All in Vein

  A CLEAN SCENE INC SHORT STORY

  JANE HINCHEY

  Contents

  About this book

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Afterword

  Read more by Jane

  About Jane

  © Jane Hinchey 2022

  This work is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  About this book

  She’s an ex-assassin. He’s ex-military. Together they are Clean Scene Inc, where blood splatter matters, and these vamps, along with their adorable vampire kitty, Fang, are on the case.

  Chapter One

  “Good morning. Wanna see a dead body?”

  I popped one eye open and squinted at my hunk-oh-spunk husband standing by the side of the bed. “Already? The moon has barely risen,” I groaned.

  “Rise and shine, oh darling of my heart,” he crooned, playfully tugging the covers to the foot of the bed before opening the curtains to reveal the full moon, resplendent in the night sky. “We have a job to do.”

  Daniel Hal Carlson, aka Hal, was not only my husband of one-hundred-and-forty-six-years, but he was also my business partner. Clean Scene Incorporated, or CSI for short, specializes in bioremediation services. Or, in plain English, crime scene clean-up. I know, I know, not the sort of occupation you’d imagine for two vampires, right?

  Fang, our utterly adorable black kitten who had the misfortune to get herself turned into a vampire (not by us!), mewled and stretched by my ear, batting at my hair as I turned my head to watch Hal at the window.

  “You know what this beauty does?” He pointed to the moon. “It brings the magic out. Weird things happen on a full moon. Dangerous things. You know that, babe.”

  I sighed, swinging my legs off the bed and dislodging Fang, who jumped to the floor and began playing with my toes. “What do we have? A witch who over-indulged in recharging her crystals? A werewolf loose in the City of Nightshade Bay? A demon?”

  “Actually, this one is human.” Hal handed me a steaming cup of coffee. “Get that into ya, put a little color in those cheeks.”

  Our unique blend of coffee was a lifesaver. Literally. Blood beans, grown on a lush tropical island in Indonesia, are a miraculous concoction that sustains us in the short term. Of course nothing nourishes a vampire like human blood, but between the beans and bagged blood we had stashed in the refrigerator, I only needed to drink from the vein on a monthly basis, rather than daily.

  I accepted the coffee with a grateful smile. “I need all the help I can get.” I closed my eyes, sipping the hot brew, the heat of it spreading throughout my body, warming my skin.

  “Sweetheart, you’re the most beautiful vampire I’ve ever laid eyes on. My heart beats only for you.”

  “As does mine for you.” I winked. Some would say one hundred-and-forty-six years of marriage may make your love old and stale, perhaps non-existent. Not ours. Maybe it was due to being turned on the night of our wedding that bound us together so tightly, so intrinsically, that our union was destined to last throughout the ages. Or we just really liked each other, who knows?

  “Come on, sweet cheeks, get a wriggle on. The van is locked and loaded.” Hal paced at the foot of the bed, doing his best to be patient but failing miserably. This was where we differed as vampires. Hal was an up and at ‘em at the first stroke of sunset type of guy, whereas I was a little more leisurely with my waking up ritual. Okay, fine, I liked to sleep in.

  “I’m coming. Keep your pants on.” I eyed the black leather pants in question, admiring how they clung to his muscular hips and cute butt. He caught me ogling and waggled his finger in my face. “Nuh-uh, none of that, young lady. We have work to do.”

  I pouted dramatically. “Fine! I’d get ready a whole lot faster if you weren’t here to distract me, Hal Carlson.”

  He shot me a mock salute, about-faced, and marched out of the bedroom, his long black coat swirling behind him. I chuckled at the visual. Hal liked to look the part of dark, brooding vampire. What no one knew was what a pussy cat he really was, a gentle giant if there ever was one. Unless you got him riled, then all bets were off. Fang bounded after him, attempting to swipe the back of his coat with her razor-sharp claws. She missed, face planting into the floor before springing back to her feet and pursuing Hal with a fierce determination.

  Putting the coffee on the bedside table, I stood and stretched, running my fingers through my tangle of hair. Crossing to the bathroom, I took a quick shower before dressing in my ripped jeans, long-sleeved T-shirt, and plaid button-down over the top. Around my neck, my mother’s cross. The irony of a vampire wearing a cross was not lost on me, especially since folklore had it that we were soul-less, vile creatures, the un-dead, sucking the life out of our prey so we can live. Apparently, we are allergic to the cross, holy water, garlic, and sunlight.

  That is not the case. Blood sustains us, yes, just like food sustained us as humans. We have souls. We have heartbeats, albeit very faint and very slow. We breathe. We are alive, and we can also die. Although not easily. Hal and I have had some close calls over our lifetime, especially given our past careers—Hal in the military and me an assassin for a secret organization. But those days are long behind us. Dark days that scarred our hearts and minds. Which is why we retired and started CSI together. Not only cleaning up crime scenes but solving crimes too. Although, of course, under the guise of our role as cleaners. It wouldn’t do to have the police knowing what we really are.

  “Mak!” Hal bellowed, knowing I’d be dawdling in the bathroom like I do every day.

  “Coming!” I yelled back, pausing to check my reflection in the mirror one last time. Another truth about vampires—we aren’t frozen at the time of turning. We age, just excruciatingly slowly. I was twenty-five the day I married Hal and became a vampire, but now? I tilted my head and examined the fine lines and wrinkles and one gray hair that came with over a century of living. Now I’d say I looked a very decent forty-five-ish.

  A quick coat of my favorite lipstick, and I was done, running barefoot down the stairs, only stopping to slide my feet into my red galoshes waiting by the door. Hal sat in the big red van by the curb, engine idling. Hefting myself into the passenger seat, I grinned, slamming the door shut.

  “Whadda we have, hot stuff?”

  “Full moon madness, my love. Full moon madness.” He gunned the engine, shifted into gear, and tore off down the street, tires screeching as the moon shone her rays over the city.

  Chapter Two

  “Elena Gray, Nightshade Bay Tribune.” A young woman in a navy pinstripe suit, pearls, and high heels blocked my path, phone in hand. “Can I have a moment of your time, please, ma’am? What happened inside? Is it true the victim is Phoenix Tate, an intern at Esther Henry law firm?”

  Lugging my mop and bucket, I frowned at the pretty blonde with her hair in a bun and glasses perched on her nose. How did the media get hold of this story so soon? Was the victim some hotshot I’d never heard of? Entirely possible. I didn’t follow mainstream news much these days.

  “No comment.” I brushed past her, ducking under the crime scene tape to enter the victim’s building.

  “McKinley, good to see you,” Detective Oliver Hart greeted me. “Although not under these circumstances, of course.”

  “I’ve told you a million times, Oli, call me Mak.”

  His lips curled into a smirk. “And I’ve told you a million times not to call me Oli.”

  “And yet here we are.” I leaned sideways to peer around his broad shoulders. “What have we got?”

  “Victim is a twenty-four-year-old female. This one is gruesome. I don’t know how you stomach it, honestly.”

  “What? The blood? Nah, it’s never bothered me.” I shrugged. It was true. My reaction to blood was vastly different from that of humans. For one, the coppery scent was divine, not repulsive. And the gore? Well, as a retired assassin, let’s just say blood and gore didn’t bother me in the slightest.

  The detective sighed and rubbed a weary hand around the back of his neck. “This one’s bad, Mak. Never seen anything like it.”

  I rubbed a consoling hand up and down his arm. “We’ll keep our eye out for any evidence your team may have missed,” I promised. After all, we had superior vision and skills, and we’d given the police a heads up on the tiniest of details before, a sliver of forensic evidence they’d never have found on their own.

  “I appreciate it. You guys have saved my butt more times than I’d care to admit with your attention to forensic detail. Your e yesight must be impeccable.”

  I smiled. “We’re just good at what we do.”

  “Hey, Oli.” Hal joined us, pulling the trolley housing our equipment.

  “Hal.” Oli inclined his head.

  “Coming through!” a voice bellowed. We stepped back as two field officers from the Medical Examiner’s office approached with a black body bag on a gurney.

  “The body hasn’t been removed yet?” I quirked a brow, surprised.

  Oli shrugged. “You got here quick.”

  As the gurney drew level with us, I asked, “May I?” and indicated the bag.

  “You want to see the body?” Oli asked.

  I heard the resignation in his voice and knew he’d give in. He always did. Usually, when we arrived on the scene they were ready for clean up, but sometimes, like now, they were still processing, and we’d hang around and watch proceedings.

  “Yes, please.” I smiled and batted my eyelashes. I wasn’t above lying to protect our vampire existence from discovery, and I’d told Oli when we’d first met that my dream was one day to be a forensic anthropologist. He’d bought it, allowing me to satisfy my, what some might call, morbid curiosity.

  “Hold up, fellas.” Oli held up a hand, stopping the gurney. Under his breath, he whispered, “You guys are so weird.”

  Hal snapped on a pair of rubber gloves and carefully unzipped the body bag. We peered inside.

  “Ooooh,” I breathed. “She’s so pretty.”

  “Was,” Oli grumbled, shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  “Significant throat injury,” Hal muttered.

  Oli’s eyes narrowed. “What do you think caused it?”

  Hal straightened, giving me space to have a closer look. Call it macabre, but dead bodies were our jam.

  “Not a weapon, that’s for sure,” I said before Hal could reply. “See the tearing? A blade would have given a clean-cut, but the skin around the wound is all torn up.”

  “What are you saying? That some sort of animal did this? In her own apartment?”

  “Does she have a dog?” Hal asked.

  “No.”

  While they talked, I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath through my nose. Doing my best not to let the hedonistic coppery scent of her blood distract me, I searched for other scents, scents that did not belong to the victim.

  “What’s her name?” I straightened, and Hal zipped the bag back up, shooting me a knowing look.

  “Phoenix Tate.”

  The reporter out front had been right.

  Oli gave a nod, and the two men continued with the gurney, wheeling it from the room. The Medical Examiner was going to have a hard time with this one. How did you explain a rabid animal attack in the middle of the city, in a locked apartment, with no animals present?

  Short answer? You didn’t.

  “The apartment was locked?” I asked Oli for confirmation.

  “Correct. No signs of forced entry. A friend found her—apparently, they had plans to meet up, and when she didn’t show and didn’t answer her phone or door, the friend let herself in and found her.” Oli glanced at his watch. “I was supposed to clock out hours ago.”

  I patted his arm. “You do look tired.” Oli was a ruggedly handsome man with salt and pepper hair and dull eyes. I knew those eyes. They were ones that had seen a lot in their lifetime, maybe too much.

  “Yeah, well, I’m not done yet. Now I need to get to the station and interview the friend, see what she knows.”

  “You’re all done here now?” I jerked my head toward the bedroom.

  He cracked his neck from side to side. “It’s all yours.” His nose wrinkled, the thought of cleaning up the blood and other bodily fluids clearly displeasing to him.

  “Take it easy, Oli.” Hal slapped him on the back as he passed on the way to the door. We remained motionless until the front door clicked shut behind him and his footsteps faded.

  “What do you think?” Hal immediately asked.

  “Definitely supernatural,” I nodded. “Those bite marks were deep. Two very long incisors scored the bone.”

  “Werewolf? It is a full moon.”

  “Could be,” I agreed. “But I didn’t scent one. Keep an eye out for fur.”

  “One thing’s for sure—it was a feeding frenzy. Whoever did this made a mess of her neck.”

  I eyed the pool of blood on the bedroom floor. “They wasted a lot though. What a shame.”

  “Carpet or walls?” Hal asked. I considered the blood-stained carpet, then the arterial spray covering most of the wall, bed, and furniture. “Rock, paper, scissors?” I suggested.

  “Okay, but you can’t keep changing the rules each time we play.”

  We faced each other, one hand clenched into a fist, sitting on the open palm of our other hand.

  “Ready?” Hal asked.

  “One. Two. Three.”

  Hank was rock. I was scissors.

  “I win!” I crowed.

  “Honey, rock crushes scissors.”

  I wrapped my hand over his. “Sweetheart, scissors break up rock. Everyone knows that.”

  “Do they, though?” he mumbled.

  “Of course. It’s always been that way.” I peeked through the slats in the blind. Down on the street below, the reporter paced backward and forward on the sidewalk, stopping every now and then to rub her arms against the chill of the night. “She’s still outside, you know. Doesn’t she know it’s dangerous to be out on the streets alone on a night like tonight?”

  “Relax, I’m keeping an ear out.” Hal came up behind me and rested a hand on my shoulder. “She’s tenacious. I’ll give her that.”

  “But why is she still here? If she’s desperate to break the story, why didn’t she follow Oli to the station?”

  Hal dropped a kiss on the top of my head. “Dunno. Come on. If she’s still hanging around when we’re done, we’ll ask her.”

  Chapter Three

  She was. She pounced as soon as we set foot outside several hours later.

  “You’re McKinley and Daniel Carlson, aren’t you?”

  She looked tired. Her once immaculate bun now had blonde strands sticking out in every direction, and behind the rim of her glasses, dark smudges marred her skin. One glance at her feet told me her stilettos were killing her. I could smell the blood from skin rubbed raw from here.

  “It’s Hal. And this is Mak.” Hal slung an arm around my waist and hugged me to his side.

  “Oh.” She frowned and glanced at her phone. “So your name isn’t Daniel?”

  “It is. Daniel Hal Carlson. I prefer Hal.”

  “Right. Gotcha.” A smile flashed briefly across her face as if relieved whatever intel she’d dug up on us while pacing the sidewalk had been correct.

  “Kinda late for you to be out here on your own, Elena,” I said. It was approaching midnight. The witching hour.

  “You remembered my name.” She blinked, mouth dropping open.

  “Of course. Elena Gray, Nightshade Bay Tribune,” I repeated back at her.

  Hal’s eyes narrowed, and his head lifted just a fraction as he scented the air. I caught it too. The smell of… not panic so much as desperation wafting from her. “You are with Nightshade Bay Tribune, aren’t you?” he asked, voice deep, a hint of menace warning if she was lying, he’d know.

  “Oh yes!” She nodded, another strand of hair coming loose from her bun. “It’s just…” She glanced over her shoulder to check the coast was clear, then leaned toward us. “Look, I need a story. A front-pager. My boss has got me on hatches, matches, and dispatches, and I tell you, I’m meant for better things. I was born to be an investigative reporter. Heck, it was me who found Mrs. Davidson’s missing cat when I was ten.”

  Hal and I glanced at each other. A missing cat did not make you an investigative journalist. But I saw something in Elena that I recognized in myself. Drive and passion. And for people like us, being relegated to a task beneath your skills and abilities was a burr beneath your saddle. I could relate.

 

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