The Light Who Shines (9 page)

As I hop in my car, my chimerator pulls tight. I flip the
lid and see Jack’s face reflected. I answer the call, “Hola.”

Jack growls, “Blue, I told you I wanted daily reports. Are
you alright?”

“I’m just leaving the precinct. I’m on my way over.”

“Well, hurry up.” Jack disconnects.

Cripes! He really needs to learn some phone manners.

I turn on the ignition, and with my arm stretched out over
the back of the passenger seat, I slowly back up. A crackling and popping noise
followed by a slow hissing sound emits from my tires. Just my luck.

Heaving a huge sigh, I slide the transmission back into park
and climb out of the car. Both rear tires are as flat as pancakes. I get down
on my hands and knees to carefully feel around on the pavement under my back
tires. Sure enough, I pull out a handful of sharp nails, all the same size and
all shiny new as though fresh from the box. I shield my eyes with my hands and
look into the sun toward the direction of Officer Schmidt and his accomplice. I
can see they are both laughing and taking sidelong glances at me.

I kick my tire in frustration and look up at them again only
to see they are still laughing. I could go over there and accuse them, but they
would surely deny it. Men of the law would never do such a thing, of course. I
could threaten to hex them! I wonder if they would believe that I’m capable of
performing hexes. That would be funny but a bit childish. Unfortunately, I
think my revenge will have to wait until an appropriate opportunity presents
itself.

Leaning up against the side of the car, I flip the chimerator
open again and say “Rubalia.” Rubalia is our office assistant extraordinaire. The
chimerator works its magic, and a few seconds later, she answers.

“Rubalia speaking.”

“Rubalia, I’m at the precinct and I have two flat tires. Can
you send a tow truck?”

Rubalia’s reflection shows her glasses slipping down the
bridge of her nose as she peers over them. “Two flat tires! That is quite a
coincidence.”

“It’s no coincidence, as you darn well know. Can you please
tell Jack I’ve been held up and will be in as soon as I can?”

Rubalia purses her lips and furrows her brow. “Of course.
I’ll get someone out to you right away.”

Bluebell Kildare: May 27, 2022, Red Ages

Two hours and too much money later, I’m on my way to the
office again. As I navigate downtown, I pass yet another group of protestors
wearing yellow robes outside the Mayor’s office. I press my fingers to my
forehead as though to ward off the headache they are about to give me. The
Dilectus Deo, or Beloved of God, as it is translated, are a cult of Norms who believe
all Vampires and Gifted should be eliminated and that ungifted and unturned
humans are the true children of God. I personally think the Dilectus Deo are
more frightening than even Dark Vampires. They appear to be peacefully
protesting, but the signs they hold are anything but. One reads, “Kill the leeches.”
Another reads, “Aberrations should be put down,” as though we are animals.

What really makes me mad is the mom out there with her daughter
who can’t be more than eight years old, shaking a sign up and down that says,
“Get the Aberrations out of my classroom!” It appears they start the hate
training early. The kids who are taught to hate early rarely have enough
strength to break away from a family culture of hatred. The girl has hardly any
chance to develop an independent mind because she can see with what vehemence
any objection or alternate thinking will be treated. I sigh deeply and keep
driving.

When I arrive at work, I park my car and walk toward the Supernatural
Investigation Bureau building. It rises up, a sleek glass and steel structure,
three stories high. This is the central office for the entire Smoky Mountain
region, though our unit focuses on the City of Crimson Hollow. Crimson Hollow
is the capital of the region and spreads out over the most scenic, mountainous
areas of the Smokies surrounded by smaller outlying suburbs. It’s divided by
districts with each district covered by a different unit.

As I approach the building at a fast clip I see my
reflection in the shiny glass. Maud’s saying that “good posture makes the
woman” flits through my head when I notice that I’m walking with a straight
back and my head held high. She would be happy to see that.

The air thickens and buzzes slightly around me as I walk
through the wards just beyond the entrance. The entire building is ensconced in
highly specialized wards, and only those who work here can walk straight
through.

When I exit the elevator on the third floor, I follow the
arrowed sign that reads “Homicides.” I am newly amused each time I read it, as
it seems to invite me down the hall to be murdered.

As soon as I walk through our department door, the inviting
reception area surrounds me with the comfort of home. I love this office and
I’m so proud to be a part of it. The room glows with the warmth of oak
furniture and dark brown leather upholstery. Fresh flowers on the tables and impressionist
paintings on the walls bring color to the room while the sunlight filtering in
through the floor-to-ceiling windows brings the whole setting to life.

I remember two years ago when I came here on my first day, the
office seemed so professional and grown-up, and I felt like neither. I was sure
that before long, my inadequacies would be revealed and Jack would send me packing.
No one was more surprised than I when it turned out I was actually good at this
job. It’s probably because I truly believe in what we do.

The goal of the Supernatural Investigation Bureau is to maintain
interbreed peace and security. Our unit, of course, is a small but vital part
of the machinery that makes that possible. We use our skills and our strengths
to keep the peace and ensure the balance between the Norms, the Gifted, and the
Daylight Vampires. We do this by bringing Dark Vampires to the sun, persecuting
the Gifted and Daylight Vampires who commit homicide, and persecuting Norms who
commit homicide against the Gifted or Daylight Vampires. The regular police are
simply not equipped to deal with these crimes the way our strength and special
powers allow us to deal with them.

Reigning queen over the reception area stands Rubalia, but she
is far more than a receptionist. She is a brilliant research assistant, an
office manager, and, I sometimes think, a goddess. Rubalia has deep brown skin
and black shoulder length hair styled in big waves with flippy ends tipped in
gold. She wears ruby red cat eye glasses trimmed in marcasite as her crown. Her
robes are elegantly fitted skirt suits, and her weapons are dangerously sharp
and high stilettos.

The gold tips in her hair are her magical mark, but I am
unsure of what her gift is. Some gifts are very personal or simply frivolous,
so it is considered rude to ask. It would be equivalent to men comparing
phallus sizes in polite society. I speculate that her gift is to be creative,
or to find information, or even to keep order. When my mind is being extremely
wicked, I imagine that our uptight reception commander is really Gifted in
pleasures of the flesh and lives a secretly lurid lifestyle when she leaves the
office. Go Rubalia! Sometimes imagination is more fun than reality, anyway. In
reality, she would probably slice and dice me with her stilettos if she had the
faintest inkling of my imagination. Some things are best kept to one’s self.

Rubalia is extremely efficient, is highly professional in
her work, and tells it like it is. She simply will not allow anyone to be
disorderly in her space or in the processes relating to the office. She allows us
to be messy in our own offices as is evidenced by our office mate Xavier Ramsey.
But woe be unto us if we forget to pick up our messages or a document or if we
don’t properly charm our papers blank when we’re done with them. If we miss an
appointment, Rubalia is not shy about giving us a dressing down that we will
not soon forget. This is a professional office and “by God” she is going to
make sure we behave like professionals.

I now know that the real reason I succeeded at being a
professional when I started was simply that Rubalia would not allow me to be otherwise.
One day I should thank her for that. That is, if she will allow me.

Right now Rubalia is speaking with Ernesto Ramos-Delgado who
is asking for a map of this week’s Dark Vampire sightings and incidents. Rubalia
plots the sightings, and Ernesto uses the map to target his hunts. He’s
primarily responsible for eliminating Vampires who kill while feeding, thus
turning from Daylight Vampires into Dark Vampires.

Not only does Ernesto keep tabs on Daylight Vampires in our
vicinity, but he also watches out for Dark Vampires who matriculate in from other
areas. He calls on Jack for backup in more extreme cases. Jack is very old,
even by Vampire standards, and thus very strong. Ernesto is also relatively old,
and he is a skilled fighter in martial arts and swordplay. Of course he can use
a gun too, but guns are useless against Vampires. He does use a compound crossbow
that shoots oak stakes as an effective means to eliminate Dark Vampires.

Essentially Ernesto is an executioner—or an exterminator,
depending on your outlook. By nature of the fact that a Daylight Vampire must
kill in bloodlust in order to turn into a Dark Vampire, their very presence is
a proclamation of guilt. Because of this, no trial is required, and they are
free game to be killed by any. The only way a Dark Vampire can be killed is by
an oak stake to the heart, Holy Water, exposure to the sun, or being thrown on holy
ground. Even if you decapitate them, you had best throw Holy Water on them or
hold them down until sun-up, otherwise their bodies will continue to crawl around
searching for their heads. Finding their heads and placing them back on their
necks will revive them, thus the name Night-Crawlers.

Basically, since they are pure evil, the only thing that
really ends them is something purely holy. I am not sure why a wooden stake is
purely holy. I should remember to ask Father O’Brennen.

When Ernesto finishes speaking to Rubalia, he turns to me
and lifts up his arm, waving it down again in a graceful flourish while bowing low
to me. I feel my face heat up in a blush. I’ve always wanted to respond to his
bows with a curtsy of my own, but I don’t know how. It would be utterly
embarrassing anyway. Right now I clutch on to my cumbersome backpack as an
excuse.

“Good afternoon, Señorita Blue,” Ernesto says.

Ernesto must have been turned in his mid-fifties. He has light
brown skin and short, dark hair with a sprinkling of gray. His elegant, swooping
mustache is the perfect accent to his tall, lean form.

I smile at him and respond, “Good afternoon, Ernesto.”

I feel Ernesto’s eyes sweep over me, then keenly focus on my
neck for a moment. I breathe a sigh of relief when he chooses to ignore my injury,
instead flashing me an easy smile as he walks away.

I drag my pack up to the counter in front of Rubalia’s desk
and lean over it, hoping to keep the cut out of view. “Good afternoon, Rubalia.
Are there any messages for me?”

Rubalia hands me a small stack and pins me with her eyes
like I’m an errant teenager. “Good afternoon, Blue. Jack has been very agitated
because you didn’t contact him today. Next time we would all appreciate you contacting
him sooner. He’s responsible for everyone in the office, you know.”

I accept my comeuppance and apologize. “I’m sorry, Rubalia.
It was a very busy day. I’ll try to do better in the future.”

Rubalia holds her mouth in a stern line and says, “Don’t
try. Do.”

I nod with chagrin and walk straight back to Jack’s office,
wondering what I’ll see when I arrive. I start to knock, but before my knuckles
even touch the wood Jack calls for me to come in.

Jack sits with his arms flat on the desk, leaning forward
while tapping a pencil against the wood top. I had expected anger, but I see
warmth in his gaze as he takes me in. Jack is a good boss. He’s fair, and he
gives good advice, but he lets each of us run our own investigations. He primarily
acts as support and backup, but he does seem to pay extra attention to my work.

Realistically, I am physically the weakest of my comrades.
My gender limits my physical strength, my gift isn’t helpful in a physical
confrontation, I’m a non-Vampire, I’m relatively young, and I am inexperienced
compared to everyone else.

Thankfully, Jack doesn’t hold me back at all; he just keeps
tighter tabs on me than he does my counterparts. Sometimes I wish it were because
he had feelings for me, but there are too many practical reasons for his
overprotection to conclude that.

Jack Tanner is a dichotomy of a man. He wears impeccably
tailored suits and mixes with the upper echelon with charm and ease, yet when
in his comfort zone his manners can be rough and quite abrupt. While his
attitude is often cool and distant, his nature is protective and his actions
show he’s caring. He has incredible strength and speed and can be a warrior
when needed. All in all, he’s an excellent man to have on your side and would
make for a fearsome enemy.

I stand in the middle of the room, simply because I prefer
standing to sitting, but with Jack’s gaze on me, I feel awkward. “I’m sorry I
didn’t get into the office until just now. It has been a really busy day.”

Jack’s eyes look concerned, then I see his nostrils flare.
He stands, and in the blink of an eye he is right next to me. I always find it
disconcerting when he moves so fast, especially now because he’s standing a bit
in my personal space. He slowly moves all around me, circling me like a jungle
cat, clearly assessing me, close but not touching.

When he comes around to the front of me again, he asks in a
low, growling voice that rolls through me, making my abdomen clench with an
ache. “What happened today? Your neck is injured and you’re shaky.”

Jack is so close that I have to tilt my head back to see his
eyes. It’s challenging to stand so close to him and not reveal how he affects
me.

“What do you mean I’m shaky?” I ask, ignoring the more
obvious question. I try not to notice the strong line of his jaw close enough
to my lips that I could just lean in and lick it. I try to ignore the deep,
musky scent of his skin that makes me want to inhale deeply. I fail on both
counts.

He reaches his hand out to my arm but pauses torturously
just a hairsbreadth from my skin. He drops his hand, instead saying, “Your aura
is thicker today. Thicker and shaky.”

My mind wars with the urge to either touch him or to step
away and remove temptation entirely, but instead I stand immobilized within
easy reach.

“How do you know what my aura looks like?” I ask.

Jack shifts on his feet, lifts his hand toward me, and then
drops it again. He mercifully returns to his desk, at human speed this time,
and sits down. What would he have done if I had reached out for his hand and
caressed it? Too late to find out, as the moment has passed.

Jack says, “I never told you? That’s my gift. I can see auras.”

“No. I didn’t know you had a gift, and I don’t see a mark. In
fact, I didn’t know Vampires could even have gifts!”

I move to sit in the chair across from him. I was a little unsteady
just now, and it seems safer in the chair.

Jack frowns. “We were human once, just like you, Blue. Some
of us are Gifted.”

“Oh. I guess it was wrong of me not to consider that!” He’s
piqued my curiosity now. “So, what does my aura look like?”

“Beau...” Jack cuts himself off. I swear he was about to say
“beautiful.”

He continues. “It is a white light with a faint tint of blue.
The tint is the same tone as your eyes, blue with a touch of violet, only much
lighter. Hardly blue at all. Usually it’s only a hazy outline, but today the
margins are much thicker. It comes out almost three inches, and it’s wavering
like a flame.”

“Hmm. Well, it must be because I had a challenging day.” I
tilt my head and squint at Jack. “So, Jack. You must be an expert on auras,
since you are one of the few people who see them.”