The Pilgrims of the Damned: A Vampire Thriller, page 7
“I do.” Miles nodded. “I trust my driving more than anyone else’s, but I’ve also been told I have control issues, and you know where we’re going better than I do.”
“I’ll put the address in the satnav,” Amelia said. “You drive, I’ll point out when you’re doing it wrong.”
“Teamwork,” Miles said with a smile and got into the car, adjusting the seating and mirrors until he was comfortable.
“They never show that bit in movies,” Amelia said. “People just jump in and go.”
“Probably nae the most exciting way to build tension,” Miles pointed out, satisfied that he could now see out of the wing mirrors. He pressed the starter button, letting the car come soundlessly to life.
“I would have assumed vampires would have a hard time adjusting to new things,” Amelia said.
Miles drove the car out of the underground parking lot, following the satnav. It was only a thirty-minute drive to the destination that Amelia had put in, but considering the power of the car, he figured he could do it quicker.
“Vampires have to adapt,” Miles said as he took the electric car onto I-93 and gave it a little more power, smiling as the car sped through the night.
A few minutes later, they were off the interstate and driving through a dense wooded area. They came out the other end, and Miles followed the instructions on the computer for a few more miles until he pulled up outside of a house opposite a large pond.
“Whipple Hill,” Amelia said, pointing to the pond area. “It’s a big conservation area. That’s Heather’s house.”
“We’re staying at your friend’s home?” Miles asked, switching off the car.
“She left it to me,” Amelia said, and was silent for several seconds before she opened the door and stepped out into the still, cool night air.
“She left you a house?” Miles asked as he and Church followed Amelia up the drive to the forest-green painted building.
“She didn’t have family,” Amelia explained, removing a set of keys from her bag and opening the door. “I was like a sister to her.”
Amelia quickly moved into the building as something inside started to beep rhythmically.
Miles stepped into the darkness of the building and stroked Church’s head as she pushed up against his leg. The small area just beyond the front door was big enough to put coats and shoes and a set of keys on a rack, and that was about it. In front of him were two sets of stairs, one on the left leading down, and one on the right leading up. Miles chose to stay where he was until called.
The beeping stopped and the lights in the tiny hallway came on. Amelia stood at the top of the right-hand staircase. “Alarm,” she said, which explained the beeping. “Down there is a bathroom, office, and exit to the side of the house. Come on up.”
Miles let Church go first, and he followed into a long living area that stretched the length of the house, ending with a large window that, even from where Miles stood, he could see led to the decking at the rear of the property, and presumably the back garden. There was a patio styled sliding door next to the window. Between him and the door was a sofa large enough to fit a dozen people, opposite a TV that probably should have been in a cinema screen.
“Heather had a passion for old movies,” Amelia said sadly.
Miles stepped into the room and looked to the side, where a floor-to-ceiling set of cabinets sat, full of old movies on several different mediums. “That’s quite the passion,” he said, wondering if once this was all over he might have time to watch a few of them. He stepped back out as Amelia continued the tour. “Front room,” she said, pointing to a small room which had two comfortable chairs, and an entire wall which consisted of books on shelves.
“Second bathroom through there,” Amelia continued. “Bedrooms are upstairs. There’s a bedroom downstairs in the basement, next to the bathroom, it only has one window and blackout curtains. I thought you might like to use it.”
“Sounds good,” Miles said, placing his bag on the floor beside him and looking around. “You okay?”
Amelia gave him a thumbs-up. “Why are you wearing your torc?”
Miles looked down at the bronze bracelet on his wrist that identified him as an Arbiter for the Assembly. He chuckled. “Force of habit. I guess I won’t be needing it this time around, nae being official and the like, but I figured for now I’ll leave it on. I don’t have to tell people it’s nae official if they decide that it looks official. You avoided my question.”
“I am not okay,” Amelia said, shaking her head. “Not even a little bit. This was my friend’s house. And someone murdered her, and now I’m here. Owning her house and trying to find her killer, to take back what he or his friends stole from another witch they also murdered. So, yeah, I’m dealing with some shit. And I don’t really know what I’m meant to do with a house I don’t live in, in a country I don’t want to move to. It’s a lot.”
Church went up to Amelia and licked her hand.
Amelia looked down, smiled, and quickly looked away, wiping at her eyes. “Damn it.”
“You want some time?” Miles asked.
“No,” Amelia said, turning back to him. “We need to get to Stuart Murphy’s house in a few hours. I’m going to make coffee and have a shower. You’re welcome to use the bathroom downstairs.”
“Do you have the address we’re going to?” Miles asked. “I wanted to ask a friend to look into something.”
“Sure, I’ll send it to you,” Amelia said.
“Thank you,” Miles said.
“Can you let Church out into the back garden?” he asked.
“My pleasure,” Amelia said, motioning for Church to follow her through the long living room.
Miles picked up his bag and took it down to the basement, office, bedroom, bathroom area. He removed his phone as Amelia’s text came through, which he forwarded to Samuel with the message, two hours.
Miles’s phone vibrated a few seconds later with a message: Already in Boston. See you there.
He put his phone down on the nearby table and walked through the office to the adjacent bedroom, which had a pull-out sofa bed, already made up with fresh sheets, pillows, and a blanket on top. Blackout curtains were also in place. Amelia had prepared, or had someone come in and do it for her. Miles wondered how long in advance Drest had let her know that he would become involved. Miles moved the curtain slightly to see that the window on the wall was high up and was small enough that it wasn’t going to be a huge problem with the curtains closed.
There was an AC control on the wall just outside of the bedroom, and Miles turned the temperature down to cold, had a shower using the fresh lilac-coloured bath towel provided, and put on a fresh pair of jeans and a clean T-shirt. Feeling more like his usual self, he lay on the surprisingly comfortable sofa bed until Church bounded into the room and jumped up beside him.
“I don’t like this,” Miles said. “Dead witches, a stolen grimoire, a magic user who may or may not be utterly psychotic from what I’ve seen so far. Stuart is dying, so he must have a time scale, unless, like Amelia suggested, the magic is keeping him alive, in which case, who knows.”
Church let out a soft whine.
“Aye, I know,” Miles said, scratching her under the chin.
Amelia arrived at the door a few minutes later, having changed into a pair of jeans and new T-shirt. “You ready?”
Miles nodded and sat up. “How long is the drive?” he asked.
“Forty minutes, maybe,” Amelia said. “I went there just after Stuart’s name came up in Heather’s murder. It reeks of chaos magic.”
“How so?” Miles asked.
“Chaos magic draws out living force from everything around it and leaves a sort of greasy residual energy in the air. Feels like you’ve walked through somewhere a horrific thing took place. You can drive. I’m going to sleep on the way.”
“Why not go to the church in Boston?”
“The Detective suggested we meet at the house,” Amelia said. “We can always go to the church too, if you need to.”
It wasn’t long after that they were on their way once again, with Miles driving through the darkness to the destination where Stuart had murdered his neighbours and burned down his and their homes. Amelia fell asleep almost immediately, and Miles made sure to follow the speed limit to the exact mile per hour, letting her rest a little longer.
There was a lot about being human that Miles had forgotten, but he remembered being up for days at a time, exhausted, his brain clouded with fog. Desperate for sleep. Vampires got a similar feeling if they hadn’t drunk blood for an extended period. Although that came along with headaches, and a disposition that would tentatively be described as crabby.
Miles pulled over at his destination behind a dark grey Ford Expedition that may as well have had police emblazoned across the back.
Amelia woke when the car stopped, yawned, and stretched.
“We’re here,” Miles told her, motioning to the car in front. “Your cop friend?”
“Not sure friend is the right word,” Amelia said and opened the door.
Miles got out of the car, letting Church out too, and together they followed Amelia a short distance toward the two burned-out shells of what clearly used to be houses. A lone man stood between the two buildings. He wore a badly fitting black suit—his arm muscles bulging out of it—and, as he turned to see Miles, an expression of wishing to be elsewhere. He was white, with short hair, almost in a military style, and dark goatee.
“Amelia,” he said, his accent pure Bostonian. He walked over and shook her hand. “This your vampire friend?”
“Miles, this is Detective Payton Hauser. I’ll sit back and listen, if that’s okay?”
“Detective,” Miles said, offering his hand, which the Detective shook.
“Sorry, this place gives me the creeps,” he said with a sigh, his eyes widening as he took in Church. “That your dog?”
“This is Church,” Miles said. “She’s harmless.”
“She’s a big girl,” the Detective continued. “She must eat like a lion or something.”
“It costs a lot in wildebeest,” Miles said.
“Seriously?”
“No,” Miles said with a smile. “She does eat a lot, but so far no wildebeest. Which one of these is the Murphy house?”
“Oh, that one,” Detective Hauser said, pointing to the building on the left. “Stuart left his house, went to his neighbour, killed them both by… means unknown, and set fire to their building.”
“Amelia said that there’s proof to back that up.”
“Neighbour saw him walk across to that house, go inside, lots of screaming, lots of flames,” the Detective said. “He then walked out and got into his car and drove to Boston. He entered the Church of the Holy Trinity—CCTV shows him going inside—where five people were killed, including the priest, before CCTV shows Stuart Murphy leaving, followed by the church bursting into flames.”
“Any ideas why?” Miles asked.
“According to the neighbours and constant police reports, the couple who lived here were playing loud music at all times of day, and were dealing out of the house,” the Detective said. “The police were called several times, and each time the couple received warnings. The male occupant had previous drug offences. We got a warrant to do a search, but found nothing except completely legal amounts of pot.”
“How long did they live there?” Miles asked.
“Three years,” the Detective said.
“Three years of pent-up resentment at his neighbours, combined with anger at his wife and kids leaving, and his cancer,” Miles said. “And his already unpleasant temperament. Nae adding up to good things. You ever get a call about him hitting his wife or kids?”
“There was some concern at the local school when one of the kids had bruising, but Stuart explained it away. Report says they were riding, kid fell down a hill, dad grabbed him, hurting his arm to stop him from serious damage. Kid and wife agreed, although we all saw how they were around him. After that, no more problems at school. Local neighbours say the wife had an occasional bruising on her neck and arms, but after it was pointed out, she wore long sleeves all the time. Murphy beat his wife and kids for a long time is my guess. He’s a piece of shit, and if I had my way, I’d drive into Maine and drag him out by his fucking ears, but I don’t. And no one else wants to get involved either.”
“No one?” Miles asked.
“Amelia said her friend Heather was poking her nose into Stuart’s business,” the Detective said. “They drowned her and hung her from a fucking tree. Outside of my, or any, police force’s jurisdiction, I might add. Found her in Maine, so officially, she’s Maine’s case. Want to know how many police forces there are in Maine to deal with stuff like this?”
“Zero,” Miles said. “It’s why I’m here.”
“You really gonna go in that place?”
Miles nodded. “And drag the fucker out by his ears if given the chance. If Heather’s murder doesn’t fall under anyone’s jurisdiction, why was her body allowed to be recovered?”
The Detective let out a sigh. “There are guard stations all up the east side of Maine. Most are manned by the army, or your guards, but a few have gotten themselves manned by the Magistrate. They allowed Heather’s body to be brought back to Boston, although frankly, if they’re not helping Stuart and his people I’d eat my fuckin’ hat.”
“Nae a fan?”
“Of the Magistrate?” the Detective asked, making sure his tone suggested exactly what he thought of them. “No. They’re bigoted little dipshits. Fuck ’em.”
Miles was beginning to warm to the Detective. “May I look around?”
The Detective motioned for Miles to go ahead.
“Quick question before I do,” Miles said. “You found any links between Stuart and the Magistrate?”
“Officially, none,” the Detective said. “But the guard who got grabbed at the border has a lot of links. And that guard knows Stuart pretty well. His name is Patrick Rodgers. He’s got friends in the Magistrate, and he’s an asshole. That’s my official Detective term for him. He’s got a record of violence, mostly alcohol enabled. Frankly, I don’t even know how someone with his record gets a job as a guard anywhere near the border.”
“He mentioned Stuart?” Miles asked.
“Not by name,” the Detective said. “He asked if we’d be interested in information about the person who set a church on fire in Boston. Said he knew the guy, said they both had friends in the Magistrate. Said we needed to make a deal. Then a lawyer arrived and he shut up quicker than I’ve ever seen.”
“So it’s possible that the Magistrate is working with Stuart, too,” Miles said.
“Working with, working for,” the Detective said. “We tried looking into any connection, and we were informed that it was an avenue we needed to leave alone.”
“Who warned you?”
“My boss,” the Detective said. “Technically, my boss’s boss.”
The overwhelming thought rattling around Miles’s head was: Why would the Magistrate want to help Stuart? He’d seen firsthand that the Magistrate would happily hold their collective noses and work with those who weren’t human, if it meant they got something out of it. So, what were they getting out of all this? The possibility of creating witches? They’d need a lot more grimoires, and from what Miles could remember, they weren’t the sort of thing that were just put together by anyone.
“Thanks,” Miles said, as he walked over to the closest house, which had belonged to Stuart’s neighbours, and stepped inside. It had been about a month since the fire and murders inside, but as Amelia had said, there was a weird atmosphere to the place. Chaos magic was not something you got to use and walk away from without making sure the world knew it had been used.
With Church beside him, they moved through the ruined building to the living area, which according to Amelia had been where the bodies were found. The sense of wrongness was at its peak in what had been a large room. There were no floorboards above, and the contents on the bedroom above had fallen through the destroyed floor. Someone had placed a green tarpaulin over the large hole in the roof, but it had done little to stop the rain getting in, and from the smell of it, local vermin too.
Church let out a low growl, and something small scurried off into the darker recesses of the building, splashing water from the inch deep puddle the room now sat in.
Miles wasn’t interested in seeing if he could find anything; he just wanted to get a feeling for what had happened. And that feeling was nothing good. He left the house with Church beside him, who shook herself the second they were outside, as if exorcising something unpleasant from her fur.
“Find anything?” Amelia asked, taking Miles’s attention away from his thoughts.
“Evil,” Miles said. “No other word for it. Evil was done in that house.”
“Chaos magic can’t be used for anything else,” Amelia said grimly. “It quite literally tears out life force to use it. It stains the world. My advice would be to knock that house down, salt the earth, and never build here again.”
“Seriously?” the Detective asked.
“It makes my skin crawl,” Miles said. “You ever come across it before, Detective?”
The Detective nodded, although his expression suggested he’d have rather not. “Some incel piece of shit decided to use it to try and kill a woman who turned him down. He was practising, lost control of it, tore himself in half after he froze the moisture all around him and it exploded. That moisture included his blood. Was a bit of a mess, but the place where he did it still feels weird even after seven years. That was my first time dealing with the wonderful world of magic. You’ll be shocked that no one put magical fuckery as the cause of death. Not just because no one would believe them.”
“Everyone on this planet should be glad that chaos magic is so rare that the vast majority of people will never have to deal with someone using it,” Amelia said.
“I doubt we’ll be so lucky that Stuart is stupid enough to set himself on fire,” Miles said. “Unfortunately.”
