Solving the Vampire Murders

forty-one

Amusement danced across Jones's face as she plucked four pebbles from the bag. "What I do best. Improvise. Unsanctioned street magic is my specialty. Now, who wants to go first?" After a moment of complete silence, Jones narrowed her gaze. "Torren, thank you for volunteering."

"What am I volunteering for?"

She ripped open a packet of soy sauce with her teeth then dropped in one of the pebbles. After flexing her right index and pinky fingers in a painful-looking motion over the packet, golden bubbles formed. She sloshed some of the inky liquid over Torren's knuckles as she thrust the concoction into his hand.

"Bottom's up."

"Uh—Jones," Torren started. "What exactly is this?"

"It's freaking magic."

"And what's it going to do?" Torren asked, sniffing the packet of soy sauce.

Jones gave him a withering look then ripped open another packet with her teeth. "Drink up, Cinderella. This potion is about to Bibbity-bobbity-boo your ass."

Torren's throat had gone suddenly dry.

"Nut up, T."

Torren swallowed his doubt and tipped the contents down his throat. The pebble turned out to be something chewy. The soy sauce was expectedly salty. Once he choked it all down, a rush of heat surged along his core.

Dizziness set in first, followed by the sensation of being wrapped in invisible silken strands. The threads continued to wrap around each of his limbs until he was covered in swirling material.

Without warning, the invisible strands broke free, and his vision cleared.

He felt the same—but different.

Torren shook out blonde hair that fell to his shoulders. Curious fingers probed his chin—soft stubble lingered over a squarer jawline. His nose was straight. Torren ran an unfamiliar tongue over his teeth, which were also straight. His body was corded with lean muscle. He felt strong.

Cool.

Torren remembered the others, his gaze darting around the loose circle they had formed. New faces stared back at him: a Japanese woman with sharp features, a Black man that could've passed as a UFC fighter, and a man of South Asian descent with bronzed skin and bright eyes.

"Who did you turn us into?" said the man with bronzed skin. He had a slight British accent—like he had spent some time at Oxford.

The woman with sharp features grinned a cheeky smile. "You tell me," she said. "This is the form you most desire. Your ideal body. The street form of the Metamorphosis potion will let you live in this body for a couple of hours, tops. Then you'll transform back into your skin."

Torren swiped a loose strand of dark blonde hair behind an ear, observing the other two men as they took in their new forms. Torren could hardly believe Zach Liu would want to be anyone but himself.

Jones clucked her tongue at the hulking mass of muscles beside her. Zach's ideal body was tall, dark, and physically striking. "Black on the inside. Go figure." She patted the side of Zach's cheek.

"You look like your auditioning for One Direction," Austin chortled. "That hair is intense."

Torren folded his arms across his chest. "And what about you?"

"Me?" Austin ran a hand over the smooth skin at his neck. "I work with a guy from India in my Engineering Lab. His name is Sanjay. He has this slick accent and skin that seems to shine—kinda like this." Austin held up his hands. "He's the total package. I guess I didn't realize how much I envied him until now."

Deep down, Torren knew why he had become this boy band wannabe—he was cool. Confident. Well-adjusted.

They piled back in the car, quiet conversation circling as they waited for Mandy.

11:05, no call.
11:23, no call.

Torren, help.

Mandy's raspy voice came like a cold breath on his cheek. Panic pushed fresh adrenaline into his veins, causing his palms to sweat and his body to tense. This was the fight or flight response he'd been waiting for, the physicalness of anxiety that forced movement into his limbs and action into his thoughts.

"Something is wrong."

Jones opened her massive purse. "You're sure?"

"Yes," Torren said with confidence.

Jones lifted up her bag. "Not that I'm excited to hear all your thoughts, again—but throw your medallions in the bag. You can't wear those things in."

The hulking figure in the front seat obeyed immediately, slipping off the medallion with ease. "I'm so freakin' amped right now. Are you guys feeling that?"

Amped didn't describe how Torren felt about taking off his protective Guild medallion. He knew what was coming—the uncanny. Death made visible.

He could do this for Mandy—he had to.

The woman with red-tipped hair and the gap between her teeth was tapping on his window with a single bloody finger. Crimson streaks dripping down her throat, leaking heavy tears between her breasts.

Torren didn't move. Trying to collect his bravery and curiosity while pushing down his gut reaction, which was to close his eyes and wish her away.

The woman cocked her head to the side and let her finger trail down the glass. Looking around at the others inside the car before returning her gaze to his. Smiling a broad, knowing grin, she gestured for them to follow her as she drifted towards the club.

The parking lot was thankfully absent of any other ghosts.

"Can you feel that?" Jones asked as she opened her car door. Rubbing her bare arms. "The temperature dropped."

"Totally," Zach added.

"Oh totally," Austin mimicked, slinking out of the car.

Torren stumbled out of his seat, watching the woman as she lingered outside a side entrance. One hand was covering the wound at her neck, but she was smiling. Her gap-toothed grin at odds with this entire situation.

As he walked closer, a light emerged from the line of trees bordering the parking lot. The glow of the uncanny. The woman floated closer, lifting her bloody finger towards the light.

The other ghost was clothed—wearing a dress that belonged in a museum. All lace and satin tied up in a massive bustle. Her dark hair pinned in an intricate design.

She looked different than the ghosts at the jail or even his ghost with the red-tipped hair. It wasn't just her clothes or her effect, but the way she looked. Like an imprint. An abstract rendering. She was laughing—as soundlessly as all the other ghosts. Dancing around the parking lot like she was in a musical.

"Torren!" Jones angrily whispered. "Get back over here! I'm not following any ghosts into the woods."

The others were waiting for him to join the snaking line outside the club. Zach was waving him over. But Torren turned his attention back to the ghost. As she danced closer, he noticed two bloody marks dotting her neck.

The snap of a twig and the rustle of leaves drew his eye back to the tree line. Torren's muscles tensed. Anxiety and horror were jockeying his pulse. A woman emerged from the same place where the ghost had been. Pale. Beautiful, yet something was off about her.

There was only a moment's pause before the woman sniffed the air, and her deadpan eyes locked on his.