The Vampire Diaries: Bound By Blood (Kindle Worlds Novella) by J.R. Rain Read Free Book Online Page A

until I remembered the blog. The author had an email address.
    Fifteen minutes later, I dashed off a rambling, slightly incoherent email that I sent via one of my dummy email accounts. If that guy could make heads or tails of my email, then he was a psychic.
    I grabbed a beer and dropped down into my overstuffed recliner—I was about halfway through it when I heard my email ping.

Dear Bloody Diary,
    Apparently, Stefan was right. Something very, very weird happened in the Mystic Grill earlier. Hell, they were still cleaning up the place when I got there. The first kid I came up to confirmed Stefan’s story: some kind of wind had blasted through there. The bartender didn’t know much more. Some sort of devil wind had appeared out of nowhere. No explanation for it. No doors open, no windows open, no fan on, and yet, it was knocking over glasses and throwing around salads like there was no tomorrow. But other than that, he had no clue what caused it. The wind stopped just as quickly as it had started.
    I next asked if he saw anything unusual after the windstorm, but he hadn’t. I sighed and wanted to break his neck for being so damn unhelpful, but I resisted the urge.
    I might be a creature of legend, but that doesn’t mean I believe everything I hear. The story of the Four Elements, I suspected, was just that—a story, no doubt concocted by some old witch high on her latest batch of witch brew. Truth was, I hadn’t a clue as to what I was looking for, and the grimoire wasn’t much help either.
    Still, as I drank at the bar and looked around at the mess—at napkins on the floor, silverware in piles, and broken glass still being swept, I felt in my dead heart that there was something to all of this.
    The meteor would herald the Four Elements.
    Wind was one such element.
    “Oh, give it up,” I said to myself. “You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
    I ordered another bourbon, neat, and, as the bartender brought it over, I grabbed his hand and pulled him toward me. I caught his eye and said, “You are to tell me everything you saw immediately following the windstorm.”
    He got the glazed look that I love so much when I compel someone. “Paper flying everywhere. Glasses breaking. Three people jumped up from their table directly behind you.”
    “What else?”
    “One man didn’t jump up. He stayed at the bar.”
    “Hollywood hair, long face, lips like a girl?”
    “Yeah, him.”
    “Was he alone?”
    “Yes.”
    “What else did you see?”
    “Two men sitting at the bar were standing over there. One of them had his hands raised.”
    “Hands raised? Why?”
    “No clue.”
    “What did he do next?”
    “He lowered them … and the wind stopped.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “Tall guy, slender, wide shoulders.”
    “You recognized him?”
    “Of course. He’s the local private dick.”
    “He’s a private investigator?”
    “Yes.”
    “What’s his name?”
    “Max Long.”
    “Max Long? Kind of redundant.”
    “It’s his name.”
    I shrugged and downed the rest of the bourbon … then I went looking for Mr. Long. He was easy enough to find. His office was just off the square a few blocks down, under some ratty apartments. I knocked a few times, called his name, stood there like an idiot for a few minutes, and then headed home.
    More to come.
    D. Salvatore

CHAPTER TEN
     
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    I was in my apartment, pacing, waiting for the phone call when I heard the knocking from down below.
    I didn’t have an appointment today, nor was I expecting anyone. Technically, I should have still been in the office, as it was just before six p.m. Then again, technically, I shouldn’t have been able to control the wind either. Things changed.
    The knocking came again, this time more urgently.
    I made a living out of following cheaters and catching the occasional bad guy. I’d sent a handful of people to jail, and I’d even testified against them in court. It’s why private eyes kept our guns around: We were known