“With this many admirers,” Dominic chuckled, “you must feed well every night!”
“Why else would I risk getting so close to sunlight?” Contessa von Gunderson snarled, almost exposing her fangs. “However, I am forced to allow most of them to live. The Australians have an amazingly efficient police force, and I grow tired of creating a new identity every few decades.”
“Ah, but with this ring, you’ll never have to do that bothersome chore again!” Dominic boasted confidently, brushing back his wavy hair. “Of course, as vampires we don’t tan very well, but still ...”
She gave a laugh, the decision made. Rising from the lounge chair in a flow of inhuman grace, the contessa strode directly into the bright sunlight. She flinched as the warm rays touched her unnaturally pale skin, but when nothing seemed to happen, a smile grew on her face that slowly replaced the frightened look of dire expectation.
“This is amazing!” Contessa van Gunderson whispered, raising her arms high. “Dominic, you are a genius! I can ...” With a shuddering gasp, she faltered at the arrival of an explosion of pain, and weaved drunkenly as her skin began to quickly darken into an earthy brown.
“Help ... me ... umbrella ...” she wheezed, desperately reaching for the man, her eyes dead-white spheres.
With a strained gasp, she desperately reached for Dominic, but he merely studied the rapid disintegration of the woman until her empty bikini fell limply to the warm sand.
“Damn, I was afraid that might happen,” Dominic sighed as a nearby group of small children started running away, screaming in mindless terror.
Jerking alert on the guard tower, the lifeguard instantly started blowing on the emergency whistle, positive there must have just been a shark attack. After so many years on the job, he knew the difference between some drunken fool playing the Mickey and when somebody was honestly scared for their life!
As the entire population of the beach erupted into wild chaos, Dominic angrily strolled away. Another failure. He was running out of old friends to use in his experiments.
Still, it’s better than testing each new version of a ring on myself, Dominic noted practically, glancing at the old scars on his left hand.
As a swarm of police converged on the area, Dominic stepped behind a pushcart to get out of sight for a moment, then gestured with both hands. A surge of ethereal power coursed through every vein; his body seemed to expand, there was a brief flash of rainbow colors, and the man was safely back inside his converted warehouse located just outside of Savannah.
Starting to turn off the security alarm, Dominic bitterly cursed and quickly gestured again. With a flash he was back in Australia. Bending down, he jerked the ring off the skeleton hand of his dead friend.
“Stop right there!” a policeman bellowed, clicking back the hammer on his automatic pistol. “Put that back! You’re under arrest!”
“Am I, indeed?” Dominic laughed, dusting off the golden ring before tucking it into a pocket of his swim trunks.
Without pause, the policeman fired a round into the air as a last warning. But when Dominic turned away laughing, the policeman fired twice more, hitting him in the shoulder and thigh, nonlethal locations.
Enraged by the impudence of the fool, Dominic pivoted and gestured with both hands. His palms blazed with power, and the mortal burst into blue flames. As the shrieking policeman dashed madly for the ocean, Dominic jumped back to Savannah, supremely indifferent as to whether the fellow survived or not.
Appearing once more in the living room, Dominic quickly tapped a code into a keypad. The indicators on top were flashing red before he finished the long sequence, and he barely deactivated the alarm before the wall vents released a deadly torrent of nerve gas. The toxic fumes would not bother him in the least. However, they badly discolored the furniture, and made all of his clothing reek of military chemicals for weeks afterwards. That rendered his nightly hunt for food close to impossible without a colossal amount of dry cleaning.
Heading directly for the kitchen, Dominic grabbed a liter of AB positive from the refrigerator and sipped from the squishy plastic bag while starting down a long corridor. He was exhausted, and the blood put fresh strength into his body. He could do several short Jumps without any adverse effects, but three fast trips to Australia and he was ready for a nice long dirt nap.
Thankfully, he did not need to use a coffin anymore. The castoff rings he had stolen from Harmond removed that limitation. But after so many millennia, Dominic often had trouble going to sleep without the comforting confines of pine boards and the rich peaty smell of his native soil. The island of Atlantis was long gone, but would never be forgotten. It unexpectedly sank at the exact moment that damn carpenter’s son was born. A dire omen of future things to come.
At the end of the hallway was a bookcase packed solid with leatherbound classics. He touched three of them in reverse order, and the bookcase swung away to reveal a burnished steel door. Pressing his hand against the cool metal, Dominic felt the steel grow warm as the internal sensors checked his fingerprints against those on file. There was a brief pause, then the armored door slid aside and Dominic stepped over the threshold.
As the door boomed shut, the ceiling lights automatically flickered into operation to brightly illuminate his private office. Tossing the empty bag into a waste can, Dominic tried not to smile and failed. Technology and magic—where does one end and the other begin?
In the far corner of the office was a workbench covered with engraving tools and a blank ring set into a vise ready to be carved. The walls of the office were covered with shelves packed with occult items from around the world: shrunken heads, glass jars of ectoplasm, juju bags, crystal daggers, voodoo dolls and such, along with a staggeringly huge collection of supposedly magic rings that Dominic had never been able to get to do anything but turn his fingers green. They’re as useless as a three-way mirror in a leper colony! Briefly, Dominic smiled at the memory of the practical joke. Okay, even he admitted it had been a little cruel, but still damn funny.
Taking a seat behind a large mahogany desk, Dominic booted up a computer, then accessed the files on his experiments. Typing in the latest results, he noted that willingly giving the ring to a friend had been the last possible configuration of transference. Everything else, from construction and design to the cut of the jewels used for the eyes, had been tried in numerous different ways, and everything consistently failed.
All that remained was the type of material used: exactly what he had feared the most.
Leaning back in the chair, Dominic templed his fingers in somber contemplation. He had seen Harmond’s amber rings, and felt certain that they were made of bone. But what kind of bone? Briefly, he had experimented with human and vampire skeletons, along with a host of barnyard and jungle animals. Each of them had failed. However, there were still ten thousand mortal animals to try, as well as hundreds of supernatural creatures.
In anticipation of this possibility, Dominic had already tried mermaids, incubus, succubus, fairy, two gorgons, a yeti, and a chupacabra, which had been astonishingly difficult to find. At best, the results were pitiful: irregular bursts of weak magic, tepid amber coloring, and absolutely no protection from sunlight, holy water, or garlic.
Splaying the fingers on both hands, Dominic looked at his nine golden dragon rings, their jeweled eyes twinkling in the overhead lights. During Prohibition, he had managed to steal a partially carved amber ring from the colonel, and had sent it to a forensic lab to be analyzed in an attempt to discover the exact nature of the beast. However, the lab technician had discovered the true power of the ring and vanished with it in his possession. Dominic spent thirty years hunting the thief before finally admitting defeat. His one chance at learning the secret of the amber rings gone forever!
Could the rings actually be made from a dragon? Dominic wildly postulated. That seemed an obvious conclusion, and also patently absurd. Dragons were the only natural enemies of vampires in existence, aside from Hunters.
How could anybody kill a dragon without using a ring, in order to steal the bones to make a ring? Maybe nuclear weapons would do the job, but even those would be problematic, and the bones would surely be contaminated by radiation. It was a classic catch-22, seemingly without any possible solution.
With a snarled curse, Dominic swept the computer off the desk to smash against the far wall. There were simply too many unknowns and variables! After a hundred and fifty years of hard work, all he had managed to learn was that the rings had to be carved using silver tools, mined, smelted, and forged by their would-be master. But nothing more. At this rate, even an immortal might die of old age before uncovering the truth of the matter!
“There is no other option,” Dominic muttered, clenching his hands into fists. Somehow he needed to find a way through the magical defenses of Harmond House and find the colonel’s workshop. All of the answers to his questions would be there, waiting like plump grapes to be gathered and crushed into a sweet summer wine. So be it. Time for war.
Looking deeply into a wall mirror, Dominic stared hard, concentrating with all of his might. At first nothing happened; then slowly his appearance began to change into that of a handsome young man with golden blond hair ...
CHAPTER NINE
Situated on the fashionable bank of the Savannah River, Oakwood Apartments was a modest ten-story building surrounded by an acre of parkland, lovingly tilled by a small army of gardeners whose security credentials rivaled those of NASA astronauts. Its amenities included an Olympic-sized swimming pool, several gazebos, an underground garage, a boathouse, tennis courts, and a demure helipad.
Eight of the floors were private apartments for tenants whose combined income often gave professional accountants a nosebleed. The remaining top two levels were the private abode of the Coltier family’s only surviving heir, a well-known semi-recluse from high society who seemed to actually enjoy physical labor and occasionally drank beer right from the can. But that last part was only a whispered rumor.
Sliding into the garage, John wisely stayed where he was while Colt got out of the Rolls and strode away, his face a dour mask of consternation.
“Lord almighty, does he have it bad,” John chuckled, extracting the newspaper to continue his interrupted perusal of the daily events.
Petulantly ignoring the elevator bank, Colt took the stairs, desperately needing some exercise in spite of the fact that he was thoroughly exhausted in mind, body, and spirit.
Stomping up the marble stairs, Colt dimly recalled a quote from ancient mythology that those whom the gods would destroy, they first made fall in love. Well, somebody has really been paying attention to Life today!
Startled, he nearly missed a step. Love? He had never used the word before to describe anybody, except for a few blood relatives and the great state of Georgia. It was absurd that he should think of Rissa in such a manner. Utterly ridiculous!
Then Colt remembered her bewitching smile and those emerald green eyes, and suddenly it was difficult to breathe. When they almost kissed, he had caught a whiff of her perfume: gardenias and vanilla. An odd combination, but just thinking about it made him grin. Then Colt quickly glanced at the security camera in the ceiling to make sure that nobody had seen the lapse.
Reaching the top level, Colt threw off the reverie and pressed his hand against a glowing plate set into the wall. A bright light flashed as the biometric device read his fingerprints, then something electronic hummed and the door unlocked to swing aside.
Instantly, the smell of fresh coffee permeated the air.
The entranceway led directly to a living room whose elegant furnishings rivaled the White House in antiquarian splendor. That is, the original White House in Richmond, Virginia, not the modern version currently located to the extreme north in Washington, D.C.
“Welcome home!” Laura said from the sofa, lowering the Wall Street Journal. “I was getting ready to call out the National Guard.”
“Visited a friend,” Colt muttered, heading for the bubbling percolator in the kitchen. But then he changed his mind and angled toward the small decorative elevator normally reserved for the elderly, pregnant women, and party guests sadly unfamiliar with the devastating effects of Chatham Artillery Punch.
“Have a good time?” Laura asked suspiciously, laying aside the newspaper.
Shuffling his feet, Colt merely grunted in reply.
“I guess not,” she chuckled, slowly standing. “Okay, what’s wrong? You haven’t looked like this since your parents died.”
“Just tired,” he replied, stepping into the cage. “Is the museum gala tonight, or tomorrow?”
“Tonight. Why?”
“Send my regrets, and a nice check,” Colt yawned, hitting a button. “I’m going to stay home tonight. No more parties for a while.”
“Whatever you say,” Laura answered hesitantly, tracking the rise of the elevator. “What really happened, chief? You get hit by lightning or something?”
“Worse, a redhead,” Colt mumbled, just before disappearing from view.
Reacting as if punched in the face, Laura whipped out a cell phone and started hurriedly tapping in a memorized number ...
***
With a sickening lurch, Rissa was back in the mansion. Standing in the middle of the dining room, she was holding a burning sheet of parchment that instantly crumpled into ash and blew away in a whispery wind.
Feeling utterly exhausted, Rissa shuffled back into the sitting room. This had truly been an extraordinary day.
In the painting, the figure of her grandmother was sitting in a bentwood rocker, now reading a Tom Clancy novel.
“Vampires?” Rissa exploded as if holding in the word for years. “My grandparents are vampires?”
“Yes, dear, we are,” said the woman, smiling to reveal her long white fangs.
“Does this mean my father was adopted?”
“Good heavens, no! Your grandfather’s ring allows us live a normal life. David was conceived in a perfectly normal manner, although the birth took twenty hours, and let me tell you—”
“Please, no more flashbacks!” Rissa sighed, rubbing her temples. “Does this mean that I’m part ...”
“Yes, dear, you are.” Using a finger to hold her place in the book, the figure in the painting smiled. “Remember that terrible allergy you have to garlic? And how do you like your steak done?”
“I always tell the waitress just walk it quickly through a warm room,” Rissa muttered uncomfortably, sitting down. Melissa will flip when she learns about this! “Wait a minute, if vampires are immortal, then how come you’re old?”
“Because that’s what people expect to see,” the woman laughed, putting a strip of velvet into the book before setting it aside.
Reaching under her collar, it pried up a loose flab of skin, then abruptly pulled upward. There was a ripping kind of sucking noise, and her entire face came away to expose the younger, prettier woman from that foggy London night.
“Better?” the woman in the painting asked.
The oil painting has been wearing a disguise. “I need another drink,” Rissa muttered, fisting her temples. “Closely followed by a hot bath, and then chocolate.”
“Oh dear, this is serious,” it chuckled, folding both hands in her lap. “The liquor cabinet is over there, the guest rooms are in the east wing, and there’s plenty of food in the kitchen.”
“Sounds great. Which way do I go?”
A glowing red line appeared on the parquet flooring, angling into the hallway and down the corridor. “Just follow that, dear.”
“You know, we have these in modern hospitals.”
“Floors? I certainly hope so.”
Smartass. But at least now Rissa knew that she came by it honestly. Following the red line, she struggled to cope with the maelstrom of information roiling in her mind: rings, vampires, dragons, paintings, runes, Colt, magic!
There better be some ice cream in the freezer!
There was, but not for long.
Stuffing the dirty bowl and silverware into a huge automatic dishwasher, which in her opinion was magical all by itself, Rissa shuffled off to the east wing and took possession of the first bedroom that she found. It was spacious and as nicely decorated as the rest of the mansion, with gleaming woodwork, brass fittings, red velvet curtains, Irish lace doilies, and not a speck of dust anywhere. Magic, or maids? Either way, she was impressed. The bathroom was a religious experience, and the four-poster bed was large enough for a Roman orgy, horses and chariots included.
Stripping all the way down to her tan lines, Rissa checked the closet and was not very surprised to find an assortment of nightgowns in exactly her size, along with enough dresses, blouses, blue jeans and ball gowns to last until the Regency returned.
Choosing something cottony and comfortable, Rissa padded barefoot over to the bed and crawled under a silk duvet that smelled of fresh lavender. Fighting off a giggle, she sank into the mattress as if falling through a warm summer cloud; sleep came quickly.
Almost immediately, Rissa began to fantasize about what might have transpired in the basement with Colt. The ring on her hand flashed with heat, and suddenly she was falling through time and space once more, tumbling down into a bottomless pit of absolute darkness ...
Abruptly, her trajectory shifted; Rissa was now moving sideways and sitting in a rather comfortable chair. Slowly the swirling gloom became the interior of a late-model car speeding along a deserted street. The shiny pavement was dotted with small puddles, and Rissa could hear the rumble of thunder fading away as lightning flashed in the distance.
“Glad that’s finally over,” a familiar voice laughed. “There’s nothing worse than a spring storm in Savannah!”
Glancing at the driver, Rissa was surprised to find Colt behind the steering wheel, looking particularly dapper in a black tuxedo with a red carnation as a boutonniere ... She did a double take. Correction: the driver only appeared to be Colt, but a much younger version of the man, barely out of his teens, and sporting a full mullet with bushy sideburns. What the hell?
Belle, Book and Candle: A Fantasy Novel by Nick Pollotta Page 9
