Sins of the Blood: A Vampire Novel

by Kristine Kathryn Rusch

  July 11, 1990

  Anita Constantine

  Westrina Center

  Old Middleton Road

  Madison, WI 53711

  Dear Ms. Constantine:

  Nineteen years ago, my husband and I adopted our son, Jeremiah, through the auspices of your agency and Oregon Infant Services. Two months ago, Jeremiah disappeared. The police have found no leads.

  Harold and I have hired private detectives and have had little luck. The detectives recommended that I see OIS for background material on Jerry, since he was four when he came to us. Lynette King from OIS gave us what information she had, and then referred us to you.

  Would you please send us the files on Jeremiah? I have enclosed the proper release forms.

  Thank you for your assistance.

  Sincerely,

  Katie Ellis

  Katie Ellis's letters grew more insistent as time passed. Finally, in frustration, she contacted The Oregonian, the state's largest newspaper. It printed a story of her hunt for her missing son. That article (which Mrs. Sadler had enclosed) put her in touch with three other families. Over time, and with the help of the private detectives and OIS—which, despite its name, was a private adoption and foster care organization—they located the remaining families.

  The last letter in the Ellis pile read:

  January 20, 1992

  Anita Constantine

  Westrina Center

  Old Middleton Road

  Madison, WI 53711

  Dear Ms. Constantine:

  My son, Jeremiah, has now been missing for two years. To my knowledge, sixteen other children adopted through your center are missing as well. Even though the other parents and I have written over a hundred letters to your organization, we have had no response. We believe that the children's disappearance has something to do with the Westrina Center. Your lack of acknowledgment has given us no choice but to contact federal authorities. They have advised us to work through an attorney. Therefore, all future correspondence will come from him.

  Sincerely,

  Katie Ellis

  Cammie leaned over the side of her bed and opened her briefcase. Inside were the remaining letters, all from the attorney. She pulled them out and sat up to read them.

  The attorney, Lionel Jones, worked for Stein, Steaggerglass, Simpson and Cohen. He did have his name on the stationery, but nothing other than Attorney at Law followed his name. He was not a partner, junior or senior. Cammie had enough lawyer friends to realize that the families had made a mistake by not hiring a lawyer with more clout.

  The attorney wrote four threatening letters to the Westrina Center, receiving no reply to any of them. He then wrote a letter to the families:

  Dear Friends:

  Please forgive the impersonal nature of this letter, but I felt it best to reach all of you at once. The Westrina Center has not responded to our demands. As I told you when you hired me, they are fully within their rights to do so. Confidentiality laws vary from state to state; Wisconsin's laws protecting children are stringent. By not responding to our letters, the Westrina Center has passively shown that they are protecting their clients' right to privacy.

  We could continue to fight this, but we have no real case. Suspicion that the disappearances are linked to the children's histories does not substitute for actual proof. Without some kind of documented link (other than a shared past), a judge would throw any action we attempt out of court.

  For the time being, I will cease writing letters to the Center. I suggest that you hire DeFreeze and Garity, the best private detective firm in the state, to establish a current tie between the Center and your missing children. I have enclosed their business card. If they can establish such a tie, I will move this case forward.

  I am sorry that I cannot do more. In the area of adoption, children, and privacy, the law can be strict.

  I remain

  Your humble servant,

  Lionel Jones

  Attorney at Law

  No business card was enclosed with this copy of the letter. It had been dated two weeks before. No wonder Mrs. Sadler had been so willing to see Cammie. She had thought the fight was over.

  Cammie sighed and stretched. Nothing in her training explained these disappearances. The material the counselor had given her on Adult Children had been sparse as well.

  It's a new field, the counselor had said. The literature only covers the basics.

  Anything could have happened to those children. In addition to their vampiric heritage, most came from abusive backgrounds. If they had grown up, as she did, learning to keep to themselves, they might have had a bad turn of events and think nothing of failing to contact their adoptive parents.

  But not sixteen children. Not at the same age.

  The parents were right. It did seem odd that the adopted children disappeared, all in their early twenties. Most of them were probably survivors of the vampire epidemic. Perhaps something about being a vampire's child predisposed them to leave the people they loved.

  Was it the violence? Mrs. Sadler had said that Ben had left after he had hurt his girlfriend. Or perhaps he hadn't hurt her at all. Perhaps someone had attacked him, hurt the girlfriend, and then taken Ben away. But that didn't explain why the girlfriend said Ben had done it. Was there a vampire loose here, a vampire that was tracking down children of the Westrina Center? How would it know?

  Had one of the Adult Children become a vampire?

  Cammie closed her eyes and rested her forehead on her arms. She breathed in shallowly. The books the counselor had given her had had disturbing things in them. The most disturbing was the quiz at the end of the most recent book called It Could Happen to You. The quiz had a list of twenty items, such as "are you attracted to the color red?" If the answer to more than three was yes, then the respondent was at risk of becoming a vampire.

  Cammie had answered yes to ten items.

  She pushed the thought away. She had never drunk anyone's blood. She never planned to. She knew the harm it caused.

  She was under control.

  The others would be too.

  Perhaps. Or perhaps one of them wasn't. The one who had really hurt Candyce. The one Ben and the others were protecting.

  Cammie rolled back and dialed DeeDee's number. As the phone rang, she checked the digital clock radio beside her bed. Four-thirty in the afternoon, Pacific Time. Just enough time to catch DeeDee at home before she went out for the evening. After six rings, someone picked up. "Gorham House of Joy. Joy's busy. DeeDee speaking."

  Cammie smiled. She loved the different ways DeeDee answered the phone. "DeeDee, it's Cammie."

  "Hey, Cam! How's life in the Wild, Wild West?"

  "Getting stranger and stranger." Cammie tucked a pillow under her head. It felt odd to talk to DeeDee, as if she were reaching back to another life. "I need your help."

  "Shoot, pudding."

  Pudding? That was new. The sun ducked behind a cloud, making the room suddenly chill. Cammie pulled the bedspread over her feet. "It's something that may get you in trouble at the Center, so think before you answer me."

  "You found your brother?" DeeDee's voice had gone quiet and serious.

  "Not yet, but I have a weird lead. I don't want to say more unless you think you can help me."

  DeeDee paused. "How much trouble?"

  "They might fire you."

  "Oh, great. Lose twenty grand a year plus bennies over some wild goose chase?"

  Cammie closed her eyes. She wanted to grab Eliason and say, See? I told you you're my only friend.

  "What do I get if I win?"

  It took a minute for Cammie to understand what DeeDee meant. "My undying gratitude," Cammie said.

  "How about a belief in me? That maybe I really do care about you?"

  Cammie opened her eyes. The ceiling was made of thin tile. She frowned at how close DeeDee's thoughts were to her own. "That too," Cammie said quietly.

  "I already know the basic poop," DeeDee said. "Don't tell
anyone what I'm doing and don't get caught. Now, what am I going to do?"

  Cammie took a deep breath. If DeeDee reported her, the Center could do nothing. She was half a continent away, and there would be no proof she had done anything wrong. "Okay," Cammie said. "Remember the conversation we had about kids and confidentiality?"

  "Jeez, yeah," DeeDee said. "Seems like a long time ago."

  "Doesn't it?" The sun came back out, brightening the room. Cammie scooted down so that the light covered her bare legs. "In Records, I found out that pre-1975 inactive files are stored in the basement, along with a bunch of other stuff. Fairly easy to find. That's how I got as much on Ben as I did."

  "Okay."

  "I want you to go down there, and pull the files on the seventeen names I'm going to give you, then photocopy the information and send it to me. Also, check the Active files, just in case something else has happened."

  "God, Cammie, seventeen! This isn't something I can do in an hour."

  "That's right," Cammie said. "But I need the information as quickly as you can get it to me."

  "What's going on out there?"

  "Ben's not the only one who has disappeared," Cammie said. "Sixteen others have as well—at the same age. The parents have been writing Anita, but she won't send any information."

  "Then I can't either," DeeDee said.

  "I'm not going to give it to the parents." Cammie's mouth had gone dry. Maybe she had made a mistake. "I just want to see if there's any link besides the Center."

  "You think this will help you find your brother?"

  "I hope so," Cammie said.

  "God." DeeDee paused. In the background Cammie could hear the Temptations, and dishes banging. "You better give me more than belief, then. I guess undying gratitude will become essential."

  "Wonderful!" Cammie felt as if a weight had been lifted off of her. "Let me give you my address and fax."

  She gave DeeDee names of the missing, the address and fax of the hotel, and made DeeDee promise to send whatever she had found within a few days. DeeDee promised. They chatted for a moment about mutual friends, and then Cammie hung up.

  Good first day of progress. But she still wasn't done yet. She had to go back to the Sadlers to talk to the father, Gary. And she wanted to start setting up appointments for the next day.

  She got up, smoothed the bed, and took the addresses Mrs. Sadler had given her out of the briefcase. Then, picking up the phone, she dialed the girlfriend's number.

  "Hello?" she said when a woman answered. "I'm trying to reach Candyce Holloway."

  "Who is this?" The woman's voice shook. Cammie's shoulders immediately tightened.

  "My name is Cammie Timms. I'm with the Westrina Center in Wisconsin. Mrs. Sadler gave me Miss Holloway's name. I need to speak to her about Ben Sadler."

  "Ms. Timms." The woman took a deep breath. "Candyce went to meet him last night. I'm very frightened. She never came back."

  Chapter Nineteen

  Vangelina wrapped the thick white towel around her neck. Sweat trickled down her back. She adjusted her spandex tights and pulled off her cotton T-shirt, wiping her face with it. The lycra bodysuit stuck to her breasts. She was breathing heavily.

  The workout felt good. It amazed her that only a few of Mikos' friends took advantage of his weight room. But some vampires felt that if they exerted themselves, they would harm themselves. Foolish thought. It left them at a disadvantage when faced with strong prey.

  She wiped down the handles on the Soloflex, and ran a towel over the bench. Then she moved the free weights back to the rack on the side of the room near the exercise bike. The air here still smelled of fresh plastic,[C&F93] like a new car, and sometimes she wondered if Mikos himself ever came down here.

  He had had a fear of basements since those last years in Germany. His delicate constitution was not suited to bombing raids. A bit of shrapnel through the heart, an accidental decapitation—for the first time, Van, we can die easily.

  That was why he was supporting this Ben. On the mistaken belief that vampire leaders in this country would never make errors that would lead to all-out destruction. Van glanced around the room. She was comfortable here. Everything she wanted was within reach. Even meals were easy. But she might have to move on if Mikos insisted on being noticed.

  Above her, the security system buzzed, then the elevator whirred and banged. The house was waking. Soon the regulars would arrive for the nightly debauch.

  Van never participated in the parties. She picked a human host (she hated the word cow) and took it to her room for a quick and tender dinner. She had too much living to do to concentrate solely on eating, sleeping, and sex. In that way, she did not belong with this group. And that attitude probably explained why Mikos had opposed her training of Ben.

  She shivered. The heat she had generated during her exercise was gone now, leaving only her damp skin in the too cold room. She opened the metal door and let herself into the poorly lit hallway. The storage unit near the elevator was full of restaurant supplies. Once she had been trapped here for hours because some idiot had left a case of minced garlic at the front of the unit. She approached it warily ever since.

  When she pressed the only elevator call button, the car clanged into life from Mikos' floor. She wrapped the towel around her shoulders for added warmth, and waited.

  Mikos had been cool to her in the last few days, since they had had that fight in front of Ben. Hereditaries were trouble. They grew too strong too fast, and thought they knew too much. Very quickly, they would take over a nest, and run it into the ground with their lack of knowledge. Or their naive mistakes.

  The double elevator doors slid open. When Van stepped inside, she frowned. Someone new had been in the elevator. Not vampire, but tamed human. She recognized the scent of most of the regular hosts, and this was not one of them. Whoever had brought the new one in had best know what it was doing.

  It was probably Ben, who didn't understand the rules for bring home a new host. The host had to be addicted for over a month. If not, the drug might wear off, and the host could bring other humans—sentient humans—into the nest during the daytime. That could mean death for all.

  The elevator wasn't moving fast enough for Van. She paced the wide interior. When it finally stopped, she bounded out and let herself into the apartment.

  The moment the door opened, she heard the shouting.

  "—no right to bring someone here. It is my home. I have say!"

  "I will do whatever I please."

  The living room was empty. It looked barren and slightly dumpy without the dozens of bodies that she usually saw in it. The couches sagged and had bloodstains on the fabric. The mats were rolled and stored in a corner. Cigarette burns marred the varnish on the tabletops and the stereo was covered in fingerprints.

  "We have procedures for this. It takes time to adopt a cow."

  "I didn't have time."

  Mikos and Ben, just as she suspected. The voices came from the end of the hall. Not the library, where Mikos usually held his private conversations, but the kitchen. Ben must have surprised him. That, and the silence in the entire apartment. The rest of the nest was probably still asleep.

  Fortunately for Mikos, vampires slept like the dead.

  She did not smile at her own quiet joke. Instead, she crossed out of the living room into the expensively decorated hallway. Mikos kept his nestlings happy and well fed by throwing parties in the front rooms, but few of the casual participants ever got to see this part of the apartment. No need to have Seattle's entire population know the kind of money Mikos had gathered over the years. Hers was even more hidden. Mikos liked fine things. Van owned nothing except her clothes, parcels of land all over the world—and the wealth she had stored under a hundred names in a hundred banks.

  "I do not want her here," Mikos said. "It's too dangerous."

  "She will not leave unless I do," Ben said.

  The kitchen door was open. Van slipped inside. Mikos and Ben faced
each other across the table. A woman stood behind Ben, her face blank. She had blonde hair and high cheekbones—a white, American beauty. Her clothes looked as if she had slept in them, but they still accented her long, slender figure. Her arms were crossed in front of her chest and her left hand teased her right breast. He had done a good job luring her. The question was whether or not she would remain lured.

  Mikos was breathing heavily. He was considering Ben's statement. Ben did not understand the danger he posed with this woman. Then, how could he? No one had explained it to him.

  Van closed the kitchen doors behind her, making her presence known. The men turned, both their faces flushed with anger. The woman didn't move. Only her thumb, circling her nipple, showed that she had any awareness at all.

  "The entire nest can hear you," Van said.

  Mikos shrugged. Ben turned away. Van pushed past him and walked to the woman. She was very young, her face unlined, eyes empty. An ugly bruise, only partially hidden by the turtleneck, decorated the left side of her neck. Ben had been careless. He had nearly drained her. Her hair still had shine, though, and her clothing was expensive.

  "Old girlfriend?" Van asked.

  Ben started.

  "That's worse!" Mikos pushed at the table, but the glass top didn't move. "You still have human attachments to her."

  "It's not what you think," Ben said.

  Van pushed at the woman's arm. It was cool. Too much blood loss. The woman finally turned her head. She opened her mouth slightly, and Van could feel the force of her longing.

  "She should not be here," Van said. "She is too new. And she is the wrong kind. She looks like she had some sort of intelligence. She could have served instead."