The ringing phone jarred me from a sound sleep. Sleep is something I haven’t had a lot of since I transferred to sunny Florida. I stumbled out of bed and found the fashionable torn pair of jeans, I had just climbed out of not five hours earlier. I decided on a clean white tee shirt. Even half asleep, I slipped my loaded 9mm Sig into the holster on my right hip with ease, stepped into my sneakers, and grabbed the black blazer that hung next to the door. My name is Bright. Carly Bright and I’m an FBI supernatural profiler. Don’t get excited, it’s a fancy name that allows my colleagues to harass me, that’s all.
I graduated Summa Cum Laude from Langley along with a handful of other “Supernatural” profilers. After my extensive training, I was assigned to investigate cold cases in cold ass Virginia. Not what I had trained for, but I wasn’t going to quit. I liked the perks of being an agent. For one, I’m the type of girl who gets warm, fuzzy feelings from the cold, hard, steel of my 9mm Sig pressed against my side. And second, I wasn’t going to waste my sometimes brutal, but extensive training just to walk away. Not now that I’d graduated.
The bureau started supernatural profiler classes while I was at the academy because that’s when vampires officially came out of the coffin. The position offered more pay, more vacation time and a hell of an insurance policy. While in training, we had the privilege of interviewing several vampires that willingly helped our cause, they taught us how to deal with thier kind for a healthy exchange of blood.
For real interrogations, we armed ourselves with crosses and squirt bottles filled with Holy Water and marched our asses into an interrogation room, only to find the said vampire laughing so hard, they would sometimes fall out of their chairs. It wasn’t until later when I met Tamara Hightower, who informed me that crosses and holy water were a myth. No wonder we became the laughing stock the vampire world. Shortly after that, the bureau put our division on the backburner. C’est la vie.
I wasn’t going to let the cold cases interfere with all the training I received and started building my own vampire dossier. It wasn’t easy believe me, no one wants to talk about their clans much less their Masters or Mistresses. Apparently, there’s some kind of mental connection between them that leaves the underling open to mental scans from their superiors and revealing pertinent information could result in the informant’s true death. I’ve questioned a lot of vamps and learned about most of the clans, but the Hightower name rattled my curiosity. As soon as the name passed my lips, everyone would clam up. Even other clan members seemed to suffer from an extreme case of tight lipness when it came to them. I guess it was supposed to drive me away, instead, it spiked my curiosity and I dug deeper.
I finally convinced a human donor, yeah as in a blood donor to trust me not to reveal her name, and she informed me of the current whereabouts of one of the actual Hightowers, not their underlings. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to study a member of their royal family. I mean that’s what I had been trained to do. I convinced my partner Calvin Anderson, to join me, and we headed north. New York. Where all the strange, mutated, human and supernatural converge.
I certainly hope that I spiked your curiosity and that once I'm established on the web, you'll come by and visit me. In the meantime, leave me a comment. I'd love to hear from you!