CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The misty air of the south Savannah warehouse was sweet with the smell of marijuana and wild honeysuckle.
Echoing with the guttural sounds of passion, the bedroom was dark, illuminated only by the soft glow of a single sputtering candle precariously placed inside a frosted glass ashtray, a souvenir of the Sydney Opera House. Alongside the candle were a couple of empty bottles of wine and two Tiffany-style crystal goblets, one of them stained with lipstick.
The riveted steel walls of the room were lined with bookcases and softly humming refrigerators, the huge mahogany wardrobe nestled in the corner almost an afterthought. On a nearby wooden dresser, a pair of smoldering incense sticks rose from the back of a smiling brass Buddha, his left hand raised in universal greeting, his right extended sideways in the contemporary symbol of peace. Alongside that was a glass display case containing three ceramic monkeys in the classic postures of see no evil, hear no evil, and speak no evil.
Scattered pieces of clothing led from the locked steel door and across the room to culminate at a small bed, a pair of trousers neatly folded over the headboard, a white bra dangling from the arm of a swing lamp bolted to the wall.
“Hot damn, you’re good,” Laura groaned, collapsing backward onto the sweaty sheets.
“Well, I’ve had two thousand years of practice,” Dominic chuckled, rolling off the bed.
“It shows,” Laura purred contentedly, gloriously flexing her muscles. She felt wonderful, even if portions of her anatomy were a trifle sore. Do all vampires have an oral fixation? She certainly hoped so. That would be a definite plus in their new relationship.
“More wine, my dear?” Dominic asked, walking naked across the room.
“Sounds wonderful,” Laura said, enjoying the view. Dominic had a magnificent physique. His shoulders were broad, and his chest was stocky with layers of muscle. She hadn’t seen anybody with this level of raw physical strength since her early days working on the Perth docks. “Built like a west coast stevedore” was the highest compliment possible among Aussie sailors.
“Chardonnay this time?”
“Shiraz, if you have any,” Laura said, easing a hand under a pillow to extract an automatic pistol.
“Of course!”
She clicked off the safety. “Australian?”
“Only the best.”
Stopping at the doorway, Dominic gestured, and a pair of dusty bottles obediently floated around the jamb. Grabbing them by the neck, he proceeded back to the bed, popping off the corks with his sharp thumbnails.
As he poured the glasses full once more, Laura aimed the gun at his back and pulled the trigger. There came a low click as a tightly rolled joint popped up from the top and a flame came out the barrel.
“Okay, back to business,” Laura said, tucking the joint between her lips and applying the flame. She paused to draw the dark smoke deep into her lungs, and let it out slowly. “When are you going to Turn me?”
“After we have the secret of the rings,” Dominic replied, passing her a glass before accepting the joint. He inhaled for a long time, then let the sweet smoke out even slower. “Until then, you must stay mortal. The defenses of Harmond House are impressive, and so far, impregnable.”
Scowling, she took a sip of the wine. “But I want to be immortal!”
“That would be inadvisable at the moment,” Dominic said with a shrug, returning the joint. “First and foremost we need to get inside that workshop!”
“All right, what if something were to happen to Rissa?” she asked, tapping some loose ash off the end onto the steel floor. “Would the mansion go up for auction?” Reaching the ashtray would have required her moving, something that was quite impossible for the next few minutes. If her bladder called, it would just have to wait until the strength returned to her shaking legs.
“I suppose so,” Dominic said, draining his own goblet.
“And if she died in a fiery car crash?” she began, taking another long drag.
“Can you arrange for such an event?” Dominic asked with a puzzled frown.
“I know some people,” Laura croaked, trying not to exhale, then finally succumbing to the biological need for fresh oxygen. “They’re discreet and reliable, but very expensive.”
“Perhaps they even knew your first two husbands?”
She smiled. “Who can say?”
“An interesting idea,” Dominic chuckled, refilling the crystal goblet. “Unfortunately, the house would still be sealed against us. The colonel has been building layers of protection around his workshop for centuries. Such defenses can not be negated with a simple bomb or bottle of poison.”
“Pity,” Laura said, laying aside the tiny nubbin of the leafy joint. “All right, what if we crashed a plane into the mansion and destroyed the workshop?”
“What would that accomplish?” Dominic asked, sipping the dark red wine.
“They would have to build a new workshop, and it would not be as heavily protected,” Laura replied, running a palm along his muscular forearm.
“I seriously doubt that it would work,” Dominic murmured thoughtfully. “But even if it did, the girl might have no idea how to make a ring, and then we would have lost everything!”
“Aren’t the rings you make good enough?” Laura asked, tickling her way across his flat stomach. “Their magic is very impressive.”
“Bah, they’re mere toys in comparison!” Dominic snarled.
Really? That’s interesting. “Have you considered kidnapping her parents to use as leverage against the Yankee bitch?” she asked, taking away his goblet.
“Of course, but sadly, that is quite impossible,” Dominic said, starting to breathe deeply. “They’re as well protected as she is. Even their home is covered with decades of defensive runes.”
“Pity. Then what about Colt? She would do anything to save him.” Laura could feel the beat of his heart under her fingertips. It was different from her own, a quadruple beat, and that was oddly exciting for reasons she did not fully understand.
“Unfortunately, we can’t touch the man,” Dominic snorted. “Or anybody else she holds dear.”
“Why not?”
“They’re also protected by runes. Very similar to the one I put on you. Any significant danger, and they automatically Jump to safety, even if unconscious.”
“Any danger at all? Or just an attack from another vampire?” Laura asked, casting away the rumpled sheet. In spite of their earlier exertions, he smelled pleasantly of sandalwood soap.
“I don’t know for sure,” Dominic whispered, running his fingers through her tousled hair.
“Then we have to find out,” Laura stated, taking his hand to kiss the palm. “We need to test the limits of the colonel’s runes and find a weakness. Even if there are none, perhaps we can still use that to our advantage.”
Advancing closer, Dominic loomed over the woman. “And how do we accomplish that?”
She looked up. “By giving me one of your rings.” There was a single drop of shiraz on his lower lip, a glistening red jewel that reflected the flickering candlelight.
“An interesting idea,” Dominic growled, the wine trickling along his jaw to fall onto his muscular chest and work its way downward. “Now convince me the plan will work.”
“Of course,” Laura whispered, submissively leaning forward to lick up the tiny runaway ...
***
Standing impatiently in front of the mansion, Melissa Somner tucked away her cell phone and tried the door buzzer again. There was still no response. Damn it, Clarissa, where are you?
Finding the secretive Harmond House, although mansion was a better word for the place, had been relatively easy since Rissa had sent her a picture and the address.
However, approaching the front gate she felt a shiver run down her spine at the sight of the arcane symbols woven into the iron lace. She recognized most of them:
ancient runes, hex signs, holy symbols, and spirit totems. Exceptionally powerful
stuff, and all of it strictly protective. There was even lavender planted near the entrance for good luck.
Antebellum mansion, my ass, Melissa noted, grabbing hold of the iron gate and squeezing the iron bars. This place is a flipping magical fortress! The last thing she had ever expected to encounter was Fort Voodoo smack in the middle of downtown Savannah, surrounded by rattling trolley cars and antique fountains. Whatever Rissa was involved with was clearly chockfull of old magic, dark secrets, and forbidden knowledge.
Just thinking about that made Melissa tingle with excitement all over. I must get in on this sweet deal! Ah ... purely to help her good friend, of course.
Studying the huge mansion, Melissa could vaguely feel the mansion looking at her, using the windows like eyes, but she honestly had no idea what the unseen watcher might be. Perhaps a chained demon? Or an enslaved sprite? Maybe even a pet genie? It was the same kind of feeling Melissa got whenever she met a friendly pit bull. Wagging its tail and smiling widely, the deadly animal had no intention of ever harming her, unless told to do so by its master. Then she would instantly become a chew toy. Standing on the sidewalk, Melissa could sense that she was safe, but any attempt to get past the gate would be tantamount to suicide. Post hoc, ergo propter hoc! As mother always used to say.
Setting down the bowling ball bag, Melissa zipped open the top. Touching the crystal ball, she mentally demanded to see a way into the mansion. The crystal swirled with an ethereal cloud and cleared into a view of the front gate. Is there really no other way inside? Melissa silently demanded. Maybe an underground passage, secret doorway, or hidden tunnel?
Obediently, the crystal fogged into action, and showed the front gate again.
“Are you sure?” she demanded skeptically.
The view did not change.
With a sigh, Melissa zipped the bag closed and walked to the Cadillac parked at the curb. Opening the trunk, she deposited the bag between the SCUBA tanks and a parachute, then petulantly slammed the lid shut. It was maddening to be this close to major magic and refused admittance!
Resting against the car, Melissa checked her cell phone for the umpteenth time. However, there were no replies to her barrage of e-mails, voicemails, or text messages to Rissa. With no other choice, she hit the number for her store.
“Grand Arcana!” MacTeague answered promptly. “How may I help ... oh, it’s you, chief! What’s cooking, good-looking?”
“I want you to close the shop for a few minutes and throw the bones,” Melissa directed, glancing sideways to make sure none of the people passing by could hear. Several of the women were scowling in open dislike of her low-cut black dress, while the men were having a hard time looking above her neckline. Melissa didn’t mind them staring; it was the drooling she found undignified.
“The bones! You sure about that?” MacTeague asked with an audible gulp.
“Absolutely! I need to find out what is happening down here!”
“I thought you were always what’s happening?”
“Ah, how sweet. You’re fired.”
“What ... again?”
“Just check the bones, please?”
“Sorry, chief. No can do. They’re ... ah ... out being cleaned.”
What in the nine levels of hell does that mean? “Did your dog eat them again?” Melissa sighed, lowering her head.
“Yeah, afraid so,” MacTeague muttered, then he brightened. “Hey, I can use a Ouija board!”
“Never!” Melissa snapped in outrage. “Ouija boards are vile propagators of pure evil!”
“Really?”
“Of course! My tarot cards told me so.”
“Well, okay then.” Softly in the background came the ting-a-ling of a door chime. “Customers! Gotta go.”
“Blessed be,” Melissa growled, terminating the call.
Glumly looking at the mansion, so near and yet so far, she drew in a deep breath and bellowed at the top of her lungs, “Rissa!”
Same as before, there was no response.
Just then a Rolls-Royce parked at the curb in front of her Cadillac, and out climbed a tall handsome man in a neatly pressed business suit and snakeskin cowboy boots.
“How d’you do, ma’am,” he drawled, resting an arm on top of the roof. “May I help you?”
Anywhere, any time, stud. Tall and broad, with the body of a professional boxer, the fellow was devilishly good-looking, and smoothly rugged, as if a biker had been merged with an astronaut. Tasty. There was a hint of a tattoo under his sleeve, and another just below the collar line. They both looked military, and Melissa promptly pegged the man as a private investigator or a bodyguard. There were small scars at his temples and under the jaw, the telltale marks of plastic surgery, and yet his nose had obviously once been broken but never fixed. He had damage repaired, but nothing else altered. Better and better.
That was when Melissa spotted the break in the flow of his jacket that indicated he was carrying a gun in a shoulder holster. Another plus. She liked guns. They were as close to real magic as Melissa had ever been able to obtain in the past. The new crystal ball notwithstanding.
Of course, Sigmund Freud had said that guns were merely a phallic symbol. But then, he had also said the same thing of cigars, chopsticks, fenceposts, candles, and pencils. Personally, Melissa thought that Freud must have been gayer than the Logo channel, and simply wanted to live in a world filled with penises. Which was not altogether a bad thing, in her personal opinion.
“Maybe you can help at that, kind sir,” Melissa said demurely while slightly arching her back. “I’m a close friend of Rissa Harmond, and she’s expecting me, but ... ” Turning, she gestured accusingly at the mansion.
“Shoot, I’m afraid she’s on a date with my employer, Emile Coltier,” he replied with an easy drawl. “And from the way those two were looking at each other, I’d bet we won’t be seeing either of them again until next spring.”
“Goddess, I hope so!” Melissa sighed in relief. “It’s been a long time for her, and Rissa needs a good spring cleaning.”
That took a moment; then the man threw back his head to howl with laughter. “John Danvers,” he announced, ambling closer and thrusting out a hand.
“Melissa Somner.” As they touched, she felt some definite current flow and she would have been delighted to see how things progressed. But at the moment she was exhausted, and the only thing Melissa wanted in bed right now was some much-needed sleep.
Then John smiled, revealing previously unsuspected dimples.
Okay, maybe not the only thing, she quickly amended.
“Would that be Miss Somner, by any chance?” John asked with a touch of hope in the tone.
“Yes, it would. Oh, dear, your wedding ring fell off!”
John arched an eyebrow. “Don’t see how; I’m not married.”
“Good to know,” Melissa said, giving his hand an experimental squeeze.
“Yes, it is,” John said, gently squeezing back before letting go. “Now I can’t place the accent, but I’m betting you’re not from around hawr. Not too many Southern gals would dare that much ink in public, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
Wait until you see the ones under the dress. “Good guess. I’m originally from Detroit,” she stated proudly. “Where did you get your own tats ... prison?”
“Close. I was in the National Guard when Katrina hit, spent a couple of months driving food convoys down in Nawrleans.”
She smiled at his correction prononciation of the name. “Lovely town; I spent a year there one afternoon.”
“Me too! Small world, eh?”
“Not too small, I hope.”
“No, ma’am!”
She stepped closer. “Please ... call me Melissa.”
“John. Big John to my friends.”
“Close friends?”
“The closer the better.”
With a subdued click, the traffic light on the corner changed and a steady stream of people moved by the man and woman. Tourists took pictur
es of everything, while the locals politely ignored the courting couple.
“You know, Melissa, there’s a splendid little cafe around the corner,” John said, indicating the direction with a head tilt. “Be mighty happy to buy you a fine cuppa coffee.”
“Love to, but I drove all the way from Chicago and couldn’t be more tired if I was a week dead and unburied.”
“I know a good hotel close by, too,” he stated, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t know if they take Nosferatu, though ...”
Smart, sexy, and a smartass. She wasn’t that tired, and as the old saying goes, There are few problems in life that cannot be fixed with a hot shower, a shot of whiskey, and a good long fuck. True words, indeed!
“I don’t know, John,” Melissa hedged, just to see what his reaction would be. “Is it safe to leave the cars here?”
“In Savannah?” John asked in shock. “Little darling, we could drop a packet of cash on the sidewalk and nobody would steal it for five, maybe ten minutes!”
“It would never even hit the ground in Chicago.”
“Well, there ya go.” He extended the crook of an arm. “May I escort you to brunch, Madame?”
“You’re not ashamed to be seen with me in public?” Melissa asked, sliding her arms around his. “I’m not your average gal.”
Briefly John looked her over, his smile growing steadily wider. She was pleased that he glanced at the vast amount of cleavage on display, which was normal, but soon switched to her face, which showed good manners. If this is a seduction, handsome, keep it up! You’re doing fine.
“Sweet lady,” John slowly drawled, “I’d be honored to be seen naked with you at the entrance to Heaven.”
“You had to throw in the naked part, eh?”
“How else you gonna know that I think you’re ten different kinds of wonderful, and that I keep wondering if you’ve ever read the Kama Sutra?”
“Read it? I annotated my copy to fix all of the mistakes.”
Patting her arm, John started walking. “Angel, we’re going to get along just fine”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Belle, Book and Candle: A Fantasy Novel by Nick Pollotta Page 15
