"Looks like one hell of a party. Get it? Hell of a party." He chuckled.
Leontes did not laugh.
He stood tall, lean, and muscular, an imposing figure in a black trench coat over an expertly tailored Italian three-piece suit. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, with handsome, aristocratic features finely formed from generations of good breeding. But there was nothing soft about him.
Under high cheekbones, a perpetual five o'clock shadow covered his square jaw and surrounded full lips which were currently tipped into a frown. His cobalt blue eyes held a hard look that demanded respect. Against dark waves of hair that curled softly at the ends, his skin had always been pale, but more so now, which made the thin scar across his neck stand out even in this dim light.
From his vest, he removed a gold pocket watch hanging on a chain and opened it briefly. Dawn was several hours away, but with a mess of this magnitude they would still have to move fast. Leontes scanned the room, rolling his shoulders to shake off the shadows of the recent past and concentrate on the present.
He spoke with a strong British accent, his noble heritage evident in the tone and cadence. "Have you any relevant information as of yet?"
"Look, kid." The officer puffed out his chest. "I'm Detective Cage. This is a crime scene. Authorized personnel only. You can't be here. I'm going to have to ask you to leave immediately." He waved his hand in a gesture of dismissal.
Leontes held up his credentials.
"Holy shit," the detective muttered.
Not bothering to look at the man, Leontes strode past and spoke in a lecturing tone, "Language, detective. Language."
Cage's chest deflated. "Oh, yeah. I mean, uh, yes, sir. Sorry, um, Ambassador Rittenhause, sir. I didn't mean to … I didn't recognize you. Sir."
Leontes looked the man up and down. "I do not recall us having met."
Detective Cage bobbed his head. "No, sir, we haven't, but-"
"Then, detective, how would you expect to recognize me?"
The man squirmed. "I guess I wouldn't. But I know your reputation. Sir. Sorry you have to see this."
See this? If he only knew. "I am sorry anyone has to see this."
"Yeah, but sorry about all the blood and bodies and stuff. Messy. I know you don't like that kind of thing."
Leontes lifted a brow. "Do you now?"
"Well, uh, that's the word." Cage swallowed. "You being a diplomat and all. Like I said, I know your reputa-"
"Indeed. Whoever was in charge previously, go inform them this scene is now mine."
Leontes lifted the nearest sheet, beneath lay what used to be a torso. Someone had shattered the sternum and hinged the chest open at the spine. Ribs hung with wet strings of flesh. The lungs and ropes of intestines sat inside like the tongue of a clam. The neck was a pulpy stump. With the hips ripped off, there was no confirmation of the gender, but the size of the shoulders tended toward male.
"If they sent you, it must be true." The detective's voice lowered. "Oleander is back."
Leontes dropped the sheet. "Oleander died centuries ago."
Detective Cage smirked. "So did we."
Leontes shot him an annoyed glance that stuttered the smirk into submission, then he flicked the tail of his coat back and knelt to lift up a new sheet. Heavily muscled arm. Deep, oozing lacerations. The round tip of the humorous bone jutted out, ready to be popped back into a shoulder that was likely scattered under another sheet. In the midst of all this, finding that shoulder could prove difficult.
"How many victims?" Leontes asked.
"We don't know. A hundred, two hundred? Can't be sure until we piece bodies back together. You were alive back when Oleander was loose, right?"
Leontes stood. "Have you not found the guest list?"
"Guest list?"
"Security was excruciatingly tight. You had to be on a list to be allowed entrance."
"You would know," Detective Cage said with not-so-subtle envy. "I'll have someone look for that."
Idiot. Leontes pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. "Start your search with the dead security guards out front."
Detective Cage started to turn away, but stopped. "They say Oleander is feral. A machine with one goal. Destroy everything. How did you stay alive? How do we all stay alive?"
Before he could answer, a female voice said, "By not jumping to conclusions, you fopdoodle."
CHAPTER 3
Leontes smiled.
All four-feet-eight-inches of Dr. Victoria Frankenstein stomped in wearing dainty boots that glistened with blood and dew. Revered for her brilliant scientific mind, she had been utilized by vampire masters for centuries. Many considered sunscreen to be among her greatest inventions. It poured billions in revenue into their coffers when sold to the humans and allowed vampires to live 'outside the box,' as the in-house marketing slogan stated. Most importantly, it solidified her spot in the vampire hierarchy.