Charles shook his head. “Keyboards, occasionally. But I enjoy all sorts of music.” He wondered if Pemberton would even know what he was talking about if he talked about mixing and all the things that went into producing a good recording.
“And you’re a scholar,” stated Pemberton.
“I have a good memory.”
The vampire smiled. “A handy trait for a vampire. We live a long time, but our memories are still limited, and the past fades for us if we allow ourselves to get constantly swept up in the present. Forgive my manners. I am Aloysius Pemberton, and please do not call me Al, the way Mr. Carlisle does when he wishes to needle me. It’s a rude habit of his.”
“I don’t have any need to be on a first name basis.”
Pemberton chuckled. “Very well. My time is valuable, gentlemen, so either entertain me or get to the point.”
Charles looked at Kent. Kent, after all, had dealt with Pemberton before. But Kent nodded back to him, as if saying, Your problem, your show.
Get to the point, hmm? Well, presumably Kent would intervene if he had a problem. “I’m here about a vampire named Doreen. She’s being stalked by another vampire, and she thinks you sent him.”
“Stalked? Such a dramatic word. I did indeed send him.”
“Why?”
“I have my reasons. I intended to tell you to tell Miss Hammaker to quit trying to evade him, but I don’t think you have access to her at the moment, now do you?”
Nothing for it but the truth. “No.”
Pemberton turned his gaze to Kent. “You know, Mr. Carlisle, if you keep crudely using your essence to protect Mr. Keller from my powers I’ll start to think you have something to hide.”
“Everybody has something to hide,” said Kent.
Except for me and my monkey. The phrase from the Beatles song ran irreverently through Charles’ head, but he suppressed his smile. He didn’t think the time was right for levity, and he doubted Pemberton would catch the reference to something a mere forty years old.
Pemberton turned back to him. “Mr. Keller. When I last saw you and Miss Hammaker together, she had tried to help her friends kill your friends. Specifically, it was her task to take you out of the fight, which I understand she performed adequately. Personally, I think it was a poor tactic to have her mesmerize you when she could have killed you and moved on to the next person. I say that not because I have a taste for blood but because blood was definitely on the menu that night in all senses of the word, and a thing worth doing is worth doing well. Miss Hammaker is a vampire living within my city and therefore mine to protect or render judgment on, and from the circumstances, I expect Mr. Carlisle would wish her ill. Your memory of the event was wiped from your mind, so you, perhaps, are another matter. Or perhaps not.”
“Are you saying you don’t want her harmed?” asked Charles, trying to absorb all that. Again, the question of whether to trust Kent came up, and his answer was still yes. Certainly more than a vampire who was trying to put a wedge between them.
Pemberton paused before answering. “I suppose it won’t hurt to give you that. The vampire I have following her was not doing so to harm her.”
That wasn’t precisely an answer to his question, but it was something. “I don’t wish to harm her either.”
Pemberton smiled. “An interesting protestation. But you see, we are at a standstill. I have information you want. Mr. Carlisle is being quite quiet because he’s focusing on making sure I can’t seize control of your mind. He doesn’t trust me. And I won’t be able to trust you unless Mr. Carlisle stops protecting you and lets me compel the truth. The elder undead do not trust, Mr. Keller. We verify, as one of your recent politicians said.”
Actually, it was trust, but verify too, thought Charles, but he doubted the correction would be appreciated. And as for recent, he was in grade school when Reagan was president. “Do it, Kent. Stop shielding me.”
“I don’t want to do that, Charles. Don’t ask me to.”
“And that makes me wonder even more,” murmured Pemberton. “After all, you let me sift through his mind once before and remove his memories. And yet now you can’t trust me.”
Kent’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t have a choice. You would have killed him.”
Pemberton spread his arms wide, the wide sleeves of his coat drooping dramatically. “Not true. You wound me.”
“You weren’t going to let him go with memories of seeing vampires,” Kent insisted.
“No, I wasn’t. I would have killed you, Mr. Carlisle, and then fixed the others.” Pemberton smiled.
“So it would have happened either way. Like I said, I didn’t have a choice.”
“And you think you have a choice now?”
“Yeah,” said Kent. “Yes I do.”
“Seems this is a waste of time after all,” Pemberton said. “Very well, gentleman. You may go.”
Charles watched the two. They were at a dead end. He had no idea where Doreen had gone. Or why. But he wasn’t going to abandon her. It wasn’t only because he felt responsibility for someone he’d taken on as a submissive, although that was part of it. She was a human being, even if, in some sense, she wasn’t. “Drop it. Drop the shields, or whatever they are. Let him find out what he needs to know.”
“He’ll find out a lot more than you want to tell, Charles.”
“Since I don’t know where Doreen is, or any of her weaknesses, he won’t find anything. Drop them, Kent. My mind. My decision.”
Kent paused. “I hope you know what the hell you’re doing.”
Charles almost laughed. With my memories wiped, how can I? He didn’t say it aloud though, because it was unfair. From what Pemberton said, Kent really hadn’t had much of a choice.
He felt the weight of Pemberton’s mind on his as he locked gazes with the old vampire. There was nothing he could do to resist, or turn away. The entire universe narrowed to his eyes, gold flecked with a deep black center, like a well to fall into.
At last, Pemberton let him go, and he physically reeled back. “Satisfactory. Now for the exchange. I know where she is. Sadly, she is beyond my grasp. We can neither enter the building, nor can we charm our way to an invitation. In a few hours, the building will burn to the ground, with all in it. The fire will be ruled an accident, after careful investigation, despite some evidence to the contrary. We clean up our messes, we vampires. It is how we survive.”
You’ll burn her, because you can’t get to her? But why? “Is she there against her will?” asked Charles.
“Oh, I’m sure she is. Whether her will is in control of her body is another matter, and the evidence is not conclusive.” Pemberton smiled and leaned over the pulpit with obvious interest. “Are you contemplating a rescue?”
“Yeah. Yeah, I’m contemplating a rescue.”
“Very well. Here is the address.” As if he had it ready all along, he produced a folded piece of paper and stretched it out. “No, Mr. Carlisle, you stay there. Mr. Keller can get it, if he likes, or I will have one of my guards deliver it.”
Charles walked over and grabbed it. He opened it to see a paper with nothing but an address on it. “You planned to get us to go there all along.”
“I anticipated the possibility,” admitted Pemberton.
“And we have no way to know whether she’s really there or you’re setting us up somehow.”
“None at all,” Pemberton agreed. “But if I simply wanted you dead, or captured, there are simpler ways to go about it. Three hours, gentlemen. We have to do something about this before dawn, so I can give you that long and no more. Nature has given us some limitations, and we must abide by them.”
“Why do you have to do anything about it at all? What are you afraid of, other than for her life?”
“Life, Mr. Keller? Surely this is not life. Existence. In any case, I decline to answer. The people in that house are dangerous. Dangerous for us, and doubly dangerous for you. Yet you can do this, and we cannot. Love conquers all, Mr. Keller,
isn’t that what they say? And you are most definitely in love.”
In love? It’s too early for that. And I never fall for the subs. I like variety too much. Is that what it looked liked to Pemberton, when he was fishing around inside me? He frowned. “Let’s go, Kent.”
“An excellent idea, Mr. Keller. And good luck. You will most certainly need it.”
Kent nodded to him. The vampire guarding the door they had entered moved aside as they headed for the exit. Charles’ mind was still on Pemberton’s comment.
I doubt very much Pemberton knows anything of love at all, he decided.
* * * * *
The address was for a house in Georgetown two blocks from the shopping district. The shops stayed open late, but not after midnight. Club traffic kept the main streets of Wisconsin Avenue and M Street alive, but the back streets were empty save for the occasional night owl heading for their parking spot. But a person or two hung out at each corner of the little block the house was on. And none of them, as far as Charles could tell, were breathing. If whatever was in this house required the attention of half a dozen vampires, than what chance did the two of them have?
Then again, they’d already accomplished one miracle in Georgetown. They’d found street parking. Kent had insisted on getting Brennan to join them, and he was on his way. So they’d be three.
The house was an old three-story row house. The houses to the left and right were brick red, but this one was made of gray weathered stone. The windows had the grayish tint of old leaded glass, and they weren’t particularly clean either. There was a light on in the third floor, but otherwise the house, like most on the street, had gone dark.
“This has got to be the craziest thing I’ve ever done,” muttered Charles. Pemberton had hinted that Doreen might not be in control of her body, so they were looking at fighting a vampire, and whatever in there was strong enough to control her. What could three humans do? Besides, there was no way to break into the row house from a back or side door. They’d have to go in from the front, through the door or the windows.
“I’ve done crazier things,“ replied Kent. “But even if weren’t for this vampire that has you entranced, if they burn this house, there’s a decent chance the whole block will catch fire. When Brennan gets here, we’ll pick the front lock and act like we belong. Pemberton knows more than he’s telling, though. We’ll have to be alert to respond to whoever or whatever is in there.”
“How fast can you pick the lock?”
“Probably not fast enough. But if someone calls the police, they’ll have to come in past the vamps, who probably don’t want the cops actually on the scene of their little fire party. I’m guessing the vamps will convince them everything is okay. They can be pretty persuasive.” His lips tightened. “I’m not used to thinking of the undead as being on our side. Not sure I really like it.”
Charles nodded. With Brennan coming to join them, Genna was left running the club, with Angela’s help. That was the least of their worries. Carla hadn’t wanted to call the cops, and seemed to have latched onto Genna as if she was her best friend, so that little emergency was taken care of for now. As much as he liked to be needed, he knew Genna and Angela could take care of Dark Xanadu very well. There were plenty of good people who came to Dark Xanadu, and they’d lend their support to the staff if someone got out of control.
A few minutes later, he stood in front of the door, standing with Brennan shielding Kent’s activities from view. Before Brennan had gotten there, he’d asked why Kent was dragging him into it, and Kent had simply told him it wasn’t his secret to share. Charles didn’t object. It felt good to have his friend along. They had become quite a team in the process of running Dark Xanadu, and if any natural emergency had come up, Brennan would have been one of the first people he called. The Three Musketeers, coming to the rescue of the maiden. Pity Kent is the only one who knows how to use a sword. That was why he was carrying a red, white and blue striped bag with what looked like a large baguette in it.
It seemed like an eternity before the lock clicked and the door opened. He glanced at his watch. Twenty minutes, more than enough time for it to look suspicious to people in the neighborhood. He glanced up. The light was still on upstairs.
Kent took the bag from him and stepped in, stripping the bag from the hilt of the katana inside and tossing the foam rubber bread off the blade. He let them fall to the floor and looked around warily. Brennan followed him in. Charles shrugged, and stepped across the threshold as well. If there was a threat inside, it wasn’t at all obvious.
Nothing happened. If the house was occupied at all, there was no new indication.
Brennan sniffed at the air. “Downstairs,” he said, his voice barely loud enough to be heard. Kent nodded and followed Brennan as he walked slowly farther in to the house.
What the hell? Charles had wondered why Kent insisted on having Brennan along, but now he felt his own presence wasn’t useful. Doesn’t matter. My sub, my issue. He followed the others.
Brennan found the basement stairs behind a door right next to the kitchen. Kent opened it, sword held ready, and Brennan followed. The kitchen looked pretty normal, at least. And the basement was lit. Kent headed down the stairs.
Something was not right down there, something that made the hairs on his arm and the back of his neck stand up on end. Doreen didn’t make him react that way, but this did. He opened his mouth to call out as the shot rang out. Kent slumped against the wall in the narrow stairwell. The air shifted around Brennan—waves of distortion like heat radiating off the sidewalk on an August day—and then his friend was gone. His ripped clothes fell to the steps. A huge red wolf had taken his place, bounding forward into the basement and out of Charles’ sight. Bang! Another shot, but the result of it was hidden from him. He let the door swing closed and ran downstairs, not sure what he could do besides check on Kent and be a target. But he couldn’t just watch.
Kent moved before he got there, stepping forward into the room and then leaning back against the wall again. The bullet had struck his shoulder, and a dark stain was spreading on his shirt, the redness of it visible even against the black cotton. But at least it didn’t look like it was in a place likely to be fatal.
A rifle lay on the concrete floor. The man who presumably had been shooting was down on the ground, pinned by the huge wolf. To their left, a pentagram had been traced on the floor in chalk. Doreen lay unmoving on a black slab table at the far edge of the Pentagram. Behind the table stood the man he’d seen at the club earlier, still dressed in leathers. And behind him there was a sturdy black L shaped counter set against the wall. The counter had a sink, a Bunsen burner, and rows of test tubes filled with red, looking like something out of a chemistry class.
A tall woman, her black hair streaked with gray, stood at the far end of the counter, waving her hands. She held a wand, a little over a foot long and carved from what might have been ivory. In a loud, sonorous voice she said, “Parte morfi nychtas.” With the last syllable, she pointed the wand straight at the wolf. Blue flame washed over it, and the temperature in the room dropped several degrees. The wolf howled in pain. Abruptly, the air shifted yet again. A naked Brennan took the wolf’s place. The flame disappeared in the transition, but he didn’t look happy.
Charles ran at the woman. He didn’t know if either Brennan or Kent would be able to rejoin the fight, but he knew he couldn’t take on two people alone. Maybe taking out the woman would help Brennan and buy time for Kent. Or maybe he was going to get himself killed. Either way, he was committed.
The woman turned towards Charles and smiled. “A mere mortal,” she said. “How pitiful.” She pointed the wand at him. “Parte morfi nychtas,” she intoned, and blue fire came from her wand towards him.
He dodged to the right, but the streak of fire swerved towards him. Instead of hitting him, however, it suddenly spread out. It was bright, almost blinding for a moment, as the fire coruscated on an invisible curved shield around him. His dodge h
ad taken him inside the pentagram, and apparently her fire couldn’t penetrate it. When the light died, she stood there with her mouth open, her eyebrows arched.
“No mere mortal after all,” she murmured, in heavily accented English.
The pentagram stopped it, not me. What’s she on about? Inside the circle, he felt a sense of power he’d never experienced before. But he didn’t have time to wonder about it. I have to get to her before she starts another spell. And hope the other man can’t do anything to me.
The woman was barely outside the pentagram. He didn’t barrel into her full force. The fact that she was a woman made him pull up at the last moment, but still he sent her sprawling while he landed on top of her. He heard a scuffle behind him. He ought to hit her hard and put her out of the fight. He hesitated for a moment, and then chopped at her wrist, making her drop her wand.
Kent charged across the room at the man in leather. But Brennan was lying still on the floor, and the man who had fired the rifle had it again and was moving it into firing position. There was too much open space for Kent to cover. He was an easy target. And there was no way he could get back up and run back across the room to stop the man with the rifle.
Charles picked the wand up from the floor. It was carved from a single bone. He didn’t want to think about where it might have come from. He got to his feet, took a step forward across the chalk line, and felt again the surge of power.
“That won’t work for you,” said the woman. “It requires years—“
But somehow, now that he was inside the circle, he thought it might work. He pointed the wand at the man with the gun. “Parte morfi nychtas,” Charles said, figuring it couldn’t hurt. A streak of blue fire left the wand, hitting the rifleman as his finger tightened around the trigger. Again the temperature in the room dropped a few degrees as the rifleman was surrounded by the strange blue fire. He dropped the gun like it was red hot and dropped to the floor himself a moment later. Where Brennan had shifted his form and made the flame disappear in the process, it stayed around the rifleman, not consuming him but still licking at the air around him. He rolled back and forth on the ground, curling up into a fetal position and screaming in helpless pain.
Chilled to the Bone Page 6
