Elizabeth shuddered. That explained the dual personality she’d sensed. “And your brother?”
King’s eyes sparked. “He was the last to die, and the most pleasurable to kill.”
Her knees threatened to buckle. She was standing in a room with a mass murderer. A demon. How often did he kill? How did he choose his victims? Was she next? Why hadn’t he killed her when he had the chance? She tried the door handle again, and to her surprise, felt it turn. It wasn’t locked. In her panic, she must have turned it the wrong way.
“You were always free to leave,” he said. His confidence slipped, and she saw the ghost of insecurity flit across his face.
Despite the voice in her head screaming for her to run, to run and never look back, there was a chorus of other voices asking questions, questions she and Simon had spent years trying to answer. Simon! How was she going to tell him? Oh, by the way, that proof you’ve spent your life looking for, well, I had dinner with it.
She looked at King and said the only thing she could. “I’m sorry.”
His back straightened. “I didn’t tell you this for pity.”
“Why did you tell me?”
He regarded her calmly. “Because it’s what I am.”
“But why me?”
He walked over to her, and she somehow managed to stand her ground. He stroked her cheek with his gloved hand. “How does any man answer that question? You are an amazing woman.”
She tried not to shrink back from his touch. “I don’t understand.”
He smiled enigmatically and stepped back. “I don’t suppose you do. Yet.”
Her head was throbbing and his cryptic answers weren’t helping any. She ran a hand over her forehead and massaged her temple. She had the beginnings of one hell of a headache.
He pulled a watch chain from his pocket. “It’s late, and you’re obviously tired,” he said, once again the well-mannered host. “We can continue this another time.”
“You’re letting me go?”
“I told you that you were always free to go.”
There had to be a catch. There was always a catch. “And you won’t hurt anyone. Simon or Charlie?”
“That’s up to you. Every action has a consequence.”
She could leave, but he’d know every move she made, and Simon would pay the price. “So, I’m not really free at all, am I?”
“We’re all bound by the choices we make,” he said and reached into his breast pocket. “I don’t think you’d want to leave town without this.” He held out his hand, and resting in his palm was Simon’s scarab ring.
She felt her stomach drop. “Where did you get that?”
“I could ask you the same question,” he said and held it up to the light. “Very unusual. One of a kind?”
“That doesn’t belong to you.”
“Oh, I think it does. But I am curious. How did you come by it?”
“A family heirloom, and I’d appreciate it if you’d give it back to me,” she said and held out her hand.
“Perhaps,” he said and slipped it back into his pocket. “In time. As I said, I’m a patient man.”
And one who had, literally, all the time in the world. Her head throbbed even harder. “I’d like to go home now.”
“Of course,” he said and opened the door. “My man will take you.”
She choked back the bitter taste the evening left in her throat and managed a tight, “Thank you.”
King watched her disappear into the foyer before closing the door. He reached back into his pocket and took out the scarab ring and set it on the table. Slowly, he took off his right glove and there, on his finger was the exact same ring, with the exact same crack down the stone. He slid it from his hand and put it down on the table with its twin.
“A sign indeed.”
* * *
Simon leaned on the far end of the bar and stared down at his clenched fists. It had taken all of Charlie’s strength to keep him from forcing his way out into the night and blindly banging on doors until he found King. He knew it would have been useless, but anything had to be better than waiting. He’d spent the first two hours pacing in the back room, until the walls started to close in. Being in the bar was no better. Every time someone laughed he wanted to cram it back down their throat. Every minute that scratched by took another layer of skin. Every glass of whiskey that passed over the bar called his name. He ached for a drink, anything to blur the horrific images that cluttered his mind.
A vampire. His worst suspicions confirmed. Elizabeth was with the creature and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do but wait. He clenched his fist until the knuckles strained white. Useless. Bloody fucking useless. He wanted to rage, to hit something until his hands were as raw as he felt inside.
A man shouldered up to the bar and tapped Simon on the shoulder. “Ain’t ya gonna play or what?”
Simon blinked a few times and then turned to the man with a withering gaze.
Charlie interrupted before things got worse. “Ankle it. Go on. Get,” he grunted and pulled the man forcibly by the lapels away from Simon. “Sorry ’bout that, Professor.”
One more hour. He’d give her one more hour to return, then he’d take the city apart brick by brick till he found her. Charlie’s assurances that if King wanted to hurt Elizabeth he’d have already done it weren’t comforting. Going in half-cocked and getting himself killed wouldn’t help her either. Damn it. There had to be something he could do.
If only he’d been more careful with the watch. If he’d only pushed her away when the light had enveloped him. If only. A thousand chances to keep her out of harm’s way, each one missed. Each missed opportunity had brought her a step closer to him, and the death his very presence would inevitably bring. Or had it already? Was she...?
He pushed that thought aside ferociously. No, she wasn’t. She couldn’t be. It was his fate to watch. He knew that as surely as anything. When the time came, he’d bear witness to it. He took morose comfort in the thought. A drowning man will grasp even the blade of a sword.
Was he so pathetic as to let fate wrench away the only thing that meant anything to him without a fight? There had to be something he could do, some way to protect her. He’d spent years studying the bloody things. They had weaknesses. King had to have a weakness.
Vampires could be destroyed, he knew that much. They were strong, but not invincible. He needed weapons, tools, something, anything. And if King harmed one hair on Elizabeth’s head, he’d kill him with his bare hands if he had to.
“Professor?”
Simon looked at Charlie expecting to see the same haggard, worried face he’d seen for the last few hours.
“Told ya,” Charlie said, grinning from ear to ear. He mopped his brow with the bar rag and nodded toward the door. “She’s back.”
Simon turned and Elizabeth was standing in the doorway. She looked tired and pale, and more beautiful than ever. He strode across the bar, one step behind his heart, and gathered her into his arms in a crushing embrace. “Oh, love,” he rasped. God, to feel her in his arms again.
“I’m all right,” she said.
He pulled back to look into her eyes. He needed to see her face to be sure.
“Really,” she said with a small smile.
His hands cupped her cheeks as he searched her eyes. Her skin was warm, alive, but even that reassurance didn’t stop himself from sliding them down her neck.
She pulled away and looked at him accusingly. “What are you doing?”
“I had to be sure.”
“You mean, you know?”
“Charlie told me.”
She pulled back, her eyes clouded with confusion and betrayal. “Charlie knows?”
“Lizzy!” Charlie said.
“I’ll tell you later,” Simon whispered, before Charlie pulled her into a bear hug. Her body tensed as Charlie held her arms.
“You look all right,” Charlie said, as he held her at arm’s length. “Was so worried, thought I migh
t have kittens.”
“I’m all right, just tired,” she said wriggling out of his embrace.
Charlie stood awkwardly for a moment still holding her arm. “Sure. Course ya are.”
“We’re going home,” Simon said and eased her out of Charlie’s grasp.
“Right. Yeah,” Charlie said, and smiled at Elizabeth. “Sure glad you’re okay, Lizzy.”
Elizabeth nodded, her eyes glinting with mistrust, and slipped her hand into Simon’s. “Let’s just get out of here.”
* * *
Simon hurried them along the dark streets. As much as he wanted to know what had happened, he needed to feel she was safe, and their little flat was as close as he could get.
Once they were home, Elizabeth stood in the middle of the room, her arms wrapped around her chest. Simon came up behind her, and she jumped when he put his hands on her shoulders. She stepped away and looked up at him, before turning away. “I need to take a bath.”
He caught her arm. “Elizabeth—”
She squirmed out of his grasp. “Please?”
She looked so small, so vulnerable. All he wanted to do was wrap her in his arms and never let go. But right now this wasn’t about what he wanted. “Of course,” he said and let his hands fall to his sides.
She went into the bath and turned on the taps. Simon stood on the threshold and watched as she slowly undressed. Her hands shook as she struggled with the buttons of her dress, and Simon stepped forward and covered her trembling hands with his own. He undid the rest and then stepped back to lean against the door jam. He’d give her the distance she needed, but she was not going to be out of his sight.
Without looking back, she stepped into the hot water. The little room filled with clouds of steam. Wisps of water vapor, hotter even than the heat of the summer night, snaked up like tendrils of smoke.
Simon breathed in the cloying air and waited.
The water ran until it nearly spilled over the sides. Elizabeth didn’t seem to notice. She sat huddled in the tub, barely moving.
He shut off the taps and knelt down next to her. Her skin glowed red from the scalding water. His heart ached at the sight of her—curling in on herself, trying to burn away the memory of the night.
“Come on, love,” he said, and eased her out of the tub. She stepped onto the mat, and he wrapped a towel around her shoulders.
She sniffled and looked up at him, tears filling her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Shhh,” he whispered, and pushed a wet lock of hair from her face. He took her nightshirt from the hook on the back of the door and eased it over her head.
“Let’s get you in bed,” he said and led her back into the bedroom.
She crawled to the middle of the bed and leaned back against the headboard, clutching a pillow to her chest. Simon sat on the edge of the bed and once again resisted the urge to take her into his arms.
“I don’t think I can do this anymore,” she said softly, looking as helpless as he felt.
“Tell me what happened.”
Her brow wrinkled and fresh tears threatened to spill out of her eyes.
“Please,” he said hoarsely. “I know this is difficult, but I...I have to know. Did he... Did he touch you?”
“No,” she answered and Simon felt one of the fists that clenched his heart ease its grip.
“He was a perfect gentleman,” she said with a bitter laugh, “when he wasn’t threatening you or Charlie.” She squeezed the pillow tighter, and he saw the sense of betrayal in her eyes. “Charlie knew? All along he knew what King was and he didn’t say anything?”
“I think I understand his reasons, but don’t worry about that right now,” he said and took hold of her hand. He’d made a complete cockup of the situation until now. And it was time for things to change. “I know it’s difficult, but I need you to tell me what happened tonight. Everything that happened.”
Slowly, she eased out of her despondency and recalled every facet of the evening, regaining strength in the telling. She didn’t know where she’d been taken. The limousine had curtains in the back, and they’d remained closed for the trip. Judging from the distance she’d traveled, she guessed it was somewhere uptown, but couldn’t be more specific than that. She described the lavish apartment and recounted the details of King’s change with chilling precision. The academic part of Simon’s brain catalogued each detail of the creature’s appearance, while all his heart wanted to do was to tell her to stop, to blot out the last twenty-hours and spirit her away.
She told him all she could remember of their conversations, including the chilling revelation that King had been not only following them, but actively investigating them. Who knows what, besides his grandfather’s ring, King had gotten from Smitty at the pawnshop. Simon tried to remember the scene to see if they’d inadvertently let any telling details slip.
“I guess there’s nothing to do but wait,” she said finally. “It’s only a week until the eclipse.”
“Too much can happen in a week,” Simon said, as he pushed off the bed and started to pace.
“What else can we do?” she asked, and then quickly read his expression. “We can’t leave. He’ll follow us.”
He gritted his teeth and shook his head. “Have I mentioned how much I hate this?”
“I know,” she said. “And I’m so sorry about your grandfather’s ring.”
Simon dismissed it, but there was something very troubling about it, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Perhaps King had taken it as tangible proof of his knowledge about them. “It’s not important,” he said. “We’ll find some protection tomorrow. Go to St. Patrick’s and get supplies: holy water, crosses.”
He didn’t actually put much stock in the idea of religious icons affording them protection, but if there was even the slightest chance they might help, he’d get them.
“I don’t remember reading about any accounts of vampires that match your description,” Simon said, his need to categorize and analyze giving him a respite from the helplessness he felt. “The veins are somewhat similar to the Danag of the Philippines, but the eyes are all wrong.”
“Maybe having a soul mutated him somehow?”
“Perhaps. You don’t remember any particular odors?”
“No. Why?”
“Some species give off a slight metallic scent. Some attribute it to the blood they’d consumed. Others, ancient alchemists, believed that if you could find the proper ore, you could forge a weapon to kill them.”
“You don’t see a lot of forges on the lower east side.”
“No,” he said with a small grin. “But I’m sure there are factories not far away. It’s something to consider. Silver shouldn’t be that hard to find, although I doubt we could afford very much.”
“And we’re not even sure it would do any good.”
She pulled the pillow tighter to her chest, and he sat on the bed next to her. Her beautiful blue eyes filled with tears again, but she fought against them, trying to be strong. Simon moved closer to her, and she settled into his arms. He rested his chin atop her head. He would do what had to be done. Whatever that meant, whatever it took, he’d find a way to protect her.
“It will be all right,” he said and kissed the top of her head. “I promise.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
“Doesn’t stealing it de-holy it or something?” Elizabeth whispered, as they dipped another vial into the shallow holy water font. She wasn’t religious, but stealing from a church couldn’t be good.
“Shhh,” Simon urged with a nervous look around.
Old St. Patrick’s was a heavily frequented church. They’d almost been caught twice by people passing by on their way to pray.
“Can I help you?” said a familiar voice with an unmistakable Irish lilt.
Oh boy. “Father,” Elizabeth said as she turned around.
“And what exactly would you be needin’ with, well, the entire day’s holy water?”
“It’s a funny stor
y really.”
“Oh, is it now?”
“Not exactly funny-funny, but... Tell him Simon,” she said with a nudge to his ribs.
Simon rolled his eyes and recapped the small vial. “I don’t expect you to understand or even believe me, but we need this to fight a vampire.”
Elizabeth dropped her vial. “Sorry,” she said and scrambled to pick it up.
Father Cavanaugh sighed and nodded. “I see. Perhaps we should continue this in the back?” he said, and gestured to a door in the rear of the church.
Elizabeth started down the main aisle, then self-consciously doglegged through a set of pews to the far aisle. There was always something about churches that made her vaguely uneasy. It wasn’t the quiet. After all, she loved libraries. She’d never put her finger on it. She always thought it was the formality of it all; being told where to sit, what to believe.
Softly murmured prayers filled the silence. As she watched Father Cavanaugh and Simon whisper something to each other, she realized what it was. It was secrets. Everyone there always seemed to know something she didn’t. For all her conviction, for all her words about believing being enough, a part of her always questioned, always doubted. She wasn’t raised in any particular religion and for the first time she envied those who were. She looked up at the brilliant sunlight streaming through the stained glass. How comforting it would be right now to give herself over to an all-knowing something.
“Elizabeth?” Simon said, pulling her from her tangled thoughts.
“Coming.”
They followed Father Cavanaugh into a small back room. Cherry wood cabinets and a shining metal drum, like a water dispenser, lined the far wall. The Father gestured to a beaten leather couch.
“You’ve some experience with vampires?” Simon said in a very businesslike way, as if he asked the question every day. The Father nodded. “I thought as much.”
Father Cavanaugh pulled up a rickety wooden chair and sat down. “And it seems, so do you.”
“What can you tell me?” Simon asked.
“A man of few words, I see. I respect that, but may I beg a little indulgence? I’m an old man and prone to ramble on a bit, I’m afraid,” he said with a wink at Elizabeth.
Out of Time Series Omnibus (Out of Time: A Paranormal Romance & When the Walls Fell) Page 23
