by PG Forte
Drew slanted him a look of surprise. “I wasn’t aware you two were so intimately acquainted. You know Conrad well , then?”
“Well enough to know he doesn’t approve of causing unnecessary fear.” Or running rampant in the park. Or doing anything that might alert the general populace to the presence of hunters among them.
Cruelty does not become us, Conrad had insisted more times than Marc cared to remember. There’s rarely any need to indulge in it while feeding. Any wild beast can run its prey to earth and carelessly feast upon it while it still lives, but I’ve never found fear or pain to improve the taste of a meal. It takes skill and patience, qualities well worth developing, to finesse the full flavor from those you feed upon; to make them wish to give you everything you already intend to have from them.
“I don’t know that I agree with you on that,” Drew replied. “Although, one man’s necessity is very often another’s luxury, I suppose. I’ve never known Conrad to shy away from the use of fear. It can be a very powerful deterrent. Certainly there are many people in this city with good cause to fear Conrad. And fear him they do.” Shooting Marc a small smile, he added, “Not that I’ve any cause to complain about that. It’s a very good thing, in my opinion. Being on the right side of power confers many advantages, don’t you agree?”
“I meant while feeding,” Marc clarified. “He’s always told me fear doesn’t add flavor.”
“Did he?” Drew chuckled. “Again, I must beg leave to disagree. It adds flavor, all right. It’s just not everyone that can appreciate the piquancy. Perhaps it’s an acquired taste? Or maybe not. I don’t really know.”
“So, do you do most of your feeding at the mansion then?” Marc asked. He gestured at their surroundings. “Or do you prefer to take your chances out in the field?”
“Oh, the mansion, to be certain,” Drew answered quickly. “Or at the club.” Another swift smile broke across his lips. “There’s a lot to be said for the convenience of having food easily to hand, I’ll not deny that. But, upon occasion, nothing beats the excitement and uncertainty of the hunt. It’s…therapeutic, wouldn’t you agree?”
Marc nodded absently. He paused, once again, to search for any hint of Conrad’s scent. Still nothing.
“So, what was it that brought on the need for tonight’s therapy session?” Drew asked, after a momentary silence. “Or are you just not a fan of…domestic…vintages?”
“Someone got a little rough with my sister while we were out tonight,” Marc admitted with another shrug. “Damian didn’t want me going back to look for him until tomorrow, so…”
“Ah-ha.” Drew shook his head. “A very bad business. I hate to say it, but some clubs do seem more prone to that sort of activity than others. You should have come back to Akeldama. We don’t get as much of that low-class clientele there. If you do decide to go after him, however, be sure and let me know. It would be my honor to serve as your second.”
Marc’s pulse began to pound. Could it be Jules was on to something? “You sound almost like you know the guy I’m talking about.”
Drew’s eyes widened. “How could I? You haven’t even described him to me. I’m just speaking in generalities. Although, I do meet many people, so it’s not entirely impossible.”
“I think you’d know this guy if you saw him,” Marc said, watching Drew carefully, for any reaction. “According to Julie, he has only one eye and half his face is a mass of scars.” Was it his imagination, or did Drew blanch slightly?
“I see what you mean,” Drew said, his voice noticeably subdued. “That’s not a face that could get lost in the crowd, is it? He’d be hard to forget, hard to mistake for anyone else.”
Marc snorted. “Hard? More like impossible, I’d say. What I can’t understand is why anyone would turn someone like that in the first place.”
“Why indeed?” Drew was silent for a moment, then he smiled and clapped Marc on the shoulder. “If you want my advice, young squire, you’ll forget about the riff-raff. Such a creature is likely living on borrowed time as it is. Come back to Akeldama tomorrow. I’ll make sure you’re well taken care of, and your sister too, of course.”
Chapter Ten
Saturday, December 21st, 1968
Suzanne arrived late for Conrad’s Christmas party—long past her usual time. The mansion looked beautiful in all its decorations, but it was far more crowded than she’d ever seen it. As she made her way through the crush of bodies, she saw quite a few familiar faces, people she recognized from previous parties, and if it seemed their smiles were slightly more speculative than usual when they gazed at her, she was sure it was nothing but her own guilty imagination that made them seem so.
Not that she had any reason at all to feel guilty. Because she didn’t. No reason at all.
She made her way from room to room, scanning the crowd for Conrad’s face. Where was he, anyway? After failing to locate him anywhere downstairs, she headed back toward the entranceway. She was considering whether or not she wanted to venture upstairs to look for him. What if he was up there? What if he wasn’t alone? Did she really want to know about that now, when she was all set to have the time of her life?
At least I got my party. The thought made her smile. She glanced down at the two little gift boxes she held clenched in her hands. She had to force her fingers to relax when she realized she was in danger of crushing their pretty bows. She’d gotten her party and everything else she’d asked Conrad for. She had no right to expect—or even hope—for anything more. But that didn’t mean she didn’t, just the same.
She was staring at the wide, curving staircase, trying to decide—go up, or not?—when she spotted Armand. He was wearing a red cap set at a jaunty angle on his head, and a surprisingly cross look on his normally placid face. But at least he was here. Thank God. He was leaning against the balustrade, talking with a petite young woman who Suzanne could not recall ever having seen before.
Long, braided hair and coffee-colored skin certainly made for a very attractive combination but, all the same, Armand appeared a bit distracted. She was tempted to break into their conversation to ask about Conrad’s whereabouts…or maybe she was just tempted to break into their conversation.
I am not jealous, she reminded herself. She should be pleased at the idea Armand had found a friend. She should be happy for him. And she was. She was very happy. Really.
Then Armand glanced up and saw her, and the frown disappeared from his face, and he immediately started toward her…and that made her happier still. She was beaming from ear to ear by the time Armand arrived at her side.
“There you are,” Armand sighed, sounding every bit as relieved to see her as she felt at seeing him. “It’s about time you got here.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” she said, blushing a little when he took a sprig of mistletoe from his pocket and dangled it above her head. “But, better late than never, right?”
“Joyeux Noël.” He kissed her cheek. “And, yes. It’s good to see you anytime.”
“Th-thanks. You too.” Quickly, before the moment could become any more awkward, she thrust one of the boxes into his hands. “Here.”
“For me?” Armand’s face broke into a look of pleased surprise. His fingers toyed briefly with the blue satin bow. “Merci, chérie. Merci beaucoup.” He leaned in close and kissed her once again, very quickly, on the lips this time. “I’ll open it later, then, yes?”
“Sure,” Suzanne replied, watching as he slipped the box into his jacket pocket. She wondered whether later meant he wanted to wait until Christmas morning, or just until after the party. It suddenly struck her that she wanted to be there when he did, to see his face. Bad idea, a faint voice seemed to whisper in her mind. She shook her head to clear away the momentary dizziness. “Do you know where Conrad could have gone to? I can’t find him anywhere.”
Armand shook his head. “I’ve no idea. Probably wondering the same about you.” His voice turned reproachful as he added, “He’s been expecting y
ou since last night.”
“I-I know,” she whispered, feeling guilty again. “I said I was sorry, didn’t I? I couldn’t make it. Something else came up. I had the presents to get and…and things to do. I was busy.”
“Well, you’re here now. I suppose that’s all that matters.”
From the room beyond them came the sound of glass breaking. “Merde,” Armand muttered on a groan. He pulled the hat from his head and set it on hers. “Here, why don’t you take this? And this,” he added, pressing the mistletoe into her hand. “Use it on Conrad. Maybe it’ll cheer him up.”
“Does he need cheering up?”
“What do you think?” he retorted, then winced as another crash resounded—this time from somewhere near the back of the house. “Look, chérie, it’s a madhouse in here. Why don’t you go out in the garden? It’s quiet, it’s dark and when I do find Conrad, I promise I’ll send him along. D’accord?”
“I guess I could do that,” she answered, not really anxious to leave the party so soon, she’d just gotten here, after all, but Armand was already gone, winding his way through the crowd toward the sound of the latest disturbance.
It was quiet in the garden, and as Suzanne wandered beneath the trees she shivered with something that wasn’t cold. It was, in fact, a little too quiet. The night felt eerie, strange, and her hands were shaking so she shoved them into her coat pockets, along with the box that held her present for Conrad. As her fingers tightened around it, she wondered just how angry he was likely to be with her.
Not that he had any right to be angry. Or any reason to, either. There was no agreement between them. They’d never said they were going to spend every moment of every weekend together. She was a free spirit, her own person, she did what she wanted. He knew that. It was her choice where she went, what she did and with whom, and, with no money to buy presents… So, fine, maybe she’d chosen to do a few things she might not have done otherwise. But, so what? It was worth it. Armand had looked pleased. And, as for Conrad…
She pulled the remaining box back out of her pocket so she could look at it again. It was all tied up in a pretty little package, with shiny gold paper and a bright red ribbon done up in a bow. Inside, nestled on a bed of cotton, were the pieces of a stained-glass mobile made up of blood-red hearts and pearly white stars—all with swirls of real gold dust that had been melted into the glass. The moment she’d set eyes on it, she’d known it was the perfect gift for Conrad. It looks just like him.
She had no idea why she should think that, but it didn’t matter; she couldn’t get the idea out of her head. She’d known in that very same instant that she’d do anything—absolutely anything—she had to do to get it for him.
She hoped he’d like it. She hoped he’d think it worth it, not that he’d ever know what it had cost her. And she really hoped he’d get out here soon. Sometime before she turned into an icicle, would be nice. Most nights she didn’t mind waiting. Most nights, there’d be other people outside with her. She’d hear them whispering in the shadows, giggling together in the darkness. Not tonight, though.
Tonight the garden felt different. Cold. Lonely. Spooky, even. There wasn’t another soul out here. She was all on her own…or maybe not. Another shiver ran through her. She felt herself being watched. Her breathing stalled. Okay, she was definitely not alone. The fine hairs rose on the back of her neck and, for a moment, she considered running back to the house, but she wasn’t sure she could even make herself turn around. The question was settled for her when a twig crackled as someone stepped onto the path behind her, cutting off her escape.
Don’t be silly, she told herself sternly. It was probably just Conrad. Who else would move so quietly, or stand so close? She did turn around then, smiling hopefully, her smile fading away again, immediately, when she realized she’d been wrong.
Out of the shadows a figure loomed, eyes glittering in the light cast by the festive decorations, lips curved in an anticipatory smile. Suzanne’s heart beat a mad tattoo against her ribcage and the box in her hand fell from her nerveless fingers. It wasn’t Conrad who faced her beneath the trees tonight and, whoever it was, wasn’t even human.
Conrad was not having a pleasant evening. There was too much noise, too many lights and entirely too many people—including a larger than usual contingent of outsiders.
What had attracted so many party-crashing vampires here tonight, he didn’t know. He doubted it was the promise of free eggnog that drew them. Perhaps the season had put them all in a nostalgic mood. Or maybe they were the kind of riff-raff who did most of their hunting out in the streets. Tonight, with the colder temperatures keeping most humans inside, it might simply be that they had come here following the herd.
He didn’t like it, however. They were his herd, at least in a manner of speaking, at least for the night. And it was his home that was being invaded. He didn’t appreciate having the atmosphere tainted with hungry vibrations—it made everyone tense, irritable, a little too desperate—and, as he’d long ago observed, it also frightened the hell out of most people.
“Merry Christmas!” someone called out in greeting as he passed. He nodded automatically, resisting the urge to quote from Dickens, “if I could work my will, every idiot who goes about with ‘Merry Christmas’ on his lips, should be boiled with his own pudding, and buried with a stake of holly through his heart.”
It was good stuff, that. Probably the best modern literature he was familiar with and, at the moment, it perfectly matched his mood.
“Where is she, damn it?” he muttered, angrily scanning the crowd. He would have thought his hold on the girl was strong enough that, by now, she’d have no choice but to be exactly where he wanted her, whenever he wanted her there. But he’d wanted her here last night, and she hadn’t come.
He wasn’t sure what to think of that. Was he losing his touch?
He tried to tell himself it was no such thing. There could be any number of reasons why she hadn’t shown yet. Perhaps it was hunger that was making him so irritable. He hadn’t eaten since the previous weekend, so that sounded like a reasonable explanation. But, in his heart of hearts, he knew it was more than that.
At his age, he could go weeks without feeding if he had to. And tonight he certainly didn’t have to. The house was teeming with humans, any one of whom would have done to slake his hunger. He didn’t want just anyone, however, he wanted her. “And if you don’t show up soon for this ridiculous party that you wanted…”
Then what? What would he do to her, if she didn’t come soon? Did he know? Did he even want to know?
He pushed the thought to the back of his mind, because, no, actually he didn’t. Then he turned around to scan the room again—and breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Armand hurrying toward him. Finally. Someone upon whom he could vent his bad temper.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demanded, as soon as Armand came within range. “Do you see what’s going on here tonight?” What he really wanted to ask was, why the hell didn’t you stop me from agreeing to this madness? But there was no point in asking that, was there? Not when they both already knew the answer.
Armand opened his mouth, shut it again, then shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Why don’t you go outside now and grab yourself a bite to eat? Maybe that will put you in a better frame of mind.”
Conrad felt his spirits rise. “That better mean what I think it does.”
Armand smiled. “It does. She got here a few minutes ago. I sent her out into the rose garden to wait for you.”
“Bless you, my child.” Conrad clasped his hands on Armand’s shoulders and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Remind me to do something especially wonderful to you in the very near future.”
“You usually do, you know,” Armand answered with a grin. Then his face changed. “There are a lot of people here tonight, Conrad. A lot more than I was expecting. And, some of them—most of them—are people I’ve never seen before.”
Conrad grimaced. “Yes. I
noticed that too.” Something would definitely have to be done about that. But later. A pleasurable thrill of anticipation ran through him and he all but licked his lips. First things first.
“Oh, one more thing. Georgia has been asking to speak with you.”
“Not now,” Conrad replied, waving off the request. “Take care of her, will you? See that she has everything she needs and tell her I’ll—” he broke off abruptly, his blood running cold.
For an instant, he and Armand both stood motionless, rooted to the spot, listening to the same chilling sound: a woman’s bloodcurdling scream filtering in from outside.
“Mon Dieu,” Armand whispered, his face ashen. “That- that’s…”
But, Conrad knew who it was and he had no time to waste on words. He pushed past Armand and raced for the door.
Suzanne inhaled, filling her lungs for another scream, but the creature grabbed her by the throat and shook its head…his head…no, its head, its. “Keep quiet,” it growled, its fangs gleaming in psychedelic fashion thanks to the multicolored glow cast by the dozens and dozens of Christmas lights with which the house and grounds had been decorated.
“Don’t kill me,” she whispered frantically. “Please don’t kill me. Please…”
“Don’t give me any reason to, and I won’t.” He’d backed her up against a large tree; now, he shoved her against it again. Harder this time. Hard enough to drive most of the air back out of her lungs. “I’m not here to hurt you. I didn’t come here to hurt anyone. I just need to feed.”
He needed to feed. Oh, God. He needed to feed…on her, on her blood. Suzanne nearly fainted at the thought. She shook her head, her mind trying every way it could to reject the idea. No. It wasn’t possible. Vampires weren’t real. They were make-believe monsters. They didn’t exist. This couldn’t be happening.
