Angeles Underground Page 6

  I stopped and walked to the entrance, peering up at the camera, then across the street to where it was pointing.

  I’d seen this picture before—in grainy black and white. That apartment building across the street was where Jack had found the alleged ashes of the vampire, Martin, who’d caused Fiona’s accident and that door was where Susan had exited in the video footage I’d watched on my laptop. She’d crossed the street and headed down this sidewalk. And now she was back…

  I immediately fished for my phone and called Jack. “Do you still have guys outside of Martin’s apartment?”

  “Why? Do you have more information?”

  “Susan drove back here. I lost her, but I’m standing right outside the building.”

  “Let me see,” Jack said. “I’ll make a call and get right back to you.”

  After hanging up, I walked away from the door and leaned against a storefront wall, twenty feet away, all the while keeping an eye out for Susan. Maybe she’d gone back up to the apartment to clean up the mess she’d left? But I also kept watch on the apartment building entrance for Jack’s men going after her; I was certain I could pick them out if I saw them.

  My phone rang not two minutes later. “They’re not there right now,” Jack said. “Figures. They should be there within the hour though.”

  “Whatever; just give me the number,” I said.

  “3724.”

  “I’ll let you know what I discover,” I said, hung up, and raced across the street during a lull in traffic. After finding a map of the complex, I discovered exactly where I needed to go, crossed the courtyard, and entered one of the back buildings. I took the exterior steps two at a time to the third floor and found the apartment number.

  There was no one else along the exterior landing. A few people were walking across the courtyard, but overall, the area was relatively quiet. Curtains at the front window were drawn, and I didn’t notice any light behind them.

  I took one more quick look around, then used my superhuman speed and precision to pick the lock and enter the apartment within a few seconds—something I could have done even faster if the sun hadn’t been out, draining my energy.

  I assessed the living room in which I found myself, trying to detect any movement within the apartment. When I didn’t immediately pick up on anything, I began clearing each room, until I was convinced I was alone.

  The master bedroom’s curtains and shades were still open. There was no sun streaming into the room at this time of day, but there would be by late afternoon. The chair, too, was still in position, and the ashes still around the general vicinity. Everything looked as I’d seen in the pictures; if Susan had been back there, it hadn’t been to clean.

  I roamed the apartment to get a better sense of who this Martin was, something still unclear to all of us. There were no computers; probably, they’d been taken by Susan or whoever was responsible for killing him. Several pictures showed Martin alone, or him with a female companion, but there was nothing obviously incriminating. The fresh food in the refrigerator was starting to go bad; I could smell it even before seeing the cancerous spread of mold. Martin obviously entertained human guests, maybe even that lady friend in the pictures? There were also numerous blood bags in the meat compartment. I knew those would still be good.

  Since I was alone, I heated up one of the bags and found a glass to drink from. Some vampires didn’t mind drinking directly from the bags, but I never felt comfortable with that if I could help it. As expected, I could discern it was coyote blood—the reason Martin could transform into one. If I drank another one or two bags, I’d be able to as well, until I drank enough of a different species’ blood to dilute it again. This vampiric ability was where the legends of werewolves—and weres in general—came from.

  I didn’t practice transforming often, as it was an ability that had its costs—ones I didn’t want to pay continually. Vampires that spent too much of their time in the bodies of animals suffered dissociative disorders, as their single identities deteriorated into the multitude of other species they inhabited. Some lost their identities completely, their minds binding to the wild animals they were inhabiting. I didn’t like the experience, wanting to hold on to as much of my humanity as possible, which was hard enough as the years slipped by.

  There wasn’t much else there and it didn’t seem like Susan was coming, so maybe her being in the area was just some strange coincidence. Whatever; there was no reason to linger there.

  After finishing my snack, I left the apartment. A striped gray cat scampered in front of me on my way back to the stairs; it stopped to hiss, then sprinted away. I cursed it silently but continued on my path.

  On crossing the street, I noticed Susan’s Volvo was gone, so I took out my phone and checked the tracker app. What? Her car still appeared to be there! I walked a little, slowly, then stopped in the position her SUV had occupied, a full car length away from where my tracker map showed the tracker was positioned. Then I realized.

  I moved on toward the next car, waited for a few people to pass, then bent down and slid my hand slowly along its underside, reaching into all the hiding spots. My fingers felt and scrabbled around in the dirt and mud, feeling for the most likely spot to place a device, before soon locating the small magnetic tracker.

  Well played, Susan.

  8

  Sean

  I drove over to Hot Coffee after school. I’d texted Alexis earlier in the day to see if she was going to be on shift tonight.

  Unfortunately, when I arrived, I was greeted by a less-than-cordial Candace, which in essence was… well, just Candace’s usual self.

  “Fiona doesn’t work here anymore,” she said.

  “I know,” I said. “I’m here to see Alexis. She said she was working tonight. Though you may be interested in what I have to say as well.”

  “I find that hard to believe, but go on.” She propped herself against the register, crossing her arms. “This should be good.”

  “I think I should wait for Alexis. She on break?”

  “Making a delivery. She should be back any minute—well, speak of the devil.”

  I turned on my barstool and smiled as Alexis made her way around to the employee side of the floor with a holder of three smoothies. “Hey, Sean. Here’s your smoothie, m’dear,” she said, placing the holder on the counter and handing one to Candace.

  “Eli! Your smoothie!” Candace yelled.

  “Bring it back here; I’m on the phone,” he called from the office.

  “I’m not paid to be your personal servant!”

  “Please!”

  Candace gave an exasperated sigh, snatched the remaining smoothie, and stormed into the back room.

  “How’s it going?’ Alexis said once we were alone, then took a sip from the oversized straw. “I would have gotten you one if I knew you were coming now.”

  “That’s fine; I’m good. Actually, I—I’ve been better,” I said. “Have you heard about Fiona?”

  “No; just that she’s been MIA the past few days,” she said. “I was thinking of driving over there on my lunch. Why? Has she spoken to you?”

  “You said this would be good,” Candace said, walking back to the bar. “So out with it, Porter.”

  Now Alexis looked concerned, and with what I was about to tell them, she should be.

  “I stopped by Fiona’s last night and talked to her mother. Fiona’s gone. She left to find her father,” I said.

  “What? Where?” Candace asked.

  Alexis looked dumbfounded, unsure how to respond.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “She didn’t go into detail in her letter—just that she had a lead she felt confident in exploring—”

  “Wait; there was a letter?” Candace looked angry now.

  “Yeah; her mother showed it to me.”

  “So why won’t she answer her phone?” Alexis finally found her voice and asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Why didn’t she say anyth
ing?”

  “Probably because we would have told her it was a stupid idea,” Candace said.

  “I knew you were working with her a little, searching for her father,” Alexis said. “But this… I didn’t know she was so serious.”

  “I didn’t know she’d do this,” I said. “I was hoping you knew something about it, that I was just out of the loop now we’ve broken up.”

  “Which still isn’t winning you any points,” Candace said.

  “Hey, I’m just trying to help,” I snapped back.

  “I don’t even feel like I know her anymore,” Alexis said. “Do you think she went alone? Or does she have like this new secret group of friends we don’t know about?”

  “She probably went with that Matthew guy,” Candace said.

  “I can totally see that,” Alexis said.

  “Who’s Matthew?” I asked.

  Before answering, Alexis walked over to the register to help a customer who was browsing the pastry case. “What looks most delicious?” she asked, cheerfully.

  “Who’s Matthew?” I repeated to Candace.

  She dug her phone out of her back pocket. “I snapped a pic when she wasn’t looking,” she said, passing me the phone.

  In the picture, the guy was sitting where I was now, leaning forward on the bar with a coffee before him. He looked like a varsity football player or something, well-built and intimidating. Fiona sat on the opposite side, on the prep station counter, something I usually saw Candace doing. Her hand was on his left forearm, covering part of a tattoo I couldn’t quite make out.

  I scrolled to the next picture to see if there was more of this guy, but the next few were selfies of Candace. Seeing me checking out more of her pictures, she snatched the phone away.

  “I just got the one,” she said, slipping the phone back into her pocket.

  “So, who is this guy?” I asked.

  “You sound jealous,” she smirked.

  “I’m curious, that’s all. We went out for over a year and have been friends for way longer. We only just broke up. I’ve never seen this guy before.”

  “I only just saw him recently,” Candace said. “He’s come in a few times since you two broke up. I never saw or heard about him before then. He said he was some old family friend somehow—their moms were friends or something. I don’t know. Seemed fishy to me.”

  “He just recently starts coming around and then she suddenly takes off?” I shook my head. “Something’s not right.”

  “Maybe he’s kidnapped her.”

  “I’m being serious,” I said.

  “So am I. There are crazy people in this world.” She picked up a smoothie from the counter and took a sip. “Damnit. Sorry, Alexis. I drank out of yours.”

  “Language,” Eli said, strolling onto the floor, fixing his apron.

  “How do you do that?” Candace huffed. “It’s like a freakin’ superpower.”

  “Not a very good one,” he said, checking the coffee timers.

  “Did you ever get a last name for this Matthew guy?” I asked.

  “Nope; just Matthew. Are you gonna go all P.I. and try to track him down? You could whip out your fancy cameras.” Candace’s smirk was back; she always enjoyed giving me a hard time. I knew she didn’t think I was good enough for her friends, but her on-and-off boyfriend was no prize, so I didn’t let her criticisms get to me.

  “Maybe he knows something,” I said. “That is, if he didn’t leave with her.”

  “Maybe her leaving for her father’s just a cover story. Maybe they ran off and eloped.”

  I cringed at that mental picture and hopped down from the barstool. “I’m gonna go now. This has been fun, as always.”

  9

  Fiona

  Even though I came to, I thought I might be dead, waking up in some new reality—in a new life. Vivid flashes from the horror and torment of the night before flooded my mind. Nurse Oleander’s manic expression haunted me.

  Attempting to sit up, a lightning bolt of pain surged up my arm, causing me instantly to collapse. Simply moving the fingers of my right arm was agony and I steadily began to feel woozy. Then the memory returned—the memory of trying to push the raging vampire off me, fighting with all my strength until a loud crack rang out and what strength remained was snatched away. My wrist—or my forearm—something was broken.

  I cradled my arm to my body, keeping it as straight and motionless as possible. How could I handle getting through this if on the very first night I’d already sustained a broken bone? That didn’t even account for all the other pain throughout my body. My neck was on fire from where Nurse Oleander had bit into me. Strangely enough, I remembered the act itself as being nearly painless—almost euphoric—but the after-effects were anything but.

  Sun was flooding into the room since the curtains were still open. It was agony just to open my eyes from the pounding behind them. My caffeine headache was in full force now, and I’d have given anything for a coffee to tame it but didn’t think my stomach would be able to handle my signature white mocha.

  God, everything hurts…

  I lay in bed a long time, barely able to move. I didn’t hear anything coming from Mallory’s side of the room and it was too much work to position myself in such a way that I could look. It almost seemed better to try to go back to sleep—but that would get me instantly closer to the nighttime, and all this wretchedness would begin again. I wanted to do what I could to keep that at bay as long as possible.

  My nightmare seemed to manifest early—while the sun was still high—when the door to our cell opened. A mousy young girl with long brunette hair walked in, pushing a rolling cart with various supplies. She appeared harmless enough, but my heart still hammered in my chest at the mere sight of her entry.

  “Who are you?” a familiar voice groaned, telling me Mallory was awake too.

  “I’m Kelsey,” the girl said in a soft voice. She immediately approached my bed and closed the curtains, which automatically turned on the room lights. “I’m here to clean up.”

  “Got any Vicodin in there?” Mallory coughed, then grunted in pain.

  “Not exactly,” Kelsey said. “But I can still help you get rid of the pain. You both don’t look too bad.”

  If this was not bad, then I was terrified of what condition she’d consider bad.

  “I have on my paperwork that one of you is Fiona and the other Mallory.” Her gaze oscillated between the two of us.

  Mallory continued to speak up, addressing her own name, leaving mine to be determined by a process of elimination.

  “I understand. The first night’s always hard—I won’t say the hardest, but hard.”

  “Whatever,” Mallory said. “Can I get those painkillers now?”

  Kelsey walked over to Mallory’s bed, outside of my line of sight. I tried craning my neck to see, but it hurt too much and I gave up the effort.

  The room was quiet for a few minutes, but then Kelsey said, “It will take some time to feel better and return to normal, so just rest for now.”

  “Yes, doctor,” Mallory said, mockingly.

  A moment later, Kelsey was standing over me, looking down with sympathetic green eyes. “Where does it hurt the most?” she asked.

  “Is everywhere an appropriate answer?” I asked, trying to laugh, but cringing at the pain it caused instead. “I think my wrist is broken. Is there an actual doctor here who can see me?”

  “No need, but I have to make it worse before making it better,” she said, apologetically.

  I didn’t have to imagine what she meant by that for too long; she went to her cart, then returned with a scalpel and a towel.

  “Please don’t hurt me more,” I whimpered.

  “I promise to be quick,” she assured me, sat on the edge of the bed, then gently pulled my injured arm away from my body. “Why don’t you close your eyes.”

  I did as I was told, feeling faint solely from the thought of what she was going to do to me. When I felt the blade
of the scalpel split the skin of my forearm, I gasped and squeezed my eyes even tighter. I took rapid, deep breaths, feeling the lightheadedness and familiar fog coming for me. But the sharp pain was soon replaced by a cool, soothing sensation.

  I reopened my eyes and found Kelsey wrapping my forearm in the towel, then applying light pressure.

  “The bleeding will stop within a few minutes,” she said. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said, the cold sweat that had broken out all over my body beginning to subside. “What can you do for caffeine headaches? Not cut into my head, I hope.”

  Kelsey laughed. “I won’t do that, but I think I can provide a little relief.”

  She stuck her forefinger in her mouth and bit into it. I cringed at the action, but it didn’t seem to faze her whatsoever. Blood bubbled up from the fresh holes in her skin. She then touched the tip of her finger to my neck, where it was most sore; she seemed to be coating my skin with her blood.

  “As I mentioned to Mallory, the healing will take a little while since I’m not fully transitioned yet, but you should at least start to feel better real soon.”

  “So, you’re one of the born vampires?” I asked.

  “No; I’m actually a made vampire,” Kelsey said. “I was accidentally turned when I was thirteen, and vampires so young go through the similar stages of born vampires—continuing to grow and age until we reach full maturity, somewhere between nineteen and twenty-two.”

  “How is someone accidentally turned?” Mallory asked from her bed. “I’ve never heard that before.”

  “Okay, well he meant to turn me; he just didn’t understand what would happen. My maker must have been a pedophile in his previous life because he turned me with the expectation I’d remain a thirteen-year-old forever. He was never told how vampirism really works, and I got to pay the price.”