Page 7 of The Vampire and the Case of the Cursed Canine

I was standing near the edge of the harbour. A familiar glint of gold in the water made me step closer: the water dragon. It looked at me pointedly, and I moved closer to meet its ancient eyes. The problem was that I didn’t speak Water Dragon and I was still wrestling with my rage issues, which were becoming almost unbearable.

‘You got some rage growing?’ Gunnar grunted.

‘Oh yeah. Like a forest fire,’ I warned him pointedly.

He shot me a look. ‘Hold it steady,’ he commanded. He wasn’t talking about my temper but about my flames.

I nodded tightly and stepped closer to the water; if I lost control, at least I could direct the flames into the bay. The sea was hellish cold – it could cope with being a degree or two warmer.

‘The anger – it’s a curse,’ Gunnar rumbled. ‘We need to find and disrupt the rune work. It’ll be here somewhere.’

‘Disrupt it how?’

‘We need to scrub it out.’ Gunnar’s huge fists were opening and closing rhythmically. He was fighting the urge to start kicking ass, too.

Scrub out rune work: that seemed simple enough. I was about to go back to the crowd when the water dragon flicked water over me with its tail. ‘Hey!’ I objected. I hadn’t taken care with my appearance but at least I’d been clean; now I was swampy. Son of a bitch.

My watery friend was trying to tell me something, but what? There had been a time not long ago that the thought of being near an ancient water dragon would have been enough to make me piss my pants, so in a way it was a nice reminder that I had changed and grown. I was stronger now, and I wasn’t going to let my mum unmake my progress.

I moved closer to the water dragon. It rolled on its side then one golden eye blinked at me and pointedly looked up. I followed its gaze.

The dock was anchored with six tall metal poles so it could slide up and down with the tide. Although it was dark, the smell of blood and the dragon's eye led me to glimpse what could definitely be the cursed rune work on the metal’s surface.

I wiped my hands down my pants. The poles were smooth so this would take my full vampiric strength – and luck. I jumped, grabbed hold with my hands and knees then used my feet to propel me and started shimmying up the pole.

The smell of blood became stronger; no wonder my tummy had rumbled. I hadn’t smelled a nosebleed, it had been this: runes drawn in blood. I could see them clearly now, painted on the metal surface.

I anchored myself as best I could with one arm and both legs, got out my phone, used the flash and snapped some pictures. Once I’d secured the evidence, I used my jacket sleeve to swipe through the runes. Ewww. I tried not to think about the blood that was now covering my jacket.

Once I was certain I’d destroyed the dangerous runes, I slid down the post. Hopefully I’d destroyed them before Gunnar’s rage accidentally started him wiping the floor with the cuffed men below me.

Chapter 5

Once I was back at the dock, Gunnar shot me a relieved look. ‘You found the curse.’ With his own rage settling, it wasn’t even a question.

‘I found it.’

With the curse neutralised, there was no reason to keep the crowd cuffed; they were victims, in the wrong place at the wrong time. We released them after we’d taken some brief statements. They were shift workers at the fish plant who’d come down to the dock for a few beers. There was nothing illegal in that, for all we were a damp town.

The statements were pretty much the same: they all confirmed that they’d had an indescribable feeling of rage then found themselves down here fighting with their friends. They were confused and their memories were fuzzy, so no one could remember what had caused their anger. I shuddered. I often felt that my sharp memory was the sole weapon in my arsenal so losing it… It didn’t bear thinking about.

Gunnar told the crowd that they’d walked into a curse; if they had tiredness or weakness that they couldn’t explain, they should go to the hospital immediately. Tense and nervous, the group dispersed.

All their statements confirmed that going to the docks had been spontaneous and wasn’t a regular occurrence, so nobody could have known in advance that they would have been there at that time. That told me it was more than likely that they hadn’t been the targets of the curse.

They were lucky that Mafu had walked by, seen the beginnings of a scuffle and knew enough to stay out of it. That begged the question: who was the curse really designed for? One of the fishermen? Edgy? Or was it an ill-conceived prank just to trap someone? I bit my lip. I didn’t think so: this didn’t feel like a kids’ screw-up.

We spoke briefly to Mafu. He’d seen someone watching the drama unfold from the bushes but they’d scuttled away before he could speak to them. We checked the area carefully but all we found were some small footprints in the mud. If the Peeping Tom had been the perpetrator, they’d had small feet. We took some photographs and Gunnar made a mould of the shoe print in case it was the curser watching the action unfold.

After all that, we went back to the Suburban. There wasn’t much of a scene to save or analyse, since I’d scrubbed the shit out of it. The thought made me glance towards the water again but I didn’t see so much as a hint of gold. The water dragon was long gone; it had done its thing – protected the town – and now it was back to whatever water dragons did in their spare time. Water polo, maybe.

‘How’s your mom?’ Gunnar asked.

Now that was a loaded question. I shrugged. ‘She’s fine, I guess,’ I said tightly, trying to keep a lid on my emotions whilst I was working.

He threw me a sidelong look. ‘I’m sorry I’m keeping you from her,’ he said mildly.

‘I’m not!’ Something about Gunnar often reminded me of a priest: his warm demeanour invited confession, and who was I to refuse? With a sigh I told him, ‘Apparently she’s a witch, a fire elemental like me. She never told me. Ever.’

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