chapter eleven
He had some memories of his host’s going to a job. It was somewhere in a tall glass office building. The host liked the view. Jack grew sick with dizziness when a memory of it from the host found its way into his thoughts. The host missed going to the job, missed his routine. The host screamed sometimes, too, called out for his family. Jack hated taking the time to push the host’s damaged mind back deep down as he had to do now.
He stood in the kitchen, pretending to look out the window over the sink, while he wrestled with the weak flailing of the identity covered over by his strong self. Someday soon, when the deepest and darkest of the necessary spells was accomplished, the host would be completely gone, the stray thoughts and memories obliterated. It would be so good to be completely alive then! Completely himself—and demon, too.
He pushed, pushed and finally beat the host’s soul down and away just in time.
Ted came into the kitchen, smiling, amiable, completely sneaky. “Your head’s not in the house, man. Whatcha thinking about?” the other killer asked. “You’re not looking at the rain, or the fence across the yard.”
Jack answered the first thing that came to him. “A gypsy girl. I was chasing a gypsy girl.” He ran a hand through his hair. It was true. He hadn’t been aware of this daydream while dealing with the host’s tiny rebellion, but images of a blond girl in a fringed, flowered shawl and many-layered skirts had run through his mind at the same time.
She’d been running. He’d been chasing. His heart still pounded with the exertion.
“Imagined it, I guess.” But he was hungry for her.
“I think you need some sleep,” Ted said.
“I’m not a vampire,” Jack said. “I don’t only hunt by night.”
Ted paused in pouring himself a cup of coffee. He gave Jack a hard, long look. “You’re not joking.”
“What do you mean?”
“You just mentioned vampires.”
Jack shrugged, headed for the door into the living room. Ted moved to cut him off.
“Vampires are real?” Ted asked. He mimicked Jack’s shrug.
“Why wouldn’t they be?” Jack asked.
“Why not? If magic is real, and demons are real—” Ted laughed softly. His expression grew cagey, greedy. “Tell me about vampires, Jack.”
“Why do you want to know? We serve a demon. A great, glorious demon.”
“Serve. Yeah. Tell me about vampires. Are they types of demons?”
“No. Demons and vampires don’t like each other. Demons will destroy them someday, then demons will take this world completely for themselves.”
“Vampires are from other dimensions, too? Like demons?”
Jack was appalled at this ignorance, and the insult to their Master’s kind. “Vampires are human. Only human.”
“Then how can they be vampires? Don’t they drink blood? Don’t they live forever?”
“Live forever? Yes, I suppose so. At least some are thousands of years old. Vampires are changed humans. It involves blood magic, I think.”
“You think?”
“I’m no expert on the subject.”
“Are there vampires here? In Chicago?”
“Of course. Come to think of it, we should start watching out for them.”
“Because they’re at war with the demons?”
“No. Because the psychics we’ve been harvesting for our Master are also the vampires’ prey. They won’t like the competition if they find out about us.”
Ted thoughtfully rubbed his jaw. He smiled. “Vampires, huh? I’m going to have to look into this.”
Jack left Ted musing in the kitchen. He didn’t care that the other killer was thinking about somehow taking advantage of this new knowledge. Jack did think he should warn Dick and John about looking out for vampires if they didn’t want to get eaten alive. They were stupid and needed constant reminders to be careful anyway. The Master could remind Ted of who his loyalty belonged to.
chapter twelve
Daylight in a strange city. Very hard to step outside the safety of his immobile body with so little to go on. Christopher was aware that the only mortal whose eyes and thoughts he could look through was in bed with him. He’d already had a bit of trouble picking her brain that day. Or perhaps she’d invaded his mind. They were going to have to have a talk about that when night came. He needed to get up and go, start the investigation properly.
She shouldn’t have been able to touch his dream.
He didn’t want her coming along while he worked. He felt like he needed to get up and tiptoe out of his own body.
Rise. Float. Move.
Don’t look back. Don’t look down—she might notice. Go.
He left so much of himself behind, but it was easier this way. Simpler. He was simpler. His senses were sharp but not so complicated.
It was raining as he rose beyond Ivy’s flat. Raining and windy, not that he could feel either, but awareness of the physical was important. He felt out directions. Rose above the streets. Higher. Higher. High enough to look without being found.
He sought his own kind, searched for the daytime-dulled energy of sleeping vampires hidden safely away. He found the groups gathered in nests of three or more, their property settled around them. He hunted for any signs of unaffiliated vampires—strigs, Ivy called them. Did the Enforcer of the City allow vampires without nests in this territory?
“Whatcha doing?”
Ivy was holding his hand, floating beside him. He stared at her. Her soft blond hair floated around her face. Her eyes were bright, her expression was full of wonder. Christopher forgot everything but her presence.
“What are you doing?” she asked again. “Where are we?” She looked down. “Ah. From up here you can see the curve of the horizon way out on Lake Michigan. What are you doing?” she asked a third time.
“I told you I was a tourist. What are you doing here?”
“Don’t know. This is a better dream than Jack the Ripper.”
He told her the truth. And he meant to scare her. “This is no dream. We’re really here.”
She laughed nervously. Looked down again. Her bright cheeks went pale. “Floating? Over Chicago? Me?”
“That’s right.”
Wide eyes looked into his. “That’s not possible.”
“Not for you,” Christopher agreed. “You shouldn’t have followed me.”
She was afraid now, uncertain. Her fingers convulsed tightly around his.
“Trust me, this is for the best.” He pried her hand away from his, let her go. Let her fall. “Trust me,” he called after her.
But all he received from her as she plunged away was a look of pure hate.
Ivy landed hard enough to jolt up off the bed. The fall woke her, but she realized after a moment that it hadn’t been a fall at all. It had been a dream of falling, like taking a step off the roof of a tall building and its seeming so real your body reacted.
“Whew,” she said. Her heart was hammering. She wiped sweat off her face. That had really seemed real. She was having the weirdest dreams today.
Today?
She carefully, slowly turned her head. The vampire wasn’t a dream. She tried to raise her left arm. The handcuff was still holding her prisoner. Not a dream, either. Just how long was it until the sun went down?
She looked toward the window. Rain pinged against the window, maybe there was some ice mixed with the raindrops. It seemed dark enough for it to be night. When was the vampire going to wake up?
And what would happen when he did?
“We can both go to the bathroom, for one thing.”
She jumped, then elbowed him in the ribs. The blow didn’t have much force as they were chained together, but his grunt was emotionally satisfying.
“I was going to be a gentleman and let you go first,” Christopher said.
She waved her free hand toward the bathroom. “Be my guest. Just don’t make me stand next to you when you go.”
&
nbsp; He sat up, bringing her up with him. She stumbled after him off the bed and over to where he’d left his coat. He took out the key and rearranged the cuffs, leaving her wrists fastened together in front of her.
“Won’t be a moment,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
He headed for the bathroom. She headed for the phone lying out in the hall. She ignored the voice-mail message alert beeping for attention and punched a number on the speed dial. Ivy did not call 911, but she did call the closest thing to it for a local mortal when a vampire was involved.
“Selena,” she said when her cousin answered, “I’ve got a vampire in my bathroom.”
“So do I,” Selena Crawford replied. “He’s a total sink hog. He’s supposed to be leaving, but he’s putting product in his hair. I swear grooming wasn’t so important to Steve when we first met. Then it was all ‘I’m big and mean and evil and you will obey,’ and now it’s ‘I’m big and mean and what do you mean are you going to wear that?’ I called you twice, at home and on your cell. Why are you only getting back to me now?”
“There is a vampire in my bathroom,” Ivy answered, figuring that was explanation enough.
Then she realized why Selena sounded so frivolous—because there was a vampire in Ivy’s bathroom, and vampire hearing was far better than any mortal’s.
“Point taken,” Ivy said, and hung up the phone. “Damn, damn, damn!”
Damn, damn, damn,” Christopher repeated Ivy’s complaint. He’d very much wanted to know more about who Ivy was talking to. He’d heard the name Selena the night he’d interrupted Ivy’s vampire hunting. The connection between Ivy and this Selena woman sounded strong. Too bad the conversation had been short, probably in some sort of code.
It would be interesting to see what came of this code.
In the meantime, Christopher looked through the medicine cabinet and around the rest of the bathroom. The contents of the room quickly showed him that she lived alone. He rather liked knowing that. Fortunately, he found a packet of razors and a new toothbrush. He was also fortunate to have the superhuman strength that let him rip open the complex shrink wrapping on the personal-care items with ease. Superhuman speed also came in handy in getting through the grooming rituals within seconds.
He found Ivy in the living room. She wasn’t heading for the door in a futile escape attempt but looking around unhappily at the mess. She was nervously avoiding looking at the word splashed on the wall.
Christopher concentrated on the one scrawled word. Mine.
Oh, no, he wasn’t having any of that. Mine was a word Christopher claimed in regard to this woman.
He put his hand over the spot, not quite touching, seeking any hint of energy left by the one who’d done this. Not a strigoi, he was certain of that. Something familiar, though. He closed his eyes, spread out his awareness.
“A mortal did this,” he said. “A mortal, but not quite.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I think I know what you mean.”
He turned back to her. “How psychic are you, Ivy?”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” she said. “You won’t get fat draining energy off me.”
He wasn’t planning on biting her. Not yet.
He touched his lips, remembering a kiss or two that came in dreams that weren’t dreams. He suspected he could get very fat off the magic in this woman’s blood. She didn’t know how strong she was. Well, he wasn’t going to tell her. He went back to looking at the graffiti.
He touched it, and red flaked off on his fingers. He tasted it. “Ketchup?”
“At least it isn’t blood.” She sighed with relief. “Who knew you could tag with ketchup?”
“The question is, who is following you? Who is trying to scare you?”
Ivy gave him a sharp look. “That would be you.”
“The other person following and terrorizing you.”
She gestured around the room, the handcuffs rattling. “You say someone was following me. You could have done this.”
“We were together when this happened.”
Ivy almost laughed at Christopher’s indignation. “Vampires stalk mortals they’re interested in,” she reminded him. “Maybe you’re trying to make me feel dependent on you, grateful to have a big, bad strigoi looking after me. I’m not flattered at the interest, by the way.”
“I’ve never stalked anyone.”
“You’re a vampire. You can’t help but hunt.”
“I—well—I’ve never tried to frighten anyone I wanted to seduce. Honestly. I don’t find fear appetizing. Not with a sexual partner.”
She held up her hands. “I do not want to hear this.”
“Where are you going?” he asked when she walked away.
“My turn to use the bathroom.”
“Wait.”
She stood stiffly as he came up to her, not knowing what to expect.
What she didn’t expect was for him to unlock the cuffs and take them from her. They and the key disappeared back into a hidden pocket inside his leather coat. He wasn’t the first person she’d met who carried handcuffs, but the others also carried badges.
He gave her one of his intense wide grins. “There you go,” he said cheerfully.
Ivy hurried out of the room, disturbed at how charming she found Christopher’s wide smile. Vampire, she reminded herself. Strigoi. Eater and enslaver of humans. Some time or another, he was going to smile at her, and his mouth was going to be full of fangs. Those long, elegant fingers would grow steel-hard claws. All that speed and wiry muscle would be used to bring her down swiftly, like a cheetah going after a gazelle.
Did cheetahs go after gazelles? She’d have to look it up. Not that he was as beautiful as a cheetah or she was as lithe as a gazelle—but that wasn’t the point, was it? The point was that as compelling as she sometimes found Christopher, he was still a killer, and she was still his prisoner.
She looked at the bathroom window and considered getting out the same way her stalker had gotten in.
“Don’t try it,” Christopher called from the living room. “You’d be bound to fall and break your neck.”
“Oh, some crazy guy has no trouble breaking in, but I’m going to clumsily fall two stories trying to get out!” she shouted back.
That’s exactly what I’m saying, he thought to her.
With even thoughts of escape not an option, Ivy concentrated on grooming.
chapter thirteen
By the time she returned, he’d picked up one of the overturned bookcases and was replacing the spilled books. She watched Christopher from the doorway as he glanced at each one before putting it beside the last on the shelf.
“You have esoteric tastes for a girl with a roomful of exercise equipment,” he said. His back was to her. “Folklore. History. Epic poetry.”
“Also fantasy and romance novels,” she said. “There’s a book on plumbing in there somewhere.”
He glanced her way, eyebrow raised. “No books on magic?”
“Left out in a public place?” Ivy laughed. “I don’t think so.”
“You don’t deny performing ritual magic?”
“No. Do you?”
He turned to face her. “Proof that we have something in common.”
“But I use my powers only for good. Thanks for cleaning up the mess,” she added. “Do you want coffee or tea?”
“Coffee.”
She slipped past him to go into the kitchen. He followed her in as the carafe began to fill with hot water. He took a seat by the central counter and took a deep, appreciative breath.
“That smells wonderfully brown.”
She knew what he meant, but his words reminded her of other odd ways he’d described things—sights, sounds, emotions, thoughts—they all came out in added perceptions for him, didn’t they? It was like everything had different dimensions for him, more dimensions than for everyone else, even psychic everyone elses.
“Synesthesia,” she said.
His astonished gaze flew to
hers. His eyes blazed red.
Ivy refused to run in screaming terror though it was an attractive option. Her voice did shake a little when she asked, “Did you always have synesthesia symptoms or develop them after you were turned?”
“Was I always a freak of nature?” he replied, voice low and dangerous.
She would not be intimidated though she noticed she’d backed up against the refrigerator door. “It must be wonderful,” she said. She forced herself to look into his angry red eyes, and saw the pain there as well. “It’s a rare mental condition, but not freakish. I’d love to be able to see sounds or hear colors. And to be able to add psychic gifts to—”
Christopher was around the counter before she saw him move. His big hands crushed her shoulders. His furious face was very close to hers. He frightened her badly enough that she would have sunk to the floor if he wasn’t holding her.
“How would you like to hear murder? See the colors of terror? It’s not all blue laughing and joy ringing bells or seeing numbers as distances. It’s—”
He let her go and turned away. Ivy took the opportunity to try to faint, but her constitution was too strong to allow her to do that. She did lean back against the refrigerator for support and crossed her arms to rub her aching shoulders. Crossed her arms to protect the core of her being from danger even more than to massage the pain.
Christopher went back to his seat by the counter. He was still furious but not at Ivy. What had she done, other than recognize, and even appreciate, the mental illness that had plagued him his entire life?
It was odd how she was the first person who’d noticed his sickness since he’d been turned into a vampire. He remembered how surprised he’d been to discover that, even as a vampire, he was different from others of his kind. How as a vampire his strange way of experiencing life became even more acute and complex. As a vampire, he was a freak among freaks. But it wasn’t as bad for him as it had been as one of mortalkind. He’d managed without the help of poor Mr. Morse since the servant he’d turned into a slave had died in 1922.
Personal Demon Page 8
