire Encyclopedia and then scoured each document in the file, looking for clues. By the time we’d made it to the crime scene, I knew the basics about every vampire legend in the world, from the West African Asasa-bonsam to the Greek Vrykolakas. I was ready to prove to my new coworkers, and myself, that criminal profiling was the perfect job for me.