Violets Are Blue

old, it’s almost impossible to find witnesses or compelling evidence. I don’t understand why we haven’t found anything on the recent murders, though.”
    “That’s what I’m thinking too. We have witnesses in Las Vegas and in Charleston, but no one recognizes photos of Daniel or Charles. Why not? What are we missing?”
    “Maybe they don’t commit the actual murders themselves,” I said. “Maybe they used to, but not anymore.”
    “Don’t they want to feast on the kills? Drink the blood? What other purpose do the murders serve? Are they symbolic? Is this part of some arcane mythology? Are they creating a new mythology? Jesus, Alex, what the hell are these two monsters doing?”
    I didn’t have answers to her questions or my own. No one did, unfortunately. So we sat in the car, tried to keep cool in the heat, and waited for Daniel and Charles to make their next move.
    If they were so careful and so good, then why did we know about them, why were we here?

Chapter 69

    WILLIAM FOUND this laughable. God, it was good! Priceless. He was watching the police as they in turn watched the house of horrors owned by Daniel and Charles. It was too much. The young prince walked down LaSalle, puffing on a cigarette, haughty, confident, unafraid of anyone, superior in every way he could imagine. Michael was sleeping, so he had decided to take a stroll.
    This was rich. Maybe he would see one of the local celebrities who lived in the Garden District. Like the fabulous Trent Reznor of Nine Inch Nails, or some asshole from MTV’s
Real World
house in the Big Easy.
    There were two nondescript Lincolns parked on the street. He wondered if the magicians had noticed the cars. He smiled, shook his head. He wondered what the hell Daniel and Charles were thinking. They would be careful, of course. They had been committing murders for a long time, years and years. So now what? Something had to give.
    He continued to the end of the block, then walked south. Most of the houses here had screened-in porches crawling with vines. Along the way, he saw a fine physical specimen — a male, twenty-one or so, shirt off, pecs gleaming with sweat. That picked up his spirits. He was hosing down a silver BMW convertible, the James Bond car.
    His chiseled body, the spurting water hose, and the shiny car turned William on like a light switch. But he controlled himself and walked on.
    And then, just down the street, he saw a young girl. She was maybe fourteen, sitting on her front porch, gently stroking a Persian cat. She was pretty, even sultry.
    The girl had long brown hair that flowed down to her small breasts. A diaphanous snakeskin-print top over a belly-length tank top. Tight, dark blue jeans, hip hugging and flared just right. Stud and hoop earrings, both gold and silver. Toe rings. Bracelets of multiple colors on one slender arm. A typical teenager — except that she was so stunning. A complete turn-on. And arrogant, just like he was.
    William stopped and called out to her. “Your cat is beautiful,” he said, and smiled wickedly.
    She looked up, and he saw that she had the same piercing green eyes as the Persian. The girl ran her eyes all over him. He could actually feel her gaze against his skin. He knew that she wanted him. Men and women always did.
    “Why do you hold back?” he asked, and continued to smile. “If you want something, then you should take it. Always. That’s your lesson for the day, free of charge.”
    “Oh, and you’re a teacher?” she called from the porch. “You don’t look like any teacher I’ve ever had.”
    “A teacher, but also a student.”
    He had desire for this girl. Not only was she a beautiful physical specimen, she had good instincts. She was sexual and knowing for her age. She used her gifts, unlike most young people, who wasted their talent and potential. She wouldn’t speak again, wouldn’t even smile, but she didn’t look away either.
    William loved her confidence, the way her bright green eyes tried to mock him but couldn’t quite do it. The way she thrust her small breasts at him, her only weapons. He wanted to go up on the porch and take the beautiful girl right there. Bite her, drink her. Spill her blood all over the whitewashed wooden planks.
    No. Not now, not yet, not here.
God, he hated this, hated not being himself. He wanted to exercise his power, to use his gifts.
    Finally, William began to walk away. It took all his will, all his power, to leave this beautiful prize sitting