Page 28 of Unholy Gambit: Checkmate in Blood
He nodded. Vampires had been able to blur themselves on film photographs from the start, and the same effect worked with digital cameras as well as LIDAR and all the rest of the latest newfangled technology.
“I’m better than average at blurring. Thank you for your advice.”
She shook her head. “You Europeans and your correctness. You need to chill, Axel. Formal when it’s called for, but it isn’t between us.”
He nodded, and she left, vampire fast.
Too late, he realized he should’ve asked her if any of his enemies-of-old were in Chattanooga. His inquiries hadn’t turned anyone up besides Etta, but neither had he been able to obtain a comprehensive list. He hadn’t had time for a full security dive before leaving, which meant quick research and piecemeal answers that left room for dangerous shadows.
Axel drove to the rental house to park the car, showered, and changed out of the zombie costume. When he landed in a new city, he needed to see it from the inside, toknowit, as only walking allows.
He made his way downhill into the city’s after-hours hush, and breathed in the energy of the night.
Cool air drifted in from the Tennessee River. He passed the old-fashioned carousel and darkened shops, their lights dim but displays still reaching for the street. Most places were closed, but that suited him since fewer humans meant less distractions. He crossed the pedestrian bridge, pausing halfway to study the dark sheen of the water below, the rush of the current louder without cars to drown it out. The area around the aquarium still pulsed faintly with residual energy, tourists long gone but the stone and glass held echoes.
From there, he crisscrossed the downtown core, moving through the city like a shadow, following instinct as much as streets until he stood before the Chattanooga Choo Choo — and yes, the damned song came to mind. He ducked into one of the late-night clubs nearby, ordered a whiskey neat, and took a seat at the edge of the noise and movement, letting the room wash over him. No matter the continent, human nightlife is disorder in motion — pheromones, pulsing bass, performative desire, and mostly sad little mating dances.
He let the chaos ground him. A city’s scent lives in its humans.
After a half hour, he left the club and traveled west a few blocks, dealt with a few nuisance gang members, and then aimed his route back toward the river. The university grounds were quiet, the large auditorium dark, and the old courthouse loomed over empty streets like a relic of a sterner century. He passed the art museum and the sculpture garden on the bluff. The windcaught the hem of his coat, the silence gathered around him like fog. The night was made for moments like this.
A glass bridge, a stroll through an alley, and he recrossed the pedestrian bridge, climbed the hill to his rental.
Once inside, he pulled up a digital map of Chattanooga and traced his route, mentally marking off the areas he’d explored and flagging those he hadn’t. He also found the two billiard clubs Adelaide had mentioned in her text.
He’d see them soon enough, but tonight hadn’t been about recon, it’d been about claiming the shape of the city, about learning it’s rhythms and testing its bones.
The first steps toward calling it home.
Because he could move anywhere. Change names. Change lives.
But his Aurélie’s family was here. Her best friend.
Her roots ran deep in this city nestled between mountains — and she was his, so this city would become his, too.
Brick by brick. Block by block.
He’d learn the city until it became home.
Chapter 9
Aury sat in the too-comfortable chair again, and after the initial niceties, Dr. Woods said, “I’ve been assured you’ve been oathed, but…” He ran his hand through his hair. “Can you explain how the oath felt?”
“Like, not a click, exactly, but a snick, maybe? More like—” She hesitated, frowning. “Like a secondhand ticking, but deeper. Grabbier. Like a cat’s claws sinking into wood and holding on.”
“And then you were tested?”
“I couldn’t write the V in vampire.”
He nodded. “Marco has updated me to let me know my suspicions about your memories being overwritten were correct. When we went over those memories eleven years ago, when you were twelve, I didn’t catch the clues. They weren’t as obvious at that age, but looking back, reading through the transcripts, they were there, subtle, but I was thinking as a human psychiatrist at the time. It’s with age that I’ve learned to look for supernatural clues even when dealing with a human.”
“I don’t blame you, and it’s probably better I didn’t know all this at twelve, so it worked out. The thing is, he’s offered to let me see his memories of that night. He says he can’t restore what he overwrote in my brain, but he has perfect recall, and he can beam that memory into my head. I’ll see it from his point ofview, but it’ll be the entire thing, minus the part where he cut my mom’s arm off, since I guess he doesn’t want me to see that part.”
“But he can’t come to my office during the daytime.” He stood, stepped to his desk, leaned down to look at his computer. “I have plans this evening, but I have…”
He looked back to her. “From what I gather, he’s old enough to wake hours before sunset. I can go to him, wherever he is below ground, tomorrow evening. My last appointment ends at five o’clock, so however long it takes me to drive from my office to him.”
“I believe he’s in the Northshore area, so about fifteen minutes.”
