I had never been in Detective Genoveli’s apartment – or, for that matter, any woman’s apartment that I can recall – before so had not known what to expect. It was clear she did not keep her place as neat as she kept her person – in fact, it looked like she cleaned the place once a week, whether it needed it or not, and then spent half the week elsewhere. Some dust everywhere, a pile of unopened mail, and some dirty dishes in the sink.

She had not been wrong about the television though – it was a gas plasma set at least forty inches across. Much nicer than my fourteen-inch unit and part of a sound system better than those at some of the clubs I have been to.

She hit a remote, and while things powered up, told me she was getting a beer and asked if I wanted anything. "Water,” I replied.

“You want bottled, flavored stuff, or tap?” she asked, tossing her hat on a counter, and setting her jacket on the back of a chair.

“Tap’s fine,” I replied. I was impressed by her television – the colors were exceptionally vibrant. She came back into the room with her hair untied, a bottle of some microbrew beer in one hand and a large glass of ice water in the other.

I had not realized she had such long hair – I was used to seeing it tied up in her cap and had never seen her off-duty before.

“You always saw me as one of the guys, didn’t you?” she replied, apparently noting something in my facial expression.

I laughed: “Yeah, actually.”

“I am probably more like a guy than half the men on the squad,” she laughed. “Come on, let’s see that video.”

She pointed to a chair, and I sat as she slid the disk the Professor had given us into a slot in the wall of electronics beneath her television. I felt an odd, sharp pain as she picked up the remote and started pressing controls, but it passed quickly. I noted the brand of the controller for reference.

Soon a grainy image appeared on the screen, with a time stamp in the corner. The video began at eleven PM. At almost exactly midnight, his sister left the house. Dina fast-forwarded through the next two hours of blank footage – his camera was on a stationary mount – and then, just before one AM, he returned home, clearly not completely sober, and not alone, though we could not make out any of the woman’s features. The woman left about an hour later, and Dina was about to turn it off when I waved her to wait. She complied and fast forwarded it again until the door opened. The professor’s sister came in, holding a package of some sort.

A package that dripped some kind of fluid – a fluid that splashed up against the two areas where I’d found the trace that I suddenly remembered I had not yet given to the lab.

“Six hours of video in ninety minutes. Gotta love technology,” Dina said, indicating the time stamp on the screen as the video ended. “Though it does seem, more and more, the good doctor’s sister is our killer, somehow.”

“I still have that sample of … well, probably blood, that we picked up at his place. That should give us everything we need to bring her in if it matches.”

“Yeah, except we still do not know how they died…” she reminded me.

“Well, there is a legend around that knife I mentioned, that ‘Demonblade,’ that claims if you sacrifice a number of people with it, you gain great power and possibly immortality…”

“Silly superstition,” Dina scoffed.

“Yes, but what if someone believed it and sought to earn immortality?” I countered.

She let out a low whistle. “That might explain a lot of what we have seen,” she answered.

After a short pause for both of us to consider everything so far, she asked: “Want a ride back?”

“No – you would have to either drop me off a few blocks away or check into the garage. I should just be able to walk in without alerting our FBI friends…”

“Now you’re thinking like a cop,” she replied smiling. “I guess I should grab a shower and then dress to meet our Professor tonight, eh?”

I was about to say you have got over two hours when I realized she had not told me what time the meet was: “When are you meeting him?”

“He said nine thirty outside a bookstore near where I grew up…”

“Chandler Books?” I asked.

She started. “You know more of my file than you told me!”

“Not exactly – just that you lived near twenty third and it is the only bookstore I have found there that’s been around for more than five years. I read a lot,” I answered.

She laughed: “Let me guess – you are into science fiction stuff?”

Most of what I read was actually psychology and sociology material, with a scattering of history, but I did break it up with bits of all manner of fiction, so nodded a reply.

“Noticed there seem to be three types of guys – those who are into sports, those who like science fiction, and those who do a bit of everything. Figured you were one of the second.”

I laughed. “I will try to meet you at about nine fifteen, OK? There is a gas station on the corner there, I believe?”

“It closed down last month, but you do not drive so meeting there might not seem too odd. Suspect a lot of gangs do it.”

“All right then – nine fifteen,” I agreed. “See you then,” and headed out.

A block from the station house, I saw a car approaching that felt important, somehow and made an effort to conceal myself. As it passed, I noted that Agent Adamsky was at the wheel. Did not get a look at the other person in the car, but was fairly certain it was his partner. I soon made it to the lab and handed over the samples.

I was heading back out of the building when I almost literally bumped into Tara heading in. She seemed excited about something, and even more so when she saw me.

“Nate! I have got something. Come on. If your partner’s here, get her too…”

“She is at home,” I replied. “What do you have?”

“Walk with me,” she answered, turning on her heels and striding out. I quickly caught up with her, and was about to prod her for more information, when she asked: “You ever have a Cuban?”

“A cigar?”

“No, a sandwich! This place is amazing. Come on, I will buy you one.”

I frowned and was about to reject the offer when she added: “The booths are very quiet.”

I nodded and followed her inside. She ordered for both of us – surprising me by ordering a strawberry milkshake for me – and led me back to a booth in the corner of the dining area farthest from the door. She slid in first, and then waved me to join her. With a small amount of trepidation, I slid in beside her.

“This is nice, isn’t it?” she asked, smiling.

I looked around and nodded. The place was a little shabby looking but clean and the décor was not unpleasant. Then I felt her hand on my knee and realized she was referring to something other than the building. I flushed slightly before regaining control. “If you are just going to f…”

She interrupted me with a laugh: “Not just flirt, no,” she answered. “I have some news, and copies of the credit card receipts,” she patted her bag.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

“What kind of news?”

“One moment,” she said, and nodded at the young man bringing over our food and two drinks.

I accepted both drinks, passed her the cola, and then asked: “How did you know about these?” Indicating the milkshake.

She laughed. “You are not the only one good at detective work,” she answered enigmatically. The young man returned and set two plates with unusual looking sandwiches on them before us, and then moved away from the table. “And here, look these over.”

She handed me a pair of documents. I was halfway through the first when she said: “Oh, wrong ones – these are the English versions.”

I started, then glanced at the papers I had been reading – Russian. I almost laughed as I took the translations from her. They were not perfect but close enough. Both showed arrest records for our siblings of interest – he had been arrested three times for being a part of organized protests in different Russian cities – all three times in his teen years, before getting his first degree. She had been arrested once and sent to a mental facility for violent behavior. The documents did not go into details, but I noticed one of the doctors mentioned had a familiar name.

“So he was some kind of political dissident?” I mused aloud.

“Not exactly – the group he was with? It is a religious group, something like our Westboro Baptist Church,” Tara answered.

I knew I had heard the name but was drawing a blank. She could tell by my expression and added: “They believe all of the world’s problems stem from us turning away from God. Our boy is dead in military actions? The price we pay for allowing homosexuals free reign in our society. Hurricane trashes a major urban area? Punishment for not permitting prayer in schools. That sort of thing.”

“Ah. So, he is a bit of a … zealot?” I mused, barely recalling the word.

“Hmm,” she nodded, took a bite of her sandwich and sipped on her soda before continuing. “And his sister has a history of both violence and possible delusional behavior. Was in and out of institutions – Russian institutions, many of them worse than our prisons, if my sources are accurate – most of her life until she fell under the care of a Doctor Lhang.”

“And he would be her late husband, I take it?”

She nodded. “He inherited his family’s antique business when his father died,” she commented, as I looked up from the paper. “He decided it was more lucrative and dropped out of the medical profession – signed her release papers, flew to the family holdings in Djakarta, and married her.”

“And all of this happened at about the same time her brother was given permission to emigrate here,” I added.

“Almost the same day,” she informed me. I glanced at the dates listed and nodded.

I took a bite of the sandwich – ham, Swiss cheese, pork, pickles and mustard. Not a combination I would have considered on my own, but good. Then I noticed another scent to it and took another bite; salami.

She noticed my reaction and smiled: “The secret is the salami – a lot of places do not put that in there, but I think it makes the sandwich.” She then took a sip of her drink. After another bite and sip, she added, “a lot of places also add mayonnaise as well; it is even an option here, but I really never liked the stuff,”

“It is pretty good,” I admitted, and smiled at her. Suddenly, without warning, her lips brushed mine. I felt an odd sensation, like fire coursing through my veins, and wondered if I might be becoming ill.

She quickly backed off and slid away from me in the booth. “I should not have done that,” she said, blushing slightly.

“Then why did you?” I asked, truly puzzled.

“I could not help it – I have been wanting to since the second time I ran into you today,” she admitted. “I am sorry…”

“Don’t be, I was just … surprised. Confused.”

“Confused?”

“I did not expect that, not at all…”

“Was it good though?” she said, looking up at me through her hair. I realized I was blushing slightly at this, though I could not figure out why.

I realized that, in addition to making me feel odd, I had also felt happy. “Yeah, I … I guess it was…”

She slid back closer, and took another bite of her sandwich, trying to hide a smile beneath it. I felt confused, but also like that fire was returning. I barely heard her reply: “I am glad.” Then she leaned against me, and I felt slightly dizzy. Again, I wondered if I were falling ill.

“I don’t usually do this,” she said into my ear, “but there is just something about you…”

I turned towards her to ask what she meant, and she kissed me again. This time, I felt myself responding, my lips returning the kiss. The experience was pleasant but frightening, like I feared I could lose myself completely in it. After what seemed like hours – or less than a second – I broke off the contact. Her eyes met mine, and her smile lit up her face: “Don’t worry – that is all I want for now,” she said. Then, quieter: “At least until the case is over…”

I felt an odd mix of relief and pleasure at this thought and surprised myself by replying: “Good. Me too.”

I felt her kiss still burning my lips as I took another bite of my sandwich. We finished eating in silence, then she turned to say something to me when another voice interrupted us: “Detective Daniels! Twice in one day – getting to be a bit of a habit, isn’t it?”

I glanced up at: “Mist… no you prefer Mikey, don’t you?” I asked the lawyer that I had run into earlier.

He smiled at me: “Yes, yes I do. And I know your companion, Miss O’Malley – we go back a ways.”

“Hello, Mikey,” Tara replied, sliding slightly away from me. “Always a pleasure.”

“Mind if I join you two?”

“Actually we just finished…” I answered.

“Have you tried the yemitas?” he asked. “They are excellent here…”

“They are,” Tara replied, “but I’m trying to keep my figure. I think I should be heading out anyway. Walk me to my car, Nathan?”

I noticed the time – almost nine O’clock. How had we spent so long here – it seemed merely minutes? “Sure, I need to be somewhere soon.”

“Maybe I can give you a lift?” both of them offered simultaneously.

I shook my head. “No, it’s not that far and easier to walk than drive. Lots of one-ways.”

“This city has a lot of them,” Mikey Pryce replied, smiling. “We will talk some other time, then. You still have my card?”

I patted my pocket as much to verify it to myself as to prove it to him, and he nodded. “Then I won’t keep either of you. Have a good night.”

He moved off to another table and we left ours. Tara paid for our sandwiches and drinks at the front counter, and we left.

She had parked just down the street – almost in front of the precinct building. I made sure she got into her car; I had the feeling she wanted me to kiss her again – and must admit to having a similar desire myself – but knew my partner was waiting for me and abstained. I watched her drive off then took a deep breath and broke into a run. A block from the gas station I slowed to a fast walk and arrived two minutes later than expected. “You’re late, Rookie,” Dina chided, stepping out of the shadows of an abandoned pump.

“Ran into some acquaintances who tried to monopolize my time…”

“Our FBI buddies?”

“No – the lawyer, Mr. Pryce – and Tara.”

“Surprised you made it at all then,” she replied. “Anyway, you stay here – there are some good lines of sight out of here, and it is very easy to stay hidden – also easy to come out at a run, or take a careful shot if things go south. I will try to lead him here if I can, get his statement if I can't. If he wants to go to the station, I will call you to get my car – that’s it over on the corner there – and you bring it. Got it?”

I nodded. “Sounds like a good plan. Should I wait where you did?”

“Unless you can find a better spot, yeah.”

“Good luck.”

“You too,” she replied, flashing a smile at me. I could tell she was a little worried, but knew that would never slow her down, let alone stop her.

I glanced around. This was a very creepy place for a late-night meeting. I relaxed and allowed my senses to spread out over the area. I heard the sound of a man sleeping fitfully within the building behind me, smelled alcohol above the other, regular scents of the city, and was almost deafened as a motorcycle blew by, going well above any safe speed for an urban area. I sighed at this but remained in the shadows watching.

After a few minutes, people started leaving the bookstore. Most headed to a nearby bus stop, but a few went into the parking lot and drove off. Soon Dina was alone there, with three cars nearby and no other signs of life.

As the bus pulled up to the stop, Doctor Andreiopov emerged from the store, whistling something that sounded like classical music. He watched the others board the bus, and then walked into the parking lot. “Detective Genovelli?” he called out.

I heard her reply in the positive, and he walked towards her location. I had to concentrate to hear what was said past this – which was good – as it meant I had a slight advanced warning when things, predictably, went south on us.

“You said you wanted to tell me something about your sister?” Dina asked.

“Yes, though she felt it might be more instructive to show you…”

Suddenly one of the cars slid to the side, as if pushed by a tremendous force, as a large figure – one that seemed to grow larger as it approached my partner – shoved it out of the way in what seemed a casual manner!

This figure approached my partner with preternatural speed and, as I saw the knife in its hand, I knew I could no longer afford to hold back. Even from here I could see that her eyes glowed slightly and that the blade - the Demonblade - reflected that light.

My partner calmly reached for her gun, but I knew she would never get it out and disengage the safety in time – so I had to drop everything to focus on speed and defense.

The flesh on the arm that intercepted the knife blade, mere inches from my partner’s shoulder, was dark blue. The impact staggered me – nothing had ever hit me that hard before, at least nothing I could remember, and the knife drew blood.

I had never seen my own blood before; when the almost-but-not-quite human voice of the attacking giant asked me the very question that I had been considering asking it: “What are you?” my response was actually a reaction to the color of my own blood – “Indigo.”