Paradox

by Jeanne C. Stein

  Frey shakes his head. “I told you Chael would be in touch. This was quick even for him.” He gestures to the paperback sitting on the bed. “What do you think? Is he right to be concerned?”

  “Maybe. I admit, there are a lot of similarities to my history in what she writes. She has a vampire contact, I’m certain.”

  “Do you think it’s Chael?”

  I look at Frey in surprise. That hadn’t even occurred to me. On the other hand… No. “It’s not Chael,” I say. “What would he gain by ratting me out and then telling me about it? Convoluted, even for him.”

  “Maybe.” Frey takes my hand and pulls me up. “But convoluted is Chael’s middle name. He’s here in San Diego. I’m overwhelmed with joy.”

  I reach up and tangle my fingers in his hair, bringing his face close to mine. “Let’s forget Chael,” I say. “We only have two months. Let’s make the most of it.”

  The next morning, the three of us are sitting at the breakfast table, planning our day. We’ve narrowed our choices to a trip to Laguna Beach or up to the Cuyamacas. I’m at the coffee maker ready to refill Frey’s cup and cast my vote when a cell phone rings in the bedroom.

  I tilt my head and listen. “It’s yours,” I say to Frey.

  He pushes back from the table. “Be right back.”

  But he isn’t. It’s ten minutes before he rejoins us, his face drawn and serious.

  “What is it?” I ask, alarm spiraling at his expression.

  “What’s wrong, Daddy?” John-John goes very still. He’s reading his father’s thoughts.

  Something I can’t do. “Frey, tell me.”

  Frey puts his arm around John-John’s shoulders. “It’s his grandmother. She’s had a stroke.”

  “Grandpa wants us to come back,” John-John adds. His eyes fill with tears. “He thinks she’s going to die.”

  “No, son.” Frey gathers John-John into his arms. “He didn’t say that. But she is very sick and he thinks she’d feel much better if you visited.”

  “Then we need to go.” I grab up my cell. “I’ll get the jet ready. We can be in Monument Valley by lunchtime.”

  Frey shakes his head. “You don’t need to go,” he says. “Stay here and we’ll be back as soon as we can.” He sends John-John to his room to pack and turns to me. “You know how things are on the reservation. John-John’s grandparents are very old fashioned. They are still mourning the death of their daughters.”

  “I’m the outsider who contributed to their death.”

  Frey takes me in his arms. “I know it wasn’t your fault but they can’t be objective. It’s still too soon.”

  John-John’s mother was collateral damage during my visit to the Navajo Reservation with Frey to see a Shaman that held the secret to mortality. While there, we became aware of a scheme to flood the market with fake Navajo artifacts. John-John’s mother had nothing to do with it, but her sister did. The two were together when the sister’s partners decided she could not be trusted. They caused the car accident that killed them both.

  I wasn't involved with the scheme or the accident, but I was with the investigation.

  Guilt by association. I couldn’t blame them. They lost both their daughters, one of which was their grandchild’s mother.

  I sigh. “I understand, but you just got here.” Dreams of our summer together fading before my eyes.

  “I promise, we’ll be back as soon as we can.”

  He kisses me. I hold on to him until I can bring myself to pull away. “Get ready. I’ll call the pilot.”

  He lets go of my hand. I watch him disappear around the corner and heave a breath.

  Our life will always be complicated. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t always right.

  I’m back from the airport. I unlock my back door and toss the keys onto the kitchen counter. Frey and John-John are on their way to Monument Valley and I’m alone.

  Again.

  When I call the office, David answers on the first ring.

  “It’s me. Anything going on?”

  “Here?” He sounds surprised. “I thought you were taking the day off.”

  “Change of plans. So if you have a job…”

  “Frey want to come along again?”

  “No. I want to come along.” I fill David in.

  Silence follows. “Wow. He wasn’t here long.”

  “He’ll be back as soon as he can.”

  “Why didn’t you go with them?”

  I can’t blame David for asking the question, but since he doesn’t know what I am, what Frey is, or how complicated our time in Monument Valley is, I struggle to come up with an answer.

  “Oh, before I forget—” David saves me by speaking first. “You got a call this morning. From Chael. He’s in town. Did you know that?”

  David met Chael at my wedding in France. “No. When did he call?”

  “About an hour ago. He said he tried your cell but it went right to voicemail.”

  I pull my phone out of my jacket. I’d forgotten I turned it off. When it powers up, Chael’s message is there along with one from David.

  “Did he say what he wanted?”

  “Said he wanted to meet you at The Flash at noon.”

  I glance at my watch. 11:30. “Guess I’d better get going then. But you didn’t answer me. Anything going on today?”

  “Nope. We have a meeting with Duke this evening, though.”

  Duke is one of the bondsman we work with. “What time?”

  “Five. His office.”

  “See you then.”

  David rings off.

  I snatch up my keys.

  I’m never thrilled to meet with Chael. He was in Monument Valley, too, when John-John’s mother was killed. I don’t consider him a friend now, but at that time, it’s not an exaggeration to say that we were enemies. We’ve come a long way toward mending those fences, but I don’t think I’ll ever completely trust him. I’m sure he wants to know what I’m doing about that author.

  The sun has burned off the morning fog, drawing beachgoers to the shore in droves. Joggers, skateboarders and roller skaters make maneuvering even the boardwalk a challenge. A leisurely fifteen minute walk morphs into a thirty minute game of human dodgeball.

  By the time I join Chael, my irritation level has entered the red zone. He looks at me and signals the waiter. Pointing to his own glass, he says, “Jameson. Neat. And one for the lady.” Glancing at me again, he adds, “Make hers a double.”

  “Isn’t it a little early?”

  “Not from the expression on your face.” He looks behind me. “Where are Frey and John-John? I thought they’d be with you.”

  I don’t want to go into details with Chael. Monument Valley isn’t a good memory and it hadn’t ended well for him, either. My family isn’t any of his business.

  “Why did you want me to meet you?” I ask, avoiding the subject and keeping my thoughts carefully hidden from his prying mind.

  He shrugs. “Trouble in paradise? He’s been home, what, five minutes?”

  My drink comes, and I gulp it, saving Chael from finding my hands around his neck.

  “Have you read the book?” he asks then.

  “About half of it.”

  “What do you think?”

  “If you mean we are in imminent danger of being outed by this hack writer, I don’t agree.”

  He arches an eyebrow. “Really? After all the similarities between you and her protagonist? Even down to the light curly hair on your head?” His tone doesn’t disguise his impatience. “What will it take to convince you we need to talk to this woman? Publishing your address? Photos of you, Frey and John-John?”

  “She couldn’t do that. She’d open herself for an invasion of privacy suit.”

  “But the damage will be done. You have gone to great lengths to hide your true nature from those closest to you—David, your family.”

  “Who’s going to believe vampires exist? She’ll look like a delusional crackpot.”

  Chael
is quiet for a moment. “I can see you don’t take this seriously. Maybe that will change when she comes after you.”

  My head snaps up, my eyes skewer his. “Why would she do that?”

  Chael reaches into a jacket pocket and withdraws a photograph. “Maybe you should see this.”

  I look down. The photograph is of Culebra, my Mexican friend who provides vampires a safe feeding place in his bar in Beso de la Muerte. People who are aware of the existence of vampires offer themselves as hosts in exchange for money or, sometimes, sex. Culebra is standing outside the bar smoking a cigar. “Where did you get this?”

  “From a reliable source close to Janet Carlysle’s publisher. He also happens to be a vampire and a very good friend of mine. He told me about her next project, a nonfiction ‘exposé’ on the secret life of vampires. She’s already set her sights on you—I think this photo proves it. It’s only a matter of time before she catches you going to Culebra to feed.”

  I look away. It’s true. When Frey is gone, I go to Beso de la Muerte to feed. “How could she know?”

  Chael shakes his head. “My source is trying to find out. But I took the precaution of arranging for Carlysle to have another unfortunate—”

  “You were responsible for the first attack?”

  “Don’t look so surprised. I was hoping to nip this in the bud before it got any further. It didn’t work. This time—”

  I bang my fist on the table, interrupting again. “Are you crazy? You’re confirming what she’s trying to prove! That vampires exist.”

  Chael blew out an exasperated breath. “This time it won’t be a vampire.” He speaks as if explaining something to a slow child. “This time it will be a mugging.”

  “How is that going to discourage her?”

  “She can't write another book,” he says softly, “if she’s dead.”

  Chapter Four

  I want to think Chael is kidding but I can see he isn’t.

  I narrow my eyes and put steel in my voice. “You can’t kill her. She’s an innocent.”

  “An innocent?” Chael’s tone is sharp, incredulous. “You don’t really believe that, do you?”

  “Chael, she hasn’t done anything to put us in danger. Has she turned anything in to her publisher besides this picture?”

  He shakes his head. “There are a couple of others, but so far, no pages. That’s why we have to act quickly.”

  “Oh, God.” I press my palms against my eyes. “Call it off.”

  “What?”

  “Call off the attack.”

  “Too late. It’s happening tonight,” he says. “Then we can forget all about her. I can go back home. You can have your magical summer with Frey and John-John. Isn’t that what you want?”

  “What I want,” I tell him, pushing myself back from the table, “is for you to take out your phone right now and call off the attack.”

  “What then? What’s going to stop her?”

  “I am.” As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I see something shift in Chael’s expression. “You son of a bitch,” I snap. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”

  He smiles. “I have a plane waiting for us at the airport. We can be in Los Angeles in an hour.”

  I glare at him. “Of course we can.”

  I expected Chael’s plane to be even larger than my jet so it’s quite a shock to have him lead me to a small twin-engine Beechcraft that looks like a Honda Civic with wings. It’s an even bigger shock after he consults with one of the ground crew, waves him off and opens the cabin door himself, sliding the airstair into position. He motions me to board.

  I look around. “Where’s the pilot?”

  “You’re looking at him.”

  I stare. “You’re the pilot? You know how to fly?”

  He chuckles. “How hard can it be? I’ve watched a dozen YouTube videos. It’s really simple. Besides, we’re vampires. If we crash, what’s the worst that can happen? Unless the plane explodes in mid-air, we’d just brush ourselves off and …”

  The look on my face must mirror the horror I feel. After a moment, Chael bursts into laughter. “Relax. I have my license. Want to see it?”

  I don’t know what surprises me more. The fact that Chael is a pilot or that the man who, until a few months ago, led me to believe he didn’t speak any English is now cracking wise.

  What else is up his finely tailored sleeve?

  He motions me ahead of him up the steps. “You better not be kidding me about that license,” I say.

  Chael laughs. “You’ll find out, won’t you?”

  The cabin of the Beechcraft holds four over-sized leather chairs. Chael heads for the cockpit and indicates with a jab of a thumb that I’m to sit beside him. I’d been in my own plane’s cockpit, but always as a visitor. This time I was to sit in the co-pilot’s seat. A new experience.

  Chael shows me how to buckle in and adjust the headset. He starts the engines. I listen to him chatter with the tower and his take-off instructions. A uniformed ground crewman approaches to remove the chocks from the wheels and signal that Chael is next in line to take off. Chael taxies into position and a minute later, we are airborne.

  Very different from the thrust and pitch of a jet, the Beechcraft feels like a butterfly rising on a cushion of air. Chael sets our course, then relaxes back in his seat.

  “What do you think?” he asks.

  “Very smooth,” I reply.

  “For local travel, you can’t beat a Beechcraft.”

  He sounds like a commercial.

  We are traveling so close to the ground, I can see the faces of people in the cars on the freeway. I have to admit, this is far less hassle than what I go through to get the jet ready for an hour’s flight to LA. By the time I contacted the pilot, filed a flight plan, and the crew prepared the jet, we could have driven there.

  “Do you know where Janet lives?” I ask after we’ve been airborne a few minutes. My voice echoes through the headset.

  He nods. “Got her address from that friend who works for her publisher. I have a car and driver waiting for us at the airport. He’ll take us to her house.”

  “What makes you think she’ll see us?”

  Chael smiles, but it's not warm. “Oh, she’ll see us. She thinks we’re coming to interview her for a magazine article. Her publisher set it up.”

  “You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” I reply with a snort. “Any idea of what we’re going to say when we’re face to face?”

  “Good choice of words,” Chael replies dryly. “I’m all for showing her what we’re capable of.”

  “We are not scaring her,” I say. “Got that? We need another way to convince her we’re too dangerous to play around with.”

  Chael shakes his head. “You’re mistaken if you think a soft approach will work. She’s already been attacked and that didn’t dissuade her.”

  I sink back into the seat. I hope I can convince her to drop this project. I wish I had the ability to compel her to forget, like TV vampires. All they do is gaze deeply into a human’s eyes. Unfortunately, that option isn’t open to me. Vampire to vampire, we can influence each other's minds, but vampire to human, not so much. A major design flaw.

  Chael’s voice breaks into my thoughts, getting landing instructions from the tower at Burbank Airport. We’ve arrived. I gaze down at the rabbit warren of buildings and crowded streets that cover every square mile of Los Angeles. City of Angels.

  A misnomer for sure.

  The Burbank Airport is a small, intimate airport, a respite from the chaos that is LAX. Chael is directed to a place to park the Beechcraft. He shuts off the engines and we deplane. A ground crewman approaches and after a brief conversation, Chael signs off on the flight and we are directed to the terminal. He is conversing telepathically with his driver, who directs us where to meet him. He stands next to a big Lincoln Town Car, and as we approach, opens the back passenger door and waits until we are inside to take his place behind the wheel.

>   He has an air of comfortable familiarity with Chael, which makes me think he’s one of the vampires in his tribe. There are thirteen tribes in the vampire world—Chael is the leader of the Middle Eastern cabal. I am the leader over all of them. Luckily, I don’t have to sit on a throne or conduct meetings. Vampire society is decentralized. Each tribe governs itself. The thirteen only gather for a watershed event—the last was my assuming the position of the “Chosen One.”

  I hope there will never be another.

  Chael introduces me to Abbas, the driver. We have to converse telepathically because Abbas doesn’t speak English. Vampires have their own version of Esperanto—thoughts are universally understood regardless of one’s native language.

  Still, I’m skeptical. “Does he really not speak English?” I ask Chael with a suspicious glare. “Or is he like you? Able to speak English when it suits him.”

  Chael grunts. “No. He really does not speak English. He’s only been in this country a few weeks. I brought him in to learn from my assistant, LeDoux.”

  “So how is he going to know where to drive us?” I ask.

  I get my answer when the engine turns on and a GPS recites directions—in Arabic.

  The Hollywood Hills are part of the Santa Monica Mountain range. Most people don't think of Los Angeles as having a mountain range. It's certainly not like the Rockies or the Sangre de Cristo Mountains. No peaks over fourteen thousand feet. No peaks over six thousand feet for that matter. The Hollywood Hills are a kingdom hidden in plain sight from the city of Los Angeles. Gorgeous views above the smog reflected in pricey real estate.

  We cruise along the city streets encumbered only by red lights and the occasional stalled car. We hit the Hollywood Freeway. This is why I hate driving in LA. No matter the time of day, freeway driving adds an hour to most commutes. I grind my teeth in frustration as it takes us forty minutes to travel the two miles to our exit.

  Chael remains quiet during the drive. He may be conversing with his driver for all I know. His thoughts are purposely closed off to me. My own thoughts are with Frey and John-John. Selfishly, I hope John-John’s grandmother is recovering and that they’ll be coming home soon. I’ll call Frey as soon as I’m back home.