Pool of Crimson (3 page)

Voices from a back room behind the counter were muffled, and I couldn’t make out a word as I approached. If it hadn’t been for the bottom row of pig fetuses in tightly sealed jars and the ward at the door, I’d have misjudged this sunny Suzy-homemaker shop for new-age nonsense. The deceptiveness set me on guard.

A woman stood at the counter as I turned the corner. She looked out of place, like she belonged more in Chanel than in a store filled with pig fetuses. She was shorter than me at about 5’5” with long, rich, dark chocolate brown hair layered in waves down her back. She was dressed like a fashion plate with skinny jeans tucked into her knee-high brown leather riding boots and an eggplant cashmere open cardigan. She had a bright, lime green leather Marc Jacobs bag slung over her shoulder as her right hand clutched the handles.

The woman’s dark-bronzed skin, browned from tanning, shimmered against her light green eyes. Those eyes seemed out of place on someone so dark but they made her heart-shaped face shift from simply pretty to exotic. The smile she gave me was pure sex kitten. Her lips curved up in a sultry Gina Gershon tease. I had the feeling no matter what she said, it would seem dirty coming from that mouth. She turned back toward the counter as another woman pushed the navy blue velvet curtain aside without looking up at us.

“Jade, here it is. I knew I saw your name on an order this morning,” an older woman said in a bright, cheerful tone, finally looking up. The woman was in her fifties but the silvery gray hair hanging loosely down past her shoulders made her look much older. She was heavy, too; heavy enough that she walked in more of a waddle instead of a stride. She was dressed in jeans that looked like the waist came right up under her bosom and tapered down her leg until the fat of her calf and ankle pressed tightly against the denim. She wore a sweater with little ghosts and pumpkins stitched on it, reminding me of my high school algebra teacher. As the older woman’s dull brown eyes met mine, I took a step back.

My blood stilled in my veins as if I were prey caught in her trap. The air around me tingled and sparked. She was powerful, and she scared me.

“Thanks, Oz,” the brunette said in a sultry alto as she handed her credit card over. She shoved the small brown box in her bag and slung it back over her shoulder.

The older woman behind the counter ran her credit card and smiled at me with a forced expression that only customer service people can produce. Her eyes grew wary as she spoke. “Can I help you?”

Something about her made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end, but I needed her help. “I was wondering if you could help me,” I said as I pulled the Ziploc bag I’d sealed Smarmy’s whatchamacallit in from my handbag. “My name’s Dahlia Sabin. I was hoping you could tell me what this is.” I laid the object down on the counter. I stared up at the gray-haired woman and watched. She took a step back, eyes wide and fists clenched at her sides.

The brunette still standing at the counter looked at the woman she’d addressed as “Oz” with a narrowed, suspicious glare, then down at the Ziploc bag on the counter. The only sound was the credit card machine printing a receipt.

The older woman’s eyes focused on the item on the counter. She lightly brushed the outside of the plastic bag with her fingertips and nudged it back toward me as if it was dirty. She tore the receipt from the roll then handed it and a pen to the other woman as her eyes met mine.

“I’m sorry, I can’t help you,” she bit out as she rubbed the hand that had touched the plastic Ziploc bag on her jeans.

I’d been carrying that thing around with me for two whole days, and this woman wouldn’t even touch it. That was probably a bad sign.

“Are you sure?” I asked with some hesitation. She obviously knew what it was but wasn’t talking, which sent my blood pressure pounding through my veins.

“Quite sure,” she snipped out as she slipped the signed receipt in the cash drawer and stormed back into the stockroom.

“Wow,” the woman at my side chirped.

“Yeah,” I agreed softly as I picked up the plastic bag and shoved it back in my purse. I was surer than ever that whatever that thing was, it was dangerous. I turned to leave, but she caught my arm in an unsure grip.

“Can I see that?” she asked softly as her green eyes darted from me to the navy blue curtain separating us from Oz.

“Sure,” I said with a smile. “Do you mind if we go outside? This patchouli’s killing me.”

The smell took me straight back to college, sophomore year. My roommate burned it like it was going out of style. Now, the mere hint of Patchouli in the air gave me a headache.

We stepped out into the early afternoon sun and the brisk breeze of early autumn filled my nose, clearing the patchouli scent away. I could breathe again. She slipped a pair of oversized sunglasses on her face, hiding her eyes from me.

“Okay, let’s take a look at that,” she said confidently. She stood tall, with her shoulders back and her hand out, expectant at 5’5”. I fished the baggie from my purse and plopped it in her hand without ceremony.

“I’m Jade by the way,” the woman said as she brought the object in the bag closer to her face.

“Dahlia,” I replied.

Her face raised, and I could only see the faintest outline of her eyes behind the tinted glasses. “As in the Black Dahlia?” she asked with amazement and a hint of a teasing smile.

I nodded.

“Wow, I thought
I
got shit about my name. You know Jade and the eyes. Sorry,” she said, shaking her head, with real disbelief in her voice.

“Most people don’t even know who that is anymore,” I said, shrugging my shoulders.

She lowered her gaze again and focused on the object in the bag. “Do you mind if I open it?” she asked with a small inquisitive grin.

“Not at all,” I said.

She pulled the baggie open and stuck her nose down into the plastic. As she breathed in, the plastic collapsed with her intake of air.

She slid her sunglasses to the top of her head, pushing her hair away from her face. “Okay, so what you’ve got here is a nifty little amulet. The dried twigs are actually dried caraway plants. Do you smell that faint licorice scent? ” she asked as she held the bag out to me.

I sniffed, then nodded as I pulled my nose away. I hadn’t noticed that the object had smelled before.

“Then there’s the dried strips of cayenne pepper intertwined with the caraway,” she said. “The Caraway,” she said as she squinted her eyes in thought, “serves as protection against spirits who mean someone harm, especially Lilith,” she said as if reciting from a textbook.

“Who?” I asked, furrowing my brow.

“Lilith, Adam’s first wife before Eve and the mother of all demons,” she said quickly. “The dried cayenne is used to break hexes,” she said, continuing with the lesson.

“What’s the onyx for?” I asked as I pointed to the smooth, black stone with the white speckles in the center.

“Oh, that’s not onyx. That’s obsidian. Snowflake obsidian to be exact. It’s used primarily to protect against negativity and clear confusion. That stone in particular is expensive and hard to find. Where did you get this?” she asked as she handed the piece back to me.

“An alley down in the Short North. What’s so special about the obsidian?” I answered quickly.

“Well, the obsidian,” she said as she pulled her glasses back down on her face, hiding her eyes again. “It pulls the power of the other two together and makes it a much more potent charm. Whatever this thing was meant for, it was supposed to be powerful.” There was a hush of awe in her voice that made me look down at the little thing in the palm of my hand. It seemed so delicate, as if it would crumble at any moment. I almost couldn’t accept that it was powerful, but the tingle of magic that coursed up my arm each time I touched it made me a believer.

I sealed the bag back up and put it back in my purse. “Thanks,” I said with a grateful smile. I gave her a really good look before I said, “You don’t really look like the Wiccan type,” my skepticism evident in my tone.

“I’m not,” she said as she lugged her oversized bag back up on her shoulder. “I’m really good at research and this stuff pisses my dad off.” She pulled a card from her bag and handed it to me. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she said with a genuine smile, then headed over to a BMW parked in the lot.

I read her card. Jade Markowitz, Independent Computer Programmer. I got out my wallet and slid the card inside. She seemed like she’d be handy to know.

Chapter 3

I’d just set my bag down on the kitchen table when my phone started singing “Dancing Queen.” Amblan, my best friend and old roommate, had thought messing with my phone was funny the night we sat around watching Disney cartoons. She’d been bored. I should change it but it made her happy, and it wasn’t that embarrassing, not really.

After a year of living with her and her new fabulously gay lifestyle, I couldn’t keep up or keep her out of trouble. There just weren’t enough hours in the day for me to earn a living, kill vampires, and chaperone Amblan. I’d tried to only hunt vampires on the weekends so that I could get some sleep but the vampires just didn’t seem to go for that plan. They needed to eat everyday apparently.

The bondage scene was the perfect hunting ground for my undead friends and Am the perfect victim; low self-esteem, questionable family ties, and no one waiting for her at home. She could disappear for days and no one would know, so I tried to stay in touch regularly, almost every day just to make sure she was all right.

“Hey, Am, what’s up?” I asked in as cheery a voice as I could force out. I was already tired.

“Dahlia, you have to come out with me tonight.” Her desperation tumbled from her lips in a frantic jumble of words I barely understood. “Lizzy’s having a function down at the bar for her brother before he goes to Afghanistan. They’re raising money for his kids.” Her words were quick and breathless.

“Okay, Am, what time are you picking me up?” I conceded with a deep breath. I’d have to wear boots and the calf sheath for my bowie knife. I’d bought a silver-plated Stag 80 Bowie Knife several years ago because I needed something that I could depend on in a close fight. It fit perfectly into my knee-high boots and, like wearing a great bra, it was snug to the skin, and I forgot it was there until I needed it. You can tell a lot about a girl by the weapons she hides.

The line went dead for a moment.

“Really? You’ll come,” she asked in disbelief.

“Really,” I agreed. She was all I had.

“I’ll pick you up ‘round ten. Oh, and it’s Angels or Demons tonight. Just thought you’d wanna know,” she added quickly with a giggle and hung up the phone
.

“Angels or Demons?” I growled as I rolled my eyes and threw my head back in frustration. I suppose that made my choice easier. I had to wear my boots, so demon it was. Plus, I looked like hell in white.

I collapsed on my couch and got comfortable after putting my phone on the charger. I’d spent most of the day going over numbers, budgets, and arguing with my administrators about salaries and benefits. It’s a real juxtaposition to watch the administrators in my academic department fret about ridiculous issues like not being included in an email and know that I had killed a vampire the night before. The bitch’s last punch still pulsed along my ribs with every move I made and every breath I took. Pain put everything into perspective for me. I wanted to forget all the nonsense. I closed my eyes. Just for a second. I had to rest.

I was disoriented, cold, and in a void of darkness that had no beginning and no end.

It was empty.

I was alone.

The sheer size of the nothingness surrounding me sent my heart racing. In the distance, someone whispered, soft and soothing. The voice was deep, male, almost familiar. In my gut, I knew there was something threatening lurking underneath the words but I couldn’t make them out. I walked for what seemed like miles, getting no closer to the voice or anything else. My heart thumped in my chest as I started to panic.

A shrill scream echoed off in the distance and reverberated around me, vibrating the air as if it was something solid until my skin tingled painfully. Whatever was out there was almost on top of me. I jumped further into the void and disappeared.

I awoke on the couch with a start, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily. “I hate those damned dreams,” I mumbled under my breath. I sat up, trying to figure out what time it was, hell, what day it was.

It was dark outside.

I glanced down at the cable box and saw I had a little more than two hours to eat dinner and get ready before Am showed up. More than enough time.

I tried to shake off my dream and forget all the anxiety that came with it, which took more effort than it should have. My skin still tingled from the sound of that voice and ear-piercing scream still ringing in my ears.

After showering, I put on the darkest makeup my skin tone would allow. I’m pale, plus I spend a lot of time in the dark. I blew out my own golden blond bob and put on the finishing touches before heading to my bedroom to get dressed.

I’m curvy with no ass and long legs, which make pants hard to fit, and am well endowed, which makes tops almost impossible with my long torso. I put on a pair of self-adhesive thigh highs and a garter belt for good measure with a short black mini. I put on a red lace bra and paired it with a tight black suit vest. The lacy edge of the bra was visible from underneath the vest. The curve of my breasts peaked out in soft mounds of milky white flesh. The vest and bra would be much cooler in the bar than a sweater.

I filled my wrists with bangles of black, red, and silver bracelets and stacked them almost to my elbow. Then I put on a necklace of sterling silver with a matching teardrop pendent that landed squarely between my breasts. Mere contact with silver wouldn’t stop a vampire from killing me, but it would hurt like hell. It might make a vampire hesitate before going for the throat.

I had, at one time, worn a silver crucifix but you had to believe, I mean really believe, for it to work. I hadn’t believed in a very long time. Silver burned on contact, and silver would keep vampires from healing as quickly as they normally could. I tried to always have it on hand. A silver-plated knife was an easier kill than driving a stake through their hearts any day. I’m a fan of anything that makes my life easier.