IV IV

Peterson cut off a large SUV as he swerved into the small municipal building that the CSI used; nicknamed the crime lab. Swinging the unmarked cruiser into a parking spot near the door Peterson slammed the car into park and pulled the E-brake as hard as he could. The thing that had him in such a rush was Grant.

A half an hour ago Grant had called Peterson using his direct line. All he said at first was, “We need to meet, about your eyeless woman case,” Peterson had been so stunned at first that he couldn’t speak. “I think I have something that might greatly assist you,” Grant had said after a time.

Peterson had told the front desk to foreword all his calls to his cell phone and left the office in a whirlwind of brown suit jacket and muscle. He’d white knuckled the steering wheel all the way here.

The only time Grant talked like that was when he was very pleased with himself and thought he had case breaking evidence; and right now Peterson had almost nothing to go on. No one had seen anyone enter or leave the house since the night before when the Husband and Wife parked their SUV out front. No one besides the one neighbor had seen anything, and what she saw was so little it might as well have been nothing. The bedroom where the murder happened faced the back of the property and none of the other properties surrounding it could see into those large bay windows. CSI had found minimal finger prints that weren’t the wife’s or husbands; in fact only one set on the counter in the on-suit bathroom, and another on the taps of the first sink in the same bathroom; but neither looked like they were going to be of much use.

Everything pointed to the husband, but Peterson had been unable to track him down as of yet. It was as if he’d disappeared; quite literally fell right off the face of the earth. His finger prints were in the database because he was a high end computer programmer who worked for a bank that made a habit of finger printing their employees.

The wife’s finger prints the CSI had lifted from her corpse before Autopsy while they performed all their other tests. This CSI team were tireless and meticulous, if any clues were on her Peterson would find out.

Entering the building through the front door Peterson gave his name and badge number and asked where he could find Supervisor Grant. The woman behind the desk, too young to be anything but a receptionist, told Peterson that Grant was in room 104B, he barely heard her with his heart pounding so loud. 204B was the rarely used Video enhancement lab.

Peterson suspected it was rarely used because while video cameras were becoming more common, criminals were becoming smarter about them. Crimes were being committed in dark alleys, away from prying eyes, or with masks or other disguises on; making identification impossible.

Coming out of the stairwell Peterson saw Grant heading for the elevator. “Grant!” Peterson yelled out, hoping to catch the slim Asians attention. Grants tanned, lined face smiled when he saw Peterson striding away from the stairs.

“I forgot you don’t like elevators,” Grant said, his voice chipper, and his face creased with laugh lines.

“I like elevators just fine, but stairs are faster,” Peterson said, Grants ecstatic mood was already seeping into Peterson. Getting straight to business Peterson shook hands with Grant and while they were in contact he said, “I hear you have some important information for me.”

Grant laughed, “Word sure gets around fast,” he said sarcastically. Peterson laughed too; this was going to be a good day. When Grant cracked a joke, it was always a good day. “This way, this way, first stop of the tour, the finger print lab.”

“What do you have in there?” Peterson said.

“Well we have fingerprints. Most specifically, we have the ID that goes with your partial on the on-suite counter print.” Grants voice was chipper but solid as he entered the glassed in lab. The lab itself was only the size of a large kitchen, and it held a great man working pieces of equipment and one small female with long brown hair tied back by a simple black hair tie. Her face was plain, but pretty and her long white Lab coat was too large for her small frame.

“Officer Peterson,” the woman said, politely offering her hand for Peterson to shake.

Taking her hand in his Peterson offered one firm shake to the child-size female hand before replying, “And you are?”

“CSI Victoria Birch, but most the guys call me Vicky,” she paused for a moment then continued, “You don’t know me, but I make a habit of seeing who’s the head Detective in the cases I handle, incase I ever have to meet them.” She smiled and sat down again.

“So as Grant has most likely told you, most of your prints were the Vic’s and her husbands, the two we found had to be clarified, in order to get a match. The court will pick it out as alteration, so it’s now only circumstantial evidence, but it might help you.”

“Who was our mystery guest?” Peterson asked politely.

“One miss, Melanie Helen Gallant, last drivers license was issued in Nevada,” Vicky’s tone didn’t match the good news.

“You don’t sound too happy about it,” Peterson pressed for more information while he stared at the picture on the screen. The woman displayed was young; a quick calculation between the date issued and the Date of birth told Peterson she was only seventeen when the photo was taken. Her hair was short, only an inch or so long, and spiked up, it was the colour most bottle blondes tried for, but the driver’s license said she was a natural blonde. Her eyes were such a furious green that even in the small photo their colour was evident. Other than that, the woman was non-descript. The Driver’s license said she was five foot two inches, and one-hundred and two pounds.

“Well the date the driver’s license was issued is almost ten years ago now. So she could be anywhere.”

“Dead end,” Grant said plainly. “But wait, there’s more,” his voice changed back to chipper almost immediately.

More what? Peterson asked himself, Grants infectious good mood hadn’t lasted very long this time. Peterson decided that the answer was: More dead ends. But he would stay because Grant had a long track record of not letting him down.

They entered another lab, this one was larger and more open, glass walls comprised three of its enclosing walls, and on the fourth one was a bank of cupboards below a waist height counter. Above the counter were inset florescent panels for examining X-rays and other slide-print information.

“This,” Grant said, indicating the lab with a broad sweep of his arm, “is our photo analysis center.” A man standing at one of the tables had spread out more than a hundred photos on the table. Peterson noticed right away that they were grouped according to what room they were taken in.

“Here we take all the photo’s from the crime scene and go over them with a fine tooth comb to try to reconstruct the events and in what order they happened.” Grant explained. Peterson had heard all this before, but Grant was a showman. Right now he was showing off his lab, probably because no one else would hear about it, and to Grant it was like a home, or perhaps a child.

Shyly the man at the table nodded his head and said, “Hi, I’m Tony.” Peterson shot a disappointed look at Grant; Tony seemed a little unsure of himself, or how he should talk to police involved in the cases. He seemed too green to be in such and important place in the CSI lab.

“Tony,” Grant said, taking on the tone of a father talking to a young child, “This is Officer Peterson; he’s the head detective on this case. Tell him what you know.”

“Sure thing,” Tony said; his voice still not confident. “First things first, we’ve determined that the house was cleaned the day before the murder, we based that on the amount of Dust built up in the house. So we know that the finger prints left behind from a miss,” Tony paused to check a piece of paper, “Gallant, were made after that time.”

“Secondly, we know that all of the action happened in the master bedroom. There wasn’t a drop of blood further than the upstairs hallway.” Tony’s voice was all confidence now. Peterson had to admit, new or not, the kid knew his stuff.

“The third thing we determined is that your pattern on the bathroom floor was done before the murders. There was a fine mist of blood spattered across the whole pattern. We also determined that the fabric was burned into sections, not cut. But we still have no idea how it got to be so perfect on the floor. We’ve got trace running the fabric to see if we can determine how it was severed so perfectly.” Tony paused again to catch his breath before continuing, “Your Vic was murdered by a woman, presumably miss Gallant, we know because there was bruising on the side of the wife’s skull. The hand span, and finger width is consistent with the North American Woman’s average hand span. Miss Gallant fits the Average North American Size perfectly according to her Drivers license.” Tony smiled at Grant, who was edging him on silently. “Oh, the burn mark in the bedroom, while I can’t say much of what was burning; I can tell you that it burned at an extremely high heat, and that it didn’t last much longer than a few seconds. My guess would be Magnesium was involved, but it’s just a guess. Hopefully trace can give you more on that.” Tony nodded to Grant; Grant nodded back and then looked to Peterson.

“Our next stop, trace evidence,” Grant would have made an excellent tour guide Peterson decided as they exited the lab.

The trace evidence lab was large as well, but only one wall was glass, which made it feel quite a bit smaller than the last lab. Again, more work tables were covered with bulky machinery.

“Oh, hello,” the technician said looking up, he was a rotund man, almost as wide as he was tall, and almost short enough to need a step stole to reach the upper cabinets that Peterson could have reached without stretching. Pushing his glasses up his nose he smiled and extended a fatty hand, “I’m Paul, Paul Wilkins,” his smile got broader when Peterson shook his clammy hand.

“Officer George Peterson,” Peterson introduced himself.

“Grant told me you might be stopping by today, I’m afraid I don’t have much, for you, but here goes.” Quickly taking a seat he pushed away from the microscope. Bending down and squinting through the eye piece Peterson asked, “What am I looking at here?”

“That is the edge of one of your rectangles of women’s clothing.” Peterson could almost feel the man smiling. “See the edge isn’t cut, it’s not burnt either like we thought it was. It’s been melted, and fused together.” Leaning back from the microscope Peterson directed a puzzled look at the CSI.

“The only way we’ve been able to duplicate that effect in the lab was by heating up a small metal rod under a torch and pressing it into the fabric. Through our experiments we also learned that the heat started on the outside of the fabric. Our efforts didn’t produce such a fine product, but the effect was almost the same. My guess is that they used some heat resistant polymer or ceramic to do this. Either way, the temperature would have to be somewhere in the range of two thousand degrees to twenty five hundred degrees centigrade.”

Feeling his puzzled look turn to one of shock Peterson went to ask why and was interrupted by Paul, “My guess is that they were using industrial grade equipment, something related to Metal fabrication. That would be in your heat range.”

Looking at Grant with a smirk Peterson asked, “What else do you have for me?”

Grant pointed to Paul, and Paul answered, “Well actually I’m not done yet.” He replaced the slide under the microscope and then gestured to the scope again. “This is from your bedroom wall, the burn mark. The neat thing here is what you don’t see.”

Peterson waited while he examined the charcoal blackness under the scope. “We put the scrapings from that wall through a barrage of tests. No accelerant was used, that’s including Tony’s theory about magnesium. The only thing on that wall besides the paint was Carbon. Also the heat may have been as high as what scorched your fabric, but if that was the case it only lasted a microsecond.”

Peterson leaned back from the microscope, “How come you can’t tell me the range of the temperature?”

“Nothing but that patch was affected, so all we have to go off of is time, and the time is relative to the heat. The lower the heat, the longer that could have been burning. For all we know it might have just been a candle too close to the wall over the course of the night. But there is no proof to support that anything was there but open flame cause by burning Carbon. The hottest of which could be a thousand degrees, or as cool as only a few hundred at its epicenter; really there just isn’t anything other than they didn’t use an accelerant.”

Peterson mulled that over and decided that it was out of context and didn’t make any sense right now so he stored it away in his brain.

As they were leaving Paul spoke up, “One other point of interest is that while Vicky found fingerprints relating to someone else being there, I have yet to discover anything that says she was. People normally leave something for me, while it’s possible I just haven’t found it yet; the face remains that I haven’t found anything to support that there was anyone else present in that house at the time of the murder. Sorry Detective.”

I’m going to go with what you can give me, Peterson thought harshly in his head.

“I think you’ve seen everything but why I called you here,” Grant said, he looked like was mentally checking everything off, “so I think it’s time I showed you the main attraction.” Grant set off at a breakneck speed, power walking to the video enhancement lab. Peterson didn’t have to struggle to keep up, but it was faster than he would have liked to walk there, even given the excitement of it all.

Opening the door Grant started to explain, “Our victim’s brother in law owns a sizable private security company. Mostly they manage larger homes, and richer clients; the type to have a panic room installed into their homes.” The two men stepped into the room. Immediately the small room felt cramped with two grown men and the array of equipment. Banks of small gray and black VCR looking devices stood with lights blinking. “So naturally, if your brother in law owns such a company he would install a decent system in your house.”

Peterson felt a smile grow on his face, “They put security cameras around their home didn’t they?”

“Not just around,” Grant said, returning Peterson growing smile, “As it turns out we were able to talk to the brother in law, it turns out that our Vic’s husband thought his wife might have been cheating on him, so he had camera’s installed inside the house too, including one in their bedroom.”

Peterson’s eyebrows shot up, this was worth the tour, he thought, a glimpse at our killer.

“Just so you appreciate this a little more,” Grant said, his English accent coming out a little more, and his voice chipper, “here’s the original.”

Grant moved the mouse on a twenty one inch monitor, the screen lit up with a program that had what looked like the standard buttons on a DVD player below a section of the screen that held a paused image of grey and black flecks. Moving the mouse deftly Grant hit the large green sideways triangle button. The static leapt to life when he let it go.

The static faded away to the Master bedroom; the crime scene. The image was distorted, Peterson could see all four walls in the image, but couldn’t see through any of the door ways. He could see down behind the bed where a long slender black object was hidden. The large X shaped frame was already in place in the center of the bedroom. The wife already tied to it. Her husband was a tall man, well over six feet, with a domineering presence when he was shirtless and showing off a built upper body. His hair was longer than in the pictures that Peterson had seen of him, but it suited him more. The image was black and white so Peterson couldn’t tell what colour it was, but it was somewhere between dirty blonde and light brown he imagined. His wife’s hair looked midnight black, her head was ducked, but she was writhing slightly, alive and unhurt. The husband retrieved a black riding crop from behind the gray bed. His wife pretended to be shocked. He flogged her, and even though the flogger looked positively threatening in his hands, when he was behind her, his beatings were done slowly, almost tenderly. Even in the crappy resolution Peterson could see real love behind his eyes. The way he moved conveyed that this was all an act, something done for some excitement and sexual tension; just something to spice up the sex life.

The wife screamed soundlessly, but Peterson saw a look of satisfaction on her face.

Suddenly the room went white, well it flashed white. The flash was directed from the on-suite bathroom, and then the image fogged with flecks of static again. The images came back enough and just long enough for Peterson to catch a glimpse of a naked woman standing over the husband as he huddled, fearful in the corner. Then a brilliant white flash followed immediately by static cut it off. After that it stayed static for almost a minute. When the static cleared the woman was crouched in front of the wife, black blood dripped onto the carpet from the Wife’s head. The image almost fogged up again and the woman walked out of the room.

That cold feeling swept into Peterson’s bones again, and he wished he could switch off the Air conditioning in the building. Shuddering he looked at Grant who was the picture of the stone man. Grants face was unreadable. The screen reflected distortedly in his glasses, giving the impression of light coming from behind them.

“Let’s see what you did with it then,” Peterson said, now eager to get this over with. Silently Grant punched a few buttons, another screen opened up, and this one showed the same room, with the static gone. Grant clicked the play button.

Again, man in back, woman tied up. Again he retrieved the ridding crop from behind the gray bed. Again faked shock, all and act, all love and commitment.

When the flash went off this time the image clouded a little, but Peterson could still make out the husband. Holding the slender riding crop like a club the man lunged at an unseen foe, still hidden by the bathroom. The image clouded a little more and then came back a little as the husband burst from the bathroom; projected out of door way like a cannon ball. He hit the carpet less than a few feet away and rolled once, loosing the riding crop. Smacking his head against the wall was what stopped him ultimately. For a moment the man didn’t move. Then he started backing up against the wall, as if he could either crawl up it, or into it. A woman emerged from the bathroom. She walked slowly, almost lurching forward into the bedroom, her naked form was almost too thin to be pretty, but even with the poor resolution Peterson could see the tone in her legs, and arms. She was young he was sure from the condition of her body, and probably had never had a kid; her face was hidden by hair that looked white in the grayscale image. The man was screaming and so was his wife, she was also struggling futilely but brutally at the bonds that held her to the large wooden frame. The image was still fogged slightly, but it grayed out almost entirely for a moment, and then came into crystal clarity for a split second while the husband shrieked soundlessly in terror. Then the flash of light and the husband was gone in a static that cleared to reveal he had truly left. The woman lurched away from a black mark left against the wall where the husband was. Peterson shivered. Vanished in a flash of light; how could a completely naked woman do that? If she’d held something in her hand, Peterson hadn’t seen it. But that must have been it, or maybe she put some small device on the man when he’d rushed into the bathroom to defend his helpless wife from the intruder.

The woman lurched around to the front of the woman; she crouched down and bowed her head. Some frames must have skipped because the woman suddenly had her hands wrapped around the wife’s skull. There was no sense of movement from one frame to the next. They just were there. Peterson could see blood spurting out from the woman’s hands all over her. Now she looked up, and in the image, from the poor distorted angle it looked to Peterson that she had her mouth open. The look of a kid trying to catch rain drops on her tongue crossed her face; sheer excitement and wonder, and a child-like mischievousness all wrapped into a face that looked slightly older than legal age. Peterson closed his eyes, he’d seen enough. This is sick, he thought to himself. Looking away from the screen Peterson became aware that Grant was still watching.

“How can you watch that? It’s sick,” Peterson said with his voice full of disgust.

“Because what ever acts of barbarism we’re witnessing was done by humans, and humans make mistakes. I’m trying to see if I can see the one she made.” Grant’s voice seemed distant.

“I didn’t ask why you were watching it. It’s the job, I know that. I asked how. I’m a cop, I’ve seen some sick stuff, but even I have to look away at some point.” Peterson replied, still avoiding the screen, even though he was aware that the shadows and images had stopped playing across Grant’s glasses.

“I just detach myself, set who I am outside of work, out there. I focus on how to help the people I need to help. I try to keep everything that brings me joy and happiness out of this so that when it’s done I have untainted things to go back to.” Grant’s voice was still distant.

“Does it ever wake you in the night?” Peterson asked, looking at the paused image of the woman smiling, laughing as the blood splashed all over her face.

“Sometimes,” Grant said, closing the programs.

“What do you do then?” Peterson asked as Grant turned off the monitor and the whole room went dark.

“I pray,” Grant paused as he got out his chair, “I pray for the criminals. I pray that no more harm comes from them.” Grant’s voice was sobering to Peterson.

“Amen,” Peterson said quietly.

Grant opened the door to the hall and florescent light flooded the room, “I pray that they find the light.

Zipping the jean skirt up in the back Dayton closed his eyes and firmed the steel knot that was his emotions in his head. The cops had only been gone a few minutes, and Dayton could still feel the urge to shake from nervousness. Once he checked that they were securely locked away he opened his eyes again. The room was somber with the blinds closed. The normally bright yellow walls just looked stained by years of Nicotine and the red bed spread was almost black even to his eyes. The wood frame of the bed would be black no matter the light, but it looked blacker now.

Smoothing the white cotton tube top and the jean skirt in one go Dayton turned to look at the mirror. The full length mirror was on the back of the door to the hallway. Staring back at him from the mirror was a woman, with blonde hair down to her chin, even in the dim light the hair looked almost white, brilliant green eyes stared out from around the white framed face. The strapless bra had been a little too small to fit the breasts on her body, the result was that it made it harder for Dayton to breath, well without the full breasts popping out. The brunette who had worn the skirt before was slightly taller than Dayton’s new body, and so the skirt was just long enough to cover half of his lean thighs. At least she’d been the same waist size or Dayton would have never been able to squeeze his full hips into the skirt. Long defined legs stuck out from under the skirt. Dayton breathed; see it’s not so bad, he thought. He tried to make the thought quiet, but within moments Mel’s playful voice whispered back, as if she were standing right next to him, are you trying to convince me, or yourself?

Without answering Dayton took a step for the door. When he opened it, the smell of coffee and eggs wafted down the hall. Dayton’s stomach growled at the smell, Vampire’s never need to eat in the movies, he laughed to himself.

Neither do you, Aiden’s raspy voice still sounded like it belonged on a corpse. That disgusting noise you made was psychosomatic.

Immediately Dayton thought back, Psycho-who-da-what-now?

Psychosomatic, Aiden answered, his voice sounded as pompous as he could manage, it means it’s in your head. Somewhere distant Mel giggled. Her personality was becoming less and less helpful as she became more and more amused by the ongoing uncomfortable situation caused not only by Dayton being stranded in her body, but by also having a three hundred year old Vampire living in there with her.

Dayton walked casually into the living room. Well as casually as he could when he was fully aware of the way that his best friend was looking at him now.

Del and Dayton had practically grown up together, but now with Dayton in a woman’s body he was seeing what a dog his best friend really was; and it was making the situation all that more awkward. But Dayton couldn’t leave him with the real Aiden on the loose out there.

“Did you want some?” Del asked as Dayton took a chair at the smallish Dining room table.

“If there is extra,” Dayton said as his stomach grumbled again.

“Oh there is, I didn’t know if you would eat, but I figured it’s always better to have more than less,” Del was splitting the scrambled eggs onto two plates, to which he added two pieces of toast each and a fork. Grabbing the ketchup from the fridge he pinned it between his elbow and his side and started towards the kitchen.

“You know I could have helped with that,” Dayton said as Del served one plate onto the table in front of Dayton.

“There is sunlight in the kitchen, you told me you’d melt or some shit if you stepped into sunlight,” Del smiled, and his smile told Dayton that his reason was something else altogether. Dayton decided to drop the subject and dig in. The eggs were slightly too salty, and ketchup didn’t seem to help, but Dayton was determined to eat it.

“So Del, I hate to be a burden, but can we go buy some clothes for me?” Dayton asked tentatively. On top of the uncomfortable outfit, it would make for poor wear if he had to run or do anything physical.

“Sure, you’re a woman all of what twelve hours and you want to go shopping,” Del’s voice was mocked serious, sarcastic as he could make it. “I suppose you want me to pay for all of this too right?”

“Well it would be nice,” Dayton said, mock flirting. The way he would have done when they were both men.

“Ok, but I want to see all the outfits I pick out,” Del’s voice was still sarcastic, but Dayton felt like that could get him into trouble.

“So long as we’re not buying them without my approval,” Dayton switched his voice to serious, “I want something practical incase I need to do some running or fighting,” Dayton braced himself for an onslaught of questions that Del promised to ask earlier.

“Ok,” Del said, taking a bite of eggs. He chewed and swallowed, and Dayton waited almost a minute in silence before asking, “Ok?”

Del just looked at him from across the table and said, “Yup, ok.”

“That’s it,” Dayton said, it was like bracing yourself for an emergency acceleration that turned into an emergency stop.

“Yeah,” Del said, “I told you I’d ask you some questions, but you saved my neck and before that you broke down. I can’t tell how you’re going to react now D. If you want I’ll ask some questions now, but I’d rather save them for when the time comes.”

Dayton blinked; Del was being considerate but obstinate. What did he mean by that? Dayton thought, again trying to keep his thought quiet. It was a force of habit to think aloud.

What he means, Mel’s voice answered, by the sound of it she was not too happy, is that you’re wildly unpredictable because you’re stressed and women’s brains don’t handle stress well.

Dayton chewed what she said over silently in his head for a moment before replying, but I’m not a woman.

Have you looked at yourself, Aiden wheezed in Dayton’s head.

Shut up, Dayton snapped.

What I meant, Mel sighed, is that while yes your soul is still close to what it was originally, the physical part of your brain is a woman’s, just as your physical body is a woman’s as well.

Dayton mulled that over quietly in his head for a moment. “Eggs not sitting well?” Del asked. Dayton barely heard him as he mulled over the specific of what Mel had said, one part stuck with him; your soul is still close to what it was originally. He wasn’t aware of Del saying something else when he asked Mel, what did you mean by close to what my soul was?

Her reply was instantaneous, you have been altered by your stay here, and you’d never be able to leave unchanged, I don’t know how you would expect other wise.

“Are you listening to me D?” Del yelled, and Dayton snapped back.

“Sorry I got lost in my thoughts,” Dayton replied. He hadn’t told Del about the voices in his head, and although part of him wanted to, most of him didn’t know how to approach it without sounding like a complete loon.

“Well what I was saying while you were in outer space,” Del pointed to the ceiling, “is that I think we should wait until a little later, the backyard will be more shadowed, and we can get you to my car without much difficulty then.”

“I’m not sure it would help, but it might, what time does the sun go down today?” Dayton asked.

“It went down last night around nine, but the backyard was a shadow fest at around seven. The mall closes at eight thirty.” Del said matter-of-factly while Dayton thought, an hour and a half, Mel I need your help with this, Del continued, “It doesn’t leave us much time, but it’s something.”

Major Gallant shifted her body in the back of the unmarked cruiser looking Vehicle the Order had made up for this operation. Two armed men sat in the front. Their navy suits and ties hid the bullet proof vests rather well, and their short cropped hair made them suit the part of FBI agents.

Some of their eyes and ears had seen the Major’s old body entering a house in Vegas during a house party, so the major and three other operatives had headed out during the night. They’d driven all night in shifts and once the sun rose the men in the front had not moved to get out of the car. Five days ago now, something had gone wrong when the Major was testing out the Order’s new weapon.

They called it the Marionette, and if it had worked properly, that’s what it would have been. But something went wrong when she had tried to use it on Aiden. Remembering how close she got to extermination gave her a shudder.

If they had told Aiden what was going on when he had asked, she very well might have ended up dead; or even worse, Aiden might have been able to pull off his charade long enough to find out enough to threaten the Order. For the majority of her life Gallant had been in charge of the unit whose sole purpose was to find Aiden and bring him in.

Allot of other Vampire’s had designated task squads; however Aiden’s was the largest, and most Vampire’s were caught within a decade or two once they were assigned a task squad. Aiden had avoided his for more than a century. They knew almost everything about him, except how to find him.

Previously two attempts had been made to capture Aiden, both failed, and both ended with over a hundred dead.

Gallant had managed it with limited resources and had only lost two men; Two of her best, she thought devastatingly. Her voice was that of a woman in her head. Speaking aloud always caused her to shudder now; her physical voice was Aiden’s voice and it was scratchy like dry leaves on the pavement in the fall. It was a sound she had hated since being assigned to his task squad almost a decade ago now. Looking down at her glove clad hands she flexed the large wide man hands and sighed.

As a woman she had been very aware of being a woman. Being a man was no different; she was aware of being a man. Somewhere in her head a man laughed, a dry laugh, almost a wheeze. It was Aiden, or rather, a piece of him left behind.

Closing her eyes Gallant silenced Aiden’s wheezing laughter. She had a task to do, and nothing would keep her from it. The real Aiden had been seen in the house. If they stormed it and flashed their badges, the owner might reveal something of use. Gallant doubted Aiden would switch bodies so soon, he was cocky, and always over estimated his abilities. That was what made him so easy to catch for Gallant.

I caught you once, Gallant thought, pouring pure determination into the notion, I can do it again.

You can’t catch me in here, Aiden laughed again. Again Gallant squashed the voice. As they rounded a corner one of the men in the front said, “That’s it there,” his voice was very firm; he would make a good squad leader some day, Gallant thought idly.

The squat yellow bungalow sat on the top of a small rise. Two large evergreens flanked either side of the steep walkway. Gallant knew Aiden’s body was turn to ash in direct sunlight. But she’d learned one trick from him in the five days. His most secret trick and possibly how he had slipped through their fingers so many times. Gallant knew how to use the Shadows to travel.

With all the data collected Aiden’s ability with what Vampire’s called ‘the source’ was the hardest to determine. Allot of people theorized about what Aiden could do. Gallant had preferred to put speculation aside and had stuck to the psychology of Aiden instead. But even so, she’d glanced over the reports a few times, what they thought Aiden was capable of, and what he could really do were so far apart they might not even be the same thing.

All the reports together couldn’t compare. Aiden was far more powerful than he had ever let on. Just being in his body, feeling the source had shown Gallant that she had been wrong not considering that side of Aiden.

Closing her eyes Gallant embraced the source. At first doing that had been like flexing a muscle you never knew you had. It had taken her hours to figure out the first time. Now she just pictured a ball of light in her hands, and the source came. Bringing with it life and death; joy and anger. Every time Gallant embraced the source it felt like she was trying to wrestle with the sun. She enjoyed the warmth and the joy, but the intensity of it brought fear. It felt like the source could burn her from the earth; leave her a pillar of ash. Once the match was won the source was easier to manage, it did what she wanted it to.

Unbuckling her seat belt the Major leaned forward, and the shadows opened up before her. Falling into blackness was always disturbing, but the Major focused through, focused trying to feel for the shadows in the house. Many idea’s and places came to her, and then she saw a skeleton floating just inside one of the shadows. That’s it, she thought. A body here could only mean the presence of Aiden. Only Aiden would have the balls to leave a trail like that.

Pulling open the shadow like one would pull a curtain aside seemed so casual to Gallant now, and she stepped into a somber coloured bedroom. Black furniture, stood against yellow walls. An on-suite bathroom was dark and stood with the door open. The other door was almost closed. A chair scrapped softly somewhere in the house.

Damn, Gallant thought, and her control was shattered as the source fell away. The ball melted in her mind’s eye. The Gateway closed with a sucking noise. Gallant didn’t move for a moment.

Dayton backed his chair up; made a soft scrapping noise, but his ears heard something else distant in the house; a soft sucking sound. His brain took a moment to recognize the sound, and then it hit him. It was the sound of one of the gateways closing.

Dayton was on his feet wrestling with the source almost before he knew it. With his enhanced senses he could hear breathing other than his and Del’s.

Del stood quietly, not scraping his chair at all, whispering behind Dayton he asked, “What is it?”

“Someone just came into your bedroom through a gateway like I used to get here,” Dayton whispered back. “We need to leave,” outside a car door closed quietly. “Now,” Dayton added.

Del asked even quieter than before, “How do we get out?”

“Basement,” Dayton wasn’t sure Del could hear him until Del moved quietly for the stairs. Dayton followed trying to be as quiet as possible. Closing the door Dayton tried to picture the air around it turn to stone, the way that Aiden had taught him how to lift things like the dead brunette.

Appearance wise the air didn’t change, but Dayton knew it worked because he could fell the source holding the air tightly; in fact he was almost sure he could see strands of distorted air holding back the air.

“Which shoes were the brunettes?” Dayton asked quietly. Del held up a pair of stiletto heeled shoes which were completely open except for the straps crisscrossing the top of the slinky silver footwear.

It had to be stilettos, Dayton thought as he pictured the shadows in the small stairwell getting darker due to the source. He opened his eyes just to see the wall ebb and appear to recede into blackness.

“Take my hand,” Dayton said quietly.

Del had time to give him a look and mouth “No way,” before the sounds of the front door crashing in made him latch tightly to Dayton’s narrow hand. Dayton pushed for the gateway as someone Yelled, “FBI,” into the house.

Blackness surrounded and Dayton imagined the underground parking at the mall, a quiet deserted corner on the lowest level. The image appeared before him; he pushed for it, and came out into a dark corner behind a smallish blue Nissan.

Del clutched desperately to Dayton’s hand. So tight that Dayton could feel an ache starting in his fingers, looking behind Dayton saw the look on Del’s face as he looked back through the shadow at his house, and heard the pounding on the door, and the man shouting “FBI, open up.” Dayton released the source; sadness welled into him, emptiness, deeper than anything, stronger than steel, and darker than the intervening space. Then it faded and Dayton was left staring at Del’s still horrified face.

“I figured it was something like that, but I never could have imagined.” Del was rambling, “what would have happened if I let go of your hand? Never mind, what did you do? Is that where you sent that woman?”

Dayton slapped him, and for a moment the horrified look turned to anger, then to recognition, then to sadness. “I’m sorry,” Del said, “I’ve just never been that frightened, or that sad, it felt like the sun went away, like the world was cold and dead, like it was going to stay that way, like it was never coming back.”

For Dayton traveling like that had never frightened him, never made him sad. It seemed that it was impossible to be either with the source flowing through him.

The underground parking was dirty, black soot coated everything except the cars, and even some of them were taking on a gray tinge. The tops of the white pipes were black; the walls were a grimy off white with a green stripe at shoulder height running over every wall and pillar insight. Black lettering that said ‘P5’ stood out every so often, and yellow lettering warning drivers about hazardous corners and where the traffic was supposed to go, were splashed often enough to make them seem half-hazard.

Dayton stood up from behind the blue Taurus he’d opened the gate in front of the shadows there were still deep, but no longer the pitch black that seemed to fall behind the wall. Dayton fussed with the shoes for a moment while Del just slipped on his own like they were nothing. Scowling at Del Dayton smoothed out the skirt and tried to pull it down again. How in hell do women do this, Dayton asked himself.

Dayton took a step, it was wobbly and for a moment he didn’t think he could walk in the high heeled shoes. But as he took another step he found it was more stable. The only time Dayton had experienced something similar was when he had gotten back onto a motorcycle after not riding for almost five years.

Just like riding a bike, Mel’s playful voice chuckled in Dayton’s head.

How is this happening, Dayton thought.

Well as I said before, the physical part of your brain is a woman’s now, and more specifically it’s mine, and I know how to walk in high heeled shoes. Mel paused for a moment before chuckling again and continuing, how do you think Aiden learned how to do it?

The concept was so simple to Dayton. Duh, Dayton laughed in his head, why hadn’t I thought of that? His own full laughter seemed to fill his head.

“We look suspicious standing here,” Del said, his voice a touch nervous, “We should go, I’ve had enough law enforcement officials for the day.”

“You do realize that wasn’t the FBI busting down your door right?” Dayton said casually back as he rounded the end of the Taurus with a click clack stride.

“I know,” Del said, “But who were they?”

“It was the Order,” Dayton said, trying to make his voice low.

Del cocked an eyebrow, “The order?”

“Yeah,” Dayton knew this was coming, and he steeled himself from telling everything. If he dumped all of it on Del, he might break down. Dayton knew first hand it was a lot of information to take in; the only thing that saved him was his life being on the line. “The order tracks down,” the word Vampire seemed to be stuck in Dayton’s head, and he couldn’t get it out, “people like me.”

“People like you?” Del said questioningly.

“Yeah, people like who I’ve become, right now they think I’m someone else, and until I can prove otherwise, I need to stay away from them.”

“You got some real issues D, it’s a good thing you came to me.” Del’s confidence was faked, but the words felt good to hear. As they were approaching the elevator Dayton started to feel dizzy. But the time they were at the doors he felt like he was in the middle of a wave pool, neck deep in sloshing water.

Currents pulled him to a wall and Dayton held on for dear like.

Del calmly asked, “Are you ok?” as he came running to Dayton’s side. To Dayton his friend sounded a hundred miles away.

What is going on? Dayton tried to make his voice stern in his head, but it came out weak and questioning.

You need to feed, Aiden answered and by the sound of his voice he was non-too-pleased, You need to feed or the beast is going to take over, and with the Order this close they’d be sure to be here before you woke up.

Teach me then, Dayton growled in his head.

Picture the source, but don’t embrace it, Aiden’s voice was hurried, but calm. Dayton put himself into the small room he’d created for the source, the well glowed, and it ebbed, as if it were about to run out. Now, Aiden’s voice had slowed a little, you need to branch out of yourself, and you need to feel the source that’s hidden within everyone. You need to find another well in this building and you need to transfer the water to your well.

What will happen to the person that I do this too? Dayton asked, he was truly concerned that he might injure someone.

Just do it! Aiden’s voice was harsh, like pebbles beating against glass. Dayton pictured himself as he stood against the wall in the elevator waiting room. He pictured tendrils of light flowing out of his frail female form. Back in his head Dayton imagined he could see through the ends of the tendrils and that they would be able to see the source in someone else.

Nicely done, Aiden said, now branch out, find someone to draw from. Looking around with all the tendrils was overwhelming at first, but slowly Dayton adjusted to taking in all the information. Del positively glowed, but Dayton dismissed it before Aiden could say anything. He would not risk his best friend.

Up through the concrete into the mall Dayton’s tendrils went and when they burst into the mall there was no great explosion, no cracking of the earth. They seeped in like fog, like brilliant glowing tendrils of smoke. A hundred eyes, looking in a hundred places spotted very little of the glow Dayton had seen in Del.

Searching through the mall was quick when you could be a hundred places at once, and it wasn’t long before Dayton found what he was looking for. Clouds that sparkled hung over a crowd in the arcade. A dozen people gathered around two more that were playing a dancing game, where you tap the buttons with your feet in time to the directions shown on the screen. The top of the large consol said ‘Dance Dance Revolution Extreme.’

Ah, there we go, Aiden’s voice was awestruck, now siphon that cloud off into you. Dayton pictured the tendril that in the cloud turning into a vacuum hose. The cloud spun and whirled into the tendril of light and Dayton could feel the Joy and the life that he felt when he embraced the source. It was to a lesser extent, not quite the threatening Joy of the source, but it was the same nonetheless. Dayton felt his well filling up, he could see it. When the well started to over flow Dayton pictured huge glass wine casks at the end of the room filling with the glowing liquid. He could feel Aiden’s approval of the technique even as he completed the finishing touches. When Dayton stopped feeling the Joy of the source coming from the Arcade he capped off the last of the four wine casks. They stood wall to wall, just fitting in the room that was created for them. They cast light on the ground, a yellow so bright it was almost white. The well in the center of the room was full and glowing strongly. Dayton looked at Mel and Aiden, standing behind glass at either side of the room, Mel was pushing against the glass with her hands. Aiden sat reserved on a small bench at the end of his cell, calmly looking at the glowing display in the center of the room but Dayton could feel the same desire in both of them.

Both people were small knots of emotion wrapped into the corners of Dayton’s mind. Aiden was calm, and centered, but the desire was almost stronger in him and in Mel; whose emotions were pure desire and determination.

Opening his eyes Dayton felt the waves subside, they weren’t gone entirely, but Dayton could stand up to them without a problem.

“What the fuck just happened,” Del burst out.

“Sorry, I had a moment,” Dayton answered.

“That’s bullshit,” Del’s voice was all quiet outrage, “First I was scared for you, then you scared me more than that damned Gateway of yours! What did you do?” his question sounded less like a question, more like a demand.

“Fine,” Dayton said, he was resigned; now he needed to explain it all, “the Mel we met was actually a Vampire, a man who had started all of this. His name is Aiden, he used some magic to change bodies with Mel, and then with me.”

“So now, you’re a Vampire?” Del’s eyebrow was raised. But his voice wasn’t questioning.

“Yeah,” Dayton said quietly.

“So then why was I scared of you just now? Were you going to drink my blood?” Del covered his face with his forearm, “like all, Blah I vaunt to suck your blood?”

“No,” Dayton said, pushing Del slightly, “but there is a magical source I can touch now, and using it drains me, so I need to,” Dayton paused, how could he get away from all the ‘blah, I am Dracula’ shit with his friend, “recharge,” Dayton smiled that was satisfactory, “every once and a while.”

“I see,” Del said, his voice was calm, but Dayton swore it was fear he could see in his friends eyes, “so you were going to what, steal my soul?”

“No!” Dayton burst at him, Yes Aiden laughed, “I would never, but I took some,” What was it? Dayton asked himself, “Life force, from some people upstairs playing DDR,” Dayton sighed, there was no way to explain it better.

“So now you’re a Jedi too?” Del laughed, “Part Jedi, part Vampire, almost all woman!”

“Fuck you,” Dayton laughed back. Del had obviously had enough. “Shall we,” Dayton said indicating the elevator.