He grabbed his favorite hunting knife and entered.
There on the stainless-steel table was Pet, her tiny body taped facedown. Hovering over her was a man in scrubs with a scalpel. Pet’s little wings had been cut off.
“Step away from the fairy,” Damien growled.
The man looked up, startled. “Who the hell are you?”
“I am the man who is about to end your life. Now step away from my critter.”
“Damien,” Pet’s little groggy voice whimpered. “It hurts. I can’t feel my wings.”
The vet’s eyes were wide with terror. “Okay, but if you give me a chance, I can put them back on.”
Damien frowned.
“It’s not too late,” the vet urged.
Shit. Really? I just want to kill the guy, tailor.
Damien did, too, but fairies needed their wings. “Do it.”
The vet grabbed them from a little bowl on the table and started sewing. “See? They’ll reattach.”
“Why are you taking her wings to begin with? What are you doing with all the creatures in the trailer?”
The man clamped his lips shut.
“Tell me now, or I will cut off your wings next.” Damien wiggled the knife.
“They’re used in some sort of product, I think.”
“What do you mean?” Damien asked.
“I don’t know. Six months ago, some man came in and said he’d pay me money for harvesting parts. Five hundred per animal when they bring them in. A thousand if I source my own creatures. I really needed the money, and they said these things had to be put down anyway. They kill people.”
“Does that tiny purple fairy look like she goes around murdering humans?”
Just then, Pet wiggled out from under the tape and bit the vet’s hand with her sharp teeth.
“Ow!” He snapped his hand away, cradling it against his chest.
“What are you harvesting?” Damien asked.
“Depends. Wings, fangs, were hearts. There’s a list. I have to do the procedures quickly while the animals are still alive, or the parts are no good. Then I pack them on dry ice and ship them off.”
Damien suddenly realized that the den of depravity in the Browns’ basement had not been a sexual torture chamber. It had been another one of these harvest centers. They’d been sourcing their own immortals for the bonus cash. Then they’d likely abandoned ship after the story broke about sex trafficking. That’s why there were creature parts in the trash. They had to skip town.
“Where are the parts sent?” Damien asked.
The vet pulled out his phone and read off the address.
Damien’s knees went weak. It was the same address in downtown LA that Cimil had given him.
“What is the name of the company that pays you?” Damien muttered.
“SBP Pharma.”
What the fuck was going on? “You will release the creatures in the trailer brought to you. You will shut down this clinic. You will move somewhere far, far away, or I will send creatures after you that are so terrifying, you will prefer to take your own life than be ravaged by them.”
The vet nodded.
“Do it now. Sky, stay here until they’re all free.”
“Who-who are you talking to?” the vet asked.
“My poltergeist. And she wants to take your soul.”
A bottle of something flew across the room and crashed against the wall. A very nice effect.
“Go! Now!” Damien roared.
The vet winced, raising his hands. “Going!” He sprinted from the room.
“Damien?” Pet sniffled from the exam table. “I still can’t feel my wings.”
Her tiny wings sagged against her back, the threads of the sutures pulled free.
His shoulders dropped as he looked at the stupid idiot he had not grown fond of. Fondness would be a death sentence. However, he could not leave her like this.
“Your wings fell off,” he said tenderly, not wanting to alarm her. “Let me sew them back on.” He took out his travel sewing kit from his bag and chose the purple thread. “I am sorry the stitches won’t match, but this is the best I can do.” Damien sewed as carefully as he would if making a black silk bowtie. Every stitch a precise and equal distance. Only the smallest of stitches. No bunching. No snags.
After he was done, he wrapped her up with gauze. “Now do not remove the bandages until you are healed. Do you understand, Petra? And no attempting to flex the wings in any way. Rest them. Allow the tissues to reconnect.”
“Thank you, Damien.”
“My pleasure.” He dipped his head.
“Forget about me?” MF appeared in the doorway.
He had not. “Rescuing Pet from this butcher seemed more urgent. Are you all right?”
“Yeah. Apparently, ex-vampires are low value. They were probably going to use me for their next fundraiser.”
“MF, there is something I must tell you. I believe the gods are behind this.”
“Why would you say that?” MF jerked her head back.
He told her about the parts being harvested getting sent to the same office building Cimil used in downtown LA.
“That doesn’t make sense. Cimil said if I helped you out, I’d get to be a vampire again. She’s on our side.”
“But how else can we explain the address? Another coincidence?” Damien’s mind returned to the last conversation with Cimil. He recalled thinking something was off. She hadn’t been herself, and then she’d told him the gods had switched powers. After that, no one had showed up for their meeting, and the note left behind had mentioned the gods retiring.
Something wasn’t right about this entire situation, and he knew it.
“It is time to return to LA. After we shut down this festival,” he said.
“What about them?” MF’s eyes drifted to a small cage in the corner. Damien hadn’t even noticed them. Goblins with no eyes, were-rabbits with no ears, and three fairies without wings.
Damien wanted to open his heart to them. But he could not. Instead, he focused on duty. “They will come with us. We will make sure they find their way home.”
What more could he do?
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Some questions were better left unanswered. After almost two hundred years, Damien knew this to be true.
However, as much as he wanted to ignore certain facts, the coincidences were piling up. And, as he’d said many times before, when multiple random events happened to people, they weren’t so random. He had the distinct impression that he was a rat in a maze, being forced to chase the cheese.
He and his “crew” arrived late to his home in LA, including his bag of injured immortals, which MF took to her place for nursing. His Chihuahuas had joined the glum, silent flight back, feeling insecure about staying in Miami alone. An immortal body-part-harvesting ring was disturbing. No one had said much of anything during the trip, including Pet, who’d demanded aspirin instead of peanuts.
If he had a heart to give, it would go out to these creatures. How could anyone hurt such helpless things, let alone the gods who were supposed to protect them?
I hope I’m wrong about that. Damien poured a tall glass of scotch and went to sit on his private balcony with the view of his decimated backyard. A pile of dead coals sat where his meditation garden once stood. The pristinely manicured grass now had a black ring in the middle.