From Fear to Eternity: An Immortality Bites Mystery

by Michelle Rowen

A fog had begun to roll in.

  Not just any fog.

  Whatever it touched blurred and then vanished from sight.

  Veronique inhaled sharply. “Mon dieu. I knew this would happen.”

  A chill raced down my spine. “What’s happening?”

  Her expression was bleak and fearful. “The magic contained here must be draining away. I will assume it’s not enough to sustain this place any longer, especially since we’ve gone so far off the original storyline.”

  I grabbed Thierry’s arm. “I think that’s our cue to leave. Like, now.”

  His gaze moved from the fog to lock with mine. “An excellent plan.”

  “Back to the tavern. I sure hope that passageway is still there.”

  As the fog drew closer, the four of us began running away from Frederic’s remains and toward the tavern in the distance. It was good to see that Veronique was as adept at running in high heels as I was.

  Practice made perfect.

  One big problem when we got there, though: Stefan’s two henchmen blocked the entrance.

  “Veronique. You’ve returned,” one said.

  “Step aside,” she hissed.

  “We cannot do that. We must hold you until Stefan returns.”

  “Stefan’s dead,” I informed them. At their aghast looks, I shrugged. “I guess he won’t be getting that sequel after all.”

  Maybe it sounded heartless, but Stefan was fictional. And he tried to kill me.

  Those were two big strikes against him.

  “No!” the other hunter wailed, shaking his fist at the sky. “Not Stefan! He was the best of all of us.”

  Veronique winced and exchanged a glance with me. “The book’s production schedule was rushed, but I do wish I’d had time to fix a few things in copyedits.”

  “Overly dramatic vampire hunters?”

  “Perhaps I could have pulled back just a tad.”

  Marcellus grabbed one hunter and Thierry grabbed the other, shoving them out into the street. They stood there stunned, then began moving back to the tavern entrance just as the fog reached them and wrapped them up in its misty fingers. They disappeared from sight.

  I frantically turned toward the busy tavern and scanned it. “Where’s the passageway? Damn it. It was right there!”

  Where the opening had been earlier was now only a solid wall.

  The fog drew closer and closer.

  I clutched Thierry’s arm.

  “There’s another one over there,” he said.

  I looked where he indicated toward a crowd of people who magically faded from sight. One by one, all the tavern patrons disappeared so only the room now remained visible.

  And I saw it. Another passageway, smaller than the previous ones.

  “We must move,” Thierry commanded. “Now.”

  We ran across the room, which began to feel less solid, the floor more mushy and slippery, like pudding. I nearly lost my footing, but Thierry kept hold of my arm to steady me.

  “I feel it . . . ” I managed.

  “Magic?”

  I nodded.

  “I feel it, too,” he said.

  “I feel nothing, but I will trust you both.” Veronique’s voice held both panic and deep regret. “Farewell, Marcellus, my love! I will never forget you!”

  Once we made it to the opening, I slipped through without another thought. Thierry was right behind me, and Veronique was on his heels.

  The fog reached the passageway just as we did and tendrils of mist wrapped around my ankles, tugging, slowing my progress before they finally, thankfully, drew back.

  It was dark in there, but I kept moving, slowing down just a little to put my hands out in front of me. We finally came to a wall, and I felt around until I found the shape of a door and a cold brass knob.

  I held my breath and turned it, then pushed forward.

  The door opened into a room, which I staggered into, heaving a great sigh of relief.

  “We made it!” I threw myself into Thierry’s arms as he came through the doorway. “We’re okay!”

  He squeezed me tight, then glanced at Veronique as she emerged from the passageway.

  “We have successfully returned.” She sounded sad and weary. “Alas, only the three of us.”

  My heart ached for her. I’d seen it in her eyes—what she felt for Marcellus, even the fictional version of him, had been as real as what I felt for Thierry. “I’m sorry, Veronique. I know part of you wanted to stay there with him.”

  “For a moment, I thought it might be possible.” Her eyes shone with tears. “But of course, such things are not. Fantasy is not reality. My life is here and Marcellus must remain only a memory for me. There was never any other choice.”

  She went to close the door, but something was blocking it.

  It pushed open again and Marcellus stepped into the room.

  He regarded us all with a bright smile. “That was rather exciting, wasn’t it? I certainly can’t explain it, but—” He frowned. “Where are we now?”

  My mouth fell open.

  Thierry stared at the man with surprise. “There has to be an explanation for this.”

  Marcellus had followed us back here through the passageway.

  That shouldn’t have been possible. He was a fictional character created by Veronique for her book.

  This was the real world. Yet he was standing right in front of us.

  Veronique stared at him, her eyes wide, her mouth forming a perfect “O.” “Marcellus . . .”

  “Do you understand what has happened?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think so,” she whispered. “The magic from the amulet made this possible. It was contained within that place, making real what was only fiction—because you followed me here. Here you’re real. It’s a miracle!”

  Marcellus regarded her with confusion, as if every word that left her mouth was a puzzle he couldn’t solve. “All I know for sure, my love, is we have a task at hand. We must find a murderess and bring her to justice.”

  Another item for the lengthy to-do list.

  And another surprise guest now invited to the party from Hell.

  Chapter 15

  It was edging close to three o’clock in the morning. Only three hours remained before dawn broke.

  Half our time had been squandered in Vampireland.

  However, for a second there—between Thierry’s spell and the fog—I wasn’t sure if we’d make it back at all.

  But we did.

  I watched Thierry, trying to see if there were any signs of stress, any indication that the thirst still tortured him or that the spell hadn’t been broken. He looked every bit as much in control as he ever had.

  Point for me. Negative five million for Sebastien.

  Not that I could rub it in his face. Who knew what else he might have planned as a backup?

  “The others should be gathering in the foyer soon.” Thierry moved toward the door leading out to the hallway. “Remember, tell no one about my spell. Sebastien must continue to believe it holds.”

  Marcellus had gone silent and looked around at everything we passed, his jaw tight. His eyes widened as Thierry pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked to see if there was a signal yet. “You will explain all of this to me soon, Veronique. This strange place, that bright and magical object Thierry holds, your oddly revealing clothing, and what happened back there that we needed to escape from.”

  She gave him a tense smile. “Yes, my darling. Of course I will. For now, please try to play along.”

  “I will do my very best.”

  Thierry tucked his phone away and reached down to entwine his fingers with mine.

  “Thank you again for believing in me,” he murmured.

  “Anytime.” I squeezed his hand. “Although, if
you want Sebastien to think you’re still thirsty for my blood, it would probably look more legit if you keep your distance.”

  He nodded. “Yes, of course you’re right.”

  Still, he didn’t let go of my hand until we reached the bottom of the stairs in the foyer.

  “Where is this Anna villainess?” Marcellus asked, turning around in a circle.

  “Shh, darling.” Veronique grabbed his arm. “Let Thierry explain when the others arrive.”

  And they did as the hour reached three o’clock, just as we’d planned. Sebastien arrived, his brow furrowed as he saw Thierry . . . and then Marcellus. I wondered if he had ever met the man before—the real one, anyway. He remained silent, but I could see the questions in his eyes.

  Atticus was right behind Sebastien, and he looked extremely grumpy. By now, Thierry had put a dozen feet between us, as if keeping distance between himself and temptation. Atticus’s sharp eyes caught everything. I still didn’t know what to make of the man. Was he really as bad as the other elders suspected? Were they right to assign Thierry to figuring out if he was behind the murders?

  Or was he someone, like Thierry, who’d been suspected of being evil when all he wanted to do was help?

  “Who is this?” Atticus asked sharply, pointing at Marcellus as Tasha and Melanie appeared through an archway to join the group. “And how did he enter this building?”

  Marcellus raised his chin. “My name is Marcellus Rousseau. My reputation should speak for itself among our kind. Who are you, sir, that you would speak so rudely to me?”

  Atticus flicked a look at Thierry, “But Marcellus was infamously killed by hunters more than four hundred and fifty years ago,” he said.

  “I most certainly was not!” Marcellus blustered. “I think I would remember something like that!”

  “Let’s just say,” Thierry said slowly, as if choosing his words with great care, “that Marcellus has joined us for the evening in a . . . magical manner.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It seems to be a side effect of the amulet’s magic. I have no further explanation for it at this time. Nor do we have the time to waste discussing this.”

  “I would disagree. This seems significant.”

  “I am here to help,” Marcellus said proudly. “You can take my help with open arms or you can resist. It makes no difference to me.”

  I’d kept a close eye on Melanie since she’d entered the foyer. She glanced from Thierry to me and gave me a sheepish look.

  A guilty look.

  I would expect so if she’d been lying to us about being a werewolf. About being the blood deliverer, but not the blood enchanter.

  That drink server was a witch working for Sebastien, and even if she felt guilty about what he’d had her do, she was still a threat.

  I would never, ever underestimate a witch—that was for sure.

  “Where’s Anna?” I asked, trying to sound conversational and not accusatory.

  Be cool, Sarah.

  “I haven’t seen her,” Atticus said, “or her odd little husband. I’m fine with that, since both of them despise me.”

  No need to blurt out the news of the murder. Better to wait and see if anyone looked guilty. “Why would they?”

  “I am the leader of an organization they feel represses their ability to embrace all that it is to fully be vampire. No matter who might lead the Ring, Purists would not embrace that person as a friend. It doesn’t matter. I have plenty of friends.”

  Is that so? It sounded as if he was killing off his friends at the Ring one by one.

  Still, innocent until proven guilty. I had to remember that about Anna, too, even if all the evidence now pointed a big neon arrow directly at her.

  “Thomas isn’t here, either,” Melanie said.

  “We can’t wait for him.” Thierry had climbed a few stairs so he could address us all easily as well as keep a “safe” distance. “Time is slipping away. Has anyone had any success?”

  Sebastien stood near the front door, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. “I’m surprised you’re still coherent. Aren’t you feeling the pinch, Thierry?”

  Thierry’s cold gaze tracked to him. “I will deal with you later.”

  “I see you’re keeping away from Sarah. Probably a good idea if you value her safety. Who would have thought the one she’d have to fear the most was her own husband?”

  I forced myself to remain silent in case I might say something to give away the fact that Thierry’s spell was already broken. I wanted to feel bad for Sebastien, that he had so much hate inside him directed at the wrong person that he wanted that person to suffer—that he was willing to put other people’s lives at risk . . .

  Okay, I didn’t feel as bad as I should. I guess my empathy had an expiration date.

  “I searched as many rooms as I could in the time I had,” Tasha said, sounding frustrated. “This mansion is seemingly endless.”

  “I found some rooms on the third floor that are locked,” Melanie added.

  “There’s nothing in those rooms,” Sebastien said.

  “So says the host of this party from Hell,” I mumbled.

  “Did you say something, Sarah?” he asked.

  “Oh, no. Nothing. Nothing at all.” I didn’t try to smile at him. Just how much of this was Sebastien Lavelle, resident vampire with a grudge, responsible for? I was starting to think he had his fingers in many evil pies. “Where’s the amulet, Sebastien?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I moved closer to him, peering at his face to see if I could see anything helpful there. “I think you’re lying.”

  He regarded me blandly. “Too bad I don’t have a polygraph on hand. I’d prove you wrong about that.”

  “Why don’t I be the polygraph and just say you’re lying?”

  “I’m not.”

  He was incredibly frustrating. “You are! Do you want us all to die at dawn if you don’t grow up, you spoiled brat?”

  “Control your wife, de Bennicoeur,” Sebastien growled.

  “Why?” Thierry replied. “Her assessment of both you and the situation at hand is perfectly reasonable to me.”

  Sebastien shot him a withering look. “I had nothing to do with the amulet going missing.”

  “And why, precisely, would any of us believe that, given some of your other nefarious decisions tonight?”

  Sebastien’s cheek twitched. “If I had hidden it, don’t you think I would tell you? I took the warning we received earlier very seriously. We need to fix this mess before dawn or we’ll all perish.”

  I still couldn’t tell if he was playing a game with us or not. I now sensed he was telling the truth, but maybe I was a lousy lie detector tonight.

  “No one found anything?” I asked. “Nothing at all?”

  One by one, everyone, including Atticus, Melanie, and Tasha, said no.

  No sign of the amulet. No sign of the djinn. And no one else mentioned that they’d randomly walked into a scene or two from Veronique’s book.

  Thierry hadn’t breathed a word about Frederic’s death yet. Perhaps he was attempting to rule out everyone present as a suspect. It had to have been Anna. I was sure of it.

  Thomas finally joined us, entering through the archway to the right.

  “What about you?” Thierry said.

  Thomas didn’t reply. His face was pale and sweat coated his brow.

  “Good Lord!” Tasha exclaimed. “What’s wrong with him?”

  He staggered close enough to me to clutch my arm, then dropped heavily to his knees on the marble floor.

  “Thomas, are you okay?” I asked with alarm.

  He just shook his head, licked his lips, and whispered, barely coherently, “Please, you must fix what went wrong. . . . Seven oh five. Attack. Seven oh—”
r />   And then he slipped all the way to the floor.

  I clamped my hand over my mouth as everyone else drew closer. Atticus helped me roll him over on his back.

  “He’s not dead,” I told them. “Just unconscious.”

  Given the deadly night we’d had so far, this was very good news.

  Melanie stroked the hair off his forehead. “We need to get him somewhere softer than the floor. Poor Thomas! What happened to him?”

  “No idea,” I managed.

  “What did he say to you?” Atticus asked.

  “I couldn’t understand him.” I’d heard him, although what he’d said hadn’t made any sense to me.

  Someone in this room may have done something to him. A vampire didn’t just randomly faint. And the look in his eyes had been bleak and frightened.

  If you asked me, he’d looked scared to death.

  He’d seen something. Seen someone. And this was the result.

  Maybe he’d come face-to-face with the missing djinn.

  “Luckily, I was able to hear him,” Marcellus said. “He said ‘Heaven or life, a tick.’”

  “Heaven or life, a tick?” Tasha’s brows drew together. “What on earth is that supposed to mean?”

  Pretty sure it was seven oh five attack, not heaven or life a tick. But I wasn’t going to correct him. Not that I had any idea at all what it meant.

  Marcellus rubbed his chin. “Perhaps he anticipated his own mortality and was choosing between embracing death and continuing to fight for his own survival and it was draining him, such as a tick might.”

  Veronique patted his arm. “That is an excellent assessment, darling.”

  Sebastien and Atticus hoisted Thomas and carried him into the parlor, placing him on a sofa. The rest of us followed.

  Melanie stood by the doorway, wringing her hands. “Will he wake up?”

  Tasha glanced at her. “Do I look like a doctor?”

  “You were a great doctor in Space Hospital,” I said weakly. “Which, you should know, is one of my all-time-favorite movies.”

  She looked at me with surprise. “Thank you so much. I had great fun on that one.”

  “I’d say so. That love scene with George Clooney was hot enough to—”