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The next day …

Saturday, November 27, 1999

6:00 p.m.

Dimitrios and Cody met Dr. Taylor in his office to review the autopsy report on Lester Bowers from the subway incident. Dr. Taylor sat at his desk, absently paging through the report with a jaded expression. “Sorry, guys. There’s nothing new I can tell you about Mr. Bowers. He died as a result of electrocution, which one could easily infer from looking at the crime scene. The gun found on the subway platform had his fingerprints on it, and no one else’s. Powder residue on Mr. Bowers’s hand indicates he fired it.”

“What about the blood they found on the platform?” Dimitrios asked, hoping that report would at least shed some light on this case. “Could the lab get DNA from it?”

Dr. Taylor shook his head. “The lab said they couldn’t work with the sample. It’s cross-contaminated, coming from multiple individuals.”

“Multiple? How many?”

“Impossible to say,” Dr. Taylor sighed. “There are numerous possible allele overlaps, and we don’t know if there’s been allelic dropout due to low copy numbers, if there’s been degradation, or—”

“We get it,” Cody cut him off with a sigh. “The blood’s useless.”

“Pretty much.”

Dimitrios folded his arms, mind wandering to another case—to Arnold Cline, the man found dead in the bay, but whose autopsy report indicated death not by drowning, but by complete blood loss. “It’s odd.”

“Yeah, it is,” Cody concurred. “We only found a small dribble on the platform. How did the blood of multiple people end up in the same tiny puddle?”

“It’s not just that. In the Arnold Cline case, the body had no open wounds, but it was completely exsanguinated. We have one case where there’s no blood, and now another case where there’s blood from too many people.” Dimitrios turned back to Dr. Taylor. “Would it at least be possible for the folks at the lab to compare the blood sample to Arnold Cline’s DNA and see if there’s … I don’t know, similar genetic markers or something?”

“I’m afraid not.” Dr. Taylor leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. “Researchers may develop a technique to separate blood cells in mixed samples for DNA sequencing within the next couple decades, but it’s not feasible as of right now.” He gestured to the autopsy report. “The only other thing I can report on is that Mr. Bowers had traces of heroin in his system.”

“Not a surprise,” Dimitrios said, his tone indifferent. “In Ms. Thorne’s statement, she said Bowers appeared ill, and the symptoms she described are typical in cases of withdrawal. He probably mugged her for drug money.” He gestured for Cody to follow him out. “If that’s everything, we’ll get out of your hair.”

“Sorry I couldn’t be of more help,” Dr. Taylor called after them.

“Don’t worry about it, Doc,” Cody replied, pulling the door shut behind him.

The two detectives made their way to the elevator and Dimitrios leaned his back against the wall while they waited for the lift to come to their floor. He pondered the two bizarre cases, one victim drained of blood with no open wounds, and a puddle of blood from multiple individuals at another scene. While he ruminated over these details, Dimitrios’s eyes drifted to his ring, a gift from his grandmother. His thoughts wandered, the ring on his finger and the peculiar blood-related facets of his cases stirring a childhood memory.

Six-year-old Dimitrios was staying with his grandparents in Athens, and his grandmother, Athina Apostolou, had just tucked the boy into bed in a small stuffy room that once belonged to his father. Athina was a thickset woman with long unkempt silver hair and severe gray-blue eyes—eyes Dimitrios inherited. She slid an old ring onto Dimitrios’s finger. The coiled gold and silver bands were looped in a square knot around an amethyst gemstone.

“This ring has been in our family since before I was born,” Athina whispered. “It will protect you.”

“From what?” Dimitrios asked in a small voice.

“From the striges.” Athina touched the boy’s forehead. “They can read and control your thoughts, but this ring will protect you from their influence.” She kissed the ring on Dimitrios’s hand. “Legend says a strix flies in the form of an owl, but they can take many shapes, even hiding behind human faces. They can be anyone.”

Dimitrios shivered and sank into his blankets. “How do I know if someone’s a strix?”

Athina turned Dimitrios’s hand over and brushed his palm with her fingertips. “Even disguised, you can recognize them by the fur on their hands, the claws on their fingers”—she touched Dimitrios’s lip—“or the fangs in their mouths.”

“What do they want?”

“They crave your life—the blood of the innocent. They especially enjoy the vitality of infants.” Athina rubbed the amethyst gemstone of the ring Dimitrios now wore. “They won’t be able to control you so long as you wear this. Never take it off.”

“Earth to Dimi,” Cody said, snapping his fingers in Dimitrios’s face.

“Hmm?” Dimitrios blinked and looked up from his hand—he’d been absentmindedly rotating his ring back and forth around his finger.

“Elevator’s here.” Cody gestured into the lift.

“Oh.” Dimitrios stepped inside with Cody.

“You zoned out for a second. Something on your mind?”

Dimitrios pushed the button for their precinct’s floor. “It’s just …” He paused and gave Cody an unsure glance. “Never mind.” Striges—vampires—Dimitrios stopped believing such nonsense when he was nine years old. His grandmother was a kook, and her stories were nothing more than superstitious drivel.

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