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As I left Roman’s, I decided to take a drive up toward the Greenbelt Park District and look around.
I appreciated his warning, but I was capable of taking care of myself, and cautious enough not to be stupid. I’d refrain from entering any buildings and just get a feel for the area before bringing my sisters into potential danger. I was a lot more resilient than they were.
As I entered the neighborhood—a short jaunt from the Bel es-Faire District in which we lived—
the city gave way to more greenery. Fir and cedar soared into the sky along the sides of the street, covered with lacy black moss streaming down like spiderwebs. The buildings shifted from old brick to old stonework and masonry, brooding and heavy. They fit right in with the shroud of trees that surrounded the area.
I pul ed alongside a large community park near where the dead girls had been found and jumped out of my car. A strange tang to the air caught my attention, though I couldn’t pinpoint whether it was the storm or something else. Granted, it was snowing and that always brought its own sense of magic, but there was something unsettled here. And if I could feel it, then it had to be strong.
Pocketing my keys, I silently moved to the park entrance and easily leaped over the wrought-iron gates, the heels of my boots lightly tapping on the sidewalk as I landed again. The beads clicking in my hair were about the only sound I made now that I was a vampire, and at times I deliberately wore clothing with buckles and heels and chains so that I’d feel a little more . . . alive.
The park lights were on, even though the gates were locked. I fol owed the cobblestone path through the maze of trees and benches and picnic tables. Every now and then a shift in the light took on the shape of a moving shadow, stopping me. I noticed a dark spot over in the midst of a thicket of cedars, near a picnic table, and I headed off the path, my heels leaving soft impressions in several inches of snow that had piled up.
As I wound my way through the poorly manicured ferns and bushes, I smel ed something. There was only one thing in the world that smel ed so wonderful— blood. Crap.
Fol owing my nose, I traced the scent through the undergrowth, hoping I was wrong. But no matter how much you prepare yourself, there’s no good way to find a body. And find it I did: a young woman lying stark against the snow, her skirt pushed up and her panties missing. Her legs were spread, and blood trickled down from her inner thigh.
Dizzy, I dropped back on the ground, sitting beside the pale victim. One glance confirmed that the girl fit the pattern we’d noticed. Probably five six, one thirty-five, looked somewhere between twenty and thirty. Raped. And by the pale look of her skin, exsanguinated. She was freshly dead—
no rigor yet.
I looked away, listening to the sounds around me. A rustle in the bushes, and the snuffle of the stray dog causing it. The sound of snow falling muffled against the ground. The light whistle of the breeze ruffling through the firs.
Glancing back at the girl, I grimaced. Whoever had done this had left her in disarray, without respect, splayed for anybody to find. I wanted to cover her genitals, rearrange her so she could reclaim her dignity, but I had to wait for Chase and his team to get here.
Sighing, I pul ed out my cel phone and punched in his number. While I waited for him to pick up, something struck me about the girl. Something off. Her forehead—what—?
“Johnson here.”
“Chase, it’s Menol y. I found another victim.”
“Crap. Where are you?”
I told him where I was and how I’d come to be here, and he said he’d be down with a team within ten minutes. Pocketing the phone again, I leaned down to look at the girl’s brow. Her eyes were staring up at me, glassy and vacant.
“I’m sorry. I wish I could close them,” I whispered. “I don’t know who you are, and until Chase comes, I can’t look to find out. I don’t know if you’re stil around here in spirit—that’s my sister Camil e’s territory—but I’m sorry. I’m sorry he did this to you. I’m sorry he left you here alone. I’m sorry I can’t do anything for you except sit beside you and keep the animals at bay.”
I didn’t want to look at her, but as I leaned over her delicate, blank face, I saw it again—
something on her forehead. I pul ed out a pen flashlight and flipped it on, leaning closer. There, something wet. Something faint against her skin. It could have been snow fal ing on her and melting, but when I leaned in close, it looked like nothing less than a cross, drawn in water, on her brow.
Frowning, I leaned back. Most vampires didn’t hold any truck with religious symbology—it was a nonissue for them. I had little to do with the gods. They hadn’t been there for me when I was screaming for them, as Dredge ripped into me. And now, I didn’t need them. As far as I was concerned, the gods could fuck themselves.
So why had the kil er drawn a cross on her forehead after he kil ed her? Or had someone else been here and gone between the time she was murdered and the time I found her?
Pondering the answers, I looked up at the snow fal ing. In the distance, I could hear the faint shouts of Chase’s men as they came racing down the path. They skidded to a halt about ten feet from me, as Chase and Sharah lightly crossed to my side.
“You should get some crime scene tape up. You’l want evidence. Even if this is another vampire slaying, and it is, you need to fol ow protocol.” I stood up. “I haven’t touched her, though I sat beside her before I thought about what I might be disturbing.”
Chase shook his head and motioned for me to move to the side with him as Sharah took over, leading the team into action. “She human?”
“As the sun is bright.” I glanced back, again wincing as they began taking photographs and processing the area. “Do they have to photograph her like that? It’s so undignified.”
“I know,” he said, lightly touching my elbow to turn me away from the scene. “I’m sorry, but we need the photos for evidence.” He glanced back at the body. “I’m sorry you had to find this.”
“I know something about our kil er. Or at least I think I do.” I kicked the snow with my boot. “I think he was religious in life. Or he’s superstitious. He’s not remorseful—he doesn’t leave the bodies in a dignified manner. But he drew a cross on her forehead. I saw it, though it’s probably dried by now.”>Let me drown forever, let me swim out and never come back. My thoughts were clouded in shades of honey and amber, of incense and sweet perfume. A rush of images raced through my mind—an ancient riverbed, dry as the moon, carving its way through a series of dunes. The thunder of hooves as a group of warriors rode by under the sun, their leader as glorious as the sun that beat down on them. Roman. Astride the lead horse, and the look in his eyes one of victory.
And the scenes changed, a sensual col age of people and places but always, always Roman was there, leading the rush, laughing atop a pile of dead bodies, in the middle of battle, his eyes flashing with life as he staked his claim, and then slowly, the euphoric rush began to fade, just enough for me to disentangle my thoughts, as he gently pul ed away.
