#it's not that this is the darkest or most disturbing thing i've ever read or anything like that

[unholyhelbig]

Are you going to post the vampire fic here? PLS SAY YES

A/n: Oh dude, I've got you.

Summary: Bodies start popping up within the city drained of blood and torn at the throat. Detective Ava Silva and her new partner Beatrice Alexander are determined to crack the case before more victims are discovered. But when recent technological advancements threaten how things are done, Beatrice has to put more trust in her partner than ever before.

Trigger warning: This is quite possibly the darkest thing I've ever written. So please be cautious with this. There's a lot of gross imagery with the crime scenes.

[Also, I added a "The Nice Guys" reference in there, extra points if you can spot it.]

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Read the First Chapter here

The Blood Ties that Bind | Chapter Two | Ava x Beatrice

It was a common misconception that Vampires could see better in the dark. Yes, Beatrice viewed the world without light through a gray haze that was often mimicked on a camcorder, but if one did not know the obstacles they would face in said, pitch area, then it was hardly effective. She was thankful for the pulsing red light of the exit sign.

Beatrice kept to the far side of the hallway where the span of the cameras didn’t reach. She’d feigned interest in the security system that Michael Salvius had installed a few weeks before. He regarded her icily, mumbling under his breath. He figured that she was mocking him, and she placed a soft hand on his shoulder.

She told Michael Salvius that his job was important. That without the Salvius security systems, they would be shit out of luck on most of their cases. The footage was always grainy, way too distorted by the city's rain to make anything out. But she sat on the edge of the desk and smiled at him while he installed the new tech.

It had disturbed her, to a degree, the way in which the world was changing. She remembers the distinct feeling of whiplash she got when she saw her first automobile. This surely won’t catch on, she naively thought.  And for a time, it hadn’t. But soon they were rushing through the streets, not just for the rich, but for everyone.

Cameras, she figured, would be the exact same way as cars, as planes, and chewing gum. The world was prone to rushing around her and she wouldn’t notice one way or another until times like these when it hit her all at once. Allusivity was swiped away by bulky wires and hard drives.

She’d watched Michel out of curiosity, but was thankful now, that she had. It made getting into the lab in the basement of the precinct all the easier. Though, Beatrice wasn’t sure if the cameras could pick up her slinking form in the deep red light of the exit sign. She stopped directly across from the door to the lab and waited until the cherry-red color faded.

Then, she took a large step across the hall and broke the knob off the door entirely with one flick of the wrist. It was much like a bone, that way, a metal contraption that came apart so easily under her movements. Beatrice pushed her shoulder into the door and entered the darkness of the lab.

Death was a familiar scent to her. It wasn’t one that she used to describe herself or her kind. No, they were wrought with the earth tones of soil and leaden blood. The odor of decay on a normal, once-breathing, human body was different. It tickled the back of her throat with hints of vanilla and the acrid hum of formaldehyde.

The dead lined the wall of the morgue behind little metal doors like picture frames. Each was meticulously labeled with a sharpie. A series of numbers following the first three letters of a last name. Beatrice instinctively spotted PAL86 and kept her eyes on the darkness of the drawer.

Part of her believed that he would push it open, that his milky eyes would open the world and she would be the one that had to break it to him: Apologies for your death, you see, a girl that I promised to teach how to live is desperate to do so herself. Mistakes happen.

Richard “Barry” Palmer would not be rising from the dead. That wasn’t how things worked. But just like the advancement of automobiles and security systems, this too could change. Not tonight, though. Not while she strode past a large exam table and opened the cooling chamber for samples.

A bright white light nearly blinded her before she had the thought to place her finger over the sensor and plunge herself back into that granular darkness. Beatrice swore under her breath. Ava hadn’t been kidding, law enforcement was wising up. They saved everything. Small vials filled with hair samples, fingernail clippings, fibers from the carpet saturated in brown blood.

She didn’t have much time, if the flash of light from the cooler had triggered the patrol officer damned to the security room, then she was fucked. Good and fucked. There was no logical way for her to explain why she had not only ripped the doorknob from its place but why she had rummaged through the fridge like she was up for a midnight snack.

Beatrice spotted two tubes labeled with PAL86. She didn’t hesitate to slip them into the pocket of her peacoat. She closed the cooler, careful with the light this time, and turned on her heel to exit the lab. Again, she waited for the pulsing light of the exit sign at the end of the hallway before she hastily made it to the stairwell, breathing a cool sigh of relief.

It’s fine. Everything is fine. She got in and out quickly, quietly, like the shadow that she was derived from. She hadn’t risked her position as a lead detective. She’d simply looked out for her own. And was that so bad? Ava was sure to thank her later, if later ever came along.

“Detective Alexander?”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Beatrice had made it to the second stairwell. She instinctively tightened her fingers around the cold vials in her pocket and turned to face the medical examiner whom she had met on a few occasions. Her hair was sleep-worn, and a single eyebrow was raised in a questioning glance. She wore her coat over a buttoned pajama top.

“Doctor Amunet” Beatrice gave an easy smile. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I assume for the same reason as you.”

“Oh?”

Yasmine Amunet’s gaze was mild, her eyes the color of cold bourbon. She rubbed the corner of one, taking the sleepy haze right with it. “Nothing worse than being woken up by a corpse call in the middle of the night. I just have to grab my supplies and I’ll be headed down to the wharf.”

“Of course,” Beatrice swallowed hard. She prayed absently that Yasmine wouldn’t flick on the lights and notice the busted knob on the door to her lab. That the bag she was often seen with was subsequently in the office instead. “Would you like to go together? Two birds. One stone. That sort of thing.”

This was a solid play. Yasmine’s eyes lit up and all her drowsiness left her, replaced with excitement instead. Detectives worked closely with their medical examiners, but this was a different level of familiarity, an olive branch that was not often extended.

“Yeah, yes! Are you kidding me, of course.” She rocked excitedly on the balls of her feet.

Beatrice chuckled, “Go on, then. Make it quick. I’ll meet you out front.”

Yasmine schooled her expression but let a smile slip through just before she pivoted and rushed down the staircase to the basement. Beatrice could hear her shoes against the linoleum, fast and careless. One did not readily look for signs of distress when they were hurried. She counted on this as she took the side door out of the precinct and into the cold rain.

A shiver rushed down her spine. She lingered on the side of the building, taking both vials that were meticulously labeled PAL86 and dropping them into the rushing, mucky water that led to the storm drain. Beatrice took the toe of her boot and pressed down until she heard the glass shatter.

 She watched as the shards were washed away into the storm drain with the rest of the runoff.

Any traces of lingering sleep dissipated from Detective Ava Silva’s mind as she pulled the Buick close enough to the weathered boardwalk for the wood to splinter. Rain slammed against the windshield, distorting the yellowed streetlamps, and the flashing squad cars. The wind had picked up and whipped viciously against Ava’s side as she slammed the car door.

There was no crowd this time. Bodies were pulled from the canal often and methodically. People who were down on their luck with the metal tip of a needle shoved into the nearest, unmarred vein. Women that stood on street corners while law enforcement looked the other way- because everyone needed to make a living somehow. Everyone needed to survive.

Ava was annoyed, at first. She had been in the kind of deep sleep that weighed heavy on your mind. Why pull her from bed for a body that would never be claimed? Though her grip relaxed on the steering wheel on the way here, and her shoulders slumped in defeat. A body is not simply a body. A life is not simply a life.

Guilt wracked her for being miffed in the first place. This was her job, after all, sleep be damned. She can sleep when her tank ran out of gas. She swallowed a stabilizing breath in the large drops of rain. The sea air was salty and clung to her skin like a film.

Detective Silva stepped over the slumping police tape, raged from the elements. By the time she got there, two police cars flanked the docks and a third, deep plum Ford Pinto was parked meticulously next to them. Ava recognized Detective Alexander’s flashy government-issued car. Okay- maybe Ava didn’t know if it was government issued, but no one could afford an 86’ model on a detective’s salary.

Her stomach churned when she crossed the threshold onto the rotted deck. She wasn’t a big fan of water, never had been. The hollow sound of her footfalls nearly made her want to turn back. Leave the corpse to Beatrice, seeing as she had gotten the jump on the case, to begin with.

There was already a sheet over the body. It reflected what little of the moon shown through the clouds each time they shifted. The rain had evened out, but the wind stayed strong. Beatrice had her jaw clenched; her hands shoved into the pockets of her coat. Yasmine held an umbrella over them both. She looked worse for wear, as green as Ava felt.

“Detective Silva,” Beatrice turned up the corner of her lip in a small smile. A white flag that bled red. “Nice of you to join us.”

She ignored the comment. “Why call us out here for a canal corpse?”

The thought rushed past her lips and exhibited in the mist of her breath, breaking the cold. She hadn’t meant to phrase it like that, really. Not with the uniforms glancing warily over their shoulders at the statement.

“That came out wrong. I mean, it’s not something you usually do.”

“You’re right, I don’t, but this… Detective Alexander was already at the station and decided to let me tag along. Good thing she did, your body is a Hispanic female in her early twenties.” She used the base of her hand to wipe away a drop of frigid rain that had dripped from the edge of the umbrella. “The neck is ripped into. Carotid artery shredded like an expired credit card.”

“Geez. Unidentified?”

Beatrice frowned “Actually, no, the victim is a model by the name of Sabrina Patrick, I’m guaranteeing that you’ve seen her on the side of busses, billboards, and storefronts. You name it. She’s recently branched out into acting; I believe she had a bit part in ‘Fright Night’.”

“No shit! I’ve seen that one!” Ava smacked Beatrice’s arm excitedly and lowered her voice, wiggling her fingers wickedly “Welcome to Fright night… for real.”

Yasmine pinched the bridge of her nose with an exasperated sigh that painted the sky. Beatrice let out a groan and stared at the silver interworking of the umbrella. Ava wasn’t a huge fan of vampires herself, but she did enjoy the campy feel of the movie, and the lead actress wasn’t entirely an eyesore.

Ava schooled her face into professionalism. She felt foolish for asking this question, but it slipped up anyway. “She have her blood?”

“Detective Silva, enough with the movie references,” Beatrice warned.

“Actually, no,” Yasmine said. “Not all of it.”

The last address listed on Sabrina Patrick’s driver's license led Detective Alexander and Detective Silva to a small duplex on a rougher end of town. Much too rough for a successful model, and upcoming actress. Beatrice thought this as she wrapped her hands around the chain link fence that surrounded the property.

It looked untouched, abandoned for the most part. The grass hadn’t been cut in at least a month. It had died and turned a rotten, mushy gray with the oversaturation of the rain. One pane of the large bay window had been shattered and patched up with silver duct tape and a black trash bag that flopped in the wind.

The red words BEWARE OF DOG curled in around itself. Ava reached over the fence and unlatched it before pushing the gate in. An ungodly screech of forgotten hinges made Beatrice’s jaw ache. There was a pit in the center of her stomach that continued to grow, reaching its cold edges out to her ribs, and to her slow-beating heart. Something was not right here.

Her fingers numbly reached for her sidearm, the fabric of her coat scratchy against dry skin. Ava spared her a glance. She was wielding a flashlight, though, Beatrice was sure that she wished she had something more as if she didn’t trust Beatrice to aim and fire her weapon if need be.

Beatrice recalls the first time she fired a gun, her brother's LeMat pistol. It was weighed and inscribed with his initials. Their father had gifted it to him the Christmas before the Civil War began. He taught her how to manage the kickback, and how to hit old cans of food, rusted and empty. Then small animals, squirrels and rabbits were utilized for their pelts.

She could handle the Government regulation gun in her hand now. Beatrice was a quick shot, she bet quicker than Ava. However, neither of them spoke as they tested the strength of the porch. Ava used two knuckles to bang on the chipped door.

“CPD, please come to the door,” She said, commanding.

A shiver worked its way up Beatrice’s spine at the deepness of Ava’s voice, the steadiness in which she delivered her command. They listened for movement inside. Ava couldn’t hear anything, and Beatrice could make out the dull drip of a leak in the kitchen, but not the dull, bugs-buzz of electric, or breathing, or even a rapid heartbeat.

“We’re not going to ask again. Open up!” There was a beat of five more seconds before Ava straightened her posture. “Well. No one’s home.”

“You’re sure?”

Detective Silva removed her jacket. Her arms flexed under the dull morning light. The clouds gave everything a mucky green color that shaded her features. In this light, the daring tightness behind Ava’s eyes, there was a bit of attractiveness. Ava could be quite charming when she wasn’t being a stubborn asshole.

However, those thoughts went right out the window when Ava wrapped her hand in the jacket and used it to shatter out the other half of the window. She took the taped trash bag with it, careful for the remaining shards of glass as she reached around and unclicked the lock.

“Ava, there are protocols!”

She shrugged and shook out her jacket before draping it over the termite-ridden railing at the front of the porch. Ava had a Cheshire grin that dared Beatrice to test her, even with her fingers near the trigger of the gun. “Probable cause.”

Ava opened the door and the stench that instantly hit them made Beatrice swallow back a gag. Detective Silva groaned. It was putrid, a mix of urine and rotting food that made the uneasiness of Beatrice’s stomach deepen.

Newspapers saturated with water and mold were stacked to the ceiling in a long, dark hallway. Insects scattered as new light made its way into the house, the flashlight sweeping over a staircase. There was a living area to the left, and a dining room to the right. All stacked high with newspapers, old DVDs, bottles that contained sticky forgotten soda, and take-out containers that squirmed with maggots.

“Oh, Jesus Christ.” Ava retched.

“Don’t take the lord's name in vain.” Beatrice’s eyes were watering. Everything was so defined and she couldn’t take a deep breath if she tried. Her lungs contracted.

“I did not take the lord's name in vain.” Ava used one arm to cover her nose, tentatively taking a step through the threshold “I found it very useful, actually. Are you coming?”

She kept her firearm lowered to her side, though the home exhibited all the signs of being long abandoned, Beatrice felt the same cloying anxiety she got every single time she entered a new residence. Her partner couldn’t exactly invite her in. The rules were finicky, but one stayed consistent: She could not enter without being invited in by the owner.

Subsequently, if there was no owner, she could step through the doorway. She held her breath for more than one reason, but took one foot and exhaled when she heard the rubber sole of her shoe crunch against the broken glass from the window.

Ava shook her head when Beatrice lifted her chin to the living area. They had to follow a strict pathway. There was a clear direction carved out amongst the garbage, the old National Geographic magazines, and the dirt-caked clothing. She was too humble to open her mouth and protest. Beatrice was not prepared to dry heave.

The steps to the second level were sturdy and Beatrice stuck close to the small circle of light that Ava provided. They made it to the top of the steps before Ava turned, the blinding light flashing across Beatrice’s stare before moving back to the floor.

“We should call for backup,” Beatrice mumbled, watching as a cockroach skittered over her shoe. “This place needs to be searched and condemned.”

However, Ava wasn’t listening to her. Instead, she was frowning. Beatrice reared back as the beam of light crossed her gaze three more times, Ava staring at her with an intensity that Beatrice had to blink away, along with the silver flashes of the light. She reached out and grabbed Ava’s wrist gently.

“What are you doing?”

“Your eyes are weird.”

“Yes, most likely due to the asbestos in here,” Beatrice growled, redirecting the light with the soft push of Ava’s hand. “Now, can we please finish the sweep and get out of here?”

Ava seemed to let it go. They pulled apart from one another and made the careful journey that the pathway allowed. Beatrice tried not to think about what crunched under her feet. They made it to the bedroom at the end of the hall: something that Beatrice assumed was a bedroom.

She was still blinking blotches of red and blue from her vision, But when it did focus, she located the four-post bed. It floated in a sea of debris. She got a sudden whiff of congealed blood, deteriorated flesh.

The brittle corpse of an older man, or at least what Beatrice made out to be one. It was hard, under the squirming mass of insects that had made a home between his ribs, and hollowed-out cheeks. Flies flanked the windows, daylight flitting through their wings. The buzzing was deafening.

This time, Ava did vomit, bile, and coffee joining the other masses on the floor. When she keeled over, her flashlight hit something that caught Beatrice’s attention. She placed a comforting hand on the small of Ava’s back but worked the flashlight from her hand at the same time.

Drywall had begun to crumble from the far wall, exposing brick, and wood, the innards of the house. Flies circled a painted symbol on the wall, once a vibrant red color. It had faded into the deep brown that only blood could afford.

“What the fuck is that?” Ava asked. She spits the acrid taste from her mouth. “Seriously, that’s… God, I’m going to be sick.”

Beatrice’s mouth was dry. A cross, a very specific cross, had been etched onto the wall. Arrows tipped every end, and large, stretching lines belted them. She’d seen it before, she’d had it carved into her shoulder blade with the chemical quickness that even she couldn’t heal from.

Detective Alexander fought the urge to stick the gun to her temple, and Detective Silva heaved the other half of her breakfast.

Three showers later and Beatrice could still clock the odor of decay on her skin. It was masked by vanilla, the slightest bit of detergent, and sweat. But it was there, lurking under the surface. She didn’t bother drying her hair. Instead, she padded into the living area and curled up on one end of the sofa. The rain had begun to fall again, barely noticeable.

She loved the view of the city slightly more, knowing that it wasn’t choked with flies swarming in a colony. In all her years, all the death, all the torture, all the pain, she had never seen deterioration such as that.

Many of her kind lost the ability to feel. It came with the territory. Day in and day out, the world would spin on its axis and empathy would escape the soul in small, barely noticeable breaths, until there was nothing left at all.

Beatrice was convinced that Lilith was getting there, and with nothing to be done about stopping it, she watched. Her roommate was absent, and she was grateful for the fact. What’s another corpse? This was not simply a corpse; this was a message. If not to her, then to the city. Then to those who did not know of the dangers that lurked just below the surface.

Eighty-four-year-old Tom Thornton had rented out his spare room to up-and-coming actress Sabrina Patrick seven months ago. She went missing after filming Fright Night over the summer. Within that time, the home had become a nest, of sorts. She had no idea how many were living there, for how long.

Tom Thornton was most likely killed within hours of Sabrina, left to fester. Beatrice curled deeper into herself, ran her fingers over the seam of her sweatpants, and clenched her eyes shut. She could move, leave the city, leave Detective Silva in the wreckage. But then again, she found the girl endearing and she was never much of a runner.

“Bea?”

Beatrice must have drifted into something of a fitful dissociation. The silvery scent of blood made her mouth water, her jaw ache as her canines threatened to slip into her mouth. Camila was sitting on the coffee table, a steaming mug in her hands.  

“You should eat something.”

It was a peace offering, Beatrice guessed. She took the mug gratefully, not realizing how hungry she was until that subtle burn in the back of her throat ignited into full flame. She took a sip, warmed in the microwave like popcorn.

Camila had guilt written all over her face. Beatrice had taught the girl, away from most civilization, how to function as a member of the undead. They’d curbed the initial, dominating feeling of want that crossed over to the other side, the sensitivity to the sun. How to take what you needed without taking too much.

She’d given the same instruction to Lilith, who had taken to it naturally. But Camila was different. It wasn’t about survival for her, it was about empathy, about doing things right and there was nothing right about what they’d become.

“I wanted to apologize.” She started after Beatrice had slowly gulped down half of the mug. “For the banker, I mean. I’ve risked our existence here, and so soon after we’ve settled. I understand if you want me to go.”

Beatrice placed a steadying hand on the girl’s knee “Camila, I could never ask such a thing. Besides, it’s been taken care of. You must be more vigilant, though. You know I’ve never restricted how you feed, when you feed.”

“I know,” She whispered, using the edge of her hand to wipe away an escaped tear. “I know, and I am grateful. I was… chased away, I couldn’t finish what I started.”

Beatrice straightened, putting both feet on the floor. The tears were flowing freely from Camila’s red-rimmed eyes now. She had clasped her hands between her knees nervously.

“Chased?”

“Yeah. Yes. By a group of vampires. There were five or six of them… no, definitely five. I guess they smelled the blood. Too many for me to fight off, and I didn’t want to initiate something like that. I didn’t know we traveled in that big of groups.”

“We don’t.”

Beatrice had reluctantly turned Lilith herself and had done the same for Camila. It wasn’t unheard of for sires to stick with their makers, but five? She couldn’t create that many in an immortal lifetime if she tried. It was draining, nearly unfathomable.

Though, she knew someone who had dreams of grandeur such as those.

She swallowed down the rest of the liquid in the cup, used her thumb to wipe the blotch of color from the corner of her lip. There were others in the city, she knew, others that had slain methodically.

Beatrice clenched her eyes shut and draped her head over the back of the couch. Despite the fear, the symbol painted on the wall, and a city sure to be overrun with sired vampires, she could only think one thing: She should rent Fright Night from Blockbuster.

[ljf613]

Decided to finally bite the bullet and read Magi: The Adventures of Sinbad.

In the middle of the Mariadel arc, and whoa does it get heavy.

[rhiawriter]

Favorite Books I've Read in 2021 So Far

5 favorite books, in no particular order, as I think these were all great.

1. Hamnet by Maggie O'Farrell

This book was really sad, but so beautifully written. The story focuses on Shakespeare's family, in particular his wife Agnes (not Ann as she's most commonly called). The writing was gorgeous, Agnes was a wonderful character, and her marriage with Shakespeare was so interesting to me! Very complicated and nuanced. I didn't want the book to end.

2. The Little Drummer Girl by John Le Carre

I've watched so many movies based on Le Carre novels, but this is the first time I've ever read him, and damn I was impressed. The characters and the plot are so twisty. And everything is the greyist of the grey. Everyone's trying to do good, but few are convinced that their violent actions will actually make the world better. It loses a few points for sexism that hasn't aged well, but I still learned so much about writing complex characters from reading this.

3. The Invisible Life of Addie LaRue by V.E. Schwab

While the romance felt a little flat to me, overall, I thought this was a beautiful book that ruminated on immortality, art, and who gets remembered. The writing style was gorgeous, while still being easy to read and Addie's optimism was something I needed during the pandemic.

4. Kindred by Octavia Butler

This is the first Octavia Butler novel I finished, because when I tried to read her book Dawn a few years ago, I was so disturbed that I DNFed it. This book is also unsettling, as it explores one of the darkest things about America's twisted past: that most Black Americans are descended from slave holders as well as enslaved people. She doesn't flinch as she examines this tortured history through characters that feel real and all too human. This book will stay with me for a long time.

5. Beach Read by Emily Henry

I tend to read intense books, so it was lovely to read something that was purely enjoyable! This romance about a Women's Fiction Writer and a Male Literary Darling had enough weight to it to keep me engaged, but was also just a really fun ride with romance and a light skewering of the sexism that still persist in the publishing world.