The protracted, awkward silence proved I wasn’t the only one. He got up and went to the other room, and I took out my phone.
And that was how the rest of the night went.
I wasn’t looking forward to work the next night.
After an exhausting day and the night shift, I had gone home and collapsed. I slept straight through the day and woke up only once the alarm went off.
Although I was happy that I had gotten recognition, as with most things, it wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It had been boring. Now I got to do it for another two nights before making sure he made it into the courtroom for his star testimony. I would say for a man living under the shadow of assassination, he looked pretty collected.
I relieved the agent on shift after I arrived and proved I was who I said I was—a process that was far more complicated in an age of shapeshifters. I settled in for another boring night, but Collins had other plans.
“May I call you Serafina?” he asked as we sat on the couch. The television was on some reality show, but the sound was low.
“If you like,” I said. “Friends call me Sera.”
He smiled, resting his arm on the back of the couch. “I don’t know I know you that well, but then again, you shoved me in a car trunk. That suggests we must be on friendly terms.” He paused when I couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re more than welcome to call me Ben.”
It was hard to miss that he was, indeed, a good looking man but he also had a disarming way about him. I wasn’t sure that was a good thing when you were required to be all FBI around a person, but still, it put me at ease that this night would be less boring than the one before.
“All right, Ben,” I said, wondering if this was improper behavior. I didn’t really need another mark against me with the DPA still over my head.
I’d read his deposition once I’d officially been made lead on the case. I knew that he’d been leaving a friend’s home when he’d heard the commotion and seen the tail end of the beating that killed Cameron St John—humans with “brass” knuckles made out of silver. As preternatural beings, like vampires and werewolves, are allergic to silver, it can damage them bad enough that a human could beat them to death.
Which was what happened. Ben saw it and witnessed those who ran away. They’d shot him with a silver bullet when they saw him and before he could get away. He “went to ground” right away, which (I had recently learned) was when a vampire could sink into the ground into a coma far deeper than what happened to them during the day. It allowed their body to heal better, like a vampire’s medical coma.
That explained the scar.
We chatted on and off through the evening. Around midnight found him standing and looking at the window. The shades were down, for protective reasons, but he looked like he wanted to see outside. I didn’t blame him.
“Do you know why I was there that night?” He didn’t specify what night, because we both knew I knew.
“Your deposition says you were visiting a friend,” I replied, curious where this was leading.
He turned to me with a rueful smile. “A suicidal friend. I was talking him off the ledge, so to speak. I was trying to save a life, and then what happens? I’m too late to save another and nearly lose my own.”
That surprised me. I couldn’t reply for a moment then asked, “Would you do it again?”
“What’s that?” His expression was curious.
“If you knew what would happen, would you still help your friend?” It might have seemed like a stupid question to most, but there were too many people out there that might say they wouldn’t if they knew they would nearly be killed.
“Of course,” he replied without hesitation. “It’s why I’m here. No one knew I existed except the killers, and they wouldn’t tell anyone. When I finally healed enough to rise, there was a cop car right at the end of the street. I went straight for him to tell him what’d happened, and find out how long it had been. I didn’t know until I rose.”
He had the bullet. His blood and brain tissue was still on it, proving it was in his head, and the rifling matched a gun that had been registered to the defendant. It explained why they didn’t shoot Cameron, but why had she brought it at all was the question. At the time, she had been a lowly member of the burgeoning LOHAV group but had risen quickly in the years to follow.
“Don’t you believe that if you can act, you have a responsibility to do so?” he asked. “You joined the FBI, so you must feel some sense of responsibility for others.”
“You’ve got me there,” I said with a smile. “I was a cop first.”
“Why did you join the force?” He returned to the sofa and sat down, turning his body to face me.
I narrowed my eyes at him, but not with actual rancor. “I’m the cop. Aren’t I supposed to be asking the questions?”
He smiled. It was full of teeth, but his fangs were “at rest.” He said nothing, but the expression was just as disarming.
“I guess it’s what you said, I felt a responsibility. There’s shit everywhere, bad things happening to people. I guess I thought I could...do something. And my grades weren’t good enough to be a doctor.” I chuckled, shaking my head. “I guess that doesn’t make me particularly unique. Shouldn’t I be telling some dramatic story about what led me to this job?”
“Life isn’t always dramatic.”
My brows lifted. “Says the vampire star witness against the nation’s biggest anti-preternatural organization?”
That made him laugh. “Well, my life wasn’t so dramatic before that.”
“You were Turned into a vampire,” I pointed out. “Wasn’t that dramatic?”
“Remarkably? Not really. It wasn’t violent or a surprise. It was a mutual agreement.” He shrugged casually, leaning into the back of the couch and resting his head on the fist.
I smiled. “I guess that makes us a couple of boring people.”
The next night saw us playing poker. Never play poker with a vampire.
He had just raised the bet when there was a knock at the door. We both tensed and I pulled my gun, starting for it. Someone called the password, though, and I relaxed. I didn’t put my gun away however, not until I was absolutely sure.
I kept the burglar chain on as I opened the door to check through it.
I was greeted with the business end of a can of mace straight to the eyes. I shrieked and stumbled back a step. “Saferoom!” I shouted, pawing at my eyes as I heard someone start banging against the door to break the chain. I kept my gun tight but down while I couldn’t see and instead lifted my free hand, loosing a random shot of my electrokinesis. Someone let out a strangled sound.
Forcing my eyes open, I could see blurry images. Someone was on the ground in front of the door but I thought I saw a second. I released another stream, but they dodged back. I stepped back and dug my phone out of my pocket, calling the office for help. There was supposed to be an agent outside the building as well. What had happened to him?
As I staggered past the table where the poker chips and deck of cards remained, I saw that Ben wasn’t there so he must have taken my command.
My vision was slowly coming back as I hurried to find Ben, who was in the small room hidden off the closet. I entered and nearly got my throat torn out before he recognized me. I stared at him in the dim light for a moment.
“I wonder why you need protection,” I whispered, gesturing for him to follow me.
This hidden room connected to stairwell that led to the basement and then an exit. It was an old building with many odd quirks, which made it ideal as a safe house. I could feel my magic lingering just under my skin, unlike the pits of my mind where I usually stuffed it. It was like static electricity to normal people, that feeling that no matter what you do, you’ll spark when you touch something.