Midnight Bite

by Hamilton, Sharon

  Cara lowered her head, and whispered, “Like love?”

  Paulo threw his arms out to the side, clutching the book in one hand, addressing Marcus. “I can see I’m going to lose that argument.”

  “Paolo, “Cara cooed. “We are going to be extremely careful. All I meant to say with my comment was that we deal with things every day we don’t understand.”

  Paolo returned the book to the table and went back to his corner.

  Anne leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, and asked, “Marcus, why don’t you begin by telling us what you’ve discovered so far? And we agree to share with you everything we find. One of the things that Cara has told us is that perhaps your reading of the book would be different than our reading of the book. And that could be very significant. All we want is more information.”

  “Lionel and I have probably poured 20 or 30 hours over it so far. We found passages in Greek, Aramaic, which is the ancient language spoken at the time of Christ.” Marcus crossed the room, leaned over and picked up the heavy tome, clutching it between his enormous fingers.

  “We read a story in French. Actually, it was an early ancestor of the French language, and the story told of a people who overthrew their king. It seemed to go on and on until toward the end it referred to another chapter toward the back of the book. That chapter contains graphs and lists of things and what look like hieroglyphics.”

  Marcus continued, “It’s almost like whomever wrote this book—or maybe it was written by multiple people, I don’t know. But it does appear that whomever wrote it never intended that the reader start from the beginning and follow all the way to the end. It seems like there are multiple stories. There are at least three which are the biggest ones. One of them starts in the middle and yet we find pieces of the same story in the beginning of the book and in the end.”

  Cara asked him if they had employed a rabbi or someone schooled in early Egyptian writings done on papyrus, or early Sanskrit texts. “I believe Muslim scholars might be able to shed some light,” she said. “From what I’ve read, there are pages in this book written in Arabic.”

  Marcus set the book down and took a chair across from the ladies now seated before him. “I have not been able to find anyone who can translate any of these writings that appear to be in Arabic. I have received some minor success with the Aramaic and Hebrew translations, but Aramaic was not always a written language, and yet phonetically, we have some here.”

  Marcus told them that on one occasion, in one of his earliest sessions, he found reference to “Men of The Eternal Order”, which he took to mean descendants of the Golden Vampire clans.

  “It recounted a sort of Sodom and Gomorrah tale of boredom and debauchery. They had developed a great civilization, with ambassadors exploring every corner of the globe. They traveled through the sky, the story tells us, much like how we trace today. But their culture lost its way. It seems the population rebelled against the rule of law, overthrew their elders, and started on some form of creation study. It was very strange.”

  “Creation, you mean like creating them through turning?” asked Phoebe.

  “Yes, I think that was it exactly. Something happened to their children. So, they created children of their own, in their own image. Not by procreation either.”

  “Where is this passage?” asked Anne.

  “That is what is so strange. I cannot find it again. It’s like it’s just disappeared from the book.”

  “Which is consistent with what Cara told us. The book shows the reader what it wants the reader to see,” added Phoebe.

  “So, Marcus, you told me that story. You repeated it to Lionel. Maybe that’s all that was supposed to happen,” added Paolo.

  “May I see the book, Marcus?” Phoebe asked.

  Her cousin quickly retrieved it, placing it on her lap. With Anne on one side, and Cara on the other, she carefully opened it, trying to get to the center section. The pages were stiff and bulky, their edges dipped in red liquid, inconsistently applied. In the very center of the page was a sketch depicting a woman with long hair, lying prostrate in front of a large cage which contained a lion.

  Her fingers touched the drawing and immediately gold letters, looking like writing in fire, became visible. She couldn’t recognize any of the characters.

  When she removed her hand, the words quickly faded.

  “This is amazing,” said Anne. “Marcus, Cara is right. I touch this page and no such writing appears. See?”

  Her hand swept across the page and then scrolled down the opposite page. Nothing was altered. Nothing changed colors. Anne’s touch caused no affect whatsoever.

  “Could it be because she is not a native-born Golden woman?” asked Paolo.

  “I have no idea,” answered Marcus. “I have touched these pages many times, as have you Paulo.”

  “Yes. So has Lionel. We’ve never seen this.”

  “But I did,” interrupted Cara. “I saw passages appear that I swear weren’t there before.”

  “Is it random, then?” asked Anne.

  “No,” Marcus said as he stared down into Phoebe’s face, just as her father had done over the years. His eyes were gentle and loving. “Not random.”

  She couldn’t help but wonder if he suspected what she and Lionel had done, or if the letters her fingers generated were some kind of message about their transgressions. She struggled to push all the thoughts and images of her past few days of dalliances out of her mind.

  Marcus held out his hand to her. “It appears the book has also affected you, my child.” As he took both Phoebe’s hands in his, he rubbed his thumb across the knuckles on her right. “Even your hands are Golden.”

  Chapter 14

  Salaman was furious. He couldn’t wait to get his claws into the neck of that treacherous coward, Carmine Monteleone, and his witch of a wife. He’d dismember her and her two daughters in little chunks and feed them to the ducks on the pond where he was staying. He had rented a cottage behind one of the wineries in Healdsburg, hoping to use it as his base of operation.

  But all that had suddenly changed.

  Now, he didn’t know exactly what he was going to do. He was going to kill that family, that was for sure. But now that the whole family was privy to his presence, he wasn’t quite sure he could get to all of them in time. It was an incredible amount of work to wipe out a whole clan all by himself.

  And he wasn’t that hungry, either.

  As for his methods, he’d exact his revenge painfully, slowly, even if robbed of the element of surprise. They would know who he was, and how ruthless he was. Maybe it would be worth it to watch terror bloom in their eyes as he eliminated them from the face of the earth one by one, and then eliminating their progeny.

  However, he did have one concern. The only people he was worried about coming up against were the three Jett brothers. He regretted that they had history, but there wasn’t anything he could do now about that.

  What bothered him was their strength, their stealth, the telepathy that they had between them, and their loyalty and honor. They were very experienced warriors, familiar with methods and devices. It made them formidable enemies.

  Monteleone attack dogs.

  Unlike Carmine, these men would not be cowards. They would die defending the Monteleones, and by extension, their beautiful cousin, Phoebe.

  It was such a joke that she would choose a dark coven Lord to be her husband… even if it was her pretend husband. The whole fucking clan was crazy. They didn’t know the first thing about protecting their women, really. Without the Jett brothers, it was like taking candy from a baby. But with them, he’d have to be more careful. With their preternatural sense of smell and abilities to trace, he could find himself suddenly orbiting the moon if he wasn’t careful.

  He told himself that if he could just get the book, then he might consider leaving the family alone, unless he was bored. But he really needed to make a statement to avenge for the disrespect Carmine had shown him so publicly. Sp
aring the family was totally out of the question. He’d make it bloody and loud.

  He mentally ticked off everything he needed to complete before he could leave California. Three days. It was too cold and damp here. He much preferred the desert. And in the desert, he had a distinct advantage over the dark vampire lords, who were really his only enemy. He also had lots of allies in the desert—people who were terrified of him and would stay in his good graces by offering protection. The hot desert sun was also his formidable ally against the dark Lords.

  The traveler also didn’t care for the California scenery, the brown scorched earth, the little rows of twigs that covered the hills, looking like baby dreadlocks on a fat Martian’s behind. The whole place was overrated. He’d tasted food all over the world, and here, people ate cold cheeses and green lettuce as if they had goat DNA. Goats were disgusting creatures.

  Now the wine, that was another story. But he’d raided wine caves all over Europe and he found them unremarkable. Besides, the musty fermentation smell of the young grape juice seeping into concrete floors or oozing out through the cracks in those oak barrels made him sneeze. He did like to drink the finished product, as long as it was sanitary and wouldn’t get him sick, but he didn’t care much for the process.

  Joel, the traveler’s Uber driver who had transported him all the way from San Francisco airport, was still in the passenger side of his black Lexus SUV. His face was growing paler by the minute, even beginning to develop a gray-bluish tint, due to the lack of blood in his body. The traveler was going to have to dispose of him somehow so he could use the vehicle. He’d already given Joel’s phone with the Uber tracking device to a kid panhandling outside a grocery store.

  “Hey, thanks man,” The kids said as he loped away.

  The traveler hoped the young man took a long journey with the phone, perhaps even selling it to someone else. It would make locating the former owner more difficult.

  Since it was time for him to make an appearance, he walked outside, opened the passenger door, and captured Joel’s body under the armpits, dragging him into the pond. He found a dry tree branch to give him a little send off, tapping him in the belly to expel some air. He was hoping this would make him sink. The traveler watched the young man’s body float to the center of the pond, become the object of curiosity for several large geese and a bevy of much smaller ducks, before it silently disappeared under water.

  By the time they knew Joel was missing, he’d be back in North Africa, with his prize, of course.

  Looking down at his feet, he noticed that his shoes were encrusted in gooey mud. He wished he didn’t have to purchase another pair. He didn’t want to be seen disposing of this one, so he stood at the edge of the pond on dry ground, took his shoes off and tossed them one by one into the water. In his stocking feet, he made it back to the SUV.

  The traveler tore out of the gravel road, sending a spray of rocks to the side like he was water skiing. Healdsburg was a quick ten-minute ride.

  Carmine told him the Tuscan relatives were staying in the old Healdsburg Hotel, having booked the top two floors. He parked the Lexus across the Square and hiked over the grassy knoll, making a detour around a large white gazebo. An electric guitarist was playing music to a small crowd of wine tasters. Two hippie chicks were dancing.

  Suddenly self-conscious of his stocking feet, he purchased a pair of shoes from a gentlemen’s store on the Square, and then headed toward the old hotel.

  He didn’t expect to find all of the family members there, but he was surprised when he discovered that none of them had prolonged their stay. He rubbed his fingers to the sides of his face at his temples, trying to press the pounding headache in his brain outward so that he could concentrate. Things were slipping through his fingers. He didn’t have the luxury of wreaking havoc on the entire clan all in one place. Eliminating them one by one back in Tuscany or wherever the heck they landed, was now going to be an even bigger job.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, sir?” The pretty receptionist asked him.

  “I’m looking for the Monteleone Estate. I understand they have very good wine there. Can you direct me?”

  “Of course. The family comes to town quite often. I’m sorry you missed them. But if you follow the map here—” she ripped a piece of paper from a tablet on the desk, circling the hotel’s location on the town square. Then she drew a line following a winding country road bordered by numerous wineries. At last, she circled the Monteleone Estate. “It’s right here. Only take you about twenty minutes I believe.”

  “Thank you.”

  Salaman pulled into the driveway of an adjacent winery and found a parking space near the back of the tasting room. He calculated it would be a brisk ten-minute walk to reach the Monteleone Estate.

  He stepped over a small wooden fence and began walking through the freshly tilled dark brown soil of the adjacent family vineyard. He was glad he’d purchased new shoes. As he approached the enormous structure sitting atop the tallest hill, he began to hear voices. At first, he thought he was imagining them. But as he stopped to listen, he could tell the language was Spanish, and that’s when he came upon the group of farmworkers pruning young vines and tying them to metal strings. He waved and couldn’t remember the Spanish phrase greeting, so he continued on his track.

  As he got closer to the large tasting room area the whole place appeared abandoned. There was an old pick-up truck parked in front of a large set of doors that had been chained shut. No large lights came from the inside. He appeared through the window to confirm that everything was dark and no one was present.

  There was a slender dirt path leading to steps that approached a flower garden at the side of the large Victorian-style home. The plants began to make him sneeze, so he pulled a tissue from his pocket and held his nose. There were stubby plants with red flowers bordering along the walkway. Around several olive trees benches had been built adorned with lacey blue and white flowers.

  He was about to just walk in the back door, which he presumed to lead to the kitchen, when he nearly bumped into Phoebe, of all people. He was quite taken aback with her beauty.

  “Oh!”

  “I’m sorry, did I startle you?” Salaman quickly made up a story. “I was looking for Mr. Lionel Jett? He lives at this address I believe?” He observed her studying his face. With the slash across one eye and his torn earlobe, he knew he didn’t look quite presentable enough as a stranger. Salaman also knew that Lionel would be sleeping during the day, so he ran no risk of actually running into the man.

  “He’s busy. I’m his wife, may I help you?”

  “Well I came from the tasting room and Lionel had asked me to bring a used car he wanted to take a look at it.”

  Salaman could see Phoebe was hesitant and didn’t quite trust him yet. She was looking around for someone else, probably one of her protectors.

  “Forgive my appearance, Mrs. Jett. I must give you a bit of a fright. You see, I’m a wounded veteran, in case you were wondering. This job is very important to me.”

  “I see.”

  He decided he might not have the opportunity he needed, and so determined that he probably would not be able to take her today. But he still had to try.

  “I’m Bryce Conley, ma’am. I sell cars at the dealership downtown, um, my re-entry job. I should’ve introduced myself; I apologize.”

  “I’m fairly sure he would’ve told me if he was looking for a car. We’ve been so busy—”

  “Oh dear. I think I’ve done it. I believe this was to be a belated wedding present?” He squinted feigning a request to be forgiven. “I’m afraid I’ve blown it completely here. Again, I’m so sorry.”

  Phoebe hesitated, then grinned. “Well, where is this car then?”

  Salaman could not believe his luck. He pointed back to the tasting room. If you will accompany me, I’d be happy to show you. You can even take a test drive if you like.”

  Phoebe started to follow him down the path but suddenly s
topped.

  “I think I need to go home. Mr.…?”

  “Connally Bryce Connally.”

  “I’m sorry, but I just remembered I have left something back in the house. And I don’t have my purse so I wouldn’t be able to test drive it. I don’t have a California license.”

  “I’m not a stickler for details, ma’am. You do drive, don’t you?”

  “A little.”

  “Well, you can just drive around the parking lot a bit. You should probably wait until your husband comes but I brought the car today and, well, I just thought I could surprise him. And now I see I have completely blown his secret. I’ll come back later, and I’ll give him a call first to make sure he’s home.”

  The traveler turned, praying that he could lure Phoebe just a few steps more. If she were out of eyesight from any of the windows of the house, he could immobilize her quickly and then carry her to the car. Just in case, he fingered the little bottle in his pocket and felt the small square of flannel material he brought with it.

  Just as he hoped, she called out to his back, “Mr. Connally, I think I’d like to take a look at the car. But I have to get back right away.”

  Salaman turned, showing his mirth. It wasn’t an act. She was completely charming, as she made her way down the steps of the garden and headed right for him. In just a few seconds, he was looking into the soft face of beautiful Phoebe Jett. She was every bit as lovely as everyone said she was. The glow of her virgin womanhood was almost blinding him, as his pulse quickened. He understood immediately why Lionel was so much in love with her. She was graceful and innocent.

  Her lack of fear would be her undoing.

  He whispered so as not to spoil the moment. “Excellent. It would be my pleasure.”

  Chapter 15