At the mention of her name, I was reluctantly swept back to the night that we had found Gwen dead, staked to my bed, her dying blood coating the room around her. I remembered the night Larry attempted to drive a stake through my heart at the Ballroom. I remembered Mitch after his last, almost fatal encounter with Larry; my fear of losing Mitch to death was what had forced me to perform his transformation. I had good reason to hate Larry and hate him I did, desperately, with a fervor beyond any comprehension. His death would be just and deserved. But, another part of me wailed, he was part of me, part of my life, and my blood flowed in his veins. We were bonded together like mother and child.
I gave a choked sob. “God, Mitch, don’t you understand? When I killed Max, he didn’t die—he stayed with me. That was bad enough and I loved him. But if I had to live with Larry inside me, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’d rather walk out right now and wait for the sun.”
“But if I were to kill him, he probably wouldn’t . . .” his voice trailed off.
I walked over to him and put my hands on his shoulders. “The true fact of the matter is that no one knows what will happen. No one, not even Victor.”
“But didn’t Victor tell you that what happened between you and Max was a rarity, that his possession of you was unusual?”
“Now look who’s taking Victor’s side. I wouldn’t like to trust my life and my sanity to his assumptions, thank you.”
He ran his hands down my arms and pulled me to him. “Then what do we do?”
I looked up at him with a half smile. “Damned if I know, my love. If we’re lucky, we won’t be able to find him at all. Hopefully, he’s already left town.”
“Larry, leave town?” Mitch gave a small snort. “I wouldn’t bank on it—not when he’s having such a good time.”
“No,” I said sadly, “neither would I.”
We stared at each other for a long time, needing no words, then he kissed me, leisurely, passionately, as if our love was the only thing that mattered. And when our lips separated and he moved away from me, I sighed.
Mitch smiled. “So, shall we go?”
“Where?”
“Where else?” His mouth twisted into a grimace. “The only lead we have and I wish to hell it had burned to the ground years ago. The goddamned Ballroom of Romance, of course.”
Chapter 5
The Ballroom had not changed. I am not sure why I had expected it would. The line to get in was probably shorter than in previous years, but from the noise of the crowd within, it was obvious that the place was still quite popular. Not recognizing the doorman, I gave him my name and asked to speak with Fred. Mitch studied the doorman intently, trying, I thought, to ascertain if he was one of our kind. I tilted my head slightly at him as we entered and Mitch responded with a slightly sheepish smile. There was no way of telling, it seemed.
“Miss Griffin,” the doorman turned around and smiled at me, “Fred’s expecting you. We have your regular table reserved.”
I must have stared at him openmouthed. This same event could have occurred last year or five years ago. How many times had I heard similar words from similar doormen? Had everything changed so little? It seemed my life was an endless coil, beginning and ending here. Sensing my confusion, Mitch took my arm and squeezed it reassuringly. “That’d be fine,” he said, “thank you.”
“Are you okay?” Mitch leaned over and whispered after we were seated. “You seem sort of disjointed.”
“I want out of this, Mitch. The situation, the city, everything. How many times do I need to go through this?”
He nodded as if he understood. “But this time you have me around, and I won’t let you down.”
I touched his cheek. “I know you won’t.”
“Ah, so here’s the happy couple.” Fred’s voice cut over the dance music as he sat down at the table. “It’s nice to see you both again. Under better circumstances, I hope.”
“That depends,” Mitch’s voice was cold, “on whether you still have your gun and whether you plan to strong-arm us again.”
“I think we’re on the same side this time, Greer. No hard feelings, huh? You didn’t exactly do me any favors last time we met, either. I’d spent quite a lot of time worming my way into the Cadre’s inner circle and it only took one look from Deirdre to drop me back down. I would have handled her a little differently had I known.” As usual, his tone was nasty and malicious, but he shook his head a bit and managed to give us an almost friendly smile. “But, Victor tells me that if I help you it will give me a chance to gain back some ground. So, what exactly can I do for you?”
“Larry Martin.” Mitch’s voice was low, persuasive. “We need to find him. Fast.”
Fred shrugged. “Yeah, he’s been around. And all this time we thought he was dead.” He gave me a shrewd look. “Can’t quite figure that one out. Care to enlighten me?”
“Occupational hazard.” Mitch’s tone allowed no argument. “So, has he been here tonight?”
“No, not yet,” Fred looked at his watch, “but it’s still early. I expect he’ll be hungry.”
Mitch stood up and grabbed the lapels on Fred’s jacket. “You knew he was coming here, picking up people and killing them, didn’t you? Why didn’t you try to stop him?”
Fred brushed at Mitch’s hands, shrugging when he couldn’t remove them. “I had no orders about him whatsoever. Why the hell should I get involved?”
Mitch gave an exasperated sigh and dropped his hands. “Why the hell, indeed.” He sat back down at the table. “Get out of here,” he muttered between his clenched teeth, “you make me sick.”
Fred raised his eyebrows and gave a low laugh. “No problem, Greer.” Then he looked at me. “Quiet tonight, aren’t you, Deirdre? Shall I have a bottle of your favorite wine sent over while you wait?”
“That would be fine, thank you, Fred.”
I watched him walk away from our table and surveyed the room, my eyes darting back and forth over the dancing forms. “I think I may sell this place, Mitch. Who needs it?”
“Good idea,” he agreed, giving me a boyish grin, “or like I suggested earlier, burn it to the ground.” He ran his fingers through his gray hair and grew instantly sober. “Maybe we can arrange for Fred to be inside at the time. And a few others I can think of . . .”
Mitch’s voice trailed off when the waiter arrived at our table with the wine and glasses. After he left, I glanced around uneasily. “Mitch, you shouldn’t say that here, or anywhere. Someone might take you seriously.”
“I am serious, Deirdre. Unfortunately, I’m still too much of a cop to put my thoughts into action. But so help me God, if this situation puts you into any sort of danger, or hurts you in any way, I won’t rest until the goddamn Cadre is ground into dust.” His eyes flashed at me across the table. “And,” he said, his voice full of determination, “I’m just the man to do it.”
I reached over the table and cupped his cheek gently in my palm. “I know, my love, but it won’t be necessary. I’m a big girl now and can take care of myself.”
He pulled my hand to his mouth and kissed it. “I won’t take the chance of losing you, Deirdre, not after it took me so long to get you.”
“We’ll do this together,” I began, then stiffened as one of the dancers I had been idly watching turned and met my stare. His mouth twisted into a smile, a smile that at one time had seemed to me to be innocent and trusting. Now it was merely a grimace, an evil, tormented gesture from a damned soul. Through the darkness that hung over him, I could finally see him clearly. The smell of death coated him. Even the familiar scent of his cologne, one I once thought enticing and alluring, could not disguise the odor of decay and rotting flesh that engulfed him and the air surrounding him. And I, who thought I’d experienced every possibility in my unnatural lifetime, realized that I had never been faced with true evil until this moment. The dark sins that had haunted Max were nothing compared to the utter grotesqueness of the inhuman creature now boldly meeting my gaze
and slowly crossing the room to the table where Mitch and I sat.
“Deirdre,” Larry said when he came close enough to be heard over the band, “and Mitch.” His eyes widened slightly, as if he were not expecting Mitch to be here. Of course, I thought quickly, Larry’d believed Mitch was dead. But he did not allow this surprise to interrupt his flow. “Mother and, ah, Father, so to speak. I have so much to be grateful to the both of you for. Your bullet,” he nodded at Mitch, “and your blood, Mother.” He reached out and stroked my cheek, grinning at the shudder he caused. “The combination of those two things gave me everything I ever wanted. May I join you?”
Without waiting for our assent, Larry pulled a chair from the table, spun it around and straddled it, leaning himself toward me. “I wondered when you would get back in town, you might even say I was expecting you.” He laughed, a low, sinister and mirthless sound. “I knew they’d send for you to clean up your dirty laundry.”
I sat silently for a moment, staring at him, trying to determine exactly where his radiated evil dwelled. His physical looks were unchanged; he was still a blond, blue-eyed, broad-shouldered young man, handsome and innocent in his appearance. Even as he sat talking to us, I caught the interested glances some of the girls in the club directed his way.
The differences in him were subtle, but obvious when I looked closer. Now his mouth was drawn out, tightened in pain or anger. His eyes moved about nervously, betraying a manic attitude; his voice had acquired a malevolent edge. When he spoke, his tongue darted out of his mouth, like a reptile’s scenting the air for prey. Underlying my repulsion and disgust, however, I could still feel the strength of the blood bond between us. And the realization that I had somehow given birth to this monster made my stomach wrench and the bile rise in my throat.
“So,” Larry said, returning my look, “what exactly did the Cadre ask you to do with me?” His tone was one of amusement as if we were exchanging pleasantries or jokes.
“They told us we could kill you.” Mitch’s voice held no lightness, only a bitter hatred and Larry turned away from me and directed his gaze on Mitch.
“Did they?” Other than a quick intake of breath and a slight quaver in his voice, Larry’s assurance never faltered. “Now that’s an interesting development. I thought that the killing of another vampire was a definite no-no.”
“Believe me, Martin, they’ll make an exception in your case. As for me, I’ve already killed you once. I’d like nothing better than to do the job right this time.” Mitch gave a little grunt and ran his fingers through his hair. “But Deirdre doesn’t want you dead. God knows why.”
“Why, Deirdre,” Larry reached over and touched the top of my hand, “I didn’t think you cared. I’m touched.”
I pulled away from him abruptly, wiping my hand on the leather leg of my pants. “I don’t care, Larry. I just don’t want to be involved in your death.”
“Whatever.” He shrugged. “Either way works for me. So what do we do now?”
I was amazed at his compliance, almost as much as the calm assurance in my voice when I answered him. “If you agree, we go back to Cadre headquarters and arrange for a hearing.”
“Just like that, huh? And who guarantees my safety when I get there?”
“I will, Larry.” My eyes met his and I knew he could read the truth in them. “I will guarantee your safety, if you accept the Cadre’s decision.”
“Done. But let’s finish the wine first, okay?” Larry called the waiter over, asked for another glass, then turned his chair slightly so that he could watch the dancers while he waited. “I guess,” he said, his voice soft now, almost wistful, “that asking you to dance is out of the question.”
I could feel Mitch tense, but caught his eye and shook my head slightly. I had a responsibility here, one that I had shirked before, one that was mine alone. For although it had been Mitch’s bullet that allowed the blending of my blood with Larry’s, it had been my presence and my life that originally set him out on the dark path he now walked. I had left town to pursue my own selfish interests, knowing full well of his twisted rebirth. I should have stayed to teach him, to comfort him. Perhaps if he would accept me now, it was still not too late for me to show him a better way.
“Larry,” I said, standing up and taking his hand in mine, suppressing a shudder of distaste, “I would be happy to dance with you.”
So I led him to the dance floor; he put his arms around me and we began to dance. The defiance and the cockiness that he had earlier displayed vanished; the evil air he exuded was still apparent, but was now subdued by a sadness, a solemnness. He held me almost reverently, as if I were delicate and breakable. Even though aware of Mitch’s watchful stare, I finally relaxed in Larry’s arms; he must have felt the easing of my tension, he tightened his hold on me and sighed.
Slowly we circled the dance floor, saying nothing, not even looking at each other. Every so often, I would catch Mitch’s eye as we went around and I would nod to him and smile. Mostly my attention was centered on Larry and the conflicting emotions he was causing in me. The loathing and the disgust at his murderous actions still existed in me, but at war with them was the feeling that had been caused by his earlier greeting of me as “Mother.” It was true—I was as much his mother as Max had been my father and Larry had been as much betrayed, abandoned, and left to his own resources as I had been. But the biggest difference was that I had known of his existence and had chosen to do nothing to help him.
The band started another slow song and I felt Larry’s grip on me change. I looked up at him and he gave me a small smile, but looked away from my direct gaze. “Deirdre,” he said, and his mouth quivered, “I want to tell you what happened to me, how I have been fighting for survival. Will you listen, I mean, really listen? Will you try not to judge me too harshly?”
I swallowed hard. “I’ll try, Larry, I really will.”
“Can we go somewhere private, do you think?”
“Well,” I hesitated, “I doubt that Mitch would stand for that. At least here he can see us.”
Larry nodded. “Yeah, I understand. He should probably join us anyway, even though he hates me.”
“You can’t really blame him for hating you, you know.” I smiled a bit to ease the tension. “You did try to kill him, after all.”
“And he tried to kill me,” Larry said, the madness seeming to return briefly to his voice. “But I guess,” and he sighed again, deliberately controlling his temper, “that probably just makes us even. And here we both are, alive and well, no harm done.”
Although I thought that point was extremely debatable, I let it go. “Shall we see what kind of shape Fred’s been keeping Max’s office in?”
“Sure.” He dropped his arms from me and stood back. “And thanks.”
Chapter 6
The three of us entered Max’s office, escorted by Fred, who sounded almost apologetic when he opened the door. “I hope you don’t mind, Deirdre,” he said, giving me a sidelong glance, “Victor thought it was time for a change in here. After you left town, he called me back to manage the place again. And my first job was to clear everything out of here, then redecorate the room. What do you think?”
Larry moved in quickly and settled in on one of the sofas; Mitch gave him a sharp hateful glare, then went to the bar and began to open a bottle of wine. I stood in the doorway, looking around me, a smile beginning to etch itself upon my face. Suddenly, Max’s office wasn’t Max’s office anymore. It had been totally redone since the last time I’d seen it, over two months ago.
All traces of what had been here before were erased. Gone was the dark, brooding atmosphere that had been so prevalent; now everything was airy, light, and feminine, almost too feminine. The windows were covered with heavy beige tapestry curtains, patterns of gold, mauve, and pale green woven throughout, the carpet was a pale, plush ivory. The sofas were covered in a print damask to match the curtains; the chairs and desk were Queen Anne styling. Even the bar had been replaced, with
a delicate-looking wicker one and the stools had been covered with fabric that matched the sofas. I was delighted, not so much by the decor, but by the fact that finally something had changed. The very thought that this office, a place that had remained static for close to ten years, was now a different place, no longer haunted by ghosts of the past, lightened my spirits.
When I started to laugh, Fred stated defensively, “Well, if you don’t like it, we can have it changed, you know.”
“I am not laughing about that, Fred. It’s lovely, really.” Knowing that I could not explain my sudden levity, I searched for an excuse. “I, well, I was just trying to visualize you with the decorator, choosing fabric swatches.”
I was surprised to see him blush. “You thought that I did this, myself. No, actually Vivienne made all the arrangements.”
“Oh,” Mitch said, his voice filled with amusement, his eyes catching mine, “Vivienne.”
Larry caught the look exchanged between Mitch and me, and gave a little snort. Mitch glared at him and the room suddenly seemed filled with tension.
No fool, Fred edged away to the door. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll leave the three of you alone. You want I should lock the door?”
“Yeah, do that.” Mitch came around the bar with a glass of wine for me and Larry, then, as the door closed and the latch clicked shut, went back for his drink, a scotch on the rocks. I wondered if Larry would recognize this as a sign of Mitch’s bad temper, but with the icy blue stare directed at him, I realized that for Larry the clue was probably not necessary.
“So,” Mitch sat down on one of the side chairs, and I sat down on the sofa facing Larry, “Deirdre says you have a story to tell us, something that might just keep me from killing you right here, right now. It’d better be good.”
Crave Page 4
