Crave

by Karen E. Taylor

  I looked at him, puzzled. I remembered the vision before I fell asleep, but afterwards there were no memories. It had been an exhausting week so far and my sleep must have been deeper than normal. I shook my head, and the covers were scattered with the petals from the missing rose.

  “Tell me,” he said, the expression in his eyes betraying the fact that he knew that I could not, “that you got up from bed, opened the door, and got that rose, tossing the stem to where I would step on it and sprinkling your head with the petals.”

  “Mitch,” I started, swallowing hard to overcome the rush of panic I felt, “I didn’t do that. Someone else was in this room today.”

  “Yeah,” his eyes flashed angrily, “I was just sort of hoping that you’d developed a taste for stupid practical jokes in your old age. I wonder who it was. Vivienne, maybe? She seems like the type somehow, to perpetrate a little playful fun, nothing serious.”

  “Vivienne would be more likely to crawl into bed between us than to pull a prank with a flower.”

  He laughed. “I suppose you’re right.”

  “Chris?”

  Mitch thought about that for a minute, went to the dresser and pulled on a pair of jeans. Then we went back to the door and inspected the knob. “I know I locked this; I do every time we’re in here. In order for anyone to get in they would have had to either break the lock or have a key. The lock isn’t broken that I can see, and it’s not been tampered with. Even had it been, I don’t think Chris has the skills for breaking and entering. But as far as the key situation goes, we only have Victor’s assurance that ours are the only ones.” He walked back to the bed, his gaze falling on the two coffins held on the ornate stand. “Although, wasn’t this box delivered for me when we were out? So it’s possible that a staff member might have access, like in a hotel.”

  “We never bother locking the door when we leave, Mitch. You always say what good does a lock do against a creature who can dissolve into a mist.”

  “Exactly.”

  Our eyes met. “And of course,” he said with a scornful laugh, “if you want to narrow a suspect list down to only one creature like that, this place sure as hell is the wrong bloody place to start.”

  “Well,” I tucked the covers under my arms, checked the clock and picked up the phone. “We’ll mention it to Victor. Maybe it was just a staff person after all. No harm was done, really. And although I don’t much like the thought of people coming and going without my knowing about it, they can’t have meant to hurt us. We’d both be dead, if they had.” I dialed my old office. “I’m going to give Betsy a call. I still need some clothes to wear. I hope she’ll deliver.”

  It was a comfort to hear Betsy’s brusque voice answer the call. And there could be no question in my mind that she was delighted to hear from me.

  “Deirdre,” her voice boomed from the receiver and I laughed softly, seeing Mitch’s fake wince, “how’ve you been? And what have you and that handsome husband of yours been up to?” She laughed so loudly that I had to hold the phone out away from my ear. “As if I didn’t have a good idea of what I’d be doing in your place.”

  “Betsy,” I said, always tickled by her no-nonsense approach to everything, “you’d be surprised.”

  “Try me.” Her voice was sly and devious. “You might be surprised instead. Now, what can I do for you?”

  “I need some clothes; we ended up staying in town longer than we’d intended to and I underpacked.”

  “What kind of clothes?”

  “Like the last time you rode to my rescue, an assortment, mostly casual, but some dressy. You remember the sizes and colors, don’t you?”

  “Yes. You’re in a rut, you know. And you’re fortunate that I have some here that will suit you. But is there any reason why you just can’t go shopping like everyone else in the world?”

  I laughed. “It’s just so much fun making you do this, Betsy. Meet me at the Imperial in about an hour or so and I’ll buy you dinner.”

  “Damn straight you will, Deirdre. And you’ll pay my outrageous prices, too.” I could visualize her, writing up the invoice while we were still talking, tacking on a huge percentage for the inconvenience of my wanting to do business this way. I didn’t mind, the money meant nothing. I needed the clothes and I would get the pleasure of her company for the evening on top of everything. It was a fair exchange.

  “I don’t suppose you’ll be staying in town for too long this time either, will you?”

  “No, Betsy. We have some unfinished business to complete and then we’ll be gone again. I’d say no more than two or three weeks at the most.”

  She sighed. “Too bad. I could still use you as a consultant. Maybe next time.” Then her voice brightened. “I’ll meet you in the Imperial bar in two hours. And bring your detective with you if you can.”

  I hung up the phone and looked at Mitch. “Betsy says . . .”

  He grinned. “You don’t have to repeat it, I suspect the entire Cadre knows what Betsy says. But you’ll have to count me out on this one, babe. I am not going to dinner with that particular predatory female.” He sighed and pulled a shirt out of the closet. “I suspect I’m going to have to spend the entire evening convincing Victor that he’s got a security problem here in his little kingdom. Then I need to track down Chris and see if we can talk about this. I’ll meet you back here sometime later tonight, okay?”

  He came over and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me not too gently on the lips. Then he ran his fingers through my hair; a few rose petals floated down. He studied them and shivered. I knew what he was feeling. Against the backdrop of the pure white sheets they looked like many drops of blood. If our daytime visitor’d had murderous intent they could very easily have been. He pulled me close to him again, and kissed me for a very long time; his mouth working on mine, his tongue running over my lips, my teeth. His eyes were opened and we locked gazes.

  When we finally separated, I sighed. “I love you, Deirdre. Be careful tonight. I’m going to convince Victor that he’s got a problem here if it kills me. And until he manages to set up some sort of security system, we’ll have to maintain a watch ourselves.”

  “You be careful, too. Go softly with Victor; he’s not as placid as you’d think. And probably too powerful to annoy.”

  He laughed. “I don’t give a flying fuck for Victor’s power. He’s put you in danger and he’ll solve that problem or pay for it.”

  He kissed me one more time, just a brushing of his lips against mine. He was halfway to the door when he turned around and spoke again. “Do me a favor?”

  “Anything, love.”

  “Ask around, if you can, and see if anyone else received either roses or a visitor today. If this is happening to everyone, it’s not quite the same as if it is just happening to us.”

  I nodded. “I shouldn’t be too late, Mitch. Expect me around eleven o’clock or so.” I blew him a small kiss and he chuckled and went out the door. After he closed it, I could hear the jingle of keys outside and saw the dead bolt turn. He was locking me in, to keep me safe. I smiled softly to myself, stretched and got up, brushing the rose petals from the sheets onto the floor.

  Betsy was waiting in the bar for me when I arrived. I’d found a black miniskirt and a lacy blouse in my luggage and wore them with a pair of plain high-heeled pumps and flesh-tone hose. The skirt and blouse were leftovers from my years alone in England, where my provocative dress had been designed to entice my victims. She looked me up and down and made a clicking noise with her tongue. “You should be paying me double, you know. God, that outfit is horrible.”

  I shrugged and looked down at myself. “I didn’t have much else that would be suitable at this point. This is good enough.”

  She threw her head back and laughed loud and long. “Yeah, good enough, but only if you’re planning on picking up a few bucks on the street afterwards. Here,” she shoved a bag in my direction, “I knew somehow that you wouldn’t have anything appropriate. Go to the ladies’ roo
m and change into this.”

  “But, this is fine . . .”

  “The hell you say. I will not eat dinner with someone who looks like she’s a twenty-dollar hooker. At least what’s in the bag raises your price a bit. Put it on and I’ll order you a drink.”

  I leaned over the table and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You haven’t changed a bit, Betsy McCain. And it’s nice to see you, too. I’ll have a cabernet or a merlot or something similar.” I took the bag and went into the ladies’ room.

  It was a simple dress, elegant and understated, made of dark green velvet in a princess style that fit tightly through the bust and the waist and flared out through the hips. I slipped it on over my head after removing my skirt and blouse and smoothed it down. The material felt soft and rich under my touch, the skirt fell only about two inches above my knees.

  But the color, although flattering, made me nervous. The only times in the past years when I’d deviated from my normal black, white or red pattern, I’d worn this color. And each time it had been a disastrous evening. I didn’t need any more of those. But it was a pretty dress and Betsy would be disappointed if I didn’t wear it. I shrugged off my superstitions as best I could and smiled at myself in the mirror before I left the room.

  As I walked into the bar area, I heard her voice in heated tones. “She only went to the ladies’ room for a minute, for Christ’s sake. And hell no, I’m not going to go get her; whatever you have to say can’t be all that important. If it is you can get her yourself.”

  Betsy was very petite, shorter than me. Her brown hair was worn slightly longer than last time I’d seen her, but otherwise her appearance hadn’t changed. She was brassy, inside and out. At this moment she was standing at the table, hands on her hips, feet firmly planted on the floor, staring a very agitated Victor fully in the face. And winning, I observed, with a wry grin, a fact established by the fact that Victor’s answer to her was soft and placating.

  “Is there some sort of problem, Victor?”

  He jumped as I came up behind him; he’d been so preoccupied with Betsy that he hadn’t heard my approach.

  “Deirdre.” He spun around and grabbed my arm. “I need to speak with you, now.”

  “Fine, Victor,” I pulled away from him with a quick gesture, “I take it this is a private discussion.”

  “Yes.”

  “Then let’s go somewhere else and keep it so. Betsy, why don’t you get them to seat you in the dining room now? I’ll join you as soon as I can. But there’s no reason you should miss dinner on my account.”

  “Okay,” she agreed. “I’ve left the box of clothes with the coat-check girl and I’ll leave the bill for you if you don’t return.”

  “Ms. McCain,” Victor made a slight bow in her direction, “I apologize for interrupting your evening, but rest assured I would not have done so unless it was very important. Dinner tonight will be on the house.” He waved his arm and the maitre d’ came over to us. “Give Ms. McCain our best table, a bottle of our best champagne, and the best steak she’s ever had. Give the check to me.”

  Betsy eyed the young host admiringly. “I’m not really in any hurry, Deirdre, take your time.”

  Victor took my arm and led me away hurriedly. “Green,” I muttered under my breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just that sometimes superstitions have very good basis in fact.”

  He escorted me to his restaurant office without another word and closed the door once we were safely inside.

  “So, what seems to be the problem, Victor?”

  “We have another body. We think it’s the body of yet another vampire, but we don’t know right now.”

  “And how did this one die?”

  “Same way, an apparent suicide. He was sitting on a bench in Central Park when the sun came up.”

  “Do you know who it was?”

  “No, we don’t.”

  “When will you know who it is?”

  “Soon, I hope. But identification in these cases is often next to impossible. The police cooperate as much as possible, but when all you have to work with is a pile of charred bones and teeth, it’s difficult.”

  “I take it there’s no witness this time.”

  He cleared his throat. “None have come forward at this time.”

  “And are you sure this is another suicide?”

  “Dammit, Deirdre, it’s hard to tell. But there are very few other ways that a vampire can be forced to witness a sunrise, short of shackles and chains, and there is no evidence of that in this case.”

  “Are you positive? It just seems to be too much of a coincidence, two suicides right in a row.”

  “Yes. That is what I thought. I was hoping you might know something.”

  “I? I know nothing at all.”

  “Ah.” He fell silent for a while, brushing slightly at the sleeve of his impeccable suit coat. Then he looked up and met my eyes. “We do have one theory. Tell me, my dear, have you ever been caught in the sun?”

  “Well, yes, of course.”

  “And what was your first reaction?”

  “Truthfully, Victor? My very first reaction?”

  He nodded.

  “I wanted to stay, regardless of the danger. I miss the sun. But then the pain would grow unbearable and I’d remove myself.”

  He nodded again. “That seems to be the way we all feel. There is the longing for the sunlight at the same time there is the fear. So when a vampire suicides, this method is the one normally chosen. Having two right in a row is unusual, I’ll admit, but not totally unheard of. It might be possible for one of us to take that desire in another and twist it, so that it is acted upon. We are connected to each other in strange ways and the actions of one, as you well know, can carry unimaginable consequences for another.”

  I shook my head in agreement and remembered my recent visions. “Yes, I can see how that might happen. But what I don’t understand is why you needed to tell me about it.”

  “Where’s Mitch?”

  “What?” My confusion must have been very apparent. “Mitch? He was going to talk to you about your sloppy security and then go to find his son. You must have seen him.”

  “I did see him, about an hour or so before sunset. He stormed into my office, talking all sorts of nonsense about how someone had broken into your room overnight and scattered rose petals. When I told him I had better things to worry about than flower petals, he stormed away, blustering about how we would pay if anything ever happened to you.”

  “You think he had something to do with this?” My voice rose in anger for the first time. “Mitch?”

  “Well, we haven’t ruled out the possibility. He hated Larry Martin. And he’s not exactly on good terms with anyone in this organization. And while Mitch may have perfectly good reasons for his reaction, the fact still remains that he’s been overheard calling for the downfall of the Cadre on many separate occasions.”

  “Jesus, Victor,” I shook my head in disbelief, “that’s all just talk. You can’t really think that.”

  “Well, we would like to speak with him as soon as possible. He’s with his son, you say?”

  “He’s looking for his son. Last night Chris found out from Vivienne that Mitch had been transformed. He’s more than just a little upset about it.”

  “Um, hmm.”

  “What?”

  “One more reason for him to be angry.”

  “Victor,” I went to the door and opened it, “if you can believe that Mitch is twisting the minds of other vampires so that they’ll sit out in the sun and burn themselves to a crisp, then you are just as crazy as whoever is doing it. If anyone is.”

  “Could be. But when you see Mitch, please tell him we need to talk.”

  “You’re wasting your time, Victor. If there is a killer loose, it’s not Mitch. I’d put my money on Larry Martin if I were you.”

  “Larry Martin is dead.”

  “Well, then, almost anyone else other than Mitch. A
nd I wouldn’t write Larry off completely. Theoretically, Victor, we’re all dead. You, me, Mitch, Vivienne, the whole damn Cadre. We’re just a bunch of animated corpses walking around preying on the lives of others.”

  “And just maybe,” I said softly to myself as I closed the door, thinking about my strange visions, wondering if perhaps these thoughts traveled and were intercepted and acted upon by the others, “maybe I’m the one doing it.”

  Chapter 19

  Betsy was halfway through her salad when I arrived at the table and sat down. She smiled at me, then frowned, seeing the expression on my face. “Something wrong, Deirdre?”

  “Damn green dress for one thing.”

  “Oh, come on, the dress looks wonderful on you; I meant to tell you so before that Victor person waylaid you. What did he want, anyway?”

  I picked up the almost empty bottle of champagne and poured myself a glass, draining it in one draught. Then tipped the bottle again to get the last few drops.

  “Deirdre?” she repeated, “what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing of importance, Betsy. Politics, suspicions, murders—just business as usual.” I gave her a light smile. “Victor has an overactive imagination, I’m afraid.”

  “So do I.” She pushed her salad bowl away and leaned over the table toward me. “You can tell me, sweetie, I can keep a secret. And if you don’t tell me, I’ll just have to let my imagination fill in the details.”

  I sighed and signaled the waiter to the table. “Another bottle of champagne, please.” When he left I looked her dead in the eyes. “Don’t ask me for confidences, Betsy, and don’t try too hard to be my friend. Do you know what happened to the last female friend I had?”

  Betsy only hesitated a minute. “Sure, she was murdered—brutally, as a matter of fact, and in the apartment behind my office.” She raised an eyebrow at the surprise that must have shown in my face. “Of course I know about the incident; it was in all the papers. And even if it hadn’t been, I would have made it my business to find out. Hell, it was my business to find out. I needed to know why you were so anxious to sell me Griffin Designs for such a low price.”