Solving the Vampire Murders

twenty-five

"Your sister is a Practitioner?" Torren asked. It seemed impossible that Zach could have a family member in the Guild. Last night he couldn't even remember the name Bone and Soul.

"Not exactly," Zach began. "She's the Guild's Human Liaison Officer. Has this bangin' office up in the Prudential Center in Boston."

Austin opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, and said, "Of course the Guild has a human liaison. Typical."

Jones wrung excess water from her long basketball jersey. "I'm wet, tired, and nasty from the three of you smokin' and sputterin' all over the place. Feel free to clean up this mess. I'm gonna take a shower." Torren watched Jones grab a towel out of the linen closet before she called down the hall, "Don't nobody start a fight, neither!"

As soon as the bathroom door slammed shut, Austin started snickering. "Jones is a fucking mood."

"You're a mood," Zach scoffed as he started collecting the raw crystals from the floor.

"I've heard I'm delightful."

Torren swiped his hand down the length of his soaked shirt sleeve, then repeated the gesture on the other side, focusing on a clean pair of khaki shorts and a dry cotton t-shirt. The magic inside him answered, fingertips shining with luminous white light as his burnt dress shirt shrunk and stretched and reformed into the image in his mind, his pants following suit.

A little burst of pride popped in his chest as he studied his new outfit--it still didn't seem right that changing clothes should be so easy, but he had to admit that there was an argument to be made for it. Grabbing an armful of towels from the linen closet, Torren tossed them on to the wet carpet to sop up some of the mess when the doorbell rang.

"Not it," called Austin from the kitchen.

Zach stuck his finger on the tip of his nose.

Torren rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll get it."

As his hand closed around the door knob, there was a screech from inside the shower--a cry that sounded like a cat had been dropped in the tub with Jones. Torren pulled open the door, distracted gaze flitting between the bathroom and Zach when a familiar voice pulled him from Jones' scream.

"Mr. Jacobs?" said Detective Wittier with a scowl.

"Yes?" Torren scrutinized the older man. He didn't look like the kindly old man he met at the crime scene last night. He looked--angry.

"Don't open that door!" Jones screamed, flying out of the bathroom in a threadbare pink towel barely covering the important parts. The smell of coconut soap filling the room. Her long braids tucked inside a plastic shower cap.

For a moment, Torren froze. Confident that Detective Wittier would remember Jones from the scene last night, and how awkward the ensuing conversation would be. But, if the detective remembered Jones he didn't show it at all.

"Mr. Jacobs," the detective announced. "You're under arrest for the murder of David Luna."

Panic fled as Detective Wittier pulled out his handcuffs, relinquishing it's place at Torren's throat to shock. Disbelief. The blankness that came with surprise.

"You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can be used against you in a court."

The detective placed a hand on Torren's shoulder and turned him around. The metal cold and unforgiving as it slid over his wrist.

It was a moment Torren knew he would never forget.

Zach's face looked like it had been chiseled from stone, color fleeing from his cheeks.