Chapter Two

A loud knock on the door rescued me from the clutches of the monster.  This was the sixth time that I'd had that same dream today.  Each time I'd awoken to find myself lying down face first on a pillow, one hand gripping the handle of the knife that I'd hidden between the mattresses.  A girl could never be too careful.  Especially when she was wearing nothing but a medical gown.  Still, the nightmare was making me more paranoid than normal. 

I looked down at my watch: ten o'clock p.m.  Doctors and nurses had been in and out of the room all day, and the door was constantly opening and closing without my permission so the noise had startled me.  That made sense.  But what didn't make sense was the person at the door.  Everyone I knew was in Albuquerque was either in the hospital or was on their way back home, except for maybe one.  Olaf was the tallest man I'd ever met, taller even than Dolph who was six foot eight.  He'd been imprisoned for rape and petite brunettes were his victims of choice.

Edward had brought Olaf in for his experience.  He'd been one of the few people in the world that had successfully skinned a human being without killing them.  I tightened my grip on the knife and moved my right arm to hide it under the sheets.  If it was Olaf behind the door, I was ready for him.  I sat there bathed in my own sweat, breathing quietly as if asleep.  For several seconds, nothing happened.  Then I heard another knock on the door.

"Come in," I said, loudly.  My voice was calmer than I felt.  Brownie point for me.

The visitor opened the door wide and stood at the entrance.  The first thing I noticed about the stranger was the power she exuded.  The prickle of energy that said magic breathed along my body.  It moved through me like a blast of cold air, leaving goose bumps on my arms.  I looked into her eyes and in a flash of insight that came from somewhere outside of me, I understood that it could have been worse.  The stranger had her shields up and power had still managed to leak out.

She was not a lycanthrope, a vampire, or an animator, which left only two options: psychic or witch.  Part of me hoped for a witch.  I'd met strong psychics before and in their own way, they were just as frightening as the monsters.  Recently, I had discovered that I possessed some psychic abilities myself.  Marianne was teaching me how to develop and manage them.  But I don't think that I would ever be as powerful a psychic as the woman that stood before me. 

Despite the fact that it was her power that initially drew me to her, the woman's physical appearance came in at a close second.  It would have been easy to label her as merely beautiful or exotic but angelic hit closer to home.  She was a petite woman, perfectly proportioned from forehead to slender feet.  Thin glasses framed pleasant, black-brown eyes that had been accented by gold eye shadow and purple eyelashes.  High model-perfect cheekbones complimented her full sensual lips, which were painted scarlet to match her blouse.

The woman was dressed in jeweled tones and ornaments of gold.  She wore a stretch fitted velvet blouse with decorative gold trim, which accented the defining square neckline, bell sleeves, and provocative 'V'-cut back.  Seamless black pants and black high-heeled boots completed the outfit.  Around her slender neck was a velvet choker with a small, golden cross hanging from it.  Her thick, dark brown hair fell to her waist in carefully styled ringlets, nearly covering the two Colts in her shoulder holster.  Even with the guns exposed, the woman looked delicate, feminine, and ethereal.  Her smile flashed white and perfect on her permanently tanned skin.  Wait, how did I know it was natural?

"Bianca Alvarez," I said, surprising myself.

Six years ago, I had been called to Chicago for what appeared to be a vampire related crime.  Neighborhood pets were vanishing, showing up drained of blood.  I managed to trace it to a woman who had a history of mental illness.  Mrs. Jerilynn Fitzpatrick had been an ordinary housewife, mother of two.  She had been diagnosed with schizophrenia but she showed symptoms similar to multiple personality disorder.  When she was on her medication, she was a model churchgoer, teacher of Sunday school.  Jerilynn canned her own vegetables and sewed doll clothes for her girls.  But when she was ill, she slept around, abused the kids, and hung the family dog from a tree.  I talked to her when she was "well" and she was a nice person.  I could see why the husband tried to hold onto her.  It was tragic in the truest sense of the word that her own brain chemistry was destroying her life.

The night the police arrested Jerilynn, two armed policemen had drug her out of another man's bed and handcuffed her.  They didn't have another female on site that night so I rode in back with her.  She was vulgar and unruly, flirting with the men, being disrespectful to me.  We were riding in a dark police car and she turned her head to look at me.  There were no glowing eyes, no smell of sulfur, but I felt evil rise off her like some disquieting perfume.  It was unadulterated evil that I'd sensed, a demon.  A demon is, in conventional thought, a being of pure malevolence.  I don't scare that easy, but for that instant, I was afraid.  It must have showed on my face because she laughed and the moment was gone.  I recommended they do an exorcism, the husband signed the papers for it, and I went to find a priest that would do the ritual.

It wasn't as easy as it sounded.  I couldn't find a priest or minister that would see her.  Officer Alvarez hadn't been on site when we picked up Mrs. Fitzpatrick but she was one of the people who worked with me on the case instead of against me.  When I met her, she was part of an investigative unit in Chicago, which handled all cases having to do with preternatural creatures.  A rookie in the truest sense of the word.  In fact, this had been her first case as a primary.  Alvarez and I are both from mixed Latin descent with gifts other people didn't understand.  The two of us corresponded for a while but I haven't seen or heard from her in two years.

Alvarez had been the one to find the priest.  She was very involved in the church, having spent most of her childhood there with her grandmother.  Father Leonard was a close, personal friend of the family and was the local "expert" on demon possession in Chicago.  The officer had studied with him in her spare time and had actually assisted him on three other exorcisms.  She arranged it so that I could stay and witness the ritual.  To this day, I regret that I hadn't left when she suggested I step out of the room. I still won't talk about what happened, not if I can help it.  Words have power.  Memories have power.  And I wasn't about to give them more control over me than they already had.

The woman still stood in the doorway, a smile on her lips.  "I'm pleased that you remember me, Anita," she said congenially.  " I heard about your car accident.  How are you doing?"  There was no trace of her once thick accent. When I first met Bianca, her thick Chicagonian, Spanish brogue had confused me. 

“Fine," I said automatically, then realizing my mistake I quickly added, "Under the circumstances, of course."

“Of course," she said, distractedly glancing behind her. In the hallway I could hear someone arguing with a woman at the check out desk.  I hate it when people fight in public places, especially places that should be quiet like hospitals.  I pushed the hair away from my face and concentrated on ignoring it.  I reached for my clothing and gestured for her to close the door, which she did right away.   Bianca averted her eyes as I pulled on my black satin panties and blue jeans.  She looked a little uncomfortable so I started making small talk.

"Are you still with the Chicago P.D.?" I asked as I buttoned my pants and sat down on the edge of the bed to pull on my socks.  

"No, actually.  I moved back to California when I was recruited by the USMS in L.A.  Nothing too demeaning but when I had the option to work with a team, which handles preternatural and supernatural related crimes throughout the U.S. I took it."

Bianca paused.  I looked at my hands, not knowing what else to say.  I don't think either of us wanted to discuss our personal lives.   

After a few moments of awkward silence, Bianca said, "I never said how sorry I was about your friend Phillip."

She remembered Phillip.  That tells you how long it'd been since the last time we'd talked.  Phillip had been a stripper at Guilty Pleasures, a club in St. Louis's vampire district.  When I first met him, he'd been a vampire junkie, someone who let vampire feed off of them for kicks.  The previous Master of the City, a twisted little b**** named Nikolas, had tried to use him to seduce me but it didn't exactly work.  Phillip had helped me gather information on a case and even decided to turn his life around, do something about his habit.  Then the Master kidnapped him from the club and killed him in front of me as a demonstration of her power.  When I went back to Nikolas' daytime resting place, I found him re-animated.  They planned to have him killed again to get their jollies.  Edward and I killed Nikolas and her minions.  I was the one who laid Phillip back in his grave.  It'd been a long time since I'd thought about him.

I wanted to tell her how sorry I was about his death too but what I said was, "So your job with the government, what part of the Department of Justice do you work for exactly? F.B.I., N.S.A., military?

"We work out of the U.S. Marshal Service in conjunction with other departments in the Bureau of Justice.  There's only eight of us---well, nine if you count O'Reilly--- so we often have to look for RAISINs outside the legitimate field for information and resources."

"Raisins?"

Bianca casually moved from the doorway to sit at the chair beside the bed. "Retainers and Investigative Specialists in Networking, you know within the criminal and preternatural communities.  People that we use but do not employ.  Each F.P.I.T. member purchases their own teams.  We don't share them unless permission is obtained from O'Reilly.  You interested?"

"In becoming a RAISIN?"

"Why not?  You're an animator, aren't you?  I've got four on the payroll but I could always use another one.  Anything you tell me will be completely confidential.  The government pays for any related costs such as airplane tickets or hotel rooms.  You'll never be called into court to give testimony.   And anytime I solicit information from you, both you and your boss will receive a handsome cash payment.  Strictly under the table, of course."

"What exactly would I be doing?" I asked.  That sounded suspicious, even to me.

The angelic woman smiled. "Mostly, you would be responsible for providing introductions to either other RAISINs or resources.  For example, were I to come to St. Louis to investigate a vampire-related crime, I would use you to gain access to the Master of the City.  I hear the two of you are very close."

I stared at her in surprise, heat immediately rushing to my face. "Who told you that I knew the Master of St. Louis?"

"I watch a great deal of television," she said wryly before continuing. "RAISINs allow us to obtain information from those people would not normally go to the police but who would feel comfortable coming to you."   

"And the downside?"

Bianca stopped smiling.  "There's always a downside, isn't there?"

 She searched my eyes tentatively before speaking.  Her voice was low and serious.

"A good friend of mine, Russell Chau, was once assigned to a case in New York City's Chinatown.   Wiccans were being murdered for their vital organs, which were then sold on the black market by the Chinese mafia.  Russ had several RAISINs within the community as well as within the syndicate.  One night someone broke into the hotel where he was staying.  Whoever broke in knew what they were doing.  They found the files that he'd kept on his computer.  His people came to him when they heard what happened, begging for him to give them enough money to get out of town.  Russ had to turn them away and come back to Santa Ana.  It wasn't until he got back home that we were told about what had happened.  The syndicate systematically eliminated everyone that had come into contact with Russell, beginning with a street hustler that had introduced him to his first RAISIN.  The informants were murdered, their wives raped, their children sold into slavery.  But in one case, the asset was found in the mail box of a prominent Chinese businessman---his body chopped up into so many pieces that the local police couldn't identify him."

Something in her voice made me want to reach out and comfort her.  I touched her arm.  Looking down on Bianca's face, I did not actually see the details of the events she was talking about but I was submerged by a wave of morbid impressions.  Bianca had been gentle in her descriptions of the murders.  Chau's RAISINs had been more than just murdered, they'd been tortured: burnt with hot irons, slowly dismembered, starved, beaten, raped.  Flooding phantoms of horror, suffering, and death poured into my mind.  The force was so overwhelming that I nearly fell to my knees.  I couldn't breathe, my heart pounded wildly within my chest, and my eyesight blurred.  For an instant, I felt as if lightening had struck me.  Then the vision passed and as the last of the psychic energies moved through me, I could feel my body returning to normal.

"Anita, are you okay?" Bianca said, her eyes empty of emotion. 

"I'm fine," I said, weakly.  Clairvoyant visions are a part of my new psychic abilities, though they are hardly the most important part.  Nor are they the most useful or frightening.  At least it doesn't always kick in.  Some times I even forget I have it.  I have other special talents that I use but don't understand.  Marianne has been teaching me to develop them but dealing with the metaphysical aspects of my gifts still unnerves me. 

"Most agents will not die for their informant.  When an agent's cover is blown, standard procedure is to eliminate all evidence linking them to their informants.  They are cut loose without anyone to protect them," she said seriously, gazed intensely into my eyes.  "In the time that I've been on the team, I've only lost three people.  Rest assured I won't desert you when you need my help.  You don't need your answer now---I'll be in town until Friday---but I do want you to give it a great deal of thought before you decide anything."

"Do you keep your files securely stored?" I asked.

Bianca tapped her temple. "It's all up here.  There's nothing written down---." She stopped talking abruptly and looked at me as if she'd never seen me before saying, "There's something very different about you."

"I've changed a lot in the past seven years," I said giving her my most dazzling smile.  That was an understatement. "You, on the other hand, look as nifty as ever.  I like your hair long better.  It makes you look like a grown up."

The woman laughed and smiled cheerfully. "Thanks.  But I wasn't speaking about physical changes.  You're just different.  What have you been up to?"

I shook my head.  "Now that's a very long conversation," I said with a smile. "What brings you to Albuquerque?"

"I was vacationing here with a friend," she replied.

"Anyone I know?" I said, slipping on my bra.  The people in the hall were really going at it now. 

“Actually you do know her.  The two of you spoke on the phone the day after the Fitzpatrick exorcism. She---"

There was a crash in the hallway and a loud voice yelled for security.  Bianca and I exchanged glances before she handed me my shirt.  I pulled it over my head as fast as possible and grabbed my gun.  I was out the door the moment my feet touched the floor.  Surprisingly, Bianca was right behind me.  We ran down to the front desk with our guns poised.  Unfortunately so were the guns of seven SWAT team members.  And they were aimed right at us.

"Drop the guns!" one of the men ordered. "Drop the guns now!"

Under normal circumstances, I might have felt inclined to argue about losing my gun.  With a SWAT team aiming to kill, I was feeling much more agreeable. I just had to hope they were feeling the same way. Not even the marks could save me from a firing squad.