another.”
“I meant Subversion. I’ve not heard of it.”
“Oh, sorry, Lieutenant. It’s a club, on Second Avenue. They only operate once a month or so, and on special occasions, like Samhain-sorry, Halloween. When I heard about the murders, I immediately began looking for them. They led me to the club. There were two, a boy and a girl. By the way, not to confuse you, but they’re practicing vampirism too, the little bats. A second girl joined them. They had an awful spat, then she took off running. The two older ones followed her. I lost them after that. It was a rough night, actually. So many of these Goth kids think they’re psychic vamps, and they go to the clubs to feed. The energy is overwhelming, you see, especially on a feast day. It drains your energy-heck, it even affects me, and I’ve got a rock-solid shield. Feeding on others without express permission is a nasty, dark habit. We don’t approve.”
“You called them bats.”
“It’s a nickname for the Goths. Baby bats. In Wicca we call them Fluff Bunnies. But Fluffs are a bit different- they’re more poseurs, wannabes. These bats are for real, they’re just too young to be accepted into a traditional coven. Legally, you must be eighteen.”
“Bats,” Taylor said. “What did they look like?”
“The girl was tall, as tall as you, black hair, pale, of course, with green eyes. They were very green-they might have been colored contacts. She was in traditional garb, her makeup designated her as a RomantiGoth.”
“RomantiGoth? What’s that?” Taylor asked.
McKenzie finally spoke up. “There are a ton of subsects within the Goth community-fairies and industrials and neopunk, skimpy, gravers. I could go on and on. New ones pop up every day.”
Ariadne eyed him with interest. “So you are one of us?” she asked.
“Not anymore,” McKenzie answered impassively.
“Hmm,” Ariadne said, head cocked to one side. She turned back to Taylor. “It’s much more an American phenomenon. Darklings in the European sects don’t distinguish themselves so rigidly. We’re still so married to our labels.”
“Ah. Continue, please,” Taylor said.
“The boy was dressed similarly, but in black pants instead of a skirt. They both had corsets on, platform boots that laced high up on their calves, cloaks. His hair is short, cropped, dyed black. They were both made-up, but I’d recognize them if I saw them again. They stood out, made an imprint on me. The youngest was in makeup, but not as elaborately dressed.”
“If we showed you pictures?”
“Certainly.”
“What’s the difference between Goths and Wicca?”
“Oh, lots. Wicca is an earth-based religion. Goths are…well, let’s put it this way. Most people don’t like to be sad. The world says you have to be happy, to go, go, go. Goths embrace that darkness. They explore their sadness, and the sadness of others.”
She glanced at McKenzie, who nodded despite his obvious embarrassment. Poor guy was being laid bare in front of her. She felt for him.
“And the makeup?” she asked.
“A variety of self-expression. They like to disappear, to draw attention away from their corporeal being and to their spiritual side. The real ones are accomplished witches and warlocks-they understand paganism and all its iterations thoroughly. When you find this boy, you’ll find his spell book, what we normally call our Book of Shadows. It’s our most intimate accessory, full of hopes and dreams, spell work and notes, what worked, what didn’t. It’s a vital piece of our lives, and his will be full of clues for you. So will his altar.”
“It seems like they’re drawing attention to themselves by being different, instead of away from themselves,” Taylor said.
“Well, that’s the outsider’s way of seeing them. Most are searching, seeking, looking for their place in the world. They find the Gothic lifestyle and it fits them, like pulling on your favorite pair of jeans and knowing you look fantastic. It’s an emotional journey as well as physical.”
“But the black dress, the hanging out in graveyards. What’s all that about?”
Ariadne smiled. “Because they’re sad. But unlike most, they embrace that emotion. If you could stop, look inside, admit to yourself what is really making you unhappy, then try to alter yourself for the right reasons, for your own personal empowerment, you’d be much better off. It’s okay to be sad. You don’t have to be happy all the time. It’s healthy to let some depressive thoughts into your psyche, to think about the bad things that can happen without the judgment of society. Look at the Buddhists. They are a guiding force behind most disciplined Goths. Buddhist teachings tell you not to get attached to your emotions while you experience them. That emotions are simply a reaction to stimuli, that a sensation doesn’t define you. That level of self-awareness is the key to the gothic lifestyle. They mourn for mankind, basically.”
“They’re teenagers. How self-aware can they possibly be?”
“Very. You’re looking for an incredibly intelligent person, Lieutenant, one who is well-read, well versed in everything from mythology to naturalism to botany. Someone who has skills, who can be a natural leader. Someone who has learned that darkness carries a current, who thinks that they can feed off the energies of the night, and can scare the hell out of all of us who strive to work for good. And you may want to check his athame for blood. I assume that’s what he used to cut them.”
“What do you know about that?”
“The cuts? The pentacles? It was all over the news. It’s something to excite, to titillate. To guarantee it’s all that’s talked about. The killer is exceptionally egocentric-he wanted to leave his signature behind.”
Ariadne shifted in her seat, her tone more serious now. “This wasn’t some guy shooting from a clock tower, Lieutenant. This was methodical, planned, and it might not be over. You need to be looking for someone with a very special skill set.”
“Someone like you,” McKenzie remarked.
Untroubled, Ariadne said, “Yes. Someone like me. But I would never kill to further my goals. That is strictly forbidden. You of all people know that. Besides, it’s against my own personal code.”
“You know an awful lot about this, Ariadne,” Taylor said. “I can’t help but wonder how. And not through any of these gimmicks, either. You know details, and you’ve actively interfered in an official police investigation.”
“That is true,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips.
“We have a man in custody who says he committed the murders,” McKenzie said. “He also claims to be the king of the vampires.”
Ariadne threw up her hands, her long hair swirling around her like a wave. “ Tcha. The Vampyre Nation is a joke. They are parasites, vermin. This so-called vampire king is lying. The warlock who did this is too smart to turn himself in.” She paused for a moment, then said, “Though he will want to brag, of course. Has he sent you a letter yet? I thought I picked up words last night.”
McKenzie gave her a long look. “You’d make a good cop, Ariadne,” he said at last.
Taylor leaned back in her chair, eyes narrowed. What was the agenda here? Yes, this was a splashy case, plucking at the heartstrings of everyone involved. And it wasn’t entirely unusual to have people surrender themselves, admit to knowledge of the crimes. She’d had self-proclaimed psychics try to horn in on cases in the past, people who claimed they could see the missing, could communicate with their spirits if they were already gone. They’d always ended up being charlatans, glory seekers, redirecting the investigations to suit their own twisted purpose. She couldn’t take that chance, not on a case this big. She realized she’d made her decision already.
“Ariadne, I’m going to read you your rights. You understand that I’m going to have to treat you as a suspect-you’ve really given me no choice. This is for your protection as much as for mine.”
Ariadne nodded in agreement. “Do what you feel necessary, Lieutenant. I have nothing to hide-my heart is pure. You must do what your path tells you. I am not offended in the least. As a matter of fact, if you hadn’t, I might have been suspicious.”
“And why’s that?”
“Because now I know that you believe me.”
