Roaring Midnight (The Gardella Vampire Chronicles | Macey #1)

by Colleen Gleason

  Macey turned back and tucked her curly, bobbed hair behind her ear. “I thought I saw someone I knew.” Why was her heart thumping so hard? “I’ve got to stop reading that book.”

  “The book about vampires?”

  She noticed he was holding that heavy, short glass in his hand. It was filled with an amber liquid, and as Macey watched in shock, Grady tilted his wrist and tipped the contents into his mouth with a practiced flick, then swallowed.

  “But that’s—that’s—” Whiskey. He was drinking whiskey! She could even smell it. Macey exhaled in a big huff, for she dared not say the word for fear she’d be overheard.

  “Apple juice?” He was looking at her with a bemused expression. “What’s wrong, chickie? Cat got your tongue?” He placed the glass on the counter, and it disappeared just as quickly as it had been filled.

  “What would your uncle say?” she managed to sputter.

  His eyes lit with real humor for the first time, and he laughed. “You surely don’t know much about how this city’s run, do you, lass?” Then his good humor dissipated, and that sober expression returned. “You must be reading Dracula.”

  Macey lifted her nose. “Of course not. Excellent book, but much too obvious.”

  His lips twitched briefly. “The Vampyre by Polidori.”

  “No,” Macey replied, even as he added, “But that’s not precisely a book. Just a story. You distinctly said ‘book.’”

  “And so is Varney the Vampire,” she said, surprised he was so familiar with vampire literature. “Which I am also not reading. Currently.”

  “Thank Jesus,” he replied. “What a piece of drivel that was.”

  Privately, Macey didn’t disagree—but as a librarian at heart, she felt it was inappropriate for her to publicly criticize any literature.

  Instead, she looked over at the musicians and saw the Negro woman she’d noticed earlier was now standing at the microphone, singing to the accompaniment of the piano. The low croon of the saxophone mingled with her dusky voice, and everything seemed to slow and quiet. Even the lights dimmed.

  “I suppose you’re wanting to dance,” Grady said. “That’s not a bad idea, chickie. At least then I can see what’s going on from down there.” He stood and turned to her expectantly.

  She looked up but made no move to join him. He might be attractive as sin, and he might have the smoothest, most velvety voice and the thickest head of wavy cocoa hair, but the man was bordering on being a complete jerk.

  “My name is not chickie or lass, and I don’t have any desire to dance. With you. Thank you anyway, Grady.” She stressed his name just enough to point out that she did, indeed, know it.

  “And you clearly have the advantage of me, then, don’t you? Knowing my name and all, my profession too. Clever girl,” he said, nodding. A little smile played about his mouth and there was a hint of crinkles at the corners of his eyes. “And I don’t know a thing about you except that you read about vampires and believe they exist. Oh, and you wear shoes that are too tight and cause blisters. You’re very literate but not so great at math, live in or near Hyde Park, and don’t have a boyfriend.”

  She blinked. How did he know all that? “I don’t believe in vampires.” Macey slid off the stool. Despite her heels, that only put her eyes at about the level of his nose.

  “Is that so?” His gaze scored over her again. “Then you’d best be taking my advice to stay out of dark alleys at night. It’s hard to protect yourself from something you don’t believe exists.”

  She started to slide past him, but he stepped to the side, half blocking her path. “Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

  “Can’t you find that out on your own? You figured out plenty of other things.”

  His smile returned. “I could, but it’s easier to ask. And I’d like to think of you as someone other than ‘chickie’ later tonight…when I’m remembering those velvety brown eyes of yours.” His voice had gone silky again, thick with the Irish.

  “It’s Macey.” With a quick shift to the side, she went around him and walked away, trying not to imagine Grady lying in his bed thinking of her eyes. Trying not to imagine Grady in his bed at all, in fact.

  But it wasn’t an altogether awful thought, she admitted privately, wending her way toward the table she and Flora shared. He did have broad shoulders and probably a very fine chest attached to them. And his mouth, the way it tipped up at one side when he was debating vampire literature with her, and slightly fuller in the bottom lip, was a very tempting shape.

  Macey was about halfway to her destination when the music stopped abruptly, and most of the lights went out. Someone gave a surprised little shriek, and a hush fell over the club as everyone stopped.

  Then all at once, shadowy figures burst into the room and everything turned to chaos. “Raid!” someone shouted.

  People were running, pushing, and screaming, and Macey felt someone brush past her. Another person shoved her, and someone else stepped on her foot as she started to make her way toward one of the exits.

  The club was lit with a dull brown illumination by the few lights that burned near the entrance. Everyone was shadowy and muted, and Macey, with her imagination running wild, even fancied she saw the faint glow of red in twin pairs. Like eyes.

  It was the first police raid she’d ever experienced, and even though she’d done nothing wrong, her heart was slamming in her chest. That prickling chill washed over the back of her neck again, colder and stronger now, as if someone had left a door open to a winter’s night. She felt almost nauseated by it, unsettled and upset.

  There was an awful scream, suddenly choked off in a sort of gurgle that had the hair rising all over her body. Then a soft, ugly sound that seemed to fill her ears—kuh-kuh-kuh—like someone drinking.

  She didn’t want to know what was happening.

  Her hands clammy and her insides upset and churning, she waited for the sounds of gunshots or the stt-stt-stt of machine gun fire. Why hadn’t they brought Jimmy tonight?

  “Flora!” she called, knowing it was in vain—there was too much going on, too many people shouting and shrieking. The last time she’d seen her friend, she’d been on the other side of the dance floor. “Flora!”

  More screaming. More shouting. More awful, ugly gurgling, suctioning sounds. People pounding on the walls, or doors, on the floor…

  She became aware of an odd smell, earthy and pungent—like…blood? Macey went cold and weak. Then someone else screamed long and shrilly, the cry ringing in her ears. She again saw twin flashes of red and watched as one of the shadowy figures seemed to fly across the room.

  This was not a police raid. Or gangsters.

  Icy fingers seemed to curl around her heart and lungs. She froze behind a pillar, her heart pounding. Red eyes. Superhuman speed. Blood.

  Vampires?

  No, no, impossible. Imposs—

  Someone grabbed her arm, and Macey shrieked, jolting in surprise. She whirled, hopeful and yet terrified. But it wasn’t Flora, and it wasn’t Grady. In the dim light, she saw it was the elegant Negro woman who’d been watching the place.

  “This way.” The woman tugged at her arm. “Hurry. Hurry!”

  Macey had no argument with that, and she stopped pulling and allowed the woman to direct her toward the back wall.

  Her companion was tall and quick, and very agile, and Macey found herself stumbling as she rushed along with her. She crouched as low as she could, as if that might keep the…whatever they were from seeing her. Nor did she ask where they were going. She just followed.

  The next thing she knew, her guide had led her into a dark corner, and all at once the wall moved. Macey followed her into a dark room, suddenly nervous.

  “Move it,” said her guide, as if sensing her hesitation. “They can smell you.”

  Macey swallowed back the question that rose to her lips as the wall moved back into place behind them. The other woman knew where to go, despite the darkness. They rushed along until s
uddenly there was cool, clean, crisp night air as they erupted into a back alley lit by stars and a waning moon.

  When Macey would have paused to drag in her breath, the tall, caramel-skinned woman refused to let her. “Come, it’s not safe yet,” she said in her throaty voice, propelling her through the alley.

  “But what about the people still inside?” Macey turned to go back. She couldn’t leave without Flora, and what about Grady? And Chelle and Dottie—

  “They’re either safe, or it’s too late by now. They’ll be out after you as soon as they realize you’ve escaped.”

  Macey shook her head, trying to understand the woman’s confusing speech. Obviously, the two “theys” referred to two different sets of people, but what did the rest of it mean? “What do you mean, they’ll be out after…me?” Her throat went dry and her stomach heaved. “What are you talking about?”

  This gave the woman pause, and for the first time, she stopped and looked at Macey. “You don’t know?”

  “Know what?” she demanded.

  “Lordy Moses,” breathed her companion, shaking her head. “This is going to be worse than I thought. Come on, sister.” She started tugging her again.

  “I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s happening.”

  “For Christ’s sake, Temple, just pick her up and carry her. She’s only a bitty thing. Vioget’s going to be bloody damned fit to be tied if he has to wait any longer.” A voice from the shadows caused Macey’s stomach to plummet, and she whirled.

  “Chas. What are you doing here?” demanded the Negro woman, whose name was obviously Temple. She didn’t sound very pleased.

  A figure emerged from the darkness like a wraith. He was tall, wrapped in some enveloping dark coat with a hat and high collar that obstructed most of his face. All Macey saw was a flash in the moonlight of straight white teeth.

  For a moment, she imagined they were fangs, and Macey smothered a shriek as she stepped back. Then, annoyed, she collected herself and shook away the absurd thought.

  He chuckled, his laugh soft and low in the night. “Ah, I’m everywhere. You know that, Temple. Now get Macey out of here before they find her.”

  As if his warning had conjured them, suddenly the door through which she and Temple had emerged reopened.

  “Run!” he hissed, and Macey didn’t have the chance to argue as Temple grabbed her arm and towed her off down the alley.

  A quick glance over her shoulder showed the man standing in the alley facing their pursuers, his coat flapping gently in the breeze.

  He was holding something that looked like a wooden stake.

  And somehow, he knew her name.

  TWO

  ~ The Silver Chalice ~

  Temple didn’t release Macey’s arm as she ran down an alley and around the corner. Somehow, though she had much shorter legs, Macey managed to easily keep pace with her.

  But she wasn’t thinking about the fact that she was running at full speed in her chunky heeled shoes, the beaded layers on her dress bouncing and swaying. She was remembering the horror of the raid in The Gyro and the silhouette of the cloaked stranger in the alleyway. He’d been holding a stake, she was sure of it.

  “This way,” Temple said when they burst out of another alley onto Vashner.

  But Macey stopped and pulled free of the other woman’s grip. They were on a busy street with lights and automobiles and even a few people—although most of them looked too busy to help a young woman in distress.

  “Who are you, and where are we going?” Macey panted. She glanced behind to see if any of their pursuers had followed them, but the alley was dark and empty of everything but mounds of trash.

  Temple was breathing hard, and her skin shone faintly in the moonlight. “It’s very complicated. I thought—we thought you knew. Didn’t you get the book?” She was looking around, peering down the alley. “And what about the dreams?”

  “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about. I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  “No, I definitely don’t have you confused with anyone,” Temple said with a short laugh. She’d caught her breath by now. “And if I had any doubt, tonight clinched it. You’re Macey Gardella, and I’m taking you to The Silver Chalice. That’s the only place you’ll be safe.”

  Macey took another step back, her heart pounding. This was screwy. Not only was the woman the second person to think she was named Gardella, but also weirdly enough, The Silver Chalice had been mentioned in The Venator. It was a pub in London, or so she’d gathered. “You’ve got the wrong person. My name isn’t Macey Gardella. So I’m going to be leaving now,” she said, looking around for a cab.

  Temple blew out a long, irritated breath. “Look, I’m not about to get myself flayed by the likes of Sebastian Vioget—although there are other things I wouldn’t mind that man doing to me…not at all. If you get my drift. But that’s neither here nor there. My job was to deliver you to him and keep you safe from the Guardians they sent after you tonight. And so far, so good, thanks to Chas. But I’m not about to shirk my job—”

  “I don’t know what kind of line you’re trying to hand me, but I’m not Macey Gardella. My name is Macey Denton, and I don’t know who Mr. Vioget is or Chas or who the Guardians are. And I’m just going to go home now. It’s been a long night.”

  “You can’t go home.” Temple was obviously beyond frustrated, and while Macey felt bad for her because it sounded as if this Sebastian Vioget wasn’t a very nice person, she was tired and more than a little frightened from her experience in The Gyro. “It’s too dangerous. They’re probably already there, waiting for you. I don’t think any of them know me yet, which is why Sebastian sent me after you, but if any of them made it past Chas, word’ll be out before dawn.” She shook her head in irritation. “I told you this was complicated, and I’m not the best one to explain things to you—I just got here a week ago from New Orleans. Come with me to the Chalice and let Sebastian tell you about it. And if you still don’t believe it, then it’s his problem. Not mine.”

  This woman is cracked in the head. Macey wanted to take off running, yet there was something deep inside that made her stay and listen. Maybe if she went and met this Mr. Vioget she’d be able to clear up the mistake, and they’d all leave her alone. And the fact of the matter was, the memories from the raid—the ugly sounds and smells—still made her feel queasy.

  If there was any chance those red-eyed creatures (she refused to think they might truly be vampires) thought she was Macey Gardella—whoever that was—and they were waiting for her at home … well, it would be best to clear all of this up sooner rather than later.

  “All right. I’ll go to The Silver Chalice with you.”

  “Then let’s go,” Temple said, irritation in her voice. “It’s still two hours till dawn—plenty of time for them to find us.”

  Macey followed the tall, dark woman as she led the way through alleys and along busy streets, wondering how she knew her route so well if she’d just arrived in town. But then she noticed Temple glancing up at the moon and stars, and peering at street signs, and realized the woman was carefully navigating her way. And for all Macey knew, they could have been going in circles.

  “Here it is,” Temple said at last.

  Macey looked around and saw a few disreputable looking buildings with dark windows and shaggy signage, a butcher shop, and something that looked like a pawnshop.

  “Are you coming?” her companion asked, her hand settling on a wrought iron railing in front of the butcher shop. “It’s down here.”

  Macey saw the railing enclosed a staircase that led from the street level down into a dark space, and she stepped back. “Down there? Are you looney? I’m not going down into the dark. That doesn’t look like a pub to me.” Now her hands were clammy and it occurred to her that maybe this woman wasn’t her friend, and that she’d helped her escape from the raid for her own nefarious purposes. She began to edge away, wishing she’d not followed
a screwball woman into this dark, deserted part of town.

  What the hell had she been thinking?

  Temple muttered something under her breath, then jabbed a finger at the railing. “See? The Silver Chalice.”

  And then Macey recognized the ornament on top of the railing’s newel post, gleaming dully in the moonlight. The finial was, indeed, a silver chalice—unnoticeable unless one was looking for it. Since she still wasn’t wholly convinced, she walked to the railing and looked over, down into the darkness. She realized she could hear noise coming from there, and then a door opened far below, spilling light into the cavernous stairway.

  “Temple! What the bloody hell are you doing standing up there? Are you coming down or not?” The voice wasn’t as angry as its words sounded, and it was slightly accented with a European flavor—a little French mixed in with a little British. “Do you have her?”

  “I have her all right,” she replied grumpily. “But she’s a little hesitant to go down into dark places. I don’t know how the bejesus she’s gonna be a Venator if she won’t go into dark places.”

  A Venator?

  Macey’s heart stopped and she let go of the railing, backing away. Even though the night air was still, a chill breeze swept over her shoulders and lifted the hair at the back of her neck. Little prickles settled there, cool and irritating. This was getting too strange. It was time to leave. If they thought she was a Venator, they were sadly mistaken. It was impossible, anyway. She wasn’t a Gardella, vampires didn’t exist, and thus there was no such thing as a Venator.

  Even if they did, she wasn’t equipped to fight the superhumanly strong demonic creatures. She could hardly lift a case of books!

  But before Macey could leave, a man appeared before her. Well, he didn’t exactly appear, but he came up the steps more quickly than a man should be able to move. Almost as if he flew. Or jumped.

  “Sebastian Vioget.” He gave a little bow. “At your service, my lady.” Even in the faulty light, she could feel the weight of his gaze scoring over her.