“I don’t want to become a vampire,” said the man whose real name probably wasn’t John. “You, Carla?”
“Nope. Ick. No breathing, no daylight, drinking blood all the time. How totally—“
“That’s enough, Carla,” John interrupted.
Carla shut up.
“We’re just interested in knowledge for its own sake,” said John. “We’ll be happy to share. Aren’t you curious? I think you haven’t been a vampire very long. What happens to the blood you drink? Does it course through your veins exactly as you drank it, still just the same as it was inside your victims—or do you call them donors?”
“Never mind what I call them.” Victims was closer to the truth, although what Charles had done for her was more like a donation. She smiled slightly. Almost guilt-free blood.
“Or is the blood transformed? A sort of magical transubstantiation, the blood of mere humans converted to the blood of eternal life—well, for you, at least. Do you think of it as life, Doreen Hammaker?”
How does he know my name? “No, I don’t.” If all the questions he had to ask were like that one, their interview would be annoying, but harmless enough.
John shook his head. “No. You’re the self-pitying type, then. Oh well.” He took a syringe out of the pocket of his coat, and a needle sealed in plastic out of the other. “Give me a moment to get this together.”
“After this, I don’t want to see you ever again. Stay away from me and mine.” And I’m definitely thinking of Charles as mine.
“Yes, yes, of course.” John was too wrapped up in what he was doing to give her eye contact. The needle assembled, he held out the syringe.
“Huh?”
“Do it yourself. Just one syringe full, that’s all we need.”
She took the syringe. There was something else on his hand, but not an object. A tattoo of some kind, maybe. Strange place for it, right on his palm, but his hand was closed now.
She was glad she’d been able to drink so much earlier in the evening. The twenty milliliters or so the syringe held wouldn’t even make her lightheaded. She looked around. Last thing Charles needed was reports of people shooting up in the parking lot of Dark Xanadu. She waited until another couple went in. Then she stabbed the needle into her arm—on her white skin, it was easy to find the veins—and drew back on the plunger.
Quick and easy. A year ago, as a human, the idea of taking her own blood out through a needle would have bothered her. She preferred to be lying down when she had blood drawn at the doctor’s office. But she was strong now. It was no big deal.
The man took the syringe from her, and smiled. “There. That wasn’t so bad now, was it? One more test I want to do.” The man looked straight into her eyes. “Just smile, that’s all I need.”
She heard Carla take a couple steps forward. Rather than looking at John and smiling, she sneaked a peek at the woman. She held something in her hand that looked like a pistol, but flatter and wider. Carla was pointing it straight at her. She’d seen something like it before, used on a student during a demonstration at USC. Taser. Shit. And John was trying to keep me looking at him.
She swung her arm at Carla, pulling up at the last minute to stop from killing her. Her forearm connected with the woman’s face as Carla pulled the trigger. Carla went sprawling, sliding across the asphalt. Doreen felt for a moment like her whole body was on fire, but it was only pain. She turned on John.
He held his hand up to her. On his opened palm was a star circumscribed by a circle, and it was glowing blue. In his other hand was the syringe. He pushed on the plunger, spraying her blood onto the glowing symbol on his palm. She tried to knock it out of his hand, but her body wouldn’t move.
John smiled over at Carla. “Sorry for leaving you on the pavement, dear, but maybe it will provide an opportunity. Don’t forget to tell them who did this to you.” He walked around to the back of his car and lifted the hatch. He returned to pick up Doreen. He dropped her unceremoniously in the cargo area of the back and shut the hatch on her. And she couldn’t move a muscle.
A few moments later, the huge car’s engine roared to life, and then they started moving.
Chapter Five
Charles looked around the club. No Doreen. She’s probably in the ladies’ room. It took him a moment to realize that in the twenty-four hours or so he’d been with Doreen she hadn’t been out of his sight, and he wasn’t at all sure vampires had to use the restroom. Maybe she wanted to powder her nose. Then again, I don’t think she’s wearing any makeup, either.
After a minute of waiting, he spotted Genna, who was mingling as usual, and headed her way. He moved behind the people she was talking to, and caught her eye.
A moment later she joined him. “That girl I was with, did you see where she went?”
Genna shook her head. “I’m afraid not. She’s lovely, though. Maybe she’s in the restroom?”
“I was thinking I’d ask you to check.”
Genna stared at him. “You’re acting very strange, Charles. You’re over here pulling me out of a conversation because your date is spending too much time in the restroom? Since when did you get all worried about something like that? Not to mention the blood request. Now that was really weird. What’s going on?”
Charles frowned. Kent had made him promise not to tell, and he agreed because he thought keeping mum was in Doreen’s best interest anyway. Kent made a case that it was also in Genna’s interest, which Charles was less sure about. In general, he thought being informed was always a good thing.
“Well?” Genna put her hands on hips. Her gaze was unrelenting.
“She’s got a strange medical condition. I just want to make sure she’s okay.” That’s not precisely lying, is it?
He could see the wheels turning in Genna’s head. “We need to talk about what is and is not safe play with her, then, Charles. I don’t think she’s there, because I was in there a minute ago, but I’ll do this for you. Afterwards we talk. If you don’t think she’s safe in the bathroom, and she needed an off-the-record blood transfusion, well, it doesn’t sound to me like you should be spanking her or anything like that, either.” She took a step towards the ladies’ room, and then turned. “Oh, and by the way, Charles, what happened to the frame? I thought Brennan said it was sturdy enough for suspension play?”
Vampires are really strong. But I can’t tell you that, either. It would be so much simpler to tell Genna what was going on. Lies piled on top of lies. “Yeah. Unless someone cut through the wood, I don’t get it at all. I think it’s got everyone spooked.”
“Wouldn’t you have noticed?”
Yes, probably. He always gave the equipment a once-over before he used it. “Not if the cut was fine enough.”
“Hmm.” Genna walked off. In a minute, she came back, shaking her head.
Shit. He’d taken the time to do another scan of the club and look into some of the theme rooms to the side. There were windows in the side of each room, which made it easy for voyeurs but also provided the safety that came with being observed.
The couple Doreen had spotted watching them wasn’t around either. Genna would have her talk, but not yet. He ignored the look on her face, as well as the sinking feeling in his stomach as he went over to talk to Brennan. Brennan saw him coming and grimaced. Before Charles even had a chance, Brennan spoke. “Your girl walked out with one of that new couple, the woman, but they didn’t seem to be up to anything wrong.” He shrugged. “I would have followed, but Genna was in the head and with Kent out and you occupied, there wasn’t anyone to hand monitor duty off to.”
“Out as in outside?”
“Unless they’re hanging out in the lobby with the coat check girl. Lola’s there tonight.”
“Thanks, man,” he said, walking briskly towards the coat check room.
Great. He had been hoping to keep Doreen inside until Kent came back. What was she thinking, heading out there where the vampire who’d been stalking her could get her?
There was nobody
in the coat check room except for Lola, a sub with a Bettie Page haircut. When the club had first opened, either Brennan, Charles, Genna, or Kent had staffed the desk, but the last few weeks they’d been having club members do it, with admission free in exchange for a couple hours at the desk. He waved at Lola, who was wearing only a few strips of shiny vinyl and kept going.
“Something wrong?” Lola asked.
He didn’t bother to answer.
There was no sign of Doreen outside. But there were two regulars, Fred and Star, who were crouched down around the body of a woman. Holy shit. He ran over towards them and breathed a sigh of relief when he realized the small woman with the long platinum hair was still breathing, and sitting up. He recognized her as the woman Brennan had said Doreen had left with. She had scrapes on her arms and legs, which her little dress did nothing to protect or hide.
“Do we need an ambulance here?” he asked.
“Might be a good idea,” Fred said, at the same time woman said, “No.”
Where the hell is Doreen? He wanted to ask, but knew if he did it wouldn’t reflect well on the club. Besides, this woman needed help, too. So he bit it back. “Any broken bones? What happened?” Her wounds were too numerous to have been gotten during a fall, and the fact that her date wasn’t around was a sign something had gone horribly wrong.
“I don’t think anything’s broken, just bruised and battered.” The woman locked gazes with him. “This woman went crazy in the parking lot, and she was incredibly strong. She shoved me, and I went flying.”
Incredibly strong. He didn’t doubt for a moment the woman was Doreen, but something was wrong.
“A woman did this?” asked Fred.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t be sexist, Master,” said Star, a zaftig redhead. She was wearing a trench coat; Charles realized it was the first time he’d seen Star wear anything that wouldn’t get her arrested on the street for indecent exposure.
Fred frowned. “It’s not sexism to note that men are usually stronger than women. It’s a fact of existence.”
“Usually.”
“Did you see anything, Fred? Star?” asked Charles, impatiently. He didn’t have time for a chat on sexual dimorphism in Homo sapiens.
“No, she was lying on the ground when we drove up,” Fred said. Star nodded in affirmation.
“She left in a car,” added the platinum blonde.
Damn, and double damn. There wasn’t anything he could do about it now. Why would Doreen, who’d been so gentle with him, attack this petite woman? It didn’t make sense. He couldn’t see any bite marks, either.
“I’m Charles,” he told the woman. “I’m one of the dungeon monitors at Dark Xanadu. If you don’t want an ambulance, let’s at least get you inside and get you cleaned up. I’ve a friend who’s a nurse. We can get her to look you over, all right?”
“I’m Carla. And that sounds good.” She took Charles’ offer of a hand helping her up. Star moved behind her and found a way to put her arm around Carla’s shoulder without touching any of the scrapes.
“What started the fight?” he asked as the two of them helped Carla inside.
Carla’s eyes narrowed. “There wasn’t anything. We were just talking, and she started hitting on my boyfriend. So I said, cut it out, and she shoves me. That was it.”
Hitting on her boyfriend. Did Doreen still need to feed? “So where’s the boyfriend now?”
“They left in a car.”
“Together?”
“Yeah. The bitch.”
Charles thought if he were the girl he’d be more angry at the boyfriend. They maneuvered Carla through the door and through the waiting room. He didn’t have to signal Genna, because she came running the moment she saw them.
Something still didn’t fit right. “You two came in his car?” he asked her.
Carla nodded, and then grimaced.
“And they left in his car?”
“Yeah.”
“What kind of car was it?”
“Hi,” said Genna, interrupting. “I’m a nurse. Let’s go to the girl’s room and get you cleaned up, shall we?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Charles wanted to demand a description the car, but Genna and Carla went off together. He glanced at his watch. Kent was supposed to come by and pick him up in a few minutes, and they were going to go meet with Pemberton. Pemberton had promised Kent some answers, but had insisted Charles be at the meeting. The whole thing smelled like a trap, but he notably hadn’t asked for Doreen to be there, which would have been the obvious thing to do if Pemberton had indeed set a vampire after her and wanted her captured or dead for some reason.
He remembered Kent’s words. “Pemberton can and will steal your memories if he thinks you’re a threat. But I don’t think he’ll kill you. He’s got too much finesse for that, and he wants to keep the peace with me because he thinks I’m useful to him as an executioner for vamps gone rogue.”
If Kent executed vampires for Pemberton, why hadn’t Pemberton set him on Doreen? He was certainly willing, judging by how he had gone for his katana the moment he saw her. Could he trust Kent? Last week, he would have said he could trust Kent with his life, before the subjects of blocked out memories came up, and before he’d seen Kent grab a sword to kill Doreen. And now this bit about being a vampire executioner. It was a lot to take in.
For that matter, could he trust Doreen? He certainly wanted to, but she wasn’t making it easy. But he hadn’t heard her side of the story of what happened in the parking lot. Maybe even if he heard it, he wouldn’t understand, but he wasn’t going to judge her without hearing her first.
He waited for Genna to come out of the ladies’ room, but she waved him off. She looked pretty pissed at him, and he supposed he couldn’t blame her. He shrugged and went outside to wait for Kent.
* * * * *
Charles looked around the old church building. The place gave him the creeps. The crosses had long since been stripped from the walls, but most of the old wooden pews remained. A few missing gave the entire nave a random appearance. The stone walls were a hundred years old, with dark mold from years of neglect. It was cold and damp, and the stale unmoving air inside smelled of mildew.
“So is it true vampires have an aversion to crosses? And how about other religious symbols?”
Kent shook his head. “An aversion I don’t know about, but they don’t flee at the sight of them. I haven’t tried every symbol known to man, but crosses, well, they bat them aside if they’re in the way. I wouldn’t be surprised if a strong faith would allow one to block out their mesmerizing powers, since I can block them by focusing my chi. If a holy symbol was used by someone as a way of focusing their spirit…” Kent shrugged. “There might be some basis to the legend.”
Well, that wasn’t likely to help him. He didn’t have any faith in God—he’d have happily called himself an agnostic—and chi sounded pretty fishy to him too. But if vampires are real, why not? He decided to keep his mind open.
“Why are we meeting here? The whole place smells like a trap.”
“Yes,” Kent agreed. “We’re sitting ducks. They could kill us at any time.”
Charles looked quizzically over at his friend. Had Kent gone mad?
“But they won’t,” added Kent with calm assurance. “They know I’ve left information with people about them, and they’d have a hell of a time tracking it all down. I’m more dangerous to them dead than I am alive. Relax.”
As if his words were some kind of ironic cue, hooded figures appeared and took up posts between the pillars at each of the four exits from the sanctuary, two in the front and two in the back. He stood still, as did Kent, and listened. He didn’t know if he’d hear breathing, or see it, even in the stillness of the old church, but he tried. He heard nothing but his and Kent’s.
“Why the hoods?” he asked.
“So if we see them later we won’t recognize them. They’re vampires. Normally, they might be less secretive about thei
r faces, but the hoods indicate they are aware they cannot take our memories without meeting resistance. I’d worry more if they weren’t there.”
Music wafted into the room, the sound of a single violin, playing a rather haunting melody. But there was no sign of a violinist. He glanced over at Kent, and for the first time that evening, his friend looked on edge. At first, the music had the same effect on him, but then a strange peace came over him. The violinist was perfect. Either the vampires had hired one of the world’s best, or more likely, it was a recording. As he listened closer, he could hear the faint sound of a piano. There was no one at the piano up in front behind where the altar once was, next to the choir loft. The hoods, the church, and the music were all there to make them uneasy, and once he knew that, it didn’t bother him anymore. If fake menace was necessary, then real menace was probably not an option. Or so I hope.
A tall man strode in from one of the front doors, looking at home in the church and completely out of place in this century. His long black hair was tied in a pony tail of sorts, and he was paler than Doreen had been when Charles had first seen her. The layers of velvet frock coat, the jacquard vest the color of red wine, and even the white overflowing silk ruffles did not completely conceal a muscular physique. He stood behind what had once been a pulpit. The outline of a cross that had once been there remained faintly visible against the maple stain on its front. “Dearly beloved,” he began, and let the phrase hang as he parted his lips to smile broadly, his fangs glinting in the dim electric lighting from the ceiling chandelier. Old fashioned he might be, but apparently not enough to prefer real candles and flame.
Charles cleared his throat. “Tartini, isn’t it? The Sonata in G Minor, better known as the Devil’s Trill?”
The vampire laughed. It wasn’t even an eerie maniacal laugh. It was just a laugh. “Very good. You must be the honorable Charles Keller. I’d come down to shake your hand, but Mr. Carlisle has a knife hidden up his pant leg, a rather wicked long blade I’m sure he carries with the intention of chopping someone’s head off. An undead someone, and I don’t want it to be me. This podium is convenient because my two friends would reach him first, and I’d have plenty of warning. Do you play violin, Mr. Keller?”
Chilled to the Bone Page 5
