“The architect does not seem to be responding well to training. We might have to let him go.”
The taller of the two men in the dark Waterlow Park alley nodded. They stood in the shadow of an ash tree whose leaves and branches were the only things in this part of the park that moved, caressed by the wind.
“A car accident would be nice,” the shorter man continued.
The other one nodded again without speaking.
“Is anything the matter or is it just nerves?” the shorter man inquired. “It’s been a while.”
“I can assure you I’m perfectly fine with being back here,” the taller man said.
“Oh, I’m sure you are. What I’m less sure about is whether you would be able to resist the call of… nature? Hormones? How would you describe it?”
“I wouldn’t describe it,” the taller man said with the slightest hint of dryness in his voice. “That’s in the past.”
Silence fell between the two. It lasted a few seconds that stretched like hot caramel.
“Aren’t you going to add that I have nothing to worry about?” the shorter man said.
“Do you need me to?” the other said.
The shorter man’s wide mouth stretched into a happy smile.
“You’ve come a long way, Peter. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Peter said. “I’ll take care of that accident.”
“You do that. And welcome back home. Enjoy yourself.”
Peter nodded again. The shorter man turned to go but stopped and turned.
“You do know there will be no second chances, don’t you?”
“You made that perfectly clear,” Peter said. “Like I said, the people you’re referring to are in the past. I’m not interested in the past.”
“I do hope you’re serious. Your contribution to our cause has been invaluable,” the shorter man said. “I wanted you to know this.” He turned and walked away without turning.
Peter exhaled the stale dose of air he’d inhaled half an hour earlier. He flexed his shoulders, a little stiff from standing still for so long. Then he turned to the tree’s trunk and grinned at it.
Fros slammed the door so forcefully the whole car trembled. Utterly uninterested in that, she strode across the street to her house.
“Fros? Are you all right?”
She whipped her head around to see a tall, muscled man with a beard, a man bun, and a tiny dog. The man’s name was Neil and he lived two houses down the street. The dog’s name was Gemima. She was a Chihuahua and had a temper disproportionate to her tiny body. Neil was a software developer. He was vegan. He was proud of his work and his dietary choices. He was proud of his girlfriend – a reporter at a healthcare outlet – and his dog. Fros couldn’t stand Neil. She couldn’t stand his girlfriend. She couldn’t stand the fact she knew so much about them because both of them simply had to start talking if she happened to be on the street while they were out walking the dog.
“Are you all right?” Neil repeated and Fros realised she was standing in the middle of the street glaring at her neighbour.
Now she unfroze and stalked over to where he stood, leash in hand, right in front of her house.
“No, Neil,” she said pushing her face into his, realising this was wrong but unable to stop. “I’m not all right.” The dog yelped and Fros shot her a glare, too. The dog started yapping.
“I,” Fros said and grinned, which prompted Neil to take a step back, “have had enough. This is all way too much for a single person and I have had enough. Okay? Anything to add? Questions to ask? No? Good!”
“I just…” Neil began and gulped.
The heat of the venom filled her head so fast Fros had no time to react. It flowed into her eyes and her mouth in the time it took her eyes to blink. She had to exhale.
“Shush, Gemima,” Fros said as she turned away from Neil and his dog, and let out a lethal dose of whatever it was that her body synthesised to incapacitate her enemies. Then she stalked off.
“Gemima?” Neil’s voice rang out behind Fros’s back. “Gemima! Fros! There’s something wrong with Gemima. Help! Gemima? Baby?”
Fros shut her eyes for a second and then continued walking to her house. She unlocked the door, opened it, walked in, closed the door, locked it, and continued to the kitchen where she reached a chair, collapsed on it, rested her arms on the table and buried her face in them.
A pack of vampires led by a red-eyed man was chasing her and they were gaining when a sharp chime cut through the air and the dream. Fros jerked awake to see the screen of her phone light up with a notification. Someone had shared a document with her. That someone was Tal. The phone said it was 2:47 am. A second later a text came from Tal.
This is insane. Sent you what I’ve found so far. They’re either stupid or desperate, or so smart I can’t fathom their goals. Tony thinks they’re stupid. I have my doubts. Read the notes and call me.
While she blinked at this message, another came.
The guy from Lossburg? Vampire. I’m taking bets for the Dresden one.
Fros removed a crusted tear from the corner of her right eye and clicked on the shared document.
Children of Ishtar, it said at the top. Below it was a page of text, which Fros first scanned over, failed to comprehend to any satisfactory degree and started reading more slowly.
Cult or cult-like organisation. Also active in financial services. Suspect they have people in the big auditors. Need to check. Definitely some in government. Have their own website – there was a link after that – and are partners with lots of other groups. Similar to WEF. Could be partner organisation, too.
Lots of talk about saving the planet. Emblem is an eight-point star and their mission statement has eight points. Shocking. Points include: sustainable energy (wind, solar, hydrogen for some reason), lower consumption of resources, DEI (that’s diversity, equity, and inclusion), justice (no elaboration there, strange), wellbeing over wealth (higher taxes for the rich), more nature conservation, rule of love (to replace rule of law), and harmony with nature.
Looks like they’ve collected all the progressive slogans of the past ten years and bundled them into a package deal. They make money from training courses – sensitivity, environmental awareness and things like that but also actual training for skills – solar technicians, wind turbine maintenance, political campaigning, conservation, climate advocacy, public speaking. They make money from public speaking, too, as in, their members give lectures on whatever they know about. That Basel professor is an eminent member. So’s the Lossburg guy, Andreas. Ditto Dr. Pfeifer. Need I continue?
Fros felt tension budding and growing in the centre of her forehead. A second later she had established the cause – she was frowning so hard her skin was protesting. A cult-like, ultra-progressive organisation that made money from lectures and solar technician courses to save the planet. How vampires fit in with this was beyond Fros as was the question why they would involve themselves with such an organisation. She read on.
They have a lot of prominent members and a lot more non-prominent ones. They meet once a year but not in Switzerland like the usual world criminals. They meet in Africa, I expect to show they care or something. Next meeting’s in September in Kenya.
I’ve no idea what role vampires play but Dr. Pfeifer was really eager to help by directing me to one of their group therapy clubs. That’s another thing they do – legal counseling and therapy. Tony says it’s like an octopus, which apparently means like the mafia. He’s weird but helpful. He’s digging deeper into the Children of Ishtar and I didn’t even ask him. Says he’s preparing a report for you. Expect updates to this document.
Vampires morphed into society because that was the only way they could continue existing undisturbed. Perhaps this Children of Ishtar thing was a way for them to improve the experience, to really begin feeling like they belonged.
“Yeah, right,” Fros murmured to her countertop and the sink.
Of course it wasn’t a way for them to improve their human experience and begin feeling like they belonged. That could only happen in a soppy vampire flick authored by a romantic teen. This was something else and it was bound to not be good. Fros picked up her phone.
“Did you read it?” Tal said in lieu of any form of greeting. “You read it, didn’t you?”
“I did,” Fros said and rubbed that place between her eyebrows where the heat pulsed the strongest when it came and where all her headaches began. Coincidence? Hardly. “And I want you to take the first plane out of there and come back home.”
“What?” Tal’s voice cut into her eardrum like an ice pick. “You’re not serious. We’ve just started.”
“No. You’ve just finished,” Fros said. “You can do your research here. I don’t think it’s a good idea to risk drawing their attention, which is exactly what is going to happen if you keep meeting with those newmades.”
“Newmades. Good one, I’ll give you that. But, Fros, we need to make sure they are newmades. I mean, these two could be a coincidence.”
The pain pulsed stronger in her skull.
“No, they couldn’t and you know it.” She propped her legs up on the table and crossed them. “Tal, we don’t know if they’re under surveillance. We don’t know if that surveillance has already detected you. There are too many things we don’t know and this makes it all very dangerous. Get out, come home, and you can keep researching anything you want.”
There was a short silence on the other end of the line while Tal apparently chewed over her rational suggestion and tried to pretend it’s not a parental-style order.
“Okay,” he said finally. “But I want to stop by in Dresden first. Just this one, I promise. I’ll bump into whatever his name was accidentally, establish if he’s a newmade and we’ll come back. Okay?”
“Fine,” Fros scoffed. “I don’t know how to say this to make you believe it but do be careful. And watch over Tony. He’s… new.”
“And very enthusiastic. The amount of stuff he’s already found… That’s what I sent you – and it was a summary. You’ll see when we get back.”
“Make sure you get back,” Fros said and hung up. She stood staring through the window for a moment, tapping the edge of her phone against her teeth, and thinking about blood.
She’d left Jasper’s house claiming an emergency after pretending to check her messages. He had asked what she’d meant by “Blood” and she’d given him a thinking-aloud, work-related explanation. He had not expressed suspicions or asked for more information. He had limited himself to saying that he hoped everything would be okay with her emergency. He had acted normal. He had smelled normal. And that had chilled Fros.
After leaving his house, she’d driven off only to stop half a mile from it and sit shaking in the car for a full minute before her body began to relax. It wasn’t one of her proudest moments but she couldn’t stop it. Jasper had a knife that had been used to spill human blood. On display.
The reason Fros had been unable to spot it immediately was that, as she reflected on the evening’s events in the car, she had way too much on her mind and the knives smelled of all that acrylic paint. Yet she should have been able to spot the blood. That’s what that nose she had was for. But she hadn’t. Because on top of all that was on her mind, she could admit to herself in the solitary confinement of her car, part of her liked Jasper.
Part of her craved some semblance of a normal human life and saw a chance for it in the arrogant, greedy advertiser who had turned out to be a murderer. Why else would you cover a knife with acrylic paint and hide it in plain sight if not to conceal a murder weapon?
If Fros was to wrap her head around this, some serious stretching was in order but her brain, at its usual helpful in the small hours, picked that moment to remind her that she had received two texts while at Jasper’s. They weren’t from Tal. They were from Jules. And Fros had forgotten to read them.
Lunch is over and I’m still alive. Also, I think we should look at this seriously. Massimo has suggested some really smart investments. They won’t even charge a fee for the first year. Tell you later.
This was the first one and it begged the question why it was sent so many hours past any period that you could fit around the term lunch. The second had come right after the first one.
Just spoke to Tal. He says it’s some kind of a vampire cult. SO dramatic. He needs a girlfriend. Call me as soon as possible to discuss the investment. I mean it, Fros, it’s a great opportunity. Off to France tomorrow.
To this, Fros had a firm response which she typed with appropriate firmness and sent immediately. Forget France, come back ASAP. Will explain later. I mean it. This was highly unlikely to work on Jules but Fros was prepared to make her case when her CFO called to share her frustration with being bossed around. In the meantime, she would enlist the help of said CFO’s life partner.
Satisfied with the short break, her brain switched to the other job at hand. Fros had a potential suspect. She also had zero usable evidence and a sort of crush on said suspect. The situation was far from optimal and equally far from desirable. Luckily, this was potentially fixable. They could set a tail on Jasper to monitor his comings and goings, and see if he did anything suspicious. If he didn’t, they were in trouble.
Fros grabbed her phone, yawned, pushed off the chair and dragged her feet upstairs. For all its many positive qualities, the kitchen table could not replace a bed.
Six hours later she was sitting opposite Tom in her office, resisting the urge to start biting her nails.
“It doesn’t prove anything and we still don’t have a clear motive but it is suspicious, right? I’m not crazy?”
Tom shook his head.
“Right.” Fros huffed and rubbed her cheeks with her knuckles, hard. “So how do we find the motive? How do we prove all of it? Any of it?”
“If he trusts you enough he might tell you,” Tom suggested.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Fros snapped. “It’s not like we’re getting married next week or anything.”
The spark of shock in Tom’s eyes brought her to her senses.
“I’m sorry. This is shaping up to be a hell of a week and I mean this literally.”
“It’s okay, Fros. We’ve got other ways. We could tag him and hope he takes us to Meena. If she’s still alive,” Tom said after a short pause. “Or we could set a trap for him.”
“A trap,” Fros repeated blankly. They needed Peter, that’s what they needed. He would get Jasper’s secret out in no time thanks to his special powers of persuasion. The memory of their first ever case that couldn’t even be called a case because it was over so fast, floated up in her mind. A cheese-loving, desperate man had stabbed Fros’s neighbour to death and she and Peter had cracked the case. It didn’t help her mood.
Tom leaned over the desk.
“It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book and a movie cliché but you never know. The problem is, if we use it and it fails, we’re out of good moves. Even decent ones. Nobody has anything on this man and I doubt an artificially antiquated knife would be enough evidence to change their mind.”
“What’s the trick?” Fros said. If Peter was here, he could meet with Jasper, smile at him and five minutes later Jasper would be telling him his entire life’s story. And his brother’s, probably. At this point, a bright, thousand-watt light bulb went on in Fros’s head.
“Excuse me for one second,” she said and grabbed her phone.
Jasper answered on the second ring.
“Is everything okay?” were his first words. “What was the emergency?”
“Yes, yes, everything’s fine. It was a business matter. Nobody died or anything, don’t worry,” she said with only the slightest wince. “Jasper, have you heard of an organisation called the Children of Ishtar?”
The response came with a second’s delay – time for the responder to quickly decide whether he risked divulging anything he wouldn’t want to divulge with an honest response.
“I have,” he said with a note of caution in his voice. “I’m actually a member. Why?”
“Oh, nothing bad. The name cropped up in another case. So, what do you do as a member? If you don’t mind me asking, that is. I really am sorry about last night, by the way,” she added but judging by Tom’s face it wasn’t particularly convincing.
“Well, I’ve led a few of their workshops – they organise workshops and training courses – and I obviously help with their marketing. I would really like to know how the Children cropped up in a criminal case. For obvious reasons.”
Fros almost felt the wheels of her mental gearbox squeak as she shifted into higher gear.
“Like I said, nothing bad,” she said, trying to not drag the words out. Tom was looking at her with interest but zero apparent readiness or willingness to help. “A potential embezzler might have been a donor,” she said hoping they did have individual donors. Of course they did. Every organisation of any sort could have individual donors. And if you cultivated a herd of such donors with workshops and training courses that feature a certain message, you could build yourself what Americans from days of yore called a gravy train. Fros filed that last thought under her mental “For future consideration” file. “We’re just being thorough, that’s all,” she told Jasper.
“I see,” Jasper said after a second. “Well, if you need anything else, we could do a take two of that dinner whenever you can.”
“That would be nice,” Fros said. “I’ll call you later this week.”
Jasper hung up after a brisk “All right. Bye”. Fros set the phone down and stared in the distance.
“Fros?” Tom prompted when the second she thought she was using to give her eyes a rest extended into one too many.
Fros refocused on him.
“Did you read Tal’s notes? Probably not,” she added. “He sent them in the middle of the night. Anyway, he’s done some research on that organisation, Children of Ishtar, and he thinks it’s some sort of a cult. Now Jasper tells me he’s a member and it sounds like an ordinary NGO. But it’s got vampire members. What the hell are we supposed to make of this?”
“Could you send me those notes?”
“I will. And he said that Tony was digging deeper. Tony’s turning out to be a really nice surprise, by the way. Unlike,” she said pointedly, “your girlfriend, who has been no surprise at all. Could you please call her and tell her to come home immediately because I’m not sure she heard me last night. Based on what Tal told me, this sounds too dangerous for someone like her, not to mention Rio, and—”
The heat filled her head in an instant and tried to flow out of her eyes and her mouth. Fros stopped breathing and closed her eyes.
“Fros?” Tom called. “Are you all right?”
It was the most useless question in the history of language. It always meant “You do not look all right. Were you aware of it?”
Fros couldn’t respond. She was too busy pushing the venom back in. She could do it. She had done it, repeatedly. She had mastered control over her homicidal instincts. And there was no way she was risking Tom’s life. Jules would kill her if anything happened to him.
Eventually, after an eternity of concentration, the heat began to ebb away. Fros dared open her eyes and breathed out.
“There’s a vampire in the office,” she declared.
There was no gasp of surprise, no raised eyebrows, not even widening eyes. Tom was looking at her intently.
“I think that might only be our second problem for the day,” he said carefully.
“What do you mean?”
“Your eyes,” he said, twice as carefully as a moment earlier. “You might want to have a look at them.”
Fros raised an eyebrow at him but he only nodded.
She picked up her phone, turned on the camera, switched it to front view and raised it to her face feeling ridiculous. The feeling was gone the second she saw her own eyes on the screen. They were still their usual dark brown. The only difference was that her usual pupils were gone, replaced by golden slits that widened when she saw them.
The golden eyes. The memory floated up in her mind uninvited and unexpected. She’d completely forgotten about the eyes. Peter had said this the night they’d met, when he’d killed a random thief on the street and they’d had to get out of there because Fros had been hungry and couldn’t risk turning spontaneously in public.
“What the actual…” she began but a knock on the door interrupted her. She looked at Tom. Tom shrugged at her. “Shit.”
“Do you want me to take it outside?” he asked.
“That’s the vampire,” she said through gritted teeth. “I want to know who it is.”
“I think we both already know,” Tom said and leaned in to peer at her. “And I think they’re fading. The pupils.”
Fros checked. The slits were almost invisible now.
“Come in,” she said before Tom could add anything else.
The door opened energetically and Bobby Musgrave joined the little party in Fros’s office.
One of the best detectives at Fang in Fang, Bobby was in her mid-forties, had a husband and three children, a good nature that went with the extra twenty pounds she was constantly trying to shed, and endless patience with everyone she interviewed. Today, she looked a little paler than usual and a lot less patient than usual.
“Leave,” was the first word she spoke, turning to Tom.
“I’m sorry?” Tom blinked under the sudden attack.
“I need to talk to Fros, it’s urgent and it’s private,” Bobby said. “And I don’t have a lot of time. Leave, please.”
A glance to Fros and a nod from her later, Tom stood and walked over to the door. It took one last glance to make sure Bobby was not pouncing on Fros and when she didn’t, Tom left.
“So, how does it feel?” Fros said when the door closed after Tom, crossing her arms. “I assume it was not an accident?”
Bobby shook her head.
“We have no time for this now.” She went around the desk and perched on Fros’s desk, next to her feet. “Peter’s back,” Bobby said. “He’s back and he wants to see you.”
When the words Bobby spoke reached Fros’s ears, something strange happened to her body. It felt like a big lump of ice cream that had been taken out under the sun and had begun to melt. The sun shone, Fros melted, and there was not a single problem in the world.
“Fros.”
She focused and took her time picking the question she wanted to ask first.
“How is he?” was what she picked.
Bobby nodded.
“He’s fine,” she said. “Physically at least. He looks tormented, which is pretty understandable, but he doesn’t exactly share with me. Do you want to see him?”
Fros took a long breath, checked if there was any suggestion of venom in it, remembered Bobby was now pretty much immune to her venom, and exhaled.
“How about you tell me everything starting from the beginning, which, I assume, is the moment you were turned.”
“There is no time for that,” Bobby hissed and looked at her watch. “You have an appointment with a new client in five minutes. That client works for a vampire group and he’s here to bug your desk. You need to let him, even if you smell him in the act. He will want you to find Peter. Take the job. We’ll talk later. Now, do you want to see him?”
“Of course I want to see him!” Fros burst out. “It’s been three bloody months of wondering if he’s even alive and if he is, where the hell in the world he is and why he is not calling. Do I want to see him!”
Bobby nodded, a wince of understanding squeezing her face.
“He’ll be where you two had your first dinner at eleven-thirty.”
For a second Fros’s mind went blank. They had never had a first dinner, not really. But they had eaten together.
“Right,” she said. “Tonight?”
“Today,” Bobby said. “In two hours.” She looked at her watch again and stood from the desk. “I have to go before that client comes. Take the job, okay? Don’t ask any suspicious questions. Act naturally.”
She slipped out and left Fros staring at the door until someone knocked on it. It was a formal, patient knock.
“Come in,” she said.