“Okay, you guys. Each couple take one trunk and head out to some airport somewhere and when you get there use a FedEx service to send out the packages inside. The addresses are marked on each box of vaccine and be sure and pay cash.”
He reached into his pocket and brought out a large wad of cash, handing each couple several thousand dollars in hundred dollar bills.
“Elijah, you haven’t told us where to go,” Matt said, putting the cash in his billfold.
Elijah shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, as long as it’s at least two connecting flights from here. That’ll make it much tougher for anyone to trace, just in case Morpheus’s old gang is still looking to prevent the disbursal of the vaccine.”
Sam and TJ stepped forward and gave Elijah a kiss on the cheek. “See ya soon, Elijah,” TJ said.
“Hey, boys,” Kim said, winking at them, “Don’t stay away too long—we still have some unfinished business to complete.”
Matt and Shooter gave her a wave, inclined their heads at Ed, and led the girls through the big revolving door into the terminal.
Sam took Matt’s arm in hers and leaned against him, her face filled with excitement. “Where shall we go, darling?”
He pursed his lips for a moment, looking at the big bank of computer screens that held departure information. “Hey, how about Houston?” He pointed at the screens. “See, we can leave here in an hour, connect through Newark, and from there head straight to Bush International.” He turned to her. “We can be there in time to have supper with Shelly and Barbara and catch up on old times.”
“Wonderful,” she said.
Shooter said, “I think we’ll head for New Orleans. I miss that good ol’ Cajun cookin’ we had while we were there last year.”
“Yeah, and we can stop by and say hi to that nice policeman—what was his name?”
“Boudreaux,” Shooter said, “Bill Boudreaux.” He narrowed his eyes at her. “I remember the way you looked at him when we were there before. You had a crush on him, didn’t you?” he asked sternly, though there was a hint of teasing in his voice.
TJ nodded. “Yes, dear. I’m afraid it was the uniform. I’m a sucker for a man in uniform.”
He shook his head. “And to think I was a detective in plain clothes—just my luck.”
She squeezed his arm. “Yeah, but remember I came after you in spite of the fact that you didn’t wear a uniform. What do you think that means?”
He gave a grin and a shrug. “That I’m so handsome I don’t need a uniform to make you hot?”
She leaned back and punched his arm. “Sexist pig!”
“That means I’m right . . . right?” he asked.
“Yeah, darn it, you’re right,” she admitted.
* * *
At that moment, Jonathon Burton was stepping out of the limousine driven by the Secret Service agents assigned to him. He made his way up the walkway to the White House and entered by the private door on the side.
When he got to his office, his secretary glanced up and raised her eyebrows. “Good morning, sir,” she said.
“Hello, Mary Ann,” he replied.
She got to her feet and gave him a close look, frowning at his bloodshot eyes and pale, waxen complexion. “Goodness, sir,” she said, “you don’t look like you’re quite over the flu just yet.”
He glanced at her, his eyes narrowing a bit. “Yes, Mary Ann, it was a rather nasty case.” He paused, thinking for a moment, and then he added, “I hope you don’t get it.”
She smiled. “Oh, I doubt I will, sir. I took my flu shot already this year.”
He wlked toward his office. “Put on the ‘do not disturb’ light over my door, Mary Ann, and come into my office. I want you to go over the mail with me.”
When he got to his desk, he turned and began taking his coat off as she entered the room and shut the door behind her. Her eyes widened a bit when he loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt as well.
“Sir,” she asked, “what are you doing?”
He smiled as he began to give her mental commands to relax and be quiet. “Well, I wouldn’t want to get blood on my clothes, now would I, Mary Ann?”
“Blood?” she asked, suddenly feeling as if she’d had a couple of drinks too many. Her mind was fuzzy and she felt very relaxed, almost sleepy. She reached her hand out and put it on the back of a nearby chair to steady herself. She felt as if she was going to faint.
When Burton’s face began to change and melt, she felt a slight anxiety, but for some reason she didn’t call out or turn to run, but simply stood there, her notebook in her hands as he moved across the room toward her, scarlet drool dripping from his smiling lips.
As he bent down and sunk his fangs in her neck, she moaned and felt her sex become wet. With trembling hands and a wildly beating heart, she began to undo the buttons on her blouse. She didn’t have a spare in the office and she too didn’t want to get blood on it.
When the vice president reached down and made a tiny slit in his left wrist, she knew instinctively what he wanted her to do. She took his hand in hers, kissed the palm once, and then fastened her lips on the wound and began to suck.
She’d never tasted anything as good as the salty sweetness she swallowed greedily.
Chapter 23
Matt and Sam rented a car at Bush International airport and drove toward downtown Houston. While Matt fought the freeway traffic, Sam took out her cell phone and dialed a number by memory.
A female voice answered, “Hello?”
“Barbara,” Sam said excitedly, “This is Sam.”
“Why, Sam, how nice to hear from you,” Barbara Silver said. Her happiness at hearing from her husband’s old protégé was evident. “How are you doing, dear?”
“Fine, Barbara. Matt and I are in town for a short while and if you and Shelly are going to be home and don’t have other plans, we’d like to see you, maybe take you out to dinner.”
“Oh, good, we’d love to see you. Shelly should be home in a little while. But forget going out to dinner. I can cook for us here. Did you two have a big lunch?”
Sam laughed. “Only some peanuts on the airplane.”
“Then I’ll whip something up . . .” Barbara began.
“No, Barb, how about we stop by a deli and pick up some food for us to eat? That way we won’t have to worry about dishes and we can spend the whole time talking.”
“What a delightful idea.”
“As I recall,” Sam said, “both you and Shelly prefer Reubens, with plenty of hot mustard and sauerkraut and potato salad.”
Now Barbara laughed. “You know Shelly, dear, the hotter the better, and I’ll make sure we have some bicarb for later tonight.”
* * *
Both Sheldon Silver, professor of pathology at Baylor College of Medicine and Sam’s old boss, and Barbara were delighted to see Sam and Matt. Hugs were exchanged all around, and Sam even lied a tiny bit and told Shelly it looked like he’d lost weight since they left Houston.
“Bless you my child,” he said, beaming and patting her cheek, “but the truth, as I’m sure you can tell, is that my lovely Barbara keeps fixing such wonderful meals that I’ve actually managed to gain a few ounces.”
“Oy,” Barbara said, placing her hands on her cheeks and looking heavenward. “Ounces the man says. God forgive him for such a falsehood.”
Matt and Sam both laughed and Shelly led them all into the living room, where Barbara already had a light white wine chilling in an ice bucket.
* * *
The dinner was spent catching up on gossip around the medical center and talking about the good old days when Sam was studying under Shelly and Matt was head of the Emergency Medicine Department.
Shelly and Barbara, who’d been deeply involved with Matt and Sam in discovering that it was Elijah who was killing people in Houston some years back, knew about TJ’s conversion to a Vampyre and Shelly had helped the young doctors to try and figure out a way to cure her.
Final
ly, after they’d polished off their deli dinner and two bottles of wine, Barbara left them at the table while she went into the kitchen to prepare coffee all around.
Shelly, though he was a professor of pathology, was an astute diagnostician. He’d noted the telltale signs of Vampyrism on both Sam and Matt—the bloodshot eyes, the slightly phosphorescent teeth, the pale skin, and the piercing gazes. After he looked over his shoulder to make sure Barbara couldn’t hear, he leaned across the table and whispered, “I see there have been some changes since you two left here with TJ and Shooter.”
Matt, who knew from his thoughts that Shelly suspected they’d been transformed, nodded. “Yes, Shelly, there have. If you’d like, we’ll tell you and Barbara about the adventures that led up to them.”
Shelly leaned back in his chair and pursed his lips as he thought over Matt’s offer. Finally, he reluctantly nodded. “I must admit, dear friends, that you have indeed piqued my curiosity. If this was a voluntary transformation on your parts, then I am left wondering what could possible induce two such level-headed people to do such a damn fool thing, and if it was involuntary, then I am also left wondering why you haven’t approached your old friend Shelly to help you reverse this process.”
Both Matt and Sam laughed at Shelly’s convoluted though sensible verbalization of the situation. Barbara appeared just then and looked at Shelly with upraised eyebrows. “Have I missed something?” she asked as she put her tray down and poured everyone coffee into heavy mugs.
“Let’s go sit in front of the fireplace, dear,” Shelly said, picking up his mug. “Our friends have a tale to tell us that I’m sure will be most interesting.”
Once they were all settled in front of the fire Shelly had going in the fireplace, even though the temperature in Houston was in the low sixties, Matt gestured for Sam to begin.
She started with the last time they’d seen the Silvers, when they told them the year before that they wouldn’t be coming back to their practices in Houston. They hadn’t gone into detail then, merely told the Silvers that they were no longer in danger from Michael Morpheus.
“Remember how we said we were going to work with Elijah Pike, whom you knew as Roger Niemann, to perfect the Vampyre vaccine?”
Shelly and Barbara nodded.
“Well, we got it down pretty good, so that a Vampyre can take it and it stops the hunger, the Vampyre’s insatiable desire for fresh blood. While on the vaccine, the Vampyres are able to live an almost normal life, taking only small amounts of test tube blood occasionally.”
“The problem, as we found out,” Matt continued, “is that not all Vampyres want to be changed, or cured as we call it.”
Shelly glanced at Barbara with sad eyes. “That shouldn’t have been such a surprise, Matthew. Ever since man left the Garden of Eden, there have been souls who are evil, and who do evil, vile things for evil’s sake alone.”
“You’re right, Shelly, it shouldn’t have surprised us, but it did,” Matt agreed.
“At any rate,” Sam continued, “we found ourselves in a war with a group of Vampyres on the other side who wanted to stop the vaccine production and its distribution to members of their race who want to change, to become normal once again.”
She then told them in some detail of the apocalyptic fight in the snow of Canada with Michael Morpheus and his minions and how some of his followers were still on their trail, vowing to stop the virus production.
“Is this war the reason that Matt has decided to become one of you?” Shelly asked, drawing a grunt of surprise from Barbara, who hadn’t noticed. “Because you need more ‘soldiers’?”
“Only partially,” Matt answered. He reached over and took Sam’s hand in his. “Actually, it was more because of Sam. The Vampyre virus was keeping us apart, keeping us from ever being fully together. I changed so we could be as one for the rest of our lives with nothing to keep us apart.”
“And Shooter?” Shelly asked. “I assume he has done the same thing for TJ’s sake.”
Matt and Sam nodded, still holding hands. “Both Shooter and Matt are involved in some research to see if the abilities of the Vampyres can be improved by”—she hesitated, not wanting to get too graphic—“by technical means.”
Shelly looked at Barbara, who smiled back at him with tears in her eyes. “Well,” he said, also smiling, “you have our blessings, not that you need them.”
They spent another hour or so letting Shelly fill them in on the various promotions, divorces, transfers, and other personal goings on at the medical center and then they took their leave with tears in all of their eyes, promising once again to keep in touch.
* * *
After another hour or two spent visiting with Matt’s parents, who, much to Matt’s embarrassment, chided him for not “making an honest woman” out of Sam and marrying her, they pled extreme fatigue and told his parents they were going back to their hotel room to get some much needed sleep.
Once they were in their rental car, Matt turned to Sam. “How about it, darling, are you hungry?”
She gave him a slow smile, knowing that he wasn’t referring to hunger for normal food. “Why, as a matter of fact, I’m famished.”
“Do you want to go shopping down at the warehouse area at the docks or take in one of the rougher clubs downtown?”
She grinned and fluffed her hair. “How about a club? We haven’t gone dancing in a while.”
Matt put the car in gear and headed for a section of town the emergency docs had named Knife Alley for its propensity to provide the local emergency rooms with stabbing victims, and worse, over the years.
As he pulled up in a parking lot lit only by the glare of a nearby club’s sign, Sam put her hand on his arm. “Darling, since this is your first hunt since your transformation, I want you to pick out our guest for dinner.”
He grinned. “Oh, I plan to let our guest pick us out,” he said, getting out of the car and opening the door for her.
They entered the door to a place named The Jive Joint and walked through a crowded hallway until they came to a table that was empty. Except for a few white women who were obviously prostitutes that were dancing with black men, they were the only nonblacks in the place.
After a few moments, a young black woman wearing only pasties and panties approached their table. She was carrying a tray in one hand and was obviously a waitress. She leaned over and whispered loud enough to be heard over the roar of the speakers, “If I was you two, I’d leave this place as fast as yore little white feetsies can carry you!” She glanced around at the angry eyes staring at them from every corner of the room. “You in real danger here, whitey,” she said to Matt, “or don’t you care nothin’ ’bout your girlfriend what may happen to her if’n you don’t get your butts outta here?”
Matt grinned back at her. “Two Tanquerays and seven, please, with wedges of lime.”
The waitress shrugged. “Well, it’s your funeral,” she said as she moved off toward the bar area.
Matt took Sam’s hand and led her out onto the dance floor, where they began to dance. As people moved away from them, giving them plenty of room, Matt frowned and leaned his head down close to Sam’s face. “We’re being watched,” he said.
“No shit, Sherlock,” she replied gaily, not getting his meaning. “I think every eye in here is on us.”
“No,” he hissed, taking her hand and leading her off the floor. “I mean there’s one of us here, and I think I know who it is.”
They took their seats, finding their drinks already on the table. Before he could explain further, two large black men stepped in front of them and leaned down, putting their fists on the table. “Can we dance with your date, whitey?” one of them asked in a sarcastic, hostile tone.
“Both of you at once?” Matt asked, his voice full of good humor, with not a smidgeon of fear in it.
An even larger black hand appeared on the man’s shoulder before he could answer, and his eyes opened wide and his face screwed up in pain as he was
whirled around. “Go and mind your own business, Dawg, these folks are friends of mine,” Ramson Holroyd said in a low, menacing tone of voice.
The other black man at the table made the mistake of challenging Ramson, pulling his fist back like he was going to swing, when Ramson grabbed him by the neck and squeezed until the man dropped to his knees. “You got anything else to say, nigger?” Ramson asked, his voice now even and almost friendly.
“No . . . no . . .” the man croaked as his friend helped him to his feet and led him off.
“Mind if I have a seat?” Ramson asked, smiling.
“Not at all,” Matt answered. “Can we buy you a drink?”
“No, I won’t be here that long,” Ramson replied. He stared at Matt for a moment and Matt felt him try to probe his mind. Matt shut him down and pried Ramson’s mind open even though he was trying to block it. Matt immediately saw why Ramson had joined them.
“I see you’re now one of us, Doctor Carter,” Ramson said, still unaware his mind had been breached. He glanced around. “Are you two here for the music, or are you shopping for your next meal?”
Matt nodded. “Yes, I am one of you, Ramson, and as for our purpose here, that is none of your business. Now, why don’t you tell us about this group of renegades that’s on your mind?”
Ramson’s face showed his surprise that Matt could so easily read his thoughts through his mind-block. “How did you . . . ?”
“You’re as easy for me to read as a newspaper, Ramson,” Matt said, “and I already know what you’re gonna say, but why don’t you spell it out for my lady friend here?”
Droplets of scarlet sweat began to appear on Ramson’s forehead. He glanced at Sam, who smiled innocently back at him.
He pulled a wadded-up kerchief out of his jacket pocket and mopped his brow, leaving the linen cloth stained red. “I assume you are still in contact with our mutual friend, Elijah Pike, or know how to get a message to him?”
Both Sam and Matt nodded. Sam felt Ramson trying to get into her mind, but it was already strong enough after just a few sharing of blood episodes that she easily repelled him, causing him even further consternation.
Tainted Blood Page 17
