Blood of Eden Page 4

  “There’s been another death,” she told me as she maneuvered the car into a parking spot. My hollow stomach slid to my toes. “The victim has the same wounds on the neck. Another woman. She collapsed in front of a fabric store in Arlington, Virginia.”

  “A third death?” This couldn’t be a coincidence ... or could it? Three people dying suddenly, and all displaying what looked like bite marks on the same area of the neck. The odds were incredibly remote, considering the population in the city of Baltimore alone.

  The chief didn’t cut off the engine. She shifted in her seat, facing me. “You’re doing a good job, Skye. You were thrown in the deep end of the pool, but I knew you’d swim okay. You’re intelligent and, more important, you have good instincts.” She poked an index finger at my forehead. “Trust yourself.”

  As long as I could remember, I’d been told I was smart, but somehow this was different. This meant more. “Thanks, Chief. I will.” My stomach rumbled loudly. Embarrassed, I jerked my arms around my waist.

  “I want you to get JT up to speed on what we’ve learned.” Chief Peyton poked at the number pad on her cell phone. “I’m going to call him now and have him take you to get something to eat.”

  “I am a little hungry.” I checked my watch. Eight hours had flown by since I’d walked into the FBI Academy this morning. I hadn’t eaten lunch yet, and it was dinnertime. It was no wonder my eyelids felt like they were weighted down with sandbags.

  “I need to get going.” Chief Peyton lifted her phone to her ear and waved me out. “JT leased a car for the day so the team could split up and get more accomplished. After dinner, he’ll drive you back to Quantico, Sloan.”

  “Great, thanks.”

  As I scrambled out of the car, she reminded me, “Don’t forget your bag.”

  “Oh, yeah. Thanks.” A smidge unsteady on my feet—low blood sugar—I opened the back door and dragged my laptop bag off the backseat. Once I’d set it on the ground, I pulled the telescoping handle out and shut the door. And before Chief Peyton had maneuvered the car out of the parking spot, I headed toward the police department’s entry, my bag’s handle in one hand and Chief’s book in the other.

  When I stepped inside, I found JT standing at the front desk, chatting with the officer on desk duty. I gave him a wilted smile as I dragged my weary self toward him.

  He hurried across the lobby. “You look tired.”

  “I’m okay. Hungry.”

  “Me too.” Proving himself a gentleman, he took my laptop case and together we headed outside. “The car’s around the corner.” He pointed at a blue Chrysler. “Would you rather eat before heading back to Quantico, or wait?”

  “If I wait, I may pass out.”

  “Not a problem. The boys said the café down the street has good food. Would you rather drive or walk? It’s only a block away.”

  “We can walk. That’s fine.”

  JT reached for my laptop case. “I can throw this in the car—”

  “If you don’t mind, I’d rather not.” I smiled, hoping he wouldn’t think I’m crazy for insisting on dragging it around. “Call me paranoid, but I don’t like to keep valuables in a car.”

  “Actually, that’s very smart. Can I carry it for you?”

  “Only if you insist.”

  “I insist.” JT fell into step beside me, dragging my laptop case behind him.

  “Thank you.”

  We headed into the cute little restaurant. The hostess escorted us to a table tucked in a cozy corner. We ordered sandwiches and drinks. As she scampered off to fill our orders, I rubbed my neck. It was stiff, sore. Thanks to JT, a few other bits of my anatomy were sort of achy too, but in a good way.

  “What a weird and fascinating day,” I said. “Outside of making an ass out of myself at my first crime scene, I think it went pretty well.”

  “You didn’t make an ass out of yourself.”

  Despite JT’s sincere expression, I wasn’t buying that. “Well, I don’t think I made a good first impression with the detective,” I said, hiding my embarrassment under a chuckle. “Or the rest of the PBAU. Or the Baltimore PD... .”

  “Hey, every one of them, including Peyton, probably hurled at their first murder scene too.”

  “Probably.” Wondering why I’d even brought that up, I redirected the conversation into safer territory, tried to lighten the mood. “Judging from today, I think this is definitely going to be a summer I’ll never forget. Probably more exciting, and disturbing, than the year I worked for a traveling carnival. Let me tell you, I saw some freaky stuff that summer.”

  “You were a carny?” JT laughed. I liked his laugh. And I liked the way his eyes twinkled when he was laughing. “Hopefully, you didn’t see any dead bodies ...”

  “... with bite marks on their necks?” I finished for him. “No, no dead bodies. Or vampires. Thank God. It wasn’t a bad job. Except for the food. And the scary clowns.”

  “Speaking of shitty summer jobs, one year I was a mascot for a restaurant. I had to wear this ugly dog outfit and stand outside for hours, waving at cars as they drove by. I think I scared more people away than anything. And yes, before you ask, it’s hotter than hell in there.” JT gave me a funny look, the kind a guy might give a girl on a first date.

  I swallowed hard.

  As our eyes met, I reminded myself this man was off-limits. Period. It sucked, since I was already beginning to see that JT was not only very good-looking, but also intelligent, easy to talk to, and he seemed to get me. There weren’t a lot of JTs in the world.

  “So,” we said in unison. We shared a laugh as the waitress brought our Cokes. Then we apologized, once again, in unison. Finally JT motioned with a wave of his hand for me to speak, and he took a healthy gulp of his cola.

  “I guess we should get to work.” I pulled my notebook from my back pocket and flipped to the last page. I normally wouldn’t have needed to skim my notes; I always remember everything I write down. But my gray matter was a little mushy tonight. “The lady at the hospital died from typhoid fever. The bite played no role in her death.” I pointed at him. “Your turn. What did you get?”

  “The Baltimore victim’s COD, complications from malaria.”

  “Seriously, malaria? Is the ME sure?”

  JT nodded. “We received the initial report just before you rolled in with the chief. It was caught by RDT—rapid diagnostic test. It’ll be confirmed with a blood smear later.”

  The waitress brought our food and hurried away.

  I read over my notes as I ate a few bites of my sandwich. “So we have two victims, dead from two different infectious diseases. And so far, the only thing they share in common is a pair of puncture wounds on their necks.” That sure didn’t sound like a vampire on a rampage to me. But that didn’t mean it wasn’t weird or suspicious either. “Could this be a bizarre coincidence? Statistically, it seems so improbable, but ...” But what?

  “How many people have you seen today with a pair of puncture wounds on their necks?” JT took another bite of his sandwich. He had a little smear of mustard on his lip. I kept staring at it.

  “Two. And they were both dead.”

  He pointed a fry at me. “Doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”

  “Okay, but what are we dealing with then?”

  “I don’t know. Hopefully, by tomorrow morning, we’ll have more information.” JT dabbed his face with a napkin. No more smear. But I still kept staring at his mouth.

  “That doesn’t leave us with much to do tonight,” I said, a little sorry the day was coming to an end.

  JT pushed his plate away. There wasn’t much left on it. “I’m going to head into the office for a while, do some more reading. And I need to take a look at some maps. But I’ll probably call it a night before ten.”

  “Sounds like a plan. Tomorrow’s going to be another long day.” Sensing that JT was ready to go, I waved at the waitress, who happened to be at a nearby table, and asked her for a box. “Ready to hit the ro
ad?”

  “Yeah.” After I packed what was left of my food into a foam box, JT gave me another one of those looks, the kind both of us had to know he shouldn’t be giving me. “It’s good having you on the team, Skye.”

  “It’s good being here.”

  I tried not to think too much about that I-like-you look. Not as we drove home in silence, and I pretended to read The Element Encyclopedia of Magical Creatures. Or when I ate the rest of my lunch/dinner at my new desk, my Netbook’s screen glaring at my tired eyes. Or when I leaned back in my chair, closed my eyes, and slowly sank into a shallow slumber.

  It was in the room with her again. She always knew it was there. The air turned cold and dead, like everything had been sucked out of it. She squeezed her closed eyes harder and silently prayed for it to leave her alone this time.

  Why her? What did it want?

  A frigid gust drifted over her, making the hairs on her nape stand on end. Goose bumps prickled the skin of her arms, back, and shoulders. The feeling of death was growing stronger. The scent of rotting flesh filled her nostrils and her eyes teared.

  Please leave me alone. Please.

  Something hard, sharp, scraped down her arm and she shivered.

  Please go away. Not again. Oh, God, not again.

  Beethoven’s Fifth was playing. Somewhere close by.

  My phone.

  I lurched upright. My eyelids snapped open.

  I shook off the memory of that creepy dream. Clearly, this vampire stuff was getting to me.

  Hands trembling, heart pounding, and eyes squinting against the light, I rocked forward, shoved my hand in my purse, and dug for my cell phone. After I’d rescued it from the deepest corner, I checked the number and hit the button, answering, “Hey.”

  “You scared me to death!” Katie yelled into my ear. “Why didn’t you call me? Where are you?”

  I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was just after eleven, but it felt like it was three in the morning. “It’s been a long, long day. You have no idea.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, but it’s about to get longer.” I couldn’t miss the laughter in Katie’s voice. “Your mother was disassembling small appliances again.”

  My stomach twisted into a knot. “What did she do now?”

  Nothing is permanent in this wicked world. Not even our troubles.

  —Charlie Chaplin

  4

  I smelled the smoke before I’d reached my apartment door. But that was nothing new. Katie was always burning something. However, as I stumbled inside and shut the door, I was surprised to learn the lights in the living room didn’t work. That was new.

  I dropped my bag by the door and picked my way across the room, toward the kitchen. I successfully maneuvered around a chair and the coffee table, and a basket full of unread magazines. Just when I thought the coast was clear, I slammed into something big and hard, and down I went. Like a bag of rocks. I cracked my head just before I went totally horizontal.

  “Shit, that hurt.” I lay prostrate on the floor, cradling my pounding head, pretty stars twinkling in the blackness. I blinked a few times, waiting for my head to clear.

  Something—sharp—poked my belly.

  “Don’t move or I’ll skewer you like a shish kebab,” a voice said. I knew that voice.

  Oh, no. Not again.

  “Mom, it’s me, Sloan.” I didn’t budge, didn’t flex a muscle. Didn’t even blink. If my mother was in the throes of a full-on psychotic episode, she could very well live up to her promise. Then I’d end up with an unwanted piercing. A very deep one, at that. When the sharp thing jabbing me in the belly didn’t move, I repeated, “Mom, it’s Sloan. Why don’t you turn on a light and you’ll see it’s me.”

  “The lights aren’t working.” Her hand found my head, ran down my face, fingering my nose. Her sigh of relief was echoed by one of my own. “You have your father’s nose. I would know it anywhere.” At last, she removed the weapon, and I breathed freely, without worrying a deep inhalation might cause a fatal injury.

  “What happened to the lights?” I asked, slowly and carefully sitting up.

  “I tried to warn you,” Katie called from somewhere to my right.

  I turned toward my roommate’s voice. “You said she was disassembling a few small appliances.”

  “Yeah, well, that was before she decided to use the parts to build some crazy contraption, and plug it in. She fried the wiring. The power isn’t just out in our unit. It’s out in the whole building, Sloan.”

  “How was I to know the transformer from your microwave oven was defective?” my mother snapped, sounding insulted. “It could’ve caused a fire, you know.”

  I could imagine her features twisted into her trademark injured look, the one she’d used so many times before with great success. She really did know how to push my buttons. But now that I couldn’t see her face, I was slightly immune to her manipulation.

  I emphasize, slightly.

  “I’m going to bed. I have an early class tomorrow,” Katie grumbled.

  “Good night,” I said, fingering the sore lump forming on my forehead. Katie was normally a roll-with-the-punches type of girl. Lately it seemed her patience with Mom was wearing thin.

  Shifting onto my hands and knees, I felt around me. I found the big thing I’d tripped over. The thing beside it, the one I’d smashed my head into, was the wood side table, which usually sat in the room’s corner. “Mom, we’ve talked about this before. You promised you wouldn’t plug in your inventions before I’ve had a chance to check them out.”

  “But I kept my word ... for a long time.”

  I sent some seriously mean eyes at the dark blob standing about five feet away. “In the past twelve hours, you’ve broken your promise twice. And you’ve fried the electrical systems in two buildings. I’ve all but emptied my bank account, paying your landlord off so he won’t evict you. And now this!” My voice was rising, and I didn’t like that. But the pain drilling through my head and the exhaustion weighing upon my shoulders was getting the better of me. I was furious, frustrated, and slightly panic-stricken. I wouldn’t be getting a paycheck from the FBI for a couple of weeks. If our landlord was going to come knocking, looking for compensation for this catastrophe, we were all going on a crash diet, whether we wanted to lose weight or not.

  Truth be told, I could stand to lose a few pounds, anyway. But not my mother. And definitely not Katie.

  “I’m sorry, Sloan. I was only trying to help.”

  I’d heard that line once, twice ... okay, a million times. Many eons ago, I quit asking my mom why she felt she needed to “help” with anything (or more importantly how her inventions would help). My mother’s logic never made sense to me. I assumed it was more a failing of my nonschizo-phrenic mind than a deficiency in her reasoning. When I reached the hallway, I drummed up the nerve to stand. For safety’s sake, though, I leaned back against the wall for support. “Mom, are there any surprises in the hallway?”

  “No. But about the sleeping arrangements ...”

  “Yes, of course, you can take my bed, and I’ll sleep on the couch.” My room was at the end of the hall. I curled the fingers of my left hand around the door frame and waved my right arm in front of my body as I blindly picked my way across the room to the dresser. I pulled the first garments I found out of my pajama drawer, a T-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts.

  The mattress creaked. “I’m sorry about the power,” Mom said from the general vicinity of the bed.

  I wanted to scold her again, but I knew it was useless. My mother did what she felt she needed to do, regardless of any warnings, dangers, or laws. Nothing I said would ever change that. The truth was, in her twisted logic, her actions made sense because she believed she was protecting me. From what, I suspected, I’d never figure out.

  Schizophrenia was a real bitch.

  “Did you take your medicine today?” I asked as I rolled off my panty hose and threw them, wadded up, onto the top of my dress
er.

  “Yes, Sloan. I took every pill. I always do.”

  That was the frustrating part. She did take her medication, exactly as prescribed. Her doctor had changed her prescriptions so many times, I’d lost count. And each time, she’d be better for a little while—the voices and delusions easing for a few months—but then they’d come back as strong as ever. This time, the quiet had only lasted a little over two months. I had more than a sneaking suspicion things were going to head downhill from here. The doctor had already warned me that they’d exhausted all drugs currently approved for treating my mother’s disease. However, because I was an optimist at heart, I decided to put in a call to his office in the morning. Maybe there’d been a new drug approved by the FDA since our last visit? Unlikely, sure. But I could dream.

  I shrugged out of my outdated polyester suit jacket and laid it flat on the dresser. Off came my skirt, my blouse. It felt like heaven getting into the comfy shorts. “Okay, Mom. We’ll talk about it tomorrow. I need to get some sleep. I had a big day.”

  “All right. Good night, Sloan.”

  “G’night, Mom.”

  This time, I had some idea where the danger zone was as I staggered and groped my way across our living room. I managed to get to the couch without seriously maiming myself. I only added a single painful bruise on my shin to my list of injuries. I set the alarm on my cell phone, after checking the battery to make sure it wouldn’t die before morning; then I settled on the couch, hoping I wouldn’t have another one of those bizarre nightmares.

  I didn’t have any nightmares, thank God. But I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that somebody was watching me all night long. I must’ve woken at least a dozen times. Each time, I glanced into the deep shadows clinging to the room’s corners. I peered out the window. Eventually I fell back into a dreamless slumber.