"That's not what I'm worrying about."
"Don't worry about that either. Raphael and I are history. This is strictly business."
"So you say.” Luci beeped her car open, then threw her purse inside and slid onto the driver's seat. Starting the car, she gave a little wave through the open window and drove away.
Cyn returned the wave with a smile. She didn't make friends easily and rarely held onto them once she did. But the friends she kept were important to her. Benita had been important. Her death had been painful in part because she'd betrayed Cyn, but also because she was gone. Cyn missed her in spite of everything. Shielding her eyes against the sun, which had broken out of the cloud cover in time for a brilliant sunset, she watched until Luci's car made a turn that took it out of sight around the buildings. Then she pulled out her cell phone.
She waited through the automated greeting and said, “Duncan, it's Cynthia Leighton. You've got my number.” It wouldn't be long now. The vampires would be waking up soon, and Cyn had some bodies to visit.
Chapter Seventeen
When it got dark inside the hangar, Cyn located the main light box and flipped the heavy switches until both long banks of industrial lights far overhead were fully lit. Back inside the airplane, she turned on several more cabin lights and opened the door to Mirabelle's sleeping compartment to admit as much light as possible.
After that there was nothing to do but wait some more, so she paced back and forth in front of the airplane, stopping every once in a while when she thought she heard a noise, then continuing to pace. She was so intent on listening for Mirabelle that the trill of her cell phone startled her badly. With one hand over her pounding heart, she checked the display and flipped it open.
"Hello, Duncan."
"Ms. Leighton."
"I'm sorry it took so long to get back to you,” she said.
"You received my messages?” He managed to put a world of disapproval and disappointment into those four words.
"Um, yeah. Sort of. My cell's been acting weird."
"I see."
She signed loudly enough to be sure he'd hear. “I'm sorry, okay. I thought ... Never mind what I thought. What can I do for you?” she said in her most chipper, businesslike voice.
"Where are you?"
"Santa Monica Airport, actually.” Which reminded her. “Listen, I need to talk to you—"
"How long have you been back?” He sounded puzzled.
"Since this morning. I've been sitting here waiting for sunset."
"Sunset.” He was silent for too long. “Is someone with you, Cynthia?"
"Yes."
"Mirabelle Hawthorn."
"Yes. Don't say it, Duncan. She's here and she's staying. I couldn't leave her there."
"Jabril will not be happy to have lost her, Cynthia."
"Tough. He can't keep her prisoner, can he? I mean you guys must have some sort of procedure for vampires moving around. They don't have to stay in one place forever."
"No, indeed."
"Christ on a crutch, Duncan. Enough of the inscrutable vampire shit. What do I do now?"
"Where is Mirabelle?"
"Still out of it. I chartered a plane and paid extra to have it sit in the hangar until after dark—” Cyn broke off, thinking she heard movement inside the plane. “Sorry, Duncan,” she continued absently, still staring at the silent airplane. “I thought I heard Mirabelle moving around, but maybe not. Shouldn't she be awake by now? I mean you're—"
"Much older than she is,” he interjected. “It is likely she does not wake until well after sunset, although not much longer now, I would expect. Have you made arrangements for her to feed?"
"Feed? Oh, shit. I didn't even think about that. What do I ... Damn!” Cyn started pacing again, her mind racing through possibilities. “I suppose if it's desperate, I could—"
"Do not,” Duncan interrupted forcefully, “give her your own blood. Do you understand me, Cynthia? Under no circumstances."
"Gross, Duncan. I was going to say I could call Lonnie.” Lonnie worked for Raphael, running a circuit of party houses in various parts of L.A. where people eagerly lined up for the chance to mingle with the vampires, donating blood straight from the vein in order to enjoy the mind-blowing sex that was offered in exchange. Lonnie could usually be found at the Malibu house with the beautiful people. “But why—” Cyn was about to ask why Duncan had been so emphatic about sharing her own blood, then sucked in a breath. “Raphael."
"Lord Raphael,” he agreed grimly. “He would not take kindly to another sharing—"
"What right does he—"
"The consequences would not be for you, but for Mirabelle, Cynthia. And it is not only feeding she will need, there is the matter of protection."
"Fine, fine. So what—” Cyn spun around as a dull thump echoed through the hangar. She stared at the small plane, watching it rock slightly, as if someone was moving around inside. “Duncan,” she said softly. “I think she's awake."
* * * *
Mirabelle woke slowly, her body sluggish, her mind dull, with none of the clarity she usually experienced on waking. She lay still, as always, listening, scenting the air. She opened her eyes. Light. There was too much light. Had someone opened the closet door while she slept? Was someone waiting...
Her heart, barely beating after her long day's sleep, skipped in panic as her senses kicked in. She wasn't in her closet. This wasn't her blanket and—she brushed away the unfamiliar covering and looked at herself—she'd slept in her clothes, something she never did. Her lungs expanded, taking in the strange scents of metal and oil, and something spicy, food, but nothing she could remember smelling before.
She sat up, pushing the blanket away with trembling hands, struggling to climb off the bed. It was some sort of platform, tucked into a small room, surrounded by walls on three sides, and her long skirt made it awkward to move around. Her legs dropped over the mattress edge and her feet touched the carpeted floor. A narrow door stood open in front of her, bright artificial light beaming in from the hallway. She rose slowly, one hand sliding up the nearby wall for support. She was terrified of stepping out into the light, but equally terrified of staying in the dark. The hunger decided for her, striking without warning, painfully intense and coupled with fear. What if there was no blood? Would she die? She'd heard stories of vampires living for months, years even, with no sustenance. Horror stories.
She took a step toward the light, crying out as a sudden stab of pain drove her to her knees, curling her into a tight ball of agony in the narrow space. Jabril Karim. Only he could do this, but why? What had she done? The pain doubled, then tripled and she screamed over and over, unable to do anything but give voice to the torment wracking her body. Every nerve was on fire, every muscle bunching and stretching at random until she thought her skin would burst and her body would fly apart. With no warning, the pain was gone, stopping as quickly as it had started. In the silence, she heard whispering. She scrambled toward the light, but the whispers followed, growing louder, pursuing her, threatening her with more torture, more agony if she didn't ... what? What did they want her to do? “Listen."
Mirabelle listened and shook her head in horror at what she heard. "Listen," the voices demanded again. "Look." She glimpsed an image. A dark-haired woman, her body lying limp, beautiful face rended with great bloody gashes as Mirabelle ... She gasped out loud and stared down at her own hands, at her diamond-hard nails, at her fingers curled into claws like an animal's. She tasted her own blood as her fangs split her gums, forcing their way between her lips. She drew a shuddering breath, then she stood up and lurched toward the open door.
Chapter Eighteen
The screams poured out of the small jet, filling the cavernous hangar and bouncing off the metal walls. Cyn raced for the stairs, stumbling through the narrow hatchway in time to see Mirabelle crouched on the floor outside the sleeping compartment, her eyes rolling white with terror. When she saw Cyn, she shrank back into the corner, te
eth bared, fangs distended.
"Jesus, what—"
"Cynthia!” Duncan was shouting in her ear. “Don't—"
"Hurry, Duncan,” she closed the phone and took a step forward, letting the cell drop from her shaking hand. Mirabelle was crouched against the bulkhead, hissing defiantly, her hands curled into claws in front of her.
"Mirabelle,” Cyn said, holding out an empty hand. “Mirabelle, it's me. It's Cynthia. You're okay. You're safe."
Mirabelle froze. She stared silently at first and then closed her eyes and began rocking back and forth, whispering something, muttering to herself. Cyn took a step closer, trying to catch the words.
"Please, please. I'm sorry, I'm sorry...” The girl was repeating the same few words over and over, arms wrapped so tightly about her body that she was drawing blood with her own claws. Her body swayed in rhythm to her words, her head softly bumping the carpeted bulkhead behind her with every cycle.
Cyn didn't know what to do. Why hadn't she thought about this, arranged for someone to be here, someone who would know what to do? Jesus, how long before Duncan arrived?
The phone rang and she snatched it up. “Duncan?"
"Which airline did you use?"
"Lonnie?"
"One and the same, babe. Which airline?” She told him. “I know it.” He said something aside, presumably to whoever was driving. “Hang in there, Cyn."
She wanted to scream at him to hurry, but one glance at Mirabelle told her screaming probably wasn't a good idea. She thought about the hangar door. Was it locked? She couldn't remember. But, what the hell, they were vampires. If they wanted the door open, they'd open it. And besides, Mirabelle had opened her eyes again and was looking at Cyn with a distinctly hungry gaze.
"Okay, let's stay calm here, Mirabelle. I know you're hungry, but that was Lonnie ... Well, you don't know him, but he's bringing blood."
Mirabelle hissed angrily ... and did she lean forward a little, like she was getting ready to attack? Christ, maybe it was better not to talk about food, after all. Cyn lapsed into silence and began calculating how long it would take for someone to get here—Duncan or Lonnie, she didn't care which one. Either one of them could handle this better than she could. She mentally traced Duncan's route from Malibu to the airport, maybe stopping to pick up Lonnie? Yeah, okay, but that wouldn't have taken long; he could have waited outside the house and hopped in on the fly.
Of course, there was traffic. But this time of day going south, it shouldn't be too bad, not on the highway anyway. Her legs were killing her, crouched there in the narrow aisle, but she was afraid to move. Mirabelle seemed to have settled into kind of a watchful waiting. Geez, waiting for what? Was this like those nature shows on television where the big cat sits and waits for the antelope to fall over in exhaustion before attacking?
She nearly dropped her phone when it rang; she'd forgotten she was even holding it, she was so focused on watching the vampire's every twitch. “Where are you?” she whispered. She heard the fear in her own voice and cursed.
"Five minutes, babe.” It was Lonnie again. He spoke to someone on his end, and then said, “Are there any cars in front of your hangar?"
"Not the last time I looked. I've got all the lights on."
"Okay, I see it. We're almost there."
She heard the distant sound of car doors and then the crash of metal as the hangar door slammed open. A pounding of footsteps on the concrete floor, the heavy shift of the airplane as they hit the stairs. She turned toward Duncan as he came through the door ... and Mirabelle attacked.
Chapter Nineteen
Cyn heard the rush of movement behind her and then she was falling as Duncan grabbed her shoulders and spun her into Lonnie's surprised arms. “Duncan,” she cried, struggling against Lonnie's hold. “Don't hurt—” She broke free, stumbling around in time to see Mirabelle freeze in mid-step, her eyes caught as she stared up at Duncan. He held out a hand to her, low and nonthreatening.
"It's all right, little one,” he said softly. “You're safe here."
* * * *
Mirabelle stared warily at the strange vampire coming toward her. He had a kind face; his big, brown eyes were gentle with concern for her and his voice lilted with a Southern drawl that sounded so much like her daddy's used to. A warm feeling surrounded her, covering her, sealing her away from ... the voices.
She started, suddenly realizing that the voices were gone, not even a whisper remained. She closed her eyes in relief, feeling the tears begin to roll down her cheeks.
The vampire had crouched in front of her and was saying something. She looked up. “Who are you?” she whispered.
"My name is Duncan, and I'll take care of you."
"He wants me back."
"I know."
"I won't go back. I can't."
He nodded. “I know. You don't need to worry about that. Are you hungry?"
"Yes,” she admitted in a small voice.
"Of course you are. You've had a rough time, Mirabelle, but no more. Can you drink from a pack?"
"Yes. It's all I've ever done.” She was ashamed to admit it.
"I see. Well, that's fine then.” He twisted around without getting up and said something to the two people behind him. Mirabelle looked up, really seeing them for the first time. Another vampire with long hair and ... “Cynthia,” she said softly, wonderingly.
"Hey,” the investigator responded with a smile. “You had me scared there. You okay?"
"I'm sorry."
"Don't you worry, hon. We'll take care of you."
Mirabelle ducked her head, both relieved and embarrassed. Duncan was still talking, saying something in a low voice to the other vampire, and then to Cynthia. Mirabelle was still too disoriented to hear the words, but the other vampire, the one with the long hair, was holding some sort of box. She caught the scent of blood and the hunger twisted fiercely inside her, as if it knew sustenance was close at hand. She watched avidly as the vampire put the box down and left the airplane cabin. Cynthia regarded Duncan with a stubborn expression. Finally, she reached across the seat and hauled up a big shopping bag which she shoved at Duncan with a muttered oath before exiting through the open hatch.
* * * *
Cyn stormed down the stairs, frustrated that Duncan wouldn't let her stay. “What the hell was that?” she asked Lonnie.
"That,” he said, “was probably her Sire trying to force her to go back to him. Duncan closed him off for now."
She stared at him in amazement. “Duncan can do that?"
Lonnie gave her an amused glance. “You don't get to be Lord Raphael's lieutenant by being a sweetheart."
"Oh. I guess I never thought about it that way."
"No reason you should, babe.” She gave him a halfhearted scowl at the hated endearment.
"What's he doing in there?” she said.
"The kid's feeding. I brought a few packs over, didn't know how hungry she'd be."
"Why wouldn't Duncan let me stay?"
"The girl's embarrassed. She's young, but a vamp her age should be taking from the vein by now. It's like a six year old still sucking on a bottle. It's not her fault, of course, but...” He shrugged.
"So what now?"
"We wait for Duncan to decide what happens next."
Cyn didn't like the sound of that. “I think Mirabelle will be deciding what's next, not Duncan. I didn't break her away from that creep so someone else—"
"Save it, Cyn. The kid needs help."
She had to admit that was true. And Duncan had certainly come through for her tonight, so she was willing to listen to what he had to say. That's not to say she'd do it, but she'd listen. “So you guys are back in Malibu? I thought you all headed for the mountains after that mess with Pushkin.” The late, and definitely unlamented, Pushkin was the vampire who had tried to overthrow Raphael, kidnapping his sister Alexandra to use as bait.
"We did. It didn't last long. The big guy hates the cold weather."
"Rap
hael's here too?"
Lonnie gave her a sly look, then laughed, but sobered immediately when Duncan emerged at the top of the stairs, descended and strode toward them across the hangar.
"How is she?” Cyn asked him.
"As well as can be expected,” he said briskly, his Southern drawl back to its usual distant memory. “She is weak and undernourished; her former master all but starved her in his efforts to keep her in thrall, and that was on top of abusing her physically for years. We had no idea.” He shook his head. “We knew he had turned her too young; we suspected coercion, but this..."
"Have you ever met Jabril Karim?” Cyn asked.
"Not in so many words, no. I've seen him, of course, at meetings. The lords rarely socialize beyond the formalities, and Jabril Karim even less so than the others."
"Well, I have. The guy's a total sleaze ball. He keeps a harem of blood slaves in his basement, and I wouldn't be surprised if they've buried a body or two on that estate."
Duncan stared at her in alarm. “Did he, that is, were you—"
"No,” Cyn said shortly. “It was close at one point, but no."
"Thank God for that at least. We were worried when we couldn't reach you. You didn't answer my messages, and Raphael...” He stopped abruptly and sighed, rubbing his face with one hand. “Did you listen to any of my messages, Cynthia?"
"I told you—"
"Yes, I know, but did you listen to the messages?"
Cyn frowned and looked away, unable to meet his honest gaze. “No."
"No,” he repeated.
"I'm sorry, okay?"
He watched her for a few minutes, gave Lonnie a glance and said. “Lonnie, could you give us a moment?"
"Sure,” Lonnie said cheerfully. “I'll wait outside."
Cyn stared at her own feet, aware of Duncan's scrutiny while Lonnie strolled over to the door, closing it quietly behind him. She glanced up. “So?"
Duncan smiled in amusement, which only deepened her scowl. The smile grew to a grin. “I am glad to see you safe, Cynthia. Even if you do bring trouble with you."
"I couldn't leave her there, Duncan."
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