A conversation I've had with each of my books...
Muse: "He has to die."
"Are you sure?"
Muse nods, then eyes me from the reflection in my mirror. "Yes."
I blink once, then shrug. "It's not like I have any say in the matter, so..."
Muse grins: "I'm glad you finally see reason." She pauses, considering me closer. "Now, the question is how?"
If this sounds like you took a ride on the crazy train, then you know what it's like for me. I'm an author. Our characters talk to us, and our muse is even worse. Mine, in particular, has no respect for day or night. She doesn't care whether I'm in the middle of a REM cycle or in the shower. When she has something to say, I listen...and hopefully I have my laptop at the ready, if not at least a pen and paper near by.
It's nuts, I know. But that's part of the creative process. I've found this notion fascinates most people. They often ask if I have to force myself to write a death scene or if I experience guilt when my story develops to the point I know someone has to die. The answer is no.
That doesn't mean I don't regret losing characters. Villain or hero, each one is my creation and like most authors I get very attached, but when the story calls for it, they have to go. I usually know who pretty quickly, and it's not always the bad guy. Killing off a character is often cathartic, both for me as the author and for the remaining characters in the story. Real life isn't always fair, and people suffer collateral damage every day. I try to keep that feel throughout my books, their paranormal settings notwithstanding.
Collateral Blood is the latest in my Cursed by Blood Saga, and from the very first chapter I knew who would die and how. Like all of my books in this series (and most in my other series) the main thrust of the story is suspense. Romance? Yeah, there's that too, but I love a plot driven thriller, and that's what I try to give my readers.
Want a taste? Here's chapter one of Collateral Blood.
Chapter One
The
Red Veil
Vampire
Club, New York City
Two am
“You
asked to see me?”
Rémy
lifted his eyes from his cellphone. “Abigail. Come in.”
The
strawberry blonde vampire stepped through the doorway, her expression guarded.
“You have news?”
“Sébastien
is not returning to New York as expected.”
She
frowned, watching the elder shrug into his trademark period-style frock coat.
His dark gold hair luminous against the dusky brocade, its silky length dipping
to hide the ruined side of his face.
“Why?
When last we spoke Sébastien claimed he had outstayed his welcome at Dominic’s
villa. I assumed that meant his exile was at an end.”
Rémy
grunted. “Exile. Leave it to my brother to invent extraneous drama. He wasn’t
exiled, Abigail. He was removed from his seat on the council and his so called
sabbatical was more house arrest than holiday. To be honest, Sébastien is lucky
he still has his fangs.”
Face
impassive, she didn’t comment.
“Your
marked lack of curiosity speaks volumes. Then again, your loyalty to your sire
was always commendable if not misguided. I will forgive your silence and answer
your unasked questions.”
Abigail
waited, eyes unblinking.
“Sébastien
is not ready to return to his place with us. The council deems him too volatile
yet, thus the delay in his return.”
“Council?”
She frowned. “You mean you deem him unfit.”
Rémy
tucked his wallet and his phone into the inside breast pocket of his coat.
“Volatile, Abigail. Not unfit. Although that particular failing does lend
itself to your interpretation. It doesn’t matter. Dominic thinks him unstable
and Carlos and I agree.”
“Dominic?
Good God,” she repeated, annoyed. “How can he make an assessment? He hasn’t
stepped foot in New York in over a century.”
Rémy
nodded. “iPhones are truly a blessing.”
She
stared at him open-mouthed. “Dominic facetimed his decision?”
“I
was as surprised as you. Over a millennium old and yet it seems he’s embraced
the twenty-first century. As the song says, The times, they are a changin’.”
He
watched her stunned silence. “Nevertheless, Sébastien has been Dominic’s guest
for six months and yet he remains impenitent for his actions against his own
kind. Humility was never Sébastien’s strong suit. Not as a human and even less
so now. You can’t spend nearly half a millennium lording over those you
consider beneath you and not ruffle a few feathers. He has much to account
for.”
“Abigail
sank into the nearest chair, stunned. “All this because he refused to let the
wolves help with the Jane Street shadow house?”
The
older vampire stiffened at her question. “Abigail, it’s time you saw your maker
for what he is. Sébastien refused help when it was greatly needed. He broke the
cardinal rule of a Council Supreme and put his pride ahead of the community. He
slaughtered an entire shadow house, vampires and donors alike, because of an
imagined insult.”
Rémy’s
irritation softened at the pained look on Abigail’s face. “You must understand,
my dear. Others have suffered much worse than Sébastien for far lesser crimes.
In this day and age news travels at the speed of light, and Sébastien’s
involvement in the shadow house destruction is no longer a secret. He may yet
face a much uglier fate.”
She
exhaled. “He should never have agreed to leave the country.” Her mumbling
earned a questioning brow from Rémy.
“You
are certainly your sire’s progeny, Abigail. Rome was the perfect choice for
what we needed Sébastien to accomplish, and Dominic the perfect mentor. He’s
nearly twice as old as Sébastien and myself, so who better to teach any one of
us how to adapt?”
Her
lips parted and she blinked, but then closed her mouth in a tight line. “I
see.”
“Our
world is very small, my dear. You would do well to remember that.”
She
exhaled again, lifting her eyes to his before nodding in acknowledgement.
“I’m
going out. Please make sure the residence is secure once the club closes for
the night. The safety of those living within Le Sanctuaire is
paramount.”
“Of
course. I always do.”
He
moved to his desk and lifted a copy of the Daily News from the top of a pile of
mail. “I’m sure you’re aware the city has a new scourge.” He turned, handing
the newspaper to Abigail.
She
shrugged. “So I’ve read. New York has always had its fair share of nutcases. There
have been gang related subway slashings for over a year now. It was only a
matter of time before a serial killer took center ring.”
“The
police came to see me today.”
“Why
wasn’t I informed? You shouldn’t be bothered with human minutia.”
“They
wouldn’t take no one’s available for an answer. You were at your rest, and my
age made me the only one available for a daytime tête-á-tête with New
York’s finest.”
Abigail
stood, leaving the paper on the chair. “I’m sorry, Rémy. I should have a
procedure in place. This will never happen again.” She inclined her head, but
jerked her chin up at the sound of his chuckle.
“Abigail,
when will you finally realize I am not Sébastien? My brother may enjoy keeping
his nose in the air, but I don’t. I was happy to help.”
At
her silent nod he gestured to the newspaper. “It seems the latest victim of
this serial maniac had a Red Veil stamp on her hand. The police came to canvas
the staff, questioning if anyone remembered seeing her at the club recently.”
“I
see. Were any able to help?”
“A
few. The detectives requested our surveillance tapes.”
“But
the backrooms…” she started.
Rémy
lifted a hand. “Those are of no interest to the police. The girl in question
was not on the VIP list nor was she anyone’s special guest. The surveillance we
provided for their investigation was of the club’s main floor and bars. No
more. Do you understand?” He fixed her with a pointed look.
“Of
course.”
“The
ugly incident was most likely a coincidence. However, I want extra security in
place just in case. Every door, inside and out, especially the ones leading to
the backrooms. The NYPD has a job to do, but I draw the line there. The Red
Veil is both our sanctuary and playground. I’d like to keep it that way.”
“I’ll
make the arrangements as soon as I get downstairs.” She watched as he finished
readying himself for the night, and a small smirk tugged at her lips. “Meeting
Jenya?”
A
genuine smile lit his face, softening the ruined flesh scarring his one side.
“She’s hunting tonight. It’s a new moon.”
“Central
Park?”
He
nodded. “She likes to clear the vermin, if you know what I mean.”
“And
who better? New York is overrun with the two-legged kind these days.”
He
shrugged. “I told her I would keep her company.”
Abigail
didn’t comment, but she understood the subtext. Rémy needed to keep Jenya in
line. The Russian vampire had come a long way in channeling her cruel
beginnings into something positive, but she definitely held the inclination to
kill creatively.
“Will
you be back tonight or should I call the Shadow House on East 81st
Street and arrange for dawn accommodations? They have the rarest blood types,
and Jenya’s favorite is currently in residence at the donor hall.”
Impressed,
he smiled at her. “As efficient as ever, Abigail, but I sense thoughtfulness in
your resourceful nature that wasn’t there before. It seems your time with the
wolves has tempered you.” He paused, meeting her eyes. “Personally, I find this
softer side very becoming.”
She
blushed, as much as a vampire can, and the two walked out toward the private
steel-reinforced doors in silence. With a nod, Abigail headed back to the club
and Rémy turned toward the exit and the alley outside.
The
scent of fresh blood and residual violence hit his nostrils the moment he
stepped into the darkness. Holding still, his fangs pierced his gums,
descending instinctively, and he peered into the encompassing shadows. No body
heat or movement registered in the concentrated gloom.
He
took a step and an unexpected crunch drew his gaze. The Red Veil’s
motion-activated spotlights lay in smashed shards on the pitted asphalt.
“Damn.”
It
wasn’t the first time vandals and thieves had tried their luck. If they knew
what horrors awaited in certain backrooms at the Red Veil, they’d avoid the
alleys surrounding the club like the plague.
Still,
the scent of blood was too overpowering for superficial cuts from a few
shattered lights. His fangs tingled.
Tall
concrete on either side of the alley made for thick darkness under normal
circumstances, but no light and no moon made the gloom nearly impenetrable.
Even for a vampire. He thought to call for Dash or one of the other wolves, but
then dismissed the idea. Night vision was not his strongest gift, but he had
other skills that more than compensated for any bump he might encounter in the
night.
He
focused his senses and walked into the murk toward the heady copper scent,
allowing his eyes to adjust.
“Damn,”
he muttered again, along with a string of other expletives. A lifeless body
dangled from the side of the building. A woman. She hung by her feet from a
steel reinforced pole, vandalized brackets on either side of her dead weight.
Rémy
exhaled and dug in his pocket for his phone. “Abigail. Have security come to
the south exit. Now.”
Slicing
the yellow nylon rope holding her suspended, he moved the dead woman to the
ground. Her throat had been slit wide, yet only splashes of blood coated the
blacktop in a hollow circle directly below where she hung.
Rémy
drew his fingers through the viscous fluid, lifting the bloodstained tips to
his nose. Still fresh and barely cooled. She’d been dead less than an hour.
But
why? Her blood was barely congealed, so it was obvious she was killed here. The
asphalt should be a river of blood, not mere spatters.
Rémy
glanced over his shoulder and frowned. Where was security? He scrolled through
the contacts on his phone again, the blue ambient light from its screen casting
shadows along the ground No doubt, the woman was murdered. They were going to
need specialized help clearing this mess.
A
flash of silver caught him unawares, a hand knocking his cell phone from his
grip. Before he could react, searing pain sliced through his cold flesh as a
razor sharp blade slashed his throat, burning silver puncturing his jugular.
Rémy’s
hand flew to the wound, his eyesight narrowing as his fingers tried to stem the
flow of black blood. He peered into the darkness for his assailant’s identity
but his vision failed. He slumped to the ground beside the dead woman, the
sound of muffled panic and footfalls thick in his ears.
I hope you enjoyed the snippet.
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