by Chanel Smith
For an instant the fear dropped from Shelley’s face, and she was all eagerness. One hand reached up and grabbed at her bushy hair, yanking at it.
“Be so cool to get rid of this. I get teased all the time. But I don’t want to be having fun while Mom might be in trouble somewhere, you know?
“She’d want nothing more than for you to enjoy yourself while waiting for her to come back. You have to know that’s true,” Petra said, praying the kid would buy it.
“That’s true, that’s just how she thinks. I have to take a quick shower, though; that OK?”
“Go,” Petra said.
Chapter Fifteen
Raya was on the phone with Dr. Dennis ‘Doc’ Wagner. Doc had been a friend of the pack for nearly twenty-four years. Short by pack standards, but long by human ones. Very long.
The Pack had run across Doc during an episode that had happened when a new Pack member had arrived in the States. The matter had arrived on the CDC’s doorstep, and a certain Dr. Wagner had been in charge of the case. Dr. Wagner was new to the CDC and at the time, the case had been considered ridiculous, so naturally, it had been assigned to the lowest man on the totem pole.
Doc himself had been aware of that, yet still treated the Pack with courtesy and kindness right up to the moment he’d learned that the matter hadn’t been created by an active imagination or a nut; werewolves did exist, and he was sitting in a room full of them.
He’d shown remarkable courage then, and the Pack had admitted him into the very small number of humans who knew of their existence. Since then, they saw each other sporadically depending on the needs of each. This time, Raya had called Doc and insisted on talking to him as soon as possible claiming that he had information about the new ‘flu.’ Doc, sounding harried, had said he had no time whatsoever, considering the magnitude of the outbreak in New Orleans and the complete chaos that the city quarantine had caused.
“We’re wrapped up putting out fires here, Raya. I can’t deal with speculations right now,” he had replied matter-of-factly. He’d added that he would be happy to discuss it fully when the entire matter of an outbreak was resolved.
Raya had lost his patience for once and yelled into the telephone. “This matter might not be resolved until every human is already dead, you hear me? And I have information about the cure! Now, when can you see me?”
“Excuse me if I don’t leap up with excitement, but I don’t see how that’s possible. With respect to our long friendship, though, I’ll give you twenty minutes to throw me what you’ve got at around 3 p.m.”
“That’s in half an hour,” Raya said, anger in his voice. The CDC was centered in Atlanta, for God’s sake.
“I’m aware of that,” Doc said. “See you in twenty then?”
The old bastard knew he was already on his way to the city, Raya realized with a grin. He’d been had.
***
Raya began by describing what little he already knew of the disease, a bit about the DNA targeting, and as much as he could divulge about the Rats who’d begun the whole catastrophe.
“Is there a way to target someone via their DNA?” he inquired.
“Yes. Who are these people, these Rats?” Doc asked casually, the whiteness of his knuckles as he clutched a pen in his hand gave away his nervousness. “Is this religious bullshit or what?”
“The Rats are terrorists… mercenaries, if you will, from Europe. They’ve been in existence for a couple of centuries now. They really were just a couple of communal packs to begin with, but when they learned about money and what it could do for an individual or an organization, that’s what they did, they organized. Listen; is the CDC anywhere near a cure?”
Doc sat for a moment, his bushy white eyebrows lowered, bright blue eyes staring at Raya as though he were sizing up the Alpha wolf. Finally, he gave a tiny shrug and got to his feet. He walked to a clean whiteboard opposite Raya and began writing.
“Here’s the disease,” he said and drew a blotch. “So far, we’ve hit it with many different types of antibiotics, like this.” He drew circles all around the blotch, named a few. “Problem is, this disease is resistant to penicillin, and a lot of these others too.” He drew x’s through half of the circles. “Additionally, the thing seems to thrive on a few, such as Keflex and Zithromax.” He stood for a moment, then his whole body seemed to sag as he walked back to his desk. “It began as a two-week illness, your basic flu. First eight days coughing, runny nose, aching. Then strange sores and death. But then it changed. Five days of normal symptoms, then the sores. As of today? Three days normal. You follow? It’s mutating, gaining strength. Soon people will catch it and die within hours.”
Raya was glued to his seat in horror.
“Didn’t see this on the news.”
“Not surprised. They’re not talking about the fact that outbreaks are country-wide now either. New York, LA, Miami. Just heard of cases in Europe and Tokyo, too.”
Raya frowned.
“Wait. What did you mean about ‘strange sores’?”
Doc’s mouth thinned.
“You might not believe this, but these sores don’t gradually appear and they’re not sores at all. More like knife wounds, slices. They appear suddenly like the patient has been sliced by an invisible knife.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Raya admitted.
“You and your group are… unusual,” Doc said. “This illness is damn unusual also. We need your help, I believe, to figure out a cure.”
“I’ll do anything I can,” Raya said. “Anything I can.”
***
Joseph had him back at Heureuse at 5 p.m. He was just about to see if he could get him to Romania when there was a knock at the door. To his amazement, the two Illuminati, Aman and Nesto, stood there, looking very serious.
“I was just about to visit you,” Raya said as he ushered the pair in.
“We’re saving you the trip. Considering what you’re dealing with, it’s the least we could do.”
“I suppose you know what I’m going to ask?”
“Has to be how to stop this smart disease.” At his nod, Aman said, “Joseph saves. Blood needs blood.”
“What? Could you be any more obtuse?”
“Joseph! BLOOD needs blood!” he said, looking Raya directly in the eyes.
“‘Joseph saves, blood needs blood.’ Joseph’s blood, has to be,” Raya muttered. He looked up as both Illuminati nodded with respect, turned and departed. He had to have it right for them to have left like that, he thought.
How could Joseph’s blood be of use, though?
Chapter Sixteen
At Heureuse, Petra got Shelley settled in her room and went downstairs to talk to Cilla. She’d found the young vampire to be extremely intelligent, always having bright new ideas. And Petra needed ideas; how to get Shelley’s mom back, for starters.
Cilla had other things on her mind. What if Heureuse was the next target after Kentucky? And what if that attack came at a moment when Petra was alone there, as was happening so often at the moment? Petra wasn’t worried.
“We have the caves beneath, and that incredible security system Itchiko set up. If anything moves on the ground we’ll know about it!”
They were sitting at the round table in the kitchen where everyone usually hung out. Petra had her back to the enormous windows and was facing the fridge and stove. Opposite her, Cilla had a clear view through the windows over Petra’s shoulders and suddenly she shot up in her chair, back absolutely rigid with shock. Beyond speech, she frantically pointed over Petra’s shoulders.
Petra turned to see the very last thing she or Raya could have ever expected: a flock of hang-gliders coming in for a landing.
“Hit the cellar, Cilla!” Petra shouted, and she was up and running.
At the second flight of stairs, someone had dropped a sock from a laundry basket. Petra tripped and tumbled down the stairs all the way to the bottom, where she instantly knew something was wrong with her leg. She couldn�
�t place enough weight on it to even stand up.
“Cilla! Get Shelley out of here and bring help,” Petra yelled. The young vampire had used up most of her strength transporting the three of them from New Jersey back home.
Cilla nodded and vanished just as the back door smashed open, and footsteps came trotting across the kitchen to the open cellar door. Sitting at the bottom of the steps with her injured leg straight out in front of her, Petra looked up to see a man in a dark hat and a black suit standing at the top of the stairs. Behind him was a small army all dressed in camouflage gear.
“Petra. I haven’t had the pleasure,” the man said in an almost-purring whisper.
“Mickey, I presume?” she asked, rubbing her leg.
He laughed.
“That will do, for now. You’re injured. Allow us to help you.”
He motioned over his shoulder, and the others trotted down the stairs, picked her up gently and carried back up. At the top of the stairs, Mickey pointed at the door. Petra’s ‘rescuers’ carried her out the door without even stopping. Several vans were waiting with the engines running. Her carriers sat her in the lead van, with Mickey himself driving. The other vehicles were there to carry the contingent who’d flown in, she was sure.
She was also sure that the entire exercise from hang-gliders to driving out the gate had taken less than ten minutes. Well-planned: the police took exactly thirteen minutes to respond. She looked back and wondered if she’d ever see Heureuse again.
***
The vans drove around a wide lake to a beautiful waterfront villa, surrounded by wild greenery. Nothing manicured about this property, Petra thought as she walked into an imposing, two-story foyer with a glass roof.
“Why don’t you change for dinner?” Mickey asked, the epitome of the generous host.
Petra threw him an evil eye, but said nothing and followed her captors up a circular staircase. The room she entered was strange, to say the least. It was almost an exact replica of her room at Heureuse, right down to the mock elephant-foot side tables she’d found in Africa.
The bed cover, the curtains and pillows were different, though. At Heureuse, her color scheme was deep blues and chocolate brown with a pop of red here and there. Mickey had different tastes as this room was done in deep regal reds and gold.
The closet was another shock, and quite a disconcerting one as well. It was full of gorgeous clothing, all of it in her size. She dressed for dinner, mind whirling. He certainly intended to keep her for a while, judging by the appearances of things alone.
Unless she could somehow change his mind.
***
She was led to the end of a gorgeous dining table, laden with all kinds of food. Mickey, with his hat cocked slightly on his head, sat at the other end, twirling his mustache.
“Not so bad, is it?” he asked with a complacent grin.
“Sit and eat while thousands die, and you say it’s not bad?” Petra shot back angrily.
“Shit happens. It won’t last much longer anyway, I predict,” he said with a laugh.
Petra was surprised that his voice was so high and light. She’d had him figured as a real man’s man, not like this at all. He’d certainly been nothing but gracious. Under a different set of circumstances, they’d probably have been friends.
“Can I ask you something personal?” he asked, after a brief silence.
“I might not answer, but you can ask.”
“Have you ever been into the same sex?”
Petra’s jaw dropped, and she was unable to say a word.
“Is it that awful a thought?” Mickey asked, studying her face.
“No, I just didn’t expect that line of questioning from someone who seems to otherwise be playing the perfect gentleman – and I did try it a couple times. Not really my thing, but I have nothing against it.”
“You didn’t try it the right way, obviously.”
“What are you trying to say? You into watching?”
Her voice was full of disgust. He roared with laughter.
“Not in the least. Might be that there’s something you don’t know, though you think you know everything.”
Petra frowned, confused.
“Watch and learn,” he demanded.
She rolled her eyes.
“Look at me, dammit.”
His tone was sharper than it had been yet, so she obediently locked her eyes on his face.
He deliberately peeled off his mustache, his eyes never leaving hers. He reached up, took the hat and sailed it across the room, exposing short black hair parted on the side.
Then he took his napkin, dunked it into his water goblet, and patted his entire face with it, to her confusion. Whatever next?
He turned away from her, but she still saw him reach under his chin and pull upward. Then a skin-colored mask went flying across the room. He turned back, and he looked odd. His face was pale white, whether from a product worn under the mask or his own color… she had no idea.
He waited a moment, eying her as if waiting for a response, but Petra was lost.
Lost, that is, until he whipped the short black wig off and a familiar bush of frizz exploded out from under it.
“God, it can’t be,” Petra whispered. “Elinor?”
“No other. Fooled you, didn’t I?” she said with her usual large grin, but this time Petra noticed a darkness behind it.
“So. Mickey was really Minnie all along, eh?”
Elinor laughed.
“I really am into you, you know. Have been for years. They all think I want to take down your Alpha because of some ridiculous power trip thing. Nope. I just want his mate.”
She watched Petra closely.
“I don’t see how you could be – you don’t even know me that well.”
“You’d be surprised at what I do and don’t know,” she said. “Raya and that Bathory bitch, for starters. How could you be into a male who was into that?”
“Two sides to every story. I’d have thought you of all people would get that,” Petra said. She had to be careful: Elinor was obviously not sane. That she’d kept up a secret this long – she had to be more than a little crazy by now, evidenced by the disease she’d let loose. “What do you want from me?”
“Something you probably can’t give. I realize that now. I made a mistake where you were concerned and I want to atone. I am what I am, mark my words! I’m not going to change, but I can give you a gift. A gift that could save you from losing your life, the lives of your loved ones, hell any lives at all if you can figure out how to use it!” She laughed. “You didn’t think it would be that easy?”
“How did you start all this? I know about Art and the DNA missile but he doesn’t get how it went bad. What happened?”
Elinor rang a small bell, then called out, “Send in my gift, please.”
Petra had no idea what to expect. A pudgy guy in his thirties wearing a cowboy hat strolled out, walked to Elinor, and stood beside her chair.
“Antoine! Meet Petra. Petra, this is a vampire. A real one. Didn’t know they existed, did you? He’s the only one of his kind, how about that?”
“What does he have to do with that DNA business?” Petra wondered.
“Art had a lot more to do with it than he told you. He invented the process where a certain DNA strand can be targeted, but he couldn’t figure out the delivery method. He said he had to have a way to send it through the air quickly in order to cover a lot of space. He had no idea until one night he had this really powerful dream.
“He dreamt of a thick mist that hovered above a group, and just one person slapped their neck like they had a mosquito bite. The mist traveled around the globe, landed in Paris. Then it entered a certain graveyard outside Paris, and right into a specific grave! Of course we went, and in the dead of night we dug up a coffin covered in chains, with crosses all over it. On the top was a plaque that had three pictures engraved: A dead nun hanging over a casket, blood dripping from her hand onto it. Then a man partway
out of the casket, his arms wrapped around a person whose head was back, screaming. Finally that person crumpled up dead next to that casket. The guy standing with his arms open, mist coming from him. It seemed clear enough to us.”
“Did you do all that? Nun too?” Petra wondered, trying to act nonchalant but utterly horrified. A dead nun!
“Yeah, we did it all. Antoine here is the result. He’ll tell you the rest.”
“She always get it wrong,” the man said with a strong French accent. He started to tell his story in broken sentences and phrases, but otherwise good English. “The nun, not needed. Any human would do. Those who put me into my grave, they put the nun in the hieroglyphs to frighten others from releasing me. Back where she lives, I met Art. He worked day and night on I don’t know what, really. But one day he finishes and is excited and she is too. These humans, they gave to me my life. I owe them. So when the doctor says he has something that might work if they could test on somebody, I took myself. What could it do, kill me?” He grinned so widely at his little joke that Petra had to join him.
“But it did do one thing. A fog came out of me! A black mist. And the fog, it left. When I ask the Doctor Art what is such a thing, he said he put sleeping bacteria things in my blood with a piece of DNA. When it meets the same of this DNA the bacteria things they awake you see. I don’t know what is DNA or bacteria, but awake I understand.”
“I barely get it and I was born in this century,” Petra assured him. He seemed like an otherwise decent guy… just a matter of bad company, she guessed. “But bacteria are little tiny things with no brains,” she tried to explain. “That fog of yours sure acted smart when it chased me!”
“Doctor Art, he say the DNA can make you smart. If your mom smart, you too because DNA.” For the first time, the man looked troubled. “I’m not smart for sure, do not think I think that, but the, mist it came back to me. The Doctor Art thinks the mist believes I’m its father.”
