“We’ve got to break into that clinic,” Greg said to Peter as soon as Renea was out of earshot. “Get the records. Find the kids that were drained. See what we can learn from them, or even their medical charts.”
Peter Mayhew did not know how to respond. He considered the risk, weighing it against getting his hands on the information that he, too, thought would be helpful. With Greg involved, it was possible they could do it without getting caught. By the authorities, at least. Renea, Peter was sure, would find out what they’d done in short order even if Peter had it within himself to keep it from her. Which he did not.
“Thing is,” Peter told him, glancing over his shoulder toward the restrooms, “we won’t get anything out of it. Nobody has paper charts anymore, Greg. Even if we got into the building, we’d have to know the computer password. Or bring a hacker, I guess.”
Greg smiled at Peter in a way that suggested he knew something Peter did not. “I have more than a few abilities you are not yet aware of, my friend.”
Peter cocked his head, lips downturned and brows furrowed as he tried to puzzle out what kind of magic power could get information out of a locked computer. As it often did, Peter’s brain provided possibilities in video format. The rapidfire stream of his best guesses ranged wildly from Greg just ripping the computer’s cords loose and running away with it to placing his hand on it and, with a flash of white light, all of the data within became accessible. None of Peter’s guesses felt very probable.
“Let’s see how these interviews go tomorrow before doing anything crazy.”
Renea returned and took her seat. “I was thinking about the thing Roma said. That vampires have a special organ that puts powerful DNA to use for the host. Then I was thinking that other supernatural creatures could have similar…”
“Almost all of us have something similar,” Greg interrupted.
In this moment, before Greg went on with his explanation, Peter’s life flashed before his eyes. Renea was giving him a very particular look. It was one he had only seen a few times before. Her eyes were wide, but more in an unspoken threat than in surprise. Her lips were pressed together, indicating her irritation. It was something she did with her eyebrows that made this particular look unique. They were angled sharply inward close to the center of her face, rising sharply closer to her temples. Peter remembered the last occasion he’d seen her look at him like this, and remembered feeling then the same way he did right now.
He’d done something terrible, but had no idea what it was.
Renea’s eyes darted from Peter to Greg and back significantly. Maybe Peter’d been wrong. Maybe this time he was getting that look not because he had done something wrong, but because Greg had. He returned her glare with obvious confusion. She rolled her eyes.
Peter thought quickly to piece together what horrendous act earned him that look. She’d glanced at Greg just now, and she’d been speaking right before he noticed the look. That was when Greg…oh. Ohhh. Renea caught the look of realization in his eyes. She rolled her eyes again, this time with her lips curling into an affectionate, indulging half-smile.
Renea wanted him to know how upset she was about being interrupted. Of course she was annoyed. Renea hated being interrupted even more than she hated slow walkers or people who spit loudly. Why she expressed her annoyance with a look instead of saying something to Greg, he did not understand. Did she want him to say something? He’d have to ask her about it later.
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“Undead gain power through simple ingestion, though their results vary wildly depending on what type of undead they are and what it is they eat,” Greg was saying. “If a zombie eats a brain, they grow more intelligent - if only barely. But if a zombie ate a leg or something, they’d get no benefit apart from filling their stomach. Both the incubus and the succubus get their power increases from sexual activity. Humans actually fit into this conversation, too. Most human power ups come from elixirs, which are processed in the liver.” Greg paused, frowning and looking down at the last few bites of his pad thai. He looked to the now empty pitcher of water, and then slid his plate away. “Why do you ask?”
“I didn’t ask anything,” Renea said, smiling pleasantly. Perhaps a little too pleasantly. “I was on my way to suggesting that, with the previous victims, the unsub employed a catch and release method. With Alyson…”
“Unsub?” Greg asked.
Peter cringed.
“Do not interrupt me, Greg. It’s rude. I was speaking.”
Renea locked eyes with Greg for several seconds. Peter saw Greg’s Adam's apple bounce as the big man swallowed nervously.
“I apologize,” Greg said. It sounded like a genuine apology, which for Greg’s sake was a very good thing. “Please go on.”
“Unsub is short for unknown subject,” she said, pausing to look at Peter with a slight self-satisfied smile.
“Renea watches a lot of crime dramas,” Peter explained, smiling back at his wife with amusement.
“I was saying that perhaps, with Alyson, the unsub found what they’ve been looking for. That’s why she hasn’t turned up somewhere with the symptoms of rohypnol and blood loss.”
“Interesting,” Greg said, scratching at his chin thoughtfully. “I’ll have to go over my texts to see if I can find a detailed account of succubus anatomy.”
Peter snickered childishly.
***
Heavy clouds blotted out the light of the full moon outside of the Mayhew residence. It was raining hard. Much harder than it usually rained in Portland, a light downpour was so nearly constant that the locals didn’t even notice it anymore.
Inside the home was a different story. It was well lit, warm, and smelled amazing. Peter was making cupcakes with his friend Vicky. She’d knocked on the door only minutes after Peter, Renea, and Greg returned from the Thai restaurant.
It turned out Marielle, Vicky’s granddaughter whose family also lived in the neighborhood, forgot to mention to her parents that she was responsible for bringing cupcakes to a bake sale until this evening. The bake sale was tomorrow. Marielle’s mother panicked and so, naturally, went to her own mother for help. Vicky panicked as well and so, naturally, she went to her mother, Peter, for help. Renea Mayhew was certain that Peter was more than happy to do it.
Wearing an apron featuring a photo of Flapjack sticking his head out of the window of a moving car, dancing in the way that only Peter did - off beat, awkward, but somehow still the cutest thing Renea had ever seen - he was in his element. She watched with admiration as Peter multitasked, chaos and order at war in the Mayhew’s kitchen. There were ingredients laid out on the counters and flour was everywhere. Renea laughed softly to herself each time Peter stopped what he was doing to pull out his little bottle of bleach and clean up after Vicky with a skss skss skss.
“Renea!” Peter called from the kitchen. He spun to face Renea in the living room, smiling excitedly when their eyes met. “I need you!”
Renea answered the call to action without reluctance. She hopped up from the couch, stood at attention, and soluted crisply. “Reporting for duty, sir!”
“We need raspberries for the frosting. Can you run to the store and pick up,” he paused, turning to Vicky. “What do you think Vicky? A few cups?”
“Are we using Martha’s recipe?” Vicky asked, looking up at the couple from behind her goggle-thick glasses.
“Do you even need to ask?”
“3 quarters of a cup per batch. We’re making 3 batches. You do the math.”
Peter turned back to Renea, his mouth working as he did the math. Before he spoke, Renea put a finger over his lips.
“I’m on it. Do you need anything else?”
Renea’s mind wandered as she made her way toward the self checkout area of the grocery store with an arm full of raspberries. From work items of various importance to Greg’s interruptions at dinner, back to work stuff, and then considered whether their whole assumption that the kids showing up at Bobby’s clinic were related whatsoever to Alyson’s abduction. If not, they were wasting time trying to make correlations that may or may not have any relevance to this investigation. Walking through an aisle filled with children’s toys, something caught Renea’s eye.
It was a little pink water gun shaped like a pistol. Not so much that it could ever be mistaken for an actual pistol. Just the basic form of one. She stared at it for a moment, and then pulled it from the shelf. Smiling devilishly, Renea purchased the raspberries and her new solution to the problem of Greg Van Helsing’s constant interruptions.