Dallas remained on the outside of the iron fence, not wanting to shrink the space between them. “Drago doesn’t take sides. He told me what he wanted me to hear. Rest assured I won’t be any more shackled by what he said than you are.”
A sneer rotted the perfection of St. James’ aristocratic features. “Really. I find that hard to believe. You toil among the mortals here like you were one of them, born and bred. You obey their laws as well as any human.”
“For my own survival. The laws of man mean nothing to me otherwise, and Drago’s laws mean even less. If you doubt me, ask where your friend Conner is.”
Dawning realization, then anger, widened St. James’ dark eyes, and his spiked hair appeared to reach even higher to the sky. “What have you done with Flynne, you miscreant?”
“He was a naughty boy. He came to my house uninvited, so now he’s lying in my cellar with his heart ripped out. Fair payment for Sovatri.”
“Fair? Damn you, Aldgate! Sovatri was nothing but food. I invested thirty years in Flynne. He just recently was becoming useful to me.”
“Conner was a fool, and you know it. Is that why he struck your fancy? Like an ugly child, more loved because of it?”
“You were going to die tonight anyway, Aldgate, but now I’m going to make sure it’s a long and painful process. Just like it was for your lackey.”
Dallas couldn’t see any weapons on St. James’ person. The snug jeans and skintight shirt left few hiding places for guns and knives, but the tall grass surrounding the church could conceal enough weaponry for an army. Dallas had to bide his time.
“Was it you or Conner who killed Sovatri?”
“I had the pleasure. And it was. He was strong and full of rage at being divested of the mortal coil. It’s always so much more satisfying to feast off strength than weakness, don’t you agree? There’s no kick to destroying those faint in spirit.”
“I don’t know about that. Conner was a fool, full of himself and empty of caution. I don’t know if he was more wedded to you or his own bad judgment. Either way, he was loathe to give up the bliss of his simple-minded existence for the True Death. I was only too happy to give him a push in the right direction. And what about you, St. James? If the student is so much the fool, can the master be any different? You slather yourself with silver and gold, but they do nothing but illuminate your stupidity.”
St. James leapt over the iron railing that ascended the church steps, bringing him closer to Dallas. Dallas stepped backwards toward the road, careful not to step in the shallow ditch alongside the gravel.
“And what makes you any different, Aldgate? Are you, with your fancy house and fine car, not as great a fool?”
“I think not. The poor know best how to be rich.”
“Oh, spare me! You’re no different from me, and you know it. Enough of this. Don’t you want to know how I discovered your secret? The secret of eternal life?”
“No. Since I’m going to kill you, I don’t really give a damn.”
St. James jumped up onto the top of the narrow brick retaining wall at the edge of the steps. “No! This is my party! You’re here because of me, Aldgate. Me! You’re not here for Sovatri or Conner or Drago, or any of your self-righteous notions. You’re here because I wanted you here. And I want you to hear the whole story before you die.” St. James paused, standing on the retaining wall with the ease of a gymnast on a balance beam. “Correction. Before both of you die.”
Too late, Dallas sensed the same thing St. James did. The uniquely enticing scent of a human female. Miss Tia Martell.
TIA HAD WAITED until Dallas was out of sight, then turned off the engine and, with the shotgun in tow, followed him on foot up the road. At the intersection a sign leaning so far over as to nearly be flat on the ground commanded the Rodney traffic, such as it was, to stop.
Dallas had said the church was to the right. She sneaked a peek around the sign and saw Dallas and St. James in front of a dark building with a white cupola that she assumed was the church. She heard faint voices, but couldn’t hear what they were saying. Tia looked to her left. A small dilapidated wooden building rested on the corner, its porch overhang drooping like a sleepy eyelid. She hurried to the building, the gravel scrunching softly under her shoes, to find cover while she debated on what to do next. She ran onto the porch, only to be assaulted by a red, white, and black warning sign. Like the stop sign, the lean of the sign was a badge of honor of more than its share of battles. She peered closer at the sign in the moonlight and had to stifle a laugh. It was the all-too familiar “Neighborhood Watch” sign. Was it meant as a warning to the ghosts or to protect them?
She stood on the porch of the old grocery and pondered her next action. She wanted to hear what was being said, but was afraid to venture much closer to the church. Dallas had been adamant in his instructions, and his wrath was not something she looked forward to. On the other hand, if it came to a choice of suffering his anger or suffering his loss, she’d swallow the pill of his fury.
There were buildings set back from the road between her position and the church. If she moved from cover to cover, she could approach undetected. Tia drew a long breath and ran back across the intersection toward the church. The voices became louder, and she strained to decipher individual words. She had to get closer. From what she could see, Dallas stood by the road, and St. James paced the church steps. The latter was cavorting around like a playful child, not like a man who had been stabbed in the chest the day before. How could she have been so wrong about what she had seen with her own eyes?
She scurried to the back of the building to the south of the church, careful to stay out of sight of both men. The sounds were louder now, but the bass rumble of Dallas’ voice was harder to understand than St. James’ high-pitched voice. She caught something from St. James about discovering the secret of eternal life and heard Dallas respond that he was going to kill him. It seemed she had arrived just in time.
St. James started shouting, then all was strangely quiet.
“Correction. Before both of you die.”
It was St. James’ voice, but it was Dallas who grabbed her, yanking the gun from her grip. Where had he come from so quickly? Only a second before he had been twenty-five yards away.
“You idiot! I told you to stay put!” The growl in her ear held nothing of his slow drawl.
Before she could answer, laughter rang out, long and full of glee.
“Aldgate! And you call me the fool? I can’t believe you actually brought the female with you! Destroying her along with you just may atone for Conner.”
St. James bounded through the tall grass with the ease of a gazelle. Hadn’t the man been injured at all?
Dallas’ voice vibrated against her ear. “Take the Colt out of my waistband and stay behind me.”
She obeyed this time. The growl of an angry beast was to be respected. She ran her hand along his waist until her fingers found the grip of the Colt. His voice had been as cold as the metal of the gun, but the skin under his thin shirt was as hot as the night.
“No closer, St. James, unless you want a face full of silver.” Dallas’ words increased in volume as he brought the shotgun to his shoulder.
St. James raised his hands in mock surrender, his pale fingers splayed upward in imitation of his spiked hair.
“Have no fear, Aldgate. I plan on entertaining myself thoroughly before the deed is done. And now that we have an additional guest”—he paused to bow deeply to Tia with a flourish—“I feel it only right she be entertained as well. Good evening, Tia. Welcome to Rodney! Has Dallas been taking good care of you?”
He paused again, his full attention on her, not as though he expected a reply, but more like he was assessing her to discover his own answer.
“Ha, I see that he is. Your stink is all over her, Aldgate. You didn’t waste any time, did
you?”
The gun at Dallas’ shoulder never wavered. “Give me one reason not to blow you from existence this very minute.”
“Come now, Aldgate. Where’s your sense of fair play?”
“You’ve underestimated me if you thought I ever had one. Give me a reason.”
St. James wide smile shrank. “You’re spoiling the party, Aldgate. You want a reason? How’s this? I have two more of your lackeys. I forget their names. Richton and some other useless stripling. But rest assured I have them. They’re in a place only I know about, and it’s not a very healthy place.”
“I don’t give a damn about Richton or any of the others.”
“Dallas . . . ” she whispered, not understanding any of what was being said.
“Shut up!” He didn’t turn his head as he spat the words, and she was glad she couldn’t see his face.
“Don’t lie to me, Aldgate. I won’t suffer your lies as easily as Tia here does. Do you want to hear some truth, Tia? Then come along. The sermon at the Rodney Presbyterian Church is about to commence.” With that, St. James spun around and set off like a shepherd leading his flock to the fold.
Dallas kept the barrel of the gun on St. James’ back, but pulled Tia to his side so she could see his face.
“Tia, go back to the car. Now.”
“No. I’m staying with you.”
“Even if you don’t get yourself killed, you won’t like what you hear.” He made it sound like a threat.
“If I hear some truth at long last, it’ll be worth the risk. I’m not leaving.” She imbued her words with the same chill she had heard in his.
His eyes seem to blaze in a final moment of resistance before a look of regret tamped their heat, almost as if he were saying good-bye to her. Or as if he didn’t expect her, or him, to survive.
He nodded just a little.
“As you wish, Tia. Your eyes would have seen all in any case soon enough. So come along, as he says, and open yourself to the beginning of wisdom. If you can stomach the truth you want so badly, that is.”
With that he turned and followed St. James back to the church. When they arrived at the wrought iron gate, St. James was leaning against the red brick next to one of the church’s front doors, his arms crossed and the long grass hugging his calves like furry green boots.
“Excellent. Shall we go inside? Even though Rodney’s population is one less than it was at dawn, I don’t fancy being observed by the locals.”
“I’m surprised you stopped at one, St. James. Why didn’t you just do away with all the remaining residents and make Rodney a true ghost town? Oh, and by all means, break down the door. How long has it been since you’ve been in a house of God?”
Tia couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Was this the same man she had made love to only last night? Having the killer aura was one thing. Advocating the death of a town, even in jest, was something else.
St. James laughed and angled against the white door to his right, butting it with his shoulder. The move looked effortless, but the wooden door splintered. “Churches don’t bother me. Do they bother you? Remind you of your . . . deeds? And you misunderstand me. I’m here for you only. And now, of course, Tia, too. The lifeblood of this town, such as it is . . . ” He snickered again, this time with obvious disdain, and pushed in the door with a brandish of arms. “ . . . doesn’t interest me in the least.”
“After you, then,” said Dallas, his smile no friendlier than the barrel of the Remington that bobbed at St. James.
Jermyn disappeared inside, and Dallas pushed Tia behind him again. “Wait until there’s light.”
Seconds later, candles flickered from the altar table, and Dallas cautiously entered the doorway, Tia at his heels. He came to a halt, and she moved to his side, still a little behind him, but able to look past him. There wasn’t much to see. The candlelight sent shadows bouncing along the walls of the sanctuary, but little of the light reached Tia. The windows were all shuttered, and an overhang jutting out above her created a pocket of darkness at the entranceway.
“Choir loft?” she whispered, glancing up.
“Slave gallery.”
She felt stupid. Just what was she doing here with these two madmen who were bent on killing each other?
“This is as close as we’re coming, St. James. Speak your piece and let’s get on with it.” Dallas’ voice seemed to echo through the church, bouncing off the walls in time with the shadows.
“Did you see the sign on the wall outside the church? Dedicated in 1831. Do you remember what you were doing in 1831, Aldgate? I do.”
Did she hear right? What kind of gibberish was St. James spouting now?
“It was the year I found the ‘Fountain of Youth’ you had bragged about fifteen years earlier. Do you remember? You told my father ‘the Fountain of Youth isn’t in Florida, it’s in Australia.’ Well, after you ruined my father, I went there. I searched ten long years to find what you had gloated about. It wasn’t easy. I had nothing to go on, and Australia is not exactly known for legends of the Undead. But there were men in the bush who knew. And I finally found them.”
Tia’s head was spinning. Fountain of Youth? Undead? She wished someone would explain what St. James was talking about, but Dallas hardly looked in the mood to be answering questions.
“You want my congratulations? You’ve got more than you ever would have had as an earl. So why bother with me now? What will revenge gain you? Happiness? Power? Satisfaction? Justice? Will any of these brighten the darkness you live in? I know from experience they won’t.”
“Happiness? Is that what you aspire to? Happiness is a human affliction. Come now, Aldgate, you know what I want. It’s the same thing you want—to send others on a journey. One that begins with appearance, passes through truth, and ends with destruction.”
Tia eased backward to the still-ajar door. St. James was indeed mad. Madmen were the most dangerous to deal with. They lived so far from reality you couldn’t reason with them or invoke any kind of logic.
“Not so fast, Tia. You haven’t heard the whole story, have you?” shouted St. James. She couldn’t see his eyes from across the room, but felt them on her nonetheless.
“Come on, Dallas, let’s get out of here. He’s either seriously nuts or he’s on something,” she whispered.
He reached back and took her arm to prevent her from retreating any further. “No. You wanted to hear this, now hear it.”
“Yes, Tia, by all means, stay and enjoy yourself. Dalys here has neglected to tell you what he really is, hasn’t he?” The dancing pair of light and shadow over St. James’ face in the church made him more frightening than he had ever looked in the graveyard.
“Let me guess. He’s a homicidal maniac like you are,” she yelled.
Laughter rang out from the chancel. “Oh, far be it for me to deny he’s that. It’s not quite what I was referring to, though.”
“St. James, I warn you . . . ” Though Dallas’ grip on her arm was still like that of a vice, his attention was all on his opponent.
“Warn me what? You tell her, or I will.” Jermyn paused, and only silence filled the sanctuary.
She tried to tug her arm away from him. “Dallas? What’s he talking about? What’s all this crazy talk about eternity and the Fountain of Youth?”
He relaxed his hold on her, and she jerked her arm free. “Well?” she prodded.
“I don’t inhabit the same realm of existence that you do. Neither does St. James.” There was a strange quality to Dallas’ voice she hadn’t heard before. Not regret exactly, but sadness and perhaps resignation.
“I had kind of figured that part out. You’re both out of your minds.”
“No, Tia. It’s not what we believe to be true. It’s what is true. I told you that you wouldn’t like it. I was born human in 17
66. I haven’t been human since 1802.”
She bolted out the door. She ran easily down the steps and around the iron fence, but the long grass tangled around her feet and hid the shallow ditch along the gravel lane. She felt a sharp pain shoot up her leg when she placed her foot wrong, but kept going. She’d never make it to the car with a bad ankle and the speed she had seen them exhibit, but maybe she could find cover in one of the abandoned buildings across the street. She made it across the road, with feet slipping and sliding on the rough gravel, and slowed a little on the other side so as not to step in another ditch. She ventured a peek over her shoulder as she did so and saw nothing but the dark windows of the church, like shuttered eyes, and the white doors below, like a secret smile.
The large wooden building directly in front of her had all its windows boarded up. She kept running to find something not so formidable to someone trying to break in. She was soon rewarded with a small frame house with no car nearby, no lights, and high grass encroaching the building on all sides. She supposed someone might still be living there, but it didn’t matter. She had to find a place to hide. She pounded on the front door, then circled the house looking for a broken or open window. She found what she was looking for at the rear of the building, but the window was too far off the ground to make entry easy.
A single shot, followed by the distinctive boom of a shotgun blast sounded from nearby, and fear gave her the impetus she needed. She was up and over the broken windowsill in seconds, and lay sprawled on the floor where she landed, trying to catch her breath. Had Dallas killed St. James? She wasn’t sure what she had learned, but one thing she had discovered was not to assume anything. Could the legends she had heard possibly be true? She had laughed them all off as stories to lure tourists, but could ghosts be real? Dallas and St. James didn’t seem like ghosts. They were too substantial. Ghosts didn’t talk or make love. Did they? What else had she heard about? The spirit who wanders the night, looking for revenge. A vampire?
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