A Game of Blood

By Julie Ann Dawson

A series of kidnappings leads detective Mitch Grogan to the home of the wealthy but eccentric Darius Hawthorne. What he discovers unleashes a chain of events that not only threatens his life, but also his sanity. Grogan finds himself caught up in a deadly game with a three hundred year old vampire looking for a worthy adversary to relieve his boredom. But what does the vampire really want?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bards and Sages Publishing
• Release date: Jan 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215013571

Julie Ann Dawson

Julie Ann Dawson is an author, editor, publisher, RPG designer, and advocate for writers who may occasionally require the services of someone with access to Force Lightning (and in case it was not obvious, a bit of a geek). Her work has appeared in a variety of print and digital media, including such diverse publications as the New Jersey Review of Literature, Lucidity, Black Bough, Poetry Magazine, Gareth Blackmore’s Unusual Tales, Demonground, The Philadelphia Inquirer, and others. In 2002 she started her own publishing company, Bards and Sages. The company has gone from having two titles to over one hundred titles between their print and digital products. In 2009, she launched the Bards and Sages Quarterly, a literary journal of speculative fiction. Since 2012, she has served as a judge for the IBPA's Benjamin Franklin Awards.

Book preview

The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far. The sciences, each straining in its own direction, have hitherto harmed us little; but some day the piecing together of dissociated knowledge will open up such terrifying vistas of reality, and of our frightful position therein, that we shall either go mad from the revelation or flee from the deadly light into the peace and safety of a new dark age.

H.P. Lovecraft

Prologue

Vampyre Night at Club Decadence was hardly worth the three weeks’ allowance Rachel spent for the fake ID.  Hell, maybe if she had realized half the club would be filled with other students, they could have made a group purchase and gotten a better rate.  The other half of the club was taken up by goddamn larpers; those drama club rejects that roleplayed being vampires.  The female larpers were all squeezed into fake velvet medieval-style corsets, red and black of course, that not only pushed up their boobs but also enhances every fat roll on their oversized stomachs.  And the male larpers all had that long, greasy hair and bad skin made to look worse by excessive caking on of white face powder. 

Maybe they really were vampires, mused Rachel.  Maybe they had no reflection and didn’t realize how stupid they looked in their Interview-With-The-Vampire-Wannabe flea market costumes.  She chuckled to herself and finished her drink.

Rachel turned to leave the club when she saw the man staring at her.  He seemed to immediately realize that she saw him, because he took a quick, startled breath and looked away.  How had I missed him, she wondered.  And why were ten other girls not all over him?  His hair was short and dark, and he had a manicured goatee that added a bit of edge to his otherwise soft facial features.  He seemed to take a drink from his glass, but Rachel noticed him looking in her direction out of the corner of his eye. 

Rachel slowly walked over to his table.  He seemed surprised by her approach.  He looked up at her and she finally got a good look at his eyes.  They were wide and dark, and the way his brow twitched reflected a bit of insecurity.  He held a hand up to her apologetically.

I am so sorry, he began.  I didn’t mean to stare.  If I made you uncomfortable—

Oh, no.  Don’t apologize, replied Rachel.  She squared her shoulders to convey confidence, but she was shaking inside.  Oh my God he is so gorgeous, she screamed internally.  You don’t come to a club to not get noticed.  I’m Rachel.

Darius, he said as he wrapped his arms around himself lightly.  Nice to meet you.  Oh, um, please have a seat.  Let me buy you a drink.

Are you OK? she asked as she sat across from him. 

He looked up at her and smiled, his arms still folded around him for security.  Yes, well, it’s...nevermind.  I’m sorry.  You’ll think I’m crazy.

No, go ahead, she encouraged him.  Really, you can’t be any worse than those guys.  She pointed to the larpers.  Darius smiled and nodded in agreement.

Well, it’s just that, when I saw you...you’re sort of how I always imagined Bella.

Bella?

"Um, from the Twilight novels."  Darius took another drink from his glass to avoid eye contact.

They spent the next two hours talking.  Darius was a business consultant.  He had recently moved to the area when several of his larger clients relocated.  He didn’t know anyone in the area, and when he saw the posters for Vampyre Night he had thought it might be a way of meeting some people with similar interests.

In my circles, you don’t admit to those sort of interests, he explained.  People don’t understand, you know?  They think just because you have an interest in vampires, you spend your nights cutting and listening to goth music.

Darius invited her back to his house for coffee, and she said yes before realizing how late is was.  But it didn’t matter.  She would happily take the grounding for this one.  He was even an environmentalist.  As they drove to his house in his Toyota Prius, they talked about the impact of global warming and how he was getting solar panels installed to help offset his carbon footprint.

The house was in a still in development, gated community.  The front yard of the house was immaculately maintained, but the side yard was only sod.  Darius explained that when he moved in there had been a problem with the plumbing, and the builder had to dig up the yard to get to the source of the issue.  He pulled into the driveway, but put the car in park before driving into the garage.  A sudden look of concern spread across his delicate face.  Rachel put her hand over his.  What’s wrong? she asked.

I...I haven’t been completely honest with you, he stated. 

You’re married? she asked, dejected.

No, NO.  No, nothing so simple as that.

You’re gay?  Or...bi?

He turned to her and smiled.  Did this become twenty questions?  Rachel giggled nervously.  No, I’m not gay.  I very much enjoy the companionship of women.  I’m...I’m a vampire.

Say what?

Darius took her hand and moved it over his wrist.  She couldn’t find his pulse.  She reached for his neck, and couldn’t find a pulse there either. 

Holy shit, she whispered.  She stared at him blankly.

I shouldn’t have told you.  I put myself in danger if people discover what I am.  Between the vampire freaks that beg me to turn them and the religious nuts that want to stake me, I have to keep it a secret.

Why tell me, then? asked Rachel as she checked for a pulse a third time.

"After a few centuries, you just know when a person is special.  I wanted to be honest with you.  You need to know the truth so you can make the right decision, if you want to move forward with...whatever happens next."

Rachel fell back in her seat.  Darius, I don’t know what to say to this.  Um, I haven’t been really honest with you, either.  I’m, well, I’m not twenty-one.

How old are you? he asked.

I’m seventeen.

Oh, he said as he leaned back in his seat.  So you’re 283 years younger than me, as opposed to 279.  He shrugged his shoulders.  I don’t really see that as a problem.

Rachel’s face lit up.  I don’t, either.

So, would you still like to come in?  I’ve finished unpacking, and I’d love to show you some of the antiques I’ve acquired over the centuries.

Rachel nodded vigorously.  Darius moved the Prius into the garage and closed the garage door.  As they entered the house, a voice down the hall said, Welcome home, Master Darius.

James, I have company and do not wish to be disturbed, replied Darius.  His voice sounded a bit harsher that it had a moment ago.

Oh course, sir, said the voice.  Rachel detected a hint of annoyance.

My seneschal, explained Darius.  Rachel looked at him confused.  My assistant.  He handles my affairs during the day.

Is he—

No, James is mortal.  His family has served me for many generations.  But enough about him.  Come.  Let me show you something.  He took Rachel by the hand, and they went down into the basement.  There was what looked like a narrow closet door on the other side of the basement.  Darius pulls out his keys and unlocked the door.  He pushed it open without effort, but the door creaked on the hinges as if it was heavier than it looked.  He waved for Rachel to step inside. 

It must be hard for you, she said as she walked passed him.  I mean, the whole vampire sub-culture thing, like the freaks you mentioned before.  It must make it really hard for you.

On the contrary, he said as he turned on the light.  It actually makes acquiring my meals much easier.  Not to mention so much more entertaining.

Rachel looked around the room at the various cages and torture devices.  She remained frozen in place as the door slammed shut behind them.

Chapter I

The coffee tasted like swamp mud, and had almost the same consistency.  Mitch stared into the mug, wondering what he had done wrong this time.  Yesterday’s pot tasted like hot, stale piss.  Apparently one tablespoon per cup didn’t mean an actual official unit of measure, but a heaping tablespoon. At least, that was what Ms. Rosalind told him. 

What the fuck is a heaping tablespoon? he had asked her.

Language, she had scolded.  Talking to Ms. Rosalind was like talking to his grandmother.  They were about the same age, after all.  Departmental cuts eliminated the full time receptionist at the police station and replaced it with a part time receptionist.  The only difference was that instead of having someone at the desk from 9 am to 5 pm, there was now only someone there from 10 am to 4:30 pm.  But since it was part time the city didn’t have to offer medical benefits and all that.  Ms. Rosalind was a retiree who expected the officers to call her MS Rosalind out of proper respect.  Apparently besides transferring calls and taking messages, Ms. Rosalind also took it upon herself to teach etiquette and clean up their bad language.

But her advice on using heaping tablespoons instead of level tablespoons had resulted in a heaping pot of liquid crap. He poured the coffee down the kitchen drain and went into the bathroom to shave. 

It had been three weeks since Sylvia left to find herself. Their marriage had survived his two-year tour in Iraq, the miscarriage, the bankruptcy.  But apparently it couldn’t survive her breast cancer.  The doctors had caught it early, successfully removing the tumor.  But the operation also had to remove part of the breast.  He didn’t understand why she was suddenly so upset.  The reconstructive surgery had left minimal scarring, and where the scars were nobody but him should have seen anyway.  And he didn’t care.  So what if one boob is fake?  Thousands of women pay to get fake breasts when there isn’t a damn thing wrong with their real ones.  It was no big deal.  Nobody would notice.  But between losing the breast and realizing she could never have a baby; Sylvia decided she needed time to discover who she was.

The day she left, she had sent him a text message telling him she wouldn’t be home to make dinner.  He had thought nothing of it.  Sometimes she worked late at the office.  There were leftovers in the fridge anyway.  It wasn’t until he got home and realized her side of the closet was empty that it occurred to him she wouldn’t be home any time soon.

Give her time, his mother-in-law had told him when he called looking for her.  Yes, she was there.  No, she won’t come to the phone.  No, don’t drive over.  She needs her space right now.  She needs to think.

The phone rang, jarring Mitch from his thoughts and causing the blade of his razor to open up a small cut on his jaw.  He dropped the razor in the sink and grabbed a nearby towel.  Grogan, he said into the phone as he tried to tend to his wound.

You coming to work today? It was his partner, Rodney Sherman.

Fuck, replied Mitch as he looked at his watch and realized the time.

Good morning to you to.

Fuck you, Rodney.  Mitch tried to put a bandage on his cut while finishing getting dressed and balancing the phone to his ear.  He ended up dropping the phone, almost stepping on it.

Mitch?  Everything OK? Rodney was yelling from the phone.

No, Rodney, everything is not OK.  My wife left me and I don’t know what the fuck to do with myself, he thought as he picked it up.  I’m fine.  Just uncoordinated.

Look, man, just meet me down at the high school.  We got a missing persons report on another teenage girl.  She was supposed to be at a school function but never made it home last night.  I’m leaving the parents’ house now and I’ll meet you there.

Mitch took one last look in the mirror, wiping a remnant of shaving cream off his neck with the back of his hand.  Gray hairs had started creeping into his dark brown hair, and his brown eyes were framed in dark circles from lack of sleep.  He looked ten years older that his thirty-five years, and felt even older than that.  He sighed, shook his head, and went to work.

By the time Mitch got to the school, Rodney had already questioned the principal and some of the teachers.  The girl, Rachel Reese, had told her mother that she had a Young Journalists of America meeting at the school, but there had been no such function that night.  As far as her teachers knew, she didn’t have a boyfriend and was a good kid; which just meant she refrained from threatening bodily harm to her teachers and turned her homework in most of the time. 

There was no subtle way to run an investigation at a school.  Even though they both drove unmarked cars, kids knew a cop when they saw one.  And as soon as the first student saw a cop on the campus, the text messages had started flying.  Despite the principal’s pleas not to disrupt school and panic the students, it was already too late for that.  As Mitch and Rodney went to Rachel’s locker with the principal, students craned their necks from doorways to see what was going on.  As the principal cut the lock, Mitch turned to one of the student who had his cell phone out to take a picture.

Don’t worry.  We’ll get to your locker next, he said.

Man, you can’t just go in my locker.  I got rights, the kid said defiantly.

What you’ve got is detention, said the principal, who then motioned for the teacher to get her students in class and close the door.

Back in my day, you mouth off like that to authority and your dad took a belt to your ass, said Rodney as he shook his head.

Yeah, well, today you mouth off to authority and your parents call the ACLU to defend your right to free speech when the principal gives you detention, the principal replied wearily as he opened the locker for them.

The locker was surprisingly neat for a teenager.  A backpack full of clothes and cosmetics sat on the floor of the locker.

These clothes fit the description of what the mother said she was wearing yesterday when she left the house, said Rodney.

Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a girl changed at school to go meet some guy, replied Mitch.  There wasn’t much else in the locker.  School books.  Gym shoes. A poster of some actor done up to look like a vampire.  Goth?

Nah, man.  That’s Edward, said Rodney.

Who?

"Twilight movies.  All the girls are into it.  My daughter got the same poster in her bedroom.  Mitch raised an eyebrow.  I don’t get it either, man.  It’s a girl thing.  Jasmyne had to take Shaquana and her girlfriends to see that movie three fucking times when it came out."

Had to? quipped Mitch as he continued rummaging in the locker.  You sure your wife ain’t the one developing a vampire fetish?

Maybe I should get some fake fangs and find out, replied Rodney. 

Alright, Blacula, said Mitch as he shook his head.  That’s between you and Jazz.

Hey, there aren’t enough positive African-American vampire role models in the movies, said Rodney with fake indignation.

Yeah, but you guys got a lock on the whole voodoo industry. What do you need vampires for? replied Mitch as he closed the locker. 

You are such a fucking asshole, laughed Rodney.

Nothing here.  Somebody has to know where she was going.  Teens only keep secrets from their parents, not each other.

So what are the chances of one of these kids telling us anything?

It’s gonna be a fucking long day.

They limited their questioning to the girls the teachers identified as Rachel’s close friends, though to hear the girls talk they didn’t really know her all that well.  They just hung out at lunch, allegedly.  Nobody knew anything.  Nobody knew where she was or where she was going or who she was with.  Mitch was about to give up when he noticed the tattoo on one girl’s neck.  He hadn’t seen it at first.  It wasn’t until she itched her shoulder that she had moved her hair out of the way.  It was a little black bat, badly faded for a tattoo.  It sat almost on the jugular, which would have been an odd place for a girl to get a tattoo.  He licked his thumb, and reached over and rubbed the spot.

Oh my God! Gross! she shrieked and jumped. 

Mitch looked at the ink rub-off on his thumb.  Club stamp, he said to Rodney, who had an equally surprised look on his face.

Where were you last night, Jessica? Mitch asked.

OH MY GOD.  You fucking licked me!  Gross.

Technically, he licked himself, said Rodney.  Still gross.

Oh my God.  I am so going to sue, she exclaimed as she jumped up from her seat.

OK, go ahead and sue.  In fact, why don’t you call your mom right now and get the process started, and you can tell HER where you were last night so the lawyers have all the information they need, said Mitch.

Jessica sat back down with a huff.  It was just rhetorical.  I don’t need my mom here.

Where were you last night, Jessica?

Club Decadence, she said while rolling her eyes at him.  It was Vampyre Night.  All the kids go.

That’s a twenty-one and over club, said Rodney.

As if that matters, she replied smugly.

Mitch held out his hand.  Jessica stared at him confused.  Gimme the ID.  She opened her mouth to protest.  You can give it to me or you can give it to your mother.  Jessica opened her purse and handed it over. 

Was Rachel there last night? asked Mitch.  Jessica nodded.  Did you see her leave with anyone?

No.  Mitch took a deep breath and looked at the ID again.  Seriously, no.  I hooked up with Brad and we left around 10:30.  She was still there when I left.

Did you see her talking with anyone? asked Rodney.

No, she sort of just floated around the room.  She was bored, like the rest of us.

Bored?

We were kind of expecting some college guys to be there.  You know, it’s near the campus and all and we figured some older guys would be there.

So, you figured you’d put yourself out there as jailbait? asked Rodney.  Mitch tried not to laugh out loud.  He suddenly felt bad for Rodney’s daughter, who would surely end up having her room searched for a fake ID when he got home tonight.

OK, Jessica, this is what is going to happen now, began Mitch.  I really don’t want to spend all day here dealing with parents.  So you are going to tell me where you got the fake ID from, and I’m going to let you go back to class as if nothing happened.  Jessica folded her arms in front of her defiantly and took a deep breath.  Mitch began slowly tapping the fake ID on the table in front of her.

I don’t want him to get in trouble, she finally said.  Mitch continued tapping the ID on the table, increasing the pace.  Oh my God, you must be the most annoying cop ever.

I have to work with this, said Rodney.

Mitch ignored both comments and continued tapping the card in front of her.

Fine!  God.  Tyrone Ellison.  He’s got a hook up that gets them for him.  You can’t tell him I ratted him out.  I’ll never get a shot at homecoming queen if people know.

Tell you what, I won’t tell Tyrone where I got the information, and you don’t tell your mom I licked you.  Deal? said Mitch as he extended his hand across the table.  Rodney put his head on the table and choked back a laugh.

Deal, but you need to use some hand sanitizer or something ‘cause I don’t want to get swine flu or anything, she replied as she waved off his extended hand. Rodney almost fell on the floor laughing.  I’m serious!  Don’t you people watch the news?  People die from that.  Mitch joined Rodney in his laughter.  Oh my God, you two are the weirdest cops ever.  You should have like a reality TV show or something.  Seriously.

By the time Jessica left the room, both Mitch and Rodney were in tears from laughing so hard. 

So, now that you’re done licking teenage girls...man what was up with that?

I just wanted to see if it would rub off.

Rodney rubbed his forehead.  Anyway, now that that is done, what’s the plan?

Jessica said a lot of students were at the club.  And this ID isn’t that convincing, even in bad light.  I’m wondering if Tyrone’s contact works there.

So we’re gonna track down a fake ID ring instead of looking for a missing girl?

No, we’re gonna use the fake ID ring as insurance for the manager’s full cooperation.  Unless you want to go there, have him tell us to get a warrant, go find a judge, go back...

Yeah, yeah.  I heard that.

Not wanting to risk his football scholarship, Tyrone readily confirmed Mitch’s suspicions.  The bouncer at the club was providing the cards, and Tyrone distributed them.  They split the profits.  The deal was sweet for a high school kid, but seemed like a pretty small change racket for the bouncer.  Small profit with high risks.  But greed rarely made sense.

Mitch and Rodney arrived at Club Decadence to find it closed.  There were lights on, however, and they assumed there was staff preparing the Club for the evening.  Mitch knocked, and continued knocking, until someone finally came to the door.

We don’t open until six, said the woman as the door flew open.  Mitch hadn’t heard the door unlock over Rodney’s laughing at his obsessive knocking.  He almost hit the woman in the face.

We need to talk to the manager, said Mitch as he flashed his badge and regained his composure.

The manager, Jack Peeler, took his time joining them in the office.  When he did arrive, he quickly tried to take control of the visit.

I’m sorry I kept you gentlemen waiting, he began.  The smirk on his face indicated he thought he had the upper hand.  I just had to finish up a conversation with my lawyer, who, by the way, is on his way over in case you have any questions he needs to address.

Mitch and Rodney looked at each other and sighed.  Mitch pulled the fake IDs he had taken off of Jessica and Tyrone out of his pocket and threw them on the table.  Mr. Peeler, I don’t really have time for your shit or your lawyer’s shit.  I have a missing girl who may be dead for all I know, and she was last seen here in your club courtesy of a fake ID she got from your bouncer.  Now you are either going to cooperate and we’ll pretend it was an isolated incident, or you and your lawyer can hang out here in your office jacking each other off as I have the DA shut this club down.

Peeler turned pale as he looked at the IDs.  I cannot be responsible for what my employees do...

OK, you don’t seem to get it.  I’m the first to admit a criminal case might be weak, but civil courts are a bitch, and I can only image that a lot of parents might want to hold you personally responsible for corrupting their little babies.

Not to mention all the bad press, added Rodney as he leaned back in his chair.  You might want to get your PR guy to come down here too.  Underaged drinking.  Statutory rape.

Statutory rape?  What the hell are you talking about? replied Peeler.

Any girl that left your club with a man and had sex was technically raped, by the law, replied Mitch.

Criminally you might be off the hook, but you know how civil court judges are, added Rodney.

One activist judge decided to make an example— said Mitch.  He left the sentence unfinished.

OK, fine.  How can I help you?  What do you want to know? said Peeler.

Rodney pulled out the photo of Rachel.  This girl was here last night.  She never made it home.  We need to see any surveillance tapes you might have, and to talk to any employees that worked last night.

Miguel Suarez, he was the main bartender working last night.  He should be here soon for his shift.  You can talk to whomever you want.  You’ll get their cooperation.  I’ll get you the tapes from last night.

We thank you for being a law-abiding, upstanding citizen, said Mitch.

Peeler left the office abruptly to go find Suarez. 

Look, stay with Peeler and get to those tapes before his lawyer gets here and he finds his balls, said Mitch.

And meanwhile you use your subtle charms on the employees? said Rodney.

The employees were not charmed by Mitch, and they didn’t bother to hide their feelings.  Nobody remembered Rachel, or at least nobody admitted to remembering her.  Suarez feigned ignorance.  If the girl wasn’t sitting at the bar, which she wasn’t, he insisted, then he wouldn’t have seen her and Mitch should talk to the waiters.  And of course all the wait staff had the same answer.  The Club was packed.  The lights are low.  Everybody is dressed in black because it’s Vampyre Night and you can’t really tell them apart. 

Rachel did, however, appear on the surveillance