Hell's Belle (7 page)

"Okay, so why Providence? It's freezing, and the surf sucks in the Atlantic."

Max laughed. "I'm here helping the police department with some gang trouble. Apparently, I am considered a gang expert. I wrote a book on it once."

I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing he had just impressed me.

"What about you?" He leaned towards me, his arms on his knees. I was grateful for the coffee table between us. "You from around here?"

I shrugged, took an exaggerated gulp from my beer and looked down at my bare feet. I wasn't ready to answer that question yet.

Max got up and negotiated his way around the coffee table. He sat down beside me.

"You went through something pretty terrifying last night, and I don't blame you if you don't want to talk about it, but the dagger at my crime scene today looked an awful lot like the one that did this." He brushed his fingers softly along the raised pink scar that was oddly not healing. 

"I'm fine," I croaked out. If the slight quiver in my voice didn’t give away how I was feeling about Max, my sudden shiver did. I closed my eyes briefly and imagined kissing him. Bad idea. A fire in my belly roared. My eyes snapped back open.

"So, can you tell me anything?" he shifted a bit closer.

I took another gulp of the icy brew, hoping that it would cool me down a bit. "Show me those pictures again," I said, steadying my thoughts. I needed to take another look. If that was indeed the dagger, it was too much of a coincidence.

Max pulled out his phone and handed it to me. I tried to look disgusted by all the gore, but the composition of the pictures was intriguing. The bodies laid into the shape of a star, similar to the bodies I saw last night. Just less of them.

"What do you think the dagger was used for?" I asked, my eyes still taking in the crime scene. "Stabbing?"

"We think it was used to carve their hearts out," he said methodically.

"Was that cause of death?" I asked. My tone was almost as clinical as his.

"Waiting on the autopsy," he responded, eying me warily.

"Did they bleed out?" I squinted, looking intently on the images.

"We think so." Max pursed his lips. "Why?"

"That's not a lot of blood for four victims." I immediately kicked myself. Oh yeah, I just own a little dive bar. 

"I would assume, you know, puddles..." I tried to recover from my gaff.

"You're right." He looked slightly impressed. "And you know this, how?"

"I watch way too much TV." I laughed a little nervously when I realized that there was no television in my apartment. "At the bar. Alfonso loves those CSI shows."

I took another swig. My hands were shaking.

"Sorry." Max noticed my discomfort and took the phone out of my hands, then he reached over and held them. "Are you alright?"

I closed my eyes and, for the first time since all this crap began to happen, felt completely exhausted.

The mysterious Marcello, the ancient dagger, the spike in “unexplained” phenomena that drew me back home. The supernatural forces were building in this City, and I was here to battle them. But I wasn't expecting these forces to hit so close to home. Everything was about to change. This could be my last night to feel more human than beast.

Max touched the side of my face. "Why don't you try to lie down?"

"Will you stay?" I was too tired to hold on to my bravado.

Max picked me up in his muscular arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he carried me to the bed. His touch was strong and reassuring, but also surprisingly gentle.

"I'll stay as long as you want," Max stroked the side of my face again.

"Thanks."

Our eyes locked. I willed myself not to pull away this time, and he bent into me.

I parted my mouth and he slowly slid his tongue in. We began exploring each other gingerly, and then our tongues began to dance with greater urgency.

I yanked at his t-shirt and he smiled and pulled it off. I drank in his golden, rock-solid form, chiseled to perfection by years spent chasing the waves.

I wrapped my hands around him and pulled him on top of me. He moved his hands down the sides of me body, feeling each curve from my breasts down to my hips.

I guided his right hand under my tank top and to my breast. Running his fingers lightly over it, he caressed me softly, teasingly. My mind was screaming at me to get off this runaway train, but my body refused stop.

I trained my hand lower until I found his zipper, and began pulling at it. My hands fumbled a bit at my urgency. It finally relinquished. As I began to slide it down, a knock on the door interrupted us.

Max stopped and eyed me curiously. I shrugged and ignored it.

The banging became louder, and then Frankie's voice called out, "Come on, Nina! Open the bloody door!"

I sighed and pulled away from Max. Talk about a mood breaker.

Adjusting my disheveled clothing, I strode across the apartment and flung open the door.

"What, Frankie?" I growled.

"That's a hell of a greeting, Love," Frankie took in my appearance and smirked. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"

"I have to think about that." I glowered at him.

"That's a fine thank-you for bringing your bike home." He dangled the keys.

"Shit, Frankie, where'd you leave it?" This was a crappy neighborhood and the bike could get stolen.

"Relax!" He moved aside and I saw it gleaming in the hallway.

"You rode it down my hallway?" I shook my head, incredulous. I suppose scuffmarks on the recently restored hardwood floors were better than a stolen bike.

"Now doesn't that merit an invitation?" He laid on the puppy dog eyes a little thick.

"Frankie, please come in," I sighed and walked down the hallway into the kitchen. Max was pulling on his shirt. His expression darkened when he saw Frankie behind me.

"You leaving?" Frankie grinned at Max like a Cheshire cat, shrugged his backpack off and plopped himself on the sofa. He unzipped the bag and began pulling out large, leather-bound books that were a few birthdays short of ancient. "Because I need Nina's help...with...work."

Frankie nodded at me, like he was looking for some sort of expression of gratitude for not blowing my cover.

"Did you want coffee?" I pulled a bag of coffee from the fridge.

"No, thanks," Max said, eying the strange tomes. "I'll let you get to it."

I followed him to the door. "Sorry about this." I motioned towards the living room where Frankie was flipping through a magazine.

Max turned and leaned against the doorframe. "Make it up to me."

"How?" I smiled slightly, and felt my lower body tingle.

"Let me take you to dinner." He snaked his arms around my waist, and I leaned into him and nodded.

"I'll pick you up at 8:30." He kissed me on the forehead and walked towards the garage. I enjoyed his perfect ass for a minute,
then shoved the door closed.

Frankie and I had work to do.

CHAPTER 9

I shuffled lazily back into the living room, yawning. It wasn't that late, but I was exhausted. Frankie hid behind one of his enormous books. I could sense the smirk even if I couldn't see it.

I thought to pick up where I left off with the coffee idea. A full pot would be good. "Anything interesting in there?" I called to Frankie over my shoulder as I headed towards the kitchen to finish the coffee.

"Actually, yes," he said, tilting the book towards me. I squinted at the page.

"Holy shit," I crossed back to the living room, picked up the book, and promptly dropped it on Frankie's toe. It was heavy.

"Sorry!" I said, as he winced. I picked up the book again and held it out to him. He flipped through the pages, to the one he was reading.

There was the dagger. And below it was loads of writing. In a language that looked familiar but not really.

"This isn't
vampiric tongue, right?" I asked.

Frankie shook his head, "No. The ancient
vampiric is different from today, but there are usually enough similarities between them that we can decipher ancient texts. I can't place this, though."

"What about the book?" I closed the volume and looked at the cover. "Where'd you get it?"

"After I lost Marcello's track, I went back to Babe's and I was mucking about in her attic. I found them in some sealed boxes." Frankie shrugged. "They were with your parents’ stuff. She said she forgot they were there or she would have given them to you."

"Anything else in those boxes I'd be interested in seeing?" I was a little pissed that he didn't bring the whole haul with him. But you can't exactly transport moving boxes on a motorcycle. Besides, I had enough unpacked boxes in my apartment anyway.

"You'll need to see yourself." He shrugged again, clearly wanting to stay out of the family drama. "What did the G-Man want?"

"A knife just like my dad's was dropped at a crime scene," I was trying to push past my annoyance. Babe didn't forget about those boxes. I knew she was only trying to protect me. And I loved her and knew she had her reasons, and Frankie shouldn't be caught in the middle. But the five-year-old me wanted to pinch him.

"One doesn't just drop a dagger like that at a crime scene," Frankie said incredulously.

"And a dagger just like it did this to me last night, too." I pointed at my neck.

Frankie cocked an eyebrow.

"Any chance there are more out there than the five we know about?" I asked. For all we knew, this could have been the top-selling item at the Wal-Mart of ancient times.
Although I seriously doubted it.

"There's always a chance," Frankie said. "But I'd say the chance was slim."

I yawned and got up off the couch to head to the kitchen again. Maybe this time I would actually get the coffee started.

"How far were you able to track Marcello?" I asked. The dagger was leading us down a dead end.

"A bit, but then he vanished," Frankie said. He looked worried.

"How far did you get?" I filled the coffee carafe with water, raising my voice of the running faucet.

"To downtown, and then I lost him by that big hotel." Frankie was clearly frustrated. He rarely lost someone's trail.

"Which hotel?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

"The one with the old glass elevator that's stuck between floors."

I knew it. "The Biltmore. They have been seeing some seriously supernatural activity since I arrived, and it feels stronger every time I pass by."

"Coincidence, then?" Frankie winked.

I snorted. Neither of us believed in coincidences. I turned the pot on.

The Biltmore Hotel still had a hint of elegance hidden beneath the shabby exterior. The historic old hotel sat in the center of downtown Providence. Built in the Roaring 1920s, it made headlines for installing a grand glass elevator that offered breathtaking views of the Capitol building. For decades, it was the toniest spot in town. A post-work cocktail at the Biltmore was de rigueur for the moneyed set that ran the City and the politicians they ensconced into office.

But even something as grand as the Biltmore can fall apart.
Buildings collect memories, and as the city of Providence fell further and further into decay, so did the once-stately hotel. Too many years of corruption, murder, and cover-ups bled into the walls and floorboards.

The landmarked building now appealed to a seedier sort. Busted businessmen drank cheap whiskey in the off-key piano bar, while bored prostitutes tried to make a quick buck. The hotel had regressed to include mostly SROs, or single room occupancies, where residents on the same floor shared bathrooms and kitchens. Every now and again, some ignorant, unsuspecting out-of-towner who relied on an out-of-date guidebook or their own memories of the hotel's grandeur, checked in. Their expression -- a mix of fear and shock masked with a tart politeness -- said it all and said it best. But with nothing more to do and not wanting to embarrass themselves, they let old Jeeves (yes, that was indeed his name) cart their luggage along the dusty carpets into decrepit rooms with cracking plaster and peeling paint.

And so the Biltmore was perfect for occupation by supernatural entities. They could sit shoulder-to-shoulder at the bar, their energy feeding on the desperation of the down-on-their-luck businessmen and the hookers that loved them. Sometimes these poor women left with something more than a date, and returned as poltergeists or vampires. Even more troubling, some simply didn’t return. I wouldn’t count out some psycho attempting to Bride of Frankenstein some of their bodies. Yeah, I dealt with that level of depravity.

There was a lot of weirdness happening in the vicinity of the Biltmore, too. A concentration of bars and nightclubs behind the old hotel gave police a way to explain the pile up of dead bodies in the adjoining alleyways. From drunken brawls to muggings to gang turf wars, this tiny city had so much violent crime in a few downtown blocks that it was turning into that old movie, “Fort Apache, the Bronx.”

"Did he go into the hotel?" I pressed Frankie for more details.

"Don't know, Love." His nose was back in the book, his expression twisting as he tried to recognize what the archaic language contained.

I crossed my arms and let out a puff of air. Frankie looked up and raised his right eyebrow.

"Would you like to go down there and look for yourself?" Frankie offered, somewhat sarcastically.

"Yes, I think I would," I said, pouring a mug of coffee.

"Will you be wearing your bunny slippers, then?" The corners of Frankie's mouth twitched up. He looked me up and down, not even pretending to conceal his amusement that I was essentially in my pajamas. "Or would you prefer to put your boots on?"

"Screw you, Frankie," I muttered. I put my mug on the counter and I stalked to my armoire. I yanked it open and grabbed whatever was closest -- a black tank top, old faded Levi's and a flannel shirt. My selection made Frankie laugh harder.

"Going lumber jacking?" he scoffed.

"Since when did you become Beau Brummel?" It was not an accident that I hoisted a reference to the famous British dandy.

"You know, even his blood tasted a bit prissy." Frankie smacked his lips.

Of course he knew Brummel, and of course he drank his blood. Probably at an opium party.

I swirled around to say something smart-ass at him. But as my gaze caught his bright cerulean eyes, my heart accelerated and felt my gums rip as my fangs pushed through.

Before I could even react, Casper flashed in front of my eyes. The ooze of him pressed at my body again. A searing pain shot through my head. I thought it was going to split open.

My knees buckled, and I dropped to the floor. Frankie leapt over the couch and coffee table and was down beside me before I could process what was happening. I fought to catch my breath, and the room began to spin.

"Frankie?" I whispered into the blackness.