Blood Night, Page 2

  Cheyenne was able to swing slightly. And a scream nearly escaped her despite her best efforts.

  She had found the source of the dripping sound.

  And she knew she wasn’t just being held.

  She was in line.

  A woman was suspended by her ankles next to her. She had been hung upside down, her throat punctured.

  And her life’s blood was dripping, dripping into a pail that rested beneath her.

  Cheyenne closed her eyes against the sight.

  Andre will come, Andre will come…

  She couldn’t wonder if he’d be able to follow her trail. She had to believe that he would. They had been serious and worried when they planned to come here, but were certain such a bizarre case could be solved quickly. After, they planned to take a wickedly romantic vacation, perhaps in Scotland or down in Italy, or maybe even on the French Riviera or in Andalusia.

  That concept wasn’t looking quite so possible at the moment.

  Had it been only days ago that they’d arrived at Highgate, just before Halloween? She could remember Emily’s first hysterical call and how they had come to be here, what they had discovered, and what they had not.

  Panic seized her, along with the pain that wracked her arms and head.

  She fought it. She had to stay calm and determined.

  Soon, she was. There had to be a way out.

  And she would find it before she ever let the wretched Vampire of Highgate add another victim to his toll.

  Think back! she told herself.

  The answers to her escape might well be in the memories of the steps they had taken that had caused her to end up where she was now.

  So, first…The call from Emily that had brought them across the Atlantic.

  Chapter 1

  “A cemetery? You want to visit another cemetery? Because of a murder?” Andre asked Cheyenne.

  She stood at the counter in the apartment they’d just rented together in Alexandria, Virginia, and he couldn’t help but be reminded of the great day they’d had thus far. This morning, they’d brought in the last of their belongings, including their suitcases since they’d returned from Louisiana to make their cohabitation arrangements and had been living out of a hotel room.

  The apartment was terrific—a beautiful kitchen with modern appliances plus upgraded bathrooms—and yet the building itself was early Victorian, one on a street of historic row houses.

  They loved it. And since they both had apartments in the D.C. area but had been busy moving things out of those and then in together, they’d opted for the ease of a hotel during the transition. Now, at last, they had a few days of leisure before returning to work.

  Cheyenne had been with the FBI previous to meeting Andre—or re-meeting him—in Louisiana. They’d been on a strange case that had delved into both Cheyenne’s and Andre’s pasts. Now, she had been transferred to the Krewe, as well. They had taken down a particularly heinous killer, and that called for a few days’ reprieve from the office.

  Time enough to get into their new apartment.

  The master bath boasted a fabulous Jacuzzi. They’d emerged from it recently, and while Cheyenne delivered information regarding her recent phone call, she stood in a big, white, fluffy towel.

  Andre also wore a towel. He hadn’t expected the conversation to go in this direction. She’d hopped up because she heard her cousin, Emily, on the answering machine and wanted to let her know that she’d call her back.

  “We have time!” she whispered.

  “To go to England?”

  “She’s my cousin,” Cheyenne said. “And this is looking very bad for her.”

  Cousin…Cheyenne cannot lose another cousin.

  Still. Emily lived in England.

  “Cheyenne, we’re Krewe, but that’s still FBI. We don’t have any authority or power in London or Highgate.” He paused. “Is Highgate just the cemetery, or is it a town?”

  “It’s a cemetery and a suburban area of north London,” Cheyenne said. She stared at him with wide eyes full of hope.

  She had the most unusual eyes. They weren’t brown. And they weren’t green or blue. Instead, they had facets of both green and blue that grew more pronounced depending on her mood rather than any color she might be wearing. They could appear like the sky at times. At other times, they burned as gold as any fire.

  She was going, he knew. Whether he did or not.

  He hesitated. Their recent case had revolved around a cemetery, too.

  And was a replay back to old murders, with one of the victims having been Cheyenne’s cousin.

  “All right.”

  “All right?”

  “Of course. Your cousin is in trouble. We will have no power or authority, but we can be there to give her emotional strength and help her figure out what’s going on and… What is going on?” he asked.

  “A vampire seems to be behind it,” she said.

  “A vampire?”

  The Krewe of Hunters were members of an unusual unit of the bureau. They had the unique ability to speak to the dead who remained behind, those who chose to communicate with the living.

  But vampires?

  “A murderer,” she said quietly. “One who is choosing to revitalize the story of the Vampire of Highgate, leaving a trail of dead. One of those victims was found on Emily’s front porch.”

  “Ah, um, ah,” he said. “Okay, so…we’ll see who Adam Harrison might know over there and if he can help us any with local authorities.” Adam was the Krewe’s founder, a man as well known for his diplomatic and charitable achievements as he was for his work with the bureau. An amazing man. Still…

  Highgate. Andre was sure it was a lovely town. But they were American. And the crimes were being committed in England.

  And, no pun intended, even to himself, he was sick to death of cemeteries.

  “You’ll have to bring me up to date on the old legends of the Highgate vampire.”

  She nodded solemnly. “We’ll both go? Really?”

  “Really. Of course.”

  She smiled and flew across the distance that separated them, straight into his arms. Her towel fell to the floor along the way. When she leapt into his arms, his towel dropped, too.

  The night was going to be all right, after all.

  But come the morning…

  He wasn’t going to think about the morning right now. He was just going to breathe in the scent of her and feel the silk of her skin and hair…

  And watch that beautiful, burning golden light that came into her eyes when they made love.

  * * * *

  “Media,” Andre said, glancing at Cheyenne. “So, reading up, here’s what I see. There was an incident at Tottenham Park Cemetery in London in 1968. Very weird things were done. Vandalism, but with bones and flowers. One grave was dug up, the coffin opened, and the body in it staked through the heart. Right after that, various people began seeing things at Highgate Cemetery: a lady in white, a ghostly cyclist, and a man in a top hat with a ghastly face—obviously a vampire. So, in the sixties, the cemetery was already over a hundred years old, overgrown and in terrible disrepair. The first sighting of the vampire was by a couple walking down Swain’s Lane. The stories grew, and two figures back then became notable. Men named David Farrant and Sean Manchester. The first, it seems to me, was a rather harmless spiritualist who caused the flurry. The second considered himself a bishop in a church of his own creation. He came up with a story that the vampire was from Romania, had known Vlad the Impaler—the Dracula—and somehow wound up buried there, hundreds of years before Highgate came into existence. Manchester claimed the vampire had been awakened by Satanists.”

  Cheyenne nodded with a grimace. “Yes, legends allow for a lot, right? There was a real frenzy back then from what I understand. People became desperate to stop the vampire by breaking the gates, desecrating tombs. All that and more.”

  “In 1971, a headless, charred body with a stake through its heart was found in the cemetery,�
�� Andre noted. “And, according to a book by Manchester, he stalked the vampire for thirteen years, found it, staked it, and killed it. But then his companion, Luisa, was taken over by the vampire. She turned into a giant spider, and he staked her, too.”

  “Thing is, as with any legend, people will see what they choose to see.”

  “And crazies will help them see things,” he murmured. “That was the past. This is the present.” He glanced at her again, glad that talking was easy enough on their long flight.

  Adam hadn’t just approved their trip, he’d managed to get them a great flight in the business section of a 787 Dreamliner.

  It was nice, and Andre was grateful. He knew Cheyenne was still amazed. While being in the Krewe sometimes drew ridicule, it had its perks, too. And even those who ridiculed had to begrudgingly acknowledge the Krewe’s statistics for solving unsolvable cases.

  Few, of course, would believe why.

  “So, to today…while none of the bodies have been found in the cemetery, they’ve been found close by. And thus, the legend of the vampire has risen again,” he said.

  He was somber as he spoke. The police didn’t buy the concept that a vampire had returned to Highgate. Not officially—and probably not at all.

  There were three dead. The first, Vanessa Lark, had been found at one end of Swain’s Lane, draped over a bench, white as a sheet and, as the medical examiner would soon discover, drained of blood.

  The second, Olivia Wordsworth, had been found at the other end of the lane, leaning atop a stone plaque, also exsanguinated.

  The third and most recent had been found on the steps of Emily Donegal’s small entry porch. Eric Morton, her fiancé, had been questioned relentlessly, and Emily had been brought in for questioning, as well, right before her frantic call to Cheyenne. The third victim had been identified as Sheila Marie Lynsey, and she had once dated Eric Morton. They had, in fact, been involved for several years before they split up two years ago.

  When the two were together, Sheila had lived with Eric in the house on Swain’s Lane.

  “The murderer returning Ms. Lynsey’s body to her previous home…sickly poetic,” Andre murmured.

  “Just sick,” Cheyenne said. “Andre, you don’t think someone killed the other women just to put a vampire spin on it all before getting to Sheila Lynsey, do you? Trying to make Eric look guilty? Or Emily? It sounds like they questioned my cousin, thinking she could be guilty of this because she was jealous or afraid of Sheila.”

  “Admit it, we’d have to take a look at that possibility, too,” Andre said.

  “You haven’t met Emily yet,” Cheyenne said. “She’s sweet, tiny, fragile. She moved to London about four years ago because she was working in customer service for the hotel business, and her company transferred her over. Because she’s so sweet, she can usually soothe even the most enraged customer. But she has a good head on her shoulders and can solve situations with both the hotel and the customer, delivering the best solution to any discord.”

  “And Eric? You know him?”

  Cheyenne nodded. “He’s a translator. He speaks four languages fluently and has been hired to translate books from Spanish, Italian, and French into English. His mom was Norse, and so, while I’d call him fluent in Norwegian, as well, he says he’s not completely proficient in the language and won’t offer his services in it. His dad was a professor at Oxford. But he’s tall, and I guess that means he could pop on a hat and grab a cane and be a vampire… I don’t know. It was the last victim that caused the police to look at the two of them. The thing is, Andre, it’s likely that whoever this killer is, he knew about Eric’s past and that he’d be a suspect. And Emily…she could be a person of interest. Or if they’re trying to nail Eric, a victim.”

  Andre reclined his seat and looked over at Cheyenne.

  “Try to get some sleep. It’s going to be a very long day. And night,” he surmised.

  She leaned back.

  He caught her hand—not easy over the divide—and squeezed it.

  This killer was playing off the legend and the past.

  A headless, charred corpse with a stake through its heart had been found on a long-ago Halloween.

  And the last day of October was fast approaching.

  They were going to have to discover the truth quickly. Because Andre was in no way convinced this killer was a vampire.

  Just a very clever murderer. One with an agenda.

  And that plan might well include Emily.

  Chapter 2

  Eric’s house was on the steep end of Swain’s Lane. His Victorian home was just down from a modern housing complex, complete with glass and chrome—and, Cheyenne thought, every possible modern convenience.

  She’d let Emily know when they landed, and while Emily had offered to pick them up, Andre had wanted to rent a car. She’d been somewhat nervous about either of them driving on what they saw as the “wrong” side of the road, but Andre quickly proved adept at changing lanes. When she glanced his way, he shrugged and said, “Yeah, I’ve done this before. But last time, it was for a vacation.”

  “Well, we can think of this as a strange holiday. Tourists do come to visit Highgate. It’s considered a microcosm of Victorian art and ideals. The cemetery is beautiful, and there are a lot more controls in place now than there were forty to sixty years ago.”

  They arrived at Emily and Eric’s. As her cousin had assured her, there was just enough space on the side of the old house for the little car they had rented.

  Emily quickly came out onto the small porch that led to the residence. Just three steps and perhaps three or four feet of brick. Cheyenne glanced up as they arrived. The home had two floors and an attic, two charming towers, dormers, and turrets. It was lovely and painted a soft bluish-gray. The porch wasn’t wide but wrapped around the structure, and the house had many windows.

  Emily appeared especially tiny against the rise of the façade, though the building wasn’t at all huge. She had a soft shade of hair much like Cheyenne’s, and pale green eyes.

  Her delicate face showed signs of the strain she’d been enduring.

  “Cheyenne!”

  She raced down the steps to throw her arms around Cheyenne and hold her tight. For a moment, Cheyenne lost her breath. She hugged her cousin fiercely in return.

  Emily began to babble. “I’m so sorry, I know I shouldn’t have asked you to come. Eric says that I shouldn’t have. I mean, thinking back on Janine and her murder and the killer and what you’ve just been through…”

  “Emily, I’m an FBI agent. That’s what I do—deal with the bad.”

  “Because of what happened to Janine,” Emily murmured.

  “Yes, but what we do is important. You called me. If you hadn’t, I’d have come anyway and…”

  She paused. Emily was staring at Andre, and Cheyenne managed to smile and step back to draw him closer.

  “Emily, Andre. Andre, Emily.”

  “Pleasure to meet you, Emily,” Andre said. “Though I wish the circumstances were different.”

  Emily nodded, pumped his hand in greeting, then looked at Cheyenne. “He’s gorgeous!” she said. “Oh, sorry, come in, come in, please. They took the crime scene tape down early this morning, thank God. We can come and go through our front door again, but that means nothing given the dead woman on our steps. And, poor Eric! He’s so distressed. He and Sheila didn’t break up badly, contrary to what everyone seems to think. Well, except for those who want to think they were still in love.” She shook her head.

  “And, obviously, I must be a monster of a person, killing two women to make it look like a would-be vampire is doing it. Oh! Of course, there are those in the area who do believe the vampire has come back. People are sneaking into the cemetery at night, carrying out more Satanic rites, raising the dead—vampires among them. But come in. Come in, please!”

  Cheyenne couldn’t help but inwardly grin at her cousin’s ramble. Emily kept Cheyenne’s hand as they reached the porch. And a
s they headed up the steps, Eric appeared in the doorway.

  Cheyenne had learned through her years in criminology and as an agent, that killers didn’t have a particular look. Some were obviously a little demented; others, like Ted Bundy, were capable of such charm that they could far too easily lure unwary victims into their clutches.

  But if she were to pick someone who didn’t look like a killer, it would be Eric Morton.

  Eric loved books, reading, languages, and history. He was a fairly tall man at about six feet, but like Emily, he was very thin. He wore soda-bottle thick glasses, had scruffy, short-cropped blond hair, and powder blue eyes that looked as if they belonged on the most innocent babe. And he was always quick to smile.

  Again, like Emily, he tended to be naïve and look for the good in others. Someone could repeatedly stab him in the back metaphorically, and he’d be oblivious to the fact.

  Today, however, he didn’t appear ignorant. He looked tired and worn and far older than his thirty-eight years. He smiled when he saw Cheyenne, though, extending welcoming arms.

  She accepted his hug, introducing Andre as she did, and the men shook hands.

  “In, in, in!” Emily said. “Trust me. They’re watching us from the new high-rise, and the damned walls seem to watch you these days. Oh, don’t get me wrong, I love Highgate. But…”

  “These are very strange times,” Eric said.

  “Tea. We have tea on. Oh, dear. I’ve been in England a long time now. I should have made coffee,” Emily murmured.

  “Tea is great,” Andre told her.

  They were soon seated in the expansive kitchen, one that had probably been upgraded about a decade ago. It had little bits of charm such as a brick wall to one side, and hanging copper pots and utensils. A large butcher block, probably almost as old as the house, was in the center, and they sat around it on carved wooden stools.