The Turned Read online

  The door to the study itself would be locked as well, just to be sure his life was safely concealed. Walls and doors he had built against the world and everyone in it. Down the landing he trudged to his room, pausing a moment at Matthias’s door, listening for the sound of his Pupil’s breathing. He heard nothing. The house was as quiet as death, but Rowan wasn’t concerned. Matthias would no doubt return, as he had done many times before. Rowan shrugged and continued to his own room.

  As he expected, rain began to fall before his head even hit the pillow. With a small smile of contentment, Rowan allowed himself to slip into a deep sleep.

  2

  “Lieutenant Miller. Over here, sir,” a detective called out, waving over his superior as he exited his patrol car, stepping out onto the spongy grass of New Orleans City Park, wet from early morning rain. The showers had passed quickly, but thick clouds overhead told the lieutenant that the storm was still coming. The older man’s eyes narrowed at the sodden earth, mud already seeping up onto freshly polished shoes. He grumbled under his breath while he approached the crime scene, already marked off with yellow tape. Passersby crowded around, held back by officers with their arms out, trying to shield the scene from their view.

  Thick fog hung low among the trees, rolling softly as the officers moved through it like ghosts. Dan Miller glanced about, glad to have nature on his side as the fog surely helped hide the scene from the civilians and media who tried to catch a glimpse of what lay beyond that dreadful yellow line.

  “What do we have today, Smith?” the lieutenant asked with a heavy sigh.

  “It’s a young lady, sir.”

  The officers guarding the taped area glanced at the lieutenant’s golden badge and nodded a greeting to him, holding up the tape to allow him to pass under it. On the other side of the line, Smith led Miller to a group of District Three officers, Homicide Detectives, and police photographers who were examining what appeared to be a body, half hidden behind a tree about twenty yards away.

  As he approached, the lieutenant could see it was a female, about thirty years old, her eyes closed as if she were asleep. Medium-length black hair splayed out around her like a halo, tangled with soggy brown leaves. Her eyes were closed, her head resting on her arm. One of her heels was still on her foot but the other was gone, though to where he had no idea. The only indicators that she was dead and not just passed out drunk were her abnormally pale skin and the blood spatter on her shoulder where her sheath dress had been ripped away.

  Immediately Miller stiffened, locking his thumbs onto his belt loops. He removed his hat with one hand and ran his fingers through his thinning gray hair. “Turned,” he muttered, shaking his head.

  “Turned, sir? I thought they weren’t supposed to kill humans,” Officer Smith whispered.

  They weren’t permitted to openly talk about the Turned. Only a select few officers were even aware that such creatures were roaming about.

  “How long have you been on the force, Smith?”

  “Nearly fifteen years, sir. But I’ve only been on Homicide for a few months.”

  The lieutenant nodded. At fifteen years he must have known about the existence of the Turned for a while, but Miller wasn’t sure if the Smith had dealt with them much. Murder of humans committed by Turned were rare in this area of the city, with most of them occurring around the Eight and Ninth Districts but there hadn’t been any in almost six months.

  “The Turned have their laws, like we have ours, but not all of them stick to them,” Miller replied. To not contaminate the evidence, he pulled some latex gloves from his pocket and quickly slipped one on. Gently he pulled a scrap of the woman’s collar back to reveal what appeared to be a bite wound. Upon first glance it would seem she was bitten by a human, but further inspection confirmed his suspicion as the areas where the canines made contact were obviously deep punctures. “Did she have anything on her?” the lieutenant asked, pulling the glove off his hand and discarding it. “Any personal effects?”

  “No, sir. She didn’t even have a purse on her. No ID, no wallet, no cell phone, nothing.” Officer Smith replied, looking down at the victim, perplexed. “Officer Davis is checking missing persons for anyone who might fit her description.”

  “List her as a Jane Doe for now and keep the public at bay,” Miller ordered, taking one more solemn look at the beautiful young lady in the leaves. “The rest of Homicide is on the way and I don’t want anyone from the press getting too close to her. Make sure they take careful measurements of that bite. Might help to identify the monster who did this. Also, I want a report sent to every department in the city to check with missing persons. When you hear back from Davis, contact me immediately. I want her identified ASAP.”

  “Yes, sir,” Smith replied as the lieutenant made his way toward his car.

  “Smith,” Davis called as he trotted up. “I couldn’t find a missing person that matches her description for our district, but I had them send out an e-mail to the other departments.”

  “Good, you’re a step ahead of the game. Lieutenant Miller just left. He said to list her as a Jane Doe for now. He thinks—” Smith stopped himself when two recruits passed by them. He then lowered his voice, arms crossed over his chest, as he continued his sentence. “Miller thinks the Turned are responsible. He wants to be sure the coroner takes measurements of the bite, so you might want to add that to your notes.”

  “The Turned? Seriously?” Davis asked, tilting his head with interest.

  Davis hadn’t been on the force as long as Smith but he had been told a few years prior about the Turned and he’d expressed a lot of curiosity about them. How could he not be curious? How could any of them not be? As children their parents had told them that monsters weren’t real and now that they were adults, they had learned that it wasn’t the truth. The Turned were very real and they lived amongst them. Sometimes that knowledge was downright terrifying.

  “Yeah, it’s crazy,” Smith replied. “I mean, I thought we’d eventually be on a lieutenant case concerning them, but I guess I’ve been lulled into a false sense of security. Look, we don’t have time to talk about it here. I think homicide is here and I have to talk to them.”

  “Shouldn’t take long,” Davis said. “I’ll go remind the guys on the line to keep the press away and make sure they don’t say anything stupid. You wanna talk about it over beers later?”

  “Sure, but you’re buyin’.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Davis said, waving dismissively over his shoulder.

  Officer Smith motioned over a medic and explained to him what he needed to do with the body. They prepared her for a body bag, and by the time they loaded her in the ambulance, almost all trace of her was gone from the park. Smith looked at the ground, a gentle wind disturbing the wet leaves where the woman had been.

  Rain was coming and would wash away all memory of her from the place of her death. It was an interesting thought on mortality. Smith said a quick prayer for the deceased woman’s soul, hoping that wherever she was, she could find peace.

  3

  Nausea woke Rowan in early afternoon the next day, as if the blood of the lady he had fed on in the early hours of the morning was fighting back against him. Paired with cold sweat, he simply couldn’t stay still. One swift movement and his blankets were on the floor and he was sitting up, panting for breath. If there were still a beating heart in his chest, he was sure it would have been pounding violently from the dream that had already escaped his mind. If only his body could recover as quickly.

  Restlessness filled Rowan, but all he could do was pace the floor, trapped in his home until the sun had set. Throwing on his black-and-plum brocade robe, he moved from his room and into the darkness of the second-floor landing. Even in midday the house was dark and sometimes beams of light would peek around the edges of the curtains to dance across the dark wood floors, but not today. Everything was still and quiet inside, only the faint sounds of humans passing outside could be heard inside the house.

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nbsp; Upon entering his study, he was blinded by bright light. Distracted by what he would do with Matthias, he’d completely forgotten to close the curtains. Quickly he rushed across the room, stumbling over the rolled corner of the carpet and knocking everything in his path onto the floor. Although his eyes were closed, he could still feel when he entered the direct sunlight. A flurry of curse words accompanied the sound of the curtains being pulled closed.

  Once his eyes adjusted, he cleaned up his mess, tossing a now-broken antique vase into the trash bin. Patience was simply not with him right now. Instead his entire body was on edge and he had to get these emotions out.

  Rowan sat at the desk, unlocking it and lighting the candles on top to allow enough illumination to write by. Even in the dull glow, he could see the skin on his hands was lightly burned from the sun. He rolled his eyes just thinking about how pink his face was. Going to work later was bound to come with an abundance of jokes about his complexion.

  Once more, the journal was open and ready, but he had no idea where to start. Pen in hand he stared at the blank page until the beginning came to him.

  I had intended to start this journal on a lighter note and describe the festivities surrounding the human New Year. Their celebrations have overrun the city and therefore my meal choices are even more vast than normal. I can afford to be pickier about my prey. But this also means that my kind needs to be exceedingly cautious.

  Many of the humans indulge in copious amounts of alcohol on holidays such as this. The last thing we need are careless Turned, drunk on tainted human blood, drawing attention to themselves. I don’t mind a little alcohol in my system in public places as I know when to stop, but those like Matthias don’t restrain themselves like most of us responsible Turned. There’s always an incident or two on big occasions like this. I just hope Matthias isn’t the cause of any unrest. I don’t want to have to clean up after him.

  Getting into trouble seems to be a favorite past time of my young Pupil. Matthias is a clever boy, without much common sense when it comes to danger and drawing attention to himself. He openly admits his devil-may-care attitude is attributed to the fact that he will soon be leaving the city. He claims he’s sowing his wild oats, but I feel he will become addicted to tainted blood and continue his dangerous lifestyle. But never mind Matthias. Soon he will no longer be my problem. I am far more interested in recording last night’s prey.

  I thought I might write about her last night when I got home, but I could not bring myself to put our encounter into words without first taking in the entirety of the experience and what I felt it meant to me. I believe this is what caused me to wake early in such a restless state. She must have slithered into my dreams.

  Once I had finally finished my shift, I left the restaurant hungry and eager for a decent meal. I enjoy being a chef and I do eat my own food, but it isn’t the same as fresh blood. Even at two in the morning the crowds were thick, and my favorite bar was sporting some tantalizing options. However, one woman stood out to me. Though many humans pass through this city, rarely do I find one who catches my attention by their appearance, not the scent of their blood.

  It’s been decades since such a beauty has caught my eye. In one word, she was honey. Golden hair, tan skin, luscious red lips, parted in a devil smile. It seemed she had noticed me before I noticed her and that was as enticing as her beauty. It was as if I was being hunted; becoming the prey when I am normally the predator.

  This made the hunt far more interesting. I looked away from her, as if I was disinterested. Around the bar I stalked, pretending to consider easier targets. I would complement a lady, perhaps touch her hair, lean in close to speak to her. All the while I could feel the honey-blonde’s eyes upon me. This was all a part of the hunt and it thrilled me.

  Eventually the honey-blonde approached me on the dance floor, cutting off my dance with a lovely dark-haired vixen. That lady was not happy but a kiss on the hand and a promise to continue our dance later satiated her enough to make her walk away without incident. Sometimes one must do ridiculous things to keep from causing a scene. If the lady would have retaliated against the honey-blonde, I may not have gotten a chance to finish my hunt, and she was of course, a prize I did not want to lose.

  When my eyes met those of the blonde, I could see she had realized that she was not as much in control as she thought. Her eyes scanned my body, evaluating me quickly before returning to meet my gaze with that cunning smile.

  She introduced herself as Marguerite, and I must admit the name suited my taste as well as her appearance. As I began to dance with her, I realized instantly that this woman was no delicate flower waiting for a gentle hand to pluck her. She was no damsel in distress. She was not sweet-as-honey, as her hair had led me to believe, unless of course you are referring to the alluring qualities of the golden elixir to flies.

  No, Marguerite was a lady on the surface, but a beast at heart. Her appearance and demeanor told me that she was classy and confident; her eyes screamed that she was intelligent and hungry. She was a sleek jungle cat, poised and waiting to devour any man she could lure in, and I was caught in her sights. We danced for a short while and I tested my limits with her with every touch. By the time my fingers grazed her thigh at the top of the slit in her dress, I knew as well as she, that we were both predators. I could smell in her blood that this excited her.

  I pulled her close to me as we danced, her back pressed against me and I could feel the heat of her body through our clothing. I was savoring the warmth that would soon be my own. Normally, I would have fed on her by then and moved on to new prey, or simply returned to my home for the evening, but Marguerite was the most exciting hunt I’d had in recent memory and I wanted to savor every moment of it.

  Once my lips touched her bare shoulder, goose bumps rose on her flesh. I knew then that she had submitted to a higher predator. She was mine. She leaned her head back to rest on my shoulder, relishing the sensation of my kiss. There was no indication that she felt my fangs pierce her tender neck and her blood was filling my mouth in a hot, metallic flow.

  I could taste everything about her, as most of my kind can. Paired with my mind-reading abilities, I tapped into her and read her like a book. She was thirty-two, lived in the New England area, with no children. Her job was high paying, but that I could have told by her choice of clothing and the way she carried herself. In her blood, I could tell that her taste for fine wine was exquisite.

  I could read her thoughts easily as her body succumbed to me, her mind open as she dropped her guard. I could pick through every memory, but some flooded in without my prying. I knew that she wanted me in every way, and the things she was imagining would have made a human man’s blood turn to fire in his veins.

  For a moment, I considered taking her for my own—making her like me and keeping her forever. I think she would have been perfect: a beautiful, dangerous huntress. I’m still not certain why I didn’t Turn her, but something in her sparked the memory of Yvette and her power was on me again. Thoughts of Yvette consumed me for a moment and before I knew it, I had licked Marguerite’s wound, healing it instantly, and had fled the scene through hordes of dancing humans.

  The crowd continued outside but I could not see them. They were just a thickness in the air, surrounding, consuming, and empty creatures. My mind had turned the world dull and the beautiful Marguerite’s wine-tinged blood made me feel ill.

  But that’s Yvette’s power. Most of us gain a talent when we are Turned, and there are more we can learn but only the Elders know of every ability available to us. I’ve had my moments of curiosity when I have asked Samiell about it, but he just smiles kindly and changes the subject.

  Anyway, to Yvette. Her power is not common for us Turned. It’s strange, and rare indeed, but not unheard of. Where some, like me, can create a psychic connection with others, Yvette can take it one step further and gain some control over other people. Merely feeding from a human can allow her to control them. Sharing blood is how she
imprints herself on her Turned victims, though it doesn’t usually last after she’s gone. She must be physically close to them have true control over them, but that doesn’t mean the effects don’t linger in strange ways.

  Memories recalled of her often cause her victim’s minds to perceive the world as “gray.” For the Turned, blood loses its flavor; food and drink if you are human. Every beauty in the world dulls and you pray for death or hope to see her again. Some have surely given in and sold their souls to the devil for a chance to lay at her feet once more.

  This is how she hunts. Unlike me, who must hunt different prey as they come, Yvette has a sort of “harem”: a throng of beautiful human men who she has imprinted herself upon and none of them know of the others, I’m sure. They all remain separated by the lies and manipulations. All of them live as her “boyfriends,” but really, they are just easy meals. She knows they will always be available to her and they are carefully chosen. She loves the ones who dote upon her, the ones who thought the very sun and stars were hung by her delicate, porcelain hands.

  Word has even reached my ears that over the past decades she has been marrying elderly men and waiting for them to die in order to gather wealth and get revenge for things their ancestors did to her. I’ve heard that the Elders nor the human police can do anything about it because there is no evidence of foul play. I’m not surprised by this but as long as she stays in New York and conducts her business there, then it’s not my problem.

  I am growing concerned that she might cause me trouble soon, however. She called me awhile ago and although nearly a month has passed, I can’t help but wonder if she’d give up that easily.