by Lori Devoti
“The party is here?” Lindsey asked. The house appeared to be locked tight with no signs of life inside, but in her usual carefree manner, Emilie swished past Lindsey and her objections, and after only a slight tinkering with the front door, they were inside.
Lindsey reached for the light switch, but Emilie brushed her hand aside.
“Not yet. You don’t want to ruin the surprise.”
“Surprise?”
“Yes, for your cousin, of course.”
“Oh.” So Karin didn’t know Lindsey was coming. Lindsey couldn’t see any reason for the surprise, but she didn’t want to spoil Emilie’s plans either.
The other woman moved ahead of her, apparently completely sure of her path in the dark.
Suddenly realizing her eyes had adjusted quite well to the dark as well, Lindsey followed.
“So Karen lived here?” The house was old, and the furnishings were too. Lindsey couldn’t imagine that her cousin had actually lived in these surroundings, but perhaps the home had been redecorated to match its past.
“With her husband.” Emilie moved quickly through the house until they were standing in a small backyard surrounded by a vertical log fence.
“Her husband?” Lindsey had, she realized, imagined her cousin with the same solitary existence that Lindsey’d had, at least before whatever relationship Karin had had with Rodrigue. She certainly hadn’t imagined her cousin married.
Emilie, busy walking past a row of lilac bushes and toward a raised area of ground, waved her hand in dismissal. “He’s dead. Long dead.”
“Oh.” This news was unsettling. Trying to think if she had said anything that might have been insensitive to her cousin’s loss, Lindsey pulled her eyebrows together.
There was a creak of old metal against metal, and the scent of damp earth reached out to Lindsey. She raised her eyes to see Emilie was standing beside the mound which she now realized was some kind of root cellar.
Instinctively, she took a step backward.
Emilie held out her hand and nodded toward the open door. “You can wait here until everyone arrives.”
Lindsey shook her head. “No. I can’t.” The thought of stepping down into the small dark space sent quivers of panic through her.
“Don’t be silly. You’ll be perfectly safe. There’s even a light.” Emilie reached to the side and unhooked a battery-operated lantern from a nail near the door. She flipped it on, and a warm yellow glow lit a circle of space about five feet around her.
It wasn’t enough. Lindsey shook her head again and turned to move back toward the door. “There has to be a room inside the house, somewhere that I can—”
The vampire from the roof, and her nightmare, stepped out of the backdoor and into the backyard. The air around Lindsey seemed to chill; she couldn’t move.
“Montclair! I am handling this.” Emilie’s voice was sharp.
Lindsey turned to the side, then back. The yard was fenced. There was no escape. The vampire, ignoring Emilie’s objection, advanced toward her.
Lindsey spun back to face Emilie. “Emilie, we need to get out of here! He’s a vampire!”
Her friend sighed and lowered the lantern. “Yes, that he is.” Then she raised the lantern back up and smiled. Her smooth even teeth were gone—replaced by fangs.
Cold sweat beaded on Lindsey’s body. She pulled in a breath, but the air didn’t seem to make its way to her lungs. She stood frozen for a second, shock making it impossible to move.
A twig snapped under Montclair’s foot, and reality hit. Vampires had her—or would soon.
She sprinted toward the fence and leapt. Her fingers touched the tops of the pointed logs, her stomach slammed into the rough wood, and she threw her leg upward, scrambled to make it up and over the barrier.
But Montclair was right behind her, reaching for her. His hands wrapped around her waist, and he pulled her from her perch.
She screamed and tried to fight. She threw elbows and legs, pummeling the vampire with every bit of energy she could muster. But the punches seemed to do nothing to slow the vampire down as he turned and walked back toward the cellar.
Harry had been right; there was no disabling. Lindsey needed to go for the heart, but she had no weapon, nothing except her screams and flailing limbs to save her.
Neither of which seemed to have any impact on the vampire.
Lost in a tidal wave of disbelief and terror, she continued to thrash, bite, and curse, but the vampire kept walking until he stood at the top of the root cellar’s stairs.
“Hold the door,” he instructed Emilie, his voice calm as if discussing the weather. Then he tossed Lindsey down the steps, and the door slammed shut behind her.
Chapter Fourteen
Harry had driven as fast as he could down Highway 55. When he turned off at the exit for Ste. Genevieve, it was still two hours until midnight.
This close to the magic hour, Marie Jean wouldn’t strike, he told himself. Even the self-absorbed vampire could wait two hours to gain the amount of power that was at stake.
At least, he prayed she could.
The historic streets of Old Ste. Genevieve were empty, the businesses closed and the tourists gone home. Harry drove down a narrow street toward one of the oldest homes in the town—the house originally owned by Marie Jean’s husband. It was where all of this had begun; where, if the stories he’d heard were true, Marie Jean’s husband had abused her to the point she went insane and swore revenge on everyone who had refused help to her.
Harry parked a few blocks away. If Marie Jean had already arrived, he didn’t want to alert her to his arrival. He didn’t want to alert Emilie or Montclair either.
He had, despite his frequent annoyance with Emilie, trusted her more than any vampire besides Brett. He had, to some degree, considered her a friend. But their prior relationship wouldn’t save her this time.
By stealing Lindsey, she had shown where her loyalties lay.
He crept onto the front porch and knelt down, inhaling the muggy air drifting up from the nearby Mississippi and the telltale scent of vampire.
Emilie and Montclair were both here—which meant Lindsey must be too.
Knowing there was little chance of surprising a vampire, he kicked in the front door.
It flew back with a crash. The room was dark, but it would be. Vampires were as comfortable in dark as in the light, and this event was definitely staged for a vampire.
Depending on his dhamphir senses to tell him where they might be, he strode forward, then immediately swerved to his right—just in time to move out of Montclair’s way as he rushed forward, fangs extended.
“It’s Harry!” Emilie cursed.
Rodrigue hadn’t called ahead, hadn’t warned them of Harry’s arrival. Harry logged the thought away and reached into his boot. Dagger in hand, he thrust forward.
Steel hit steel.
Montclair, it seemed, had a weapon of his own.
“Where is she?” Harry yelled.
“Who?” Montclair’s face was its usual mask of boredom, but his eyes gave away his calm. They were angry and intense—focused.
“Lindsey.” His arm burning from the effort of holding Montclair’s stake back, Harry swung with his free hand, hitting the vampire in the temple.
The vampire ducked and laughed, as if Harry was a child batting at his knees.
Momentum kept Harry moving. He spun, his gaze landing on Emilie standing farther back, her arms over her chest and a cross look on her face.
“What did you do?” he asked her. “Are you so lovelorn you would trade Lindsey, who trusted you and thought of you as a friend, for this monster’s attention?” Montclair had been hunting Lindsey for Rodrigue. Emilie must have known that, must have thought giving Lindsey to him would make him forget whatever had gone on between them in the past.
Emilie’s eyes narrowed. “Careful or you will burn a bridge you can’t afford to lose.”
Montclair laughed again. “She’s right. Your exits
are limited enough as it is.”
Rage filled Harry until he could feel it pulsing from his heart to his fingertips. Driven by its power, he lunged toward the male vampire and drove him back into the wall.
Crockery crashed to the floor. A spinning wheel collapsed into rubble.
His hand around Montclair’s throat, Harry ignored it all. Ignored everything except the call of his vampire half for blood. He adjusted his blade in his hand and lashed downward toward the vampire’s heart.
A bowl of water splashed him in the face. Holy water. Blinded, Harry staggered backward. From his place against the wall, Montclair screamed.
o0o
Damp seeped from the cool earthen wall through Lindsey’s shirt and onto her skin. She pulled her knees to her chest and forced herself to breathe.
She had her eyes closed, blocking out the dark. A strange thought, but with her eyes shut, it was easier to pretend she wasn’t locked in a small space underground.
The box had been bad enough—
She’d survived that. She would survive this.
Something moved in the dark. A squeak.
She pulled her legs tighter against her chest and lowered her forehead to her knees. She was in her room…on her bed…
Except she wasn’t and no amount of telling herself that she was would convince her mind.
She was underground—worse than the box, worse than a coffin—underground, like a grave.
The squeaking grew louder and closer. Whatever it was had moved, was by the door now. Lindsey gritted her teeth and tried again to take herself somewhere else.
She breathed in, expecting the cold damp underground air she’d been inhaling for the past tortuous hour, or however long she’d been trapped here, but this air was different…scented, like…lilacs.
She opened her eyes and looked up.
Moonlight streamed into the space. The door was open, and someone was stepping inside.
Unsure whether to be happy or more panicked, she leapt to her feet.
“Lindsey? Are you in here?” A female voice, accented and familiar, called.
For a second, Lindsey couldn’t place it; then her cousin shoved the door all the way open and spoke again. Against the backdrop of the moonlight, Lindsey could see her silhouette now. Her cousin’s clothing clung to her body, showing her curves clearly.
“You are.” There was a note of satisfaction in Karin’s tone. Her hand holding the door open, she said, “You need to come. They’re fighting, and when they are done…” She let the sentence die off, leaving Lindsey to guess at who was fighting and what would happen when the battle was finished.
Not that it mattered. She was already moving toward the scent of lilacs and freedom.
o0o
The room filled with the smell of boiling vampire skin. Harry would have reveled in the scent if his own skin and eyes hadn’t been burning too.
Holy water wouldn’t do the damage to a dhamphir that it would a vampire, but it was enough to give Emilie a chance to step between him and Montclair.
Eyes blazing, she tossed a brass spittoon onto the floor, splashing water on herself as she did. Welts immediately rose on her pristine skin.
She didn’t glance down, didn’t even pause. Instead, cursing like the riverfront doxy she’d been in her past, she moved toward him. “You wanted Marie Jean stopped. We are stopping her—or were. Even a human wouldn’t have missed the chaos you brought with you.” She waved her hands, her anger obvious. Leaning forward, she continued. “You brought Lindsey to St. Louis as bait; we are simply following through with your plan.”
His plans. As if that justified what Emilie had done.
“And Rodrigue?” Harry asked. The prince had given no indication that his feelings regarding Marie Jean had changed.
Montclair, his autocratic face a mass of bubbled skin, folded his arms over his chest. “Believes what he wants to believe.”
“Meaning he didn’t endorse your little plot.” Meaning Rodrigue could be on his way here now, could once again be planning to ride in and save his old lover.
“Well, our plot, as you put it, is spoiled now. There is no way, if Marie Jean was near, that she missed your arrival.”
The flighty blonde had turned flinty. Harry had always suspected Emilie’s fun and frivolity was an act, but now there was no doubt.
He rubbed his sleeve across his eyes, ignoring the burning that wasn’t ready to let go yet. “Where is Lindsey?” he asked.
He didn’t care about their plans; he didn’t care about Marie Jean. He cared only about Lindsey.
Montclair stepped forward. “Locked away.”
“In a place no vampire can reach her? Considering that you two put her wherever she is, I doubt that.”
“Marie Jean would not—” Montclair froze. His eyes shifted toward the fireplace that cut the room in two.
Harry shoved Emilie from his path. “Damn you both!” he yelled; then he sprinted past. Behind the front room was the kitchen. He dodged tables and chairs and raced through the back door that led out onto the wraparound porch. The yard behind the house was small and fenced in.
Harry’s nails dug into a wooden column. The yard was quiet. What had Montclair heard or sensed? Then he saw it—a root cellar.
And the door was open.
o0o
“Where are we going?” When they’d left the backyard, Lindsey had expected Karin to take her to a car, but instead her cousin had headed down a footpath that ran behind the house, and after only a few minutes, left it too—forcing Lindsey to wade through waist-high grass.
“The river.”
“The Mississippi? Did you park there?” Lindsey knew nothing about the area, but she saw no lights ahead and no sign that there was anything at the bottom of the hill except the river. And, while she had lived near the Big Muddy most of her life, she had no desire to be walking beside it in the dead of night.
“There’s something I want to show you,” Karin responded. She didn’t look back as she spoke; she seemed focused on whatever lay ahead.
They walked another few minutes, Lindsey struggling to keep up. Finally, when they were close enough to the river that Lindsey could smell the telltale scent of fish and feel the cooler air blowing over the water, Karin stopped.
“It was here,” she said, almost spat.
Lindsey glanced around. She could see nothing except sandbars and debris left by the river during some high-water time.
“The house.” Karin turned and stared at Lindsey. Lindsey could feel her regard like two fingers to the chest. “I should have burned it. I never imagined they would save the thing.”
“The house we just left? But it’s old, historic.”
Karin laughed, and her voiced changed, grew harsher, and her accent thickened. “It’s a place of abuse and slavery—my slavery.”
Lindsey recognized it now—French, but if her cousin had grown up here, in Missouri, why would she have a French accent?
“I—” The words caught in Lindsey’s throat. Her cousin had obviously been abused as a child. It explained her statement about her mother, being glad she was dead. It also left Lindsey flailing for a response. “You escaped,” she murmured, aware the words were little comfort, but what would be? From her own experiences, she knew nothing could take away past pain, not completely.
Karin turned on her. Her shoulders back and her chin lowered, she seemed to grow in stature as she stared at Lindsey. “They thought they controlled my fate, but they were wrong. I pick my own destiny.”
Something was wrong. The hairs on the back of Lindsey’s neck rose. She took a step back, her feet sinking in the sand.
“Do you have a phone? I lost mine. We should call the police before Emilie and the—” She remembered then that she hadn’t told Karin about the vampire. She licked her lips, unsure how to go on.
Karin turned her face toward the moon. The light flowed over her face, emphasizing the height of her cheekbones and the porcelain color of her skin. H
er nostrils flaring, she inhaled. The breath seemed to reverberate through her body. Finally, she looked back at Lindsey. “The what?” she asked, but Lindsey sensed she had no interest in the answer.
Her cousin took a step toward her. “It’s almost midnight now. Do you know what that means?”
Lindsey shook her head. Her cousin was scaring her, her gaze was too focused, too intense.
“It’s May Day. Did your mother not teach you to celebrate May Day?”
The area around them had grown quiet. No nighttime calls of frogs or birds or bugs—nothing but the hushed sound of deep water rolling through the river beside them.
Lindsey ran her hands up her arms, rubbing at the goose bumps that had appeared there.
“Did you hear me, cousin?” Karin was less than three feet away now. Her head tilted to the side, she studied Lindsey.
“No, she died when I was young. I told you that.”
“You did, but you didn’t tell me everything, did you?” There was an edge to Karin’s question.
Lindsey looked at her, wondering if now was the time to tell her the truth.
Of course it was. Karin needed to know a vampire was after them.
“I didn’t. She was killed.” Lindsey paused, then said, “By a vampire.”
She waited. Not knowing what reaction her revelation would elicit. Relief that Lindsey knew vampires existed too, or shock and disbelief that Lindsey believed in monsters?
Karin stared at her for a second as if digesting her words. Then she cursed—in French. “Rodrigue, the bastard. He found her first.”
Her eyes widening, Lindsey shook her head. “Not Rodrigue, at least he wasn’t the vampire who did this.” Her hand moved to her temple. “It was another one. I think he works with Rodrigue, though. I’ve seen them together. Perhaps not together, but close.” She didn’t want to take the time to explain about seeing Rodrigue on the street and escaping from the second vampire off the roof—not now. Now she wanted Karin to believe her and agree to leave. Agree to run to a car, call the police, something.
