A Blood Seduction

by Pamela Palmer

  So far, all for nothing. She’d barely left the apartment, instead spending hours on the computer studying everything she could find about vampires. If they were real, then someone knew about them. Some of the myths had to be true. And she needed to know everything she could about how to protect herself. And how to kill them.

  When she’d first gotten home, she’d immediately called work. Jennifer had been immensely relieved at first, glad Quinn hadn’t become one of the missing. But as Quinn had tried to explain that she was in the middle of a family crisis and would have to take a little time off, her boss’s tone had cooled. Especially with Quinn forced to be so vague about what was going on or how much time she needed. Of course, if she’d told her the truth, that her brother had been captured by vampires, and she was preparing a rescue attempt, she’d have been fired on the spot for insanity. She still had a job waiting for her when this was over. For now. But she’d worry about that later. All that mattered was getting back into that world. And getting Zack out.

  Some mornings, she awoke feeling like she really was insane, that none of it could have actually happened. Then she’d walk into the living room, see Zack’s laptop sitting there, and her chest would cave. It was all real. He was gone. Lost. And she was the only one who could possibly save him though she’d give anything if she weren’t.

  She left her backpack and walked into the living room, stopping before the window where she’d begun to wear a hole in the carpet. As much as she longed to see that shadowy street appear, she dreaded it more. The last thing, the last thing she wanted to do was go back to that place. She still knew virtually nothing about it. A quick google of Vamp City brought up exactly nothing. If people on the outside did know the truth, they weren’t sharing.

  Staring at the traffic on the street below, she wondered for the umpteenth time if she shouldn’t call the FBI. After all, she knew where those missing people had gone. She could tell them exactly what had happened to them. She could send them in to rescue them all, including Zack.

  Except she wasn’t an idiot. They’d never believe her, at least not until she pulled one of them through a sunbeam. The bigger problem was that she knew vampires well enough by now to know that no human could possibly be a match for them. No one. Taking others with her into that world was as good as signing their death warrants. Or consigning them to slavery for the rest of their lives. At least she knew how to get in and out. She’d gotten Zack into this mess. It was up to her to get him out. And Lily, too, if she could find her.

  If only the damn worlds would open again!

  She raked her hair back from her face, frustrated and impatient. Ever since she’d gotten home, she’d been a twisted bundle of nerves. If another sunbeam did break through, what then? She had no real plan other than to get back in, no idea where to start looking for him when she did. All she knew was that they’d been attacked close to the White House and that the vampire, Arturo, lived on F Street, on the other side of the White House in what had appeared to be a thriving vampire neighborhood. She was almost certainly going to have to head back that way if she wanted to find her brother. Even if the thought gave her nightmares.

  Her cell phone rang. She reached for it and glanced at the number. Shit. Pressing the answer button, she lifted the phone to her ear, fighting to keep her voice calm and level.

  “Hi, Dad.”

  “Hello, Quinn,” her father replied formally. Too formally, as if they barely knew one another. Or as if he didn’t know how to breach the chasm he’d long ago allowed to form between them. “Where’s Zack? I thought you said he’d be back from that sail two days ago.”

  Uhn. She’d been dreading this. It was a little hard to explain to one’s parent how you’d accidentally led his only son into an alternate universe where he’d been taken prisoner . . . or been killed . . . by vampires. No, not killed.

  “The cruise was kind of open-ended, Dad,” she lied. “I spoke with the outfit yesterday, and they said the fishing has been really good, so they decided to extend it a few more days. I’ll have him call you the minute he gets back, I promise.”

  “Your mother and I still don’t understand why he didn’t tell us about this before he left.”

  “She’s not my mother.”

  Silence. “I’m surprised he didn’t call is all.”

  “He’s skipping class, Dad. It’s not really something a guy wants to tell his parents. Not until after the fact, at least.”

  “That’s not like him. He’s never done anything so irresponsible before.”

  “One last fling before he enters the real world, I guess.”

  “And you didn’t try to talk him out of it?” There was accusation in his tone. As if none of it would have happened if he hadn’t been living with her. The worst part was, she knew damn well Zack’s being missing was all her fault. She was the one who’d led him to that strange column. She was the one who’d grabbed his arm as he reached for Lily’s pen. If she hadn’t touched him, he’d probably have picked up the pen without any problem, without ever knowing he’d breached the intersection of two worlds. He’d have passed through the sunbeam unaffected, just like everyone else. But she’d fallen victim to her curiosity—first mistake—and tried to protect him—second mistake. And gotten them both sucked into that world instead. At least her dad didn’t know he was missing. Yet. “I made my opinion known, but he’s twenty-two, Dad. He’s an adult.”

  Out of nowhere, the hair on her arms began to rise. Her breath caught as she recognized the energy that meant the worlds were once more bleeding together.

  “Yes, but you’re five years older. Your mother . . . Angela . . . and I think it’s high time—”

  “I’ve got to go, Dad. I’ll have him call you when he gets home.” Without waiting for a reply, she hung up, ran to the kitchen for her backpack, and raced out the door, ignoring the elevator for the stairs. Forty seconds later, she was flying out the front door of the apartment building. There, not ten feet away, stood those odd shadows through which she could see that crumbling house with its cockeyed lion’s-head doorknocker.

  She started forward, letting the crowd on the sidewalk carry her forward, allowing that now-familiar energy to grab her and suck her back into Hell.

  Like before, Quinn landed on her hands and knees on the pavers. The pull was oddly stronger going in than coming out. Unlike before, she knew exactly where she was and why. She’d done it!

  The moment’s triumph dissolved in a rush of gut-cramping terror. She was back in Vamp City.

  The sunbeam lit the street, revealing the same disintegrating house it had the first time. Dust floated in the sunlit air while the sunlight illuminated her like manna from Heaven. Or dinner to a vampire.

  With a chill, she pushed to her feet and ran out of the sunbeam. Rounding the nearest corner, she slipped into the shadows, taking care to make as little sound as possible. If only they’d been more careful the first time, maybe she and Zack would still be together. Maybe he’d still be free. The ache of loss had settled beneath her breastbone, a constant dull throb.

  Heart pounding, she stopped close to the wall, avoiding the moldy brick as she listened for the sound of a horse or Jeep. Or vampire. No sound met her ears. She and Zack had found nothing and no one between here and the White House the last time. Maybe she’d be lucky again. But she was taking no chances.

  With a deep breath, she continued on, cutting between buildings, staying to the shadows until the sun went out, which she suspected could take anywhere from a minute to possibly an hour or more. If Lily really had disappeared through the same sunbeam she and Zack first passed through, an hour wasn’t unrealistic.

  As she rounded the front of an abandoned building on Nineteenth Street, in the distance she spied a glow in the sky. Another sunbeam? It was north of where the vampire’s house would be. They were obviously breaking through in multiple places, which was a good thing to know
in case she needed another quick out. Looking both ways, her heart drumming in her chest, she slipped across the street, feeling like she had crosshairs aimed on her forehead, then dove between another pair of buildings on the other side. Halfway through the block, the light from the sunbeam disappeared behind her, blanketing the landscape in the gloom that marked day around here.

  In the distance, she heard a shout. And a scream. Sweat broke out on her brow, and she pressed deeper into the shadows, her stomach cramping with fear. Now that she’d finally gotten back into the place, all she wanted to do was run the other way. Find another sunbeam and escape again.

  But she had a mission this time. And the sunbeams were gone. She had no choice but to continue forward.

  In the distance, the cheer of a crowd lifted into the air, followed by the peal of laughter. It was as if the sunbeams had silenced everything, and with their retreat, the world had come alive again. That was probably exactly what had happened. The sunbeams threatened the vampires’ existence. That part of the legend was almost certainly true, or they’d never have created a dark world in the first place.

  The pounding of horses hooves carried over the still air.

  Quinn pulled one of her wooden stakes out of her backpack and gripped it tight. She’d never before hated the dark. As a kid, she’d been notorious for escaping into the backyard in the evenings, scrambling up the trees, feeling the darkness close around her like a security blanket. Angela would yell and yell for her to come down from the tree as Quinn huddled, shaking with fury and hatred and hurt. But Angela couldn’t see her in the dark and couldn’t have climbed the tree after her if she had. How many times had Quinn snuck back into the house, long after everyone else had gone to sleep, and slid into bed with bark scratches on her shins and elbows? If she could have slept on a tree branch, she’d never have gone back inside at all.

  But there was nothing safe about this dark. Nothing comforting. Because this dark was home to the real monsters.

  If only she had a guide. Alice had had the white rabbit. Lucy, Mr. Tumnus. Dorothy hit the jackpot with the scarecrow, tin man, and cowardly lion. Quinn wasn’t picky. Even a talking pigeon would do. Anything that could tell her where to go to find her brother.

  There was never a fairy godmother around when you needed one. And she needed one, badly.

  Reaching Eighteenth Street, she looked both ways, then started across. She was nearly in the middle of the dirt street when she heard the hoofbeats again, stronger. Closer. Hell.

  She’d barely run three steps when she saw the horses enter the intersection out of the corner of her eye. The sudden shout told her they’d seen her, too. Dammit. Her gaze darted, hunting for a way through the wall of row houses that lined the street, but she saw nothing. Did she dare run inside one? It might collapse on top of her. Then again, was that fate so much worse than being caught again?

  No, it wasn’t.

  She ran for the closest door and turned the knob with shaking fingers, but the door was locked tight. And fully on its hinges. Shit. Veering away from the riders, she ran for the next doorway, but the horses were too quick. One of her pursuers kicked up a choking cloud of dirt as he passed her, then pulled up, bringing his horse around to face her, blocking her path. The second rider came to a stop behind her, effectively cutting off any means of escape. If she’d ever had one.

  “And what have we here?” the one in front asked in an annoyingly nasal, high-pitched voice. As the dust settled, she got a halfway-decent look at him in the low light and had to fight not to gasp. He clearly was not human. His ears were a little too large, his head a little too big for his body. But it was his eyes, glowing bright orange, that gave him away. Oddly, he was dressed in modern clothes, his khakis stained, his polo shirt sporting a good-sized hole in the front. Angling herself so that she could see both of them, she glanced at the second, noting that he looked much like the first, his eyes also glowing orange.

  Quinn crossed her arms over her chest, gripping her stake. “Who are you? And what are you doing here?” A good offense was often the best defense.

  “We’re Traders.” The first male cocked his head at an odd angle. “Looking for runaways. Who did you run from, girlie?”

  “Who says I’m a runaway?”

  “Yer human, aren’t ye? Free humans in V.C. are always either runaways, or they’ve come in through a sunbeam. Is that what ye did then?”

  “What about the slayers?”

  “Slayers?”

  “You said humans are either runaways or accidental visitors. What about the vampire slayers?”

  The other one hooted. “Vampire slayers?” A deep-belly chuckle rolled out of his mouth. “Ain’t no humans who stand a flea’s chance against a vampire, girlie. None.”

  That stank. “What are you two? You’re not vampires.”

  “Traders,” the first one repeated, as if that was supposed to mean something to her. “Come, now. You had a nice little run, I reckon, but you’re ours, now.”

  Like hell. Quinn carefully unfolded her arms. “Do Traders die from a stake through the heart?” she asked quietly, giving each of them her best touch-me-and-I’m-going-to-rip-out-your-eyeballs look.

  Grins twisted their faces into masks that looked increasingly inhuman. “Looks like we got us a fun one, Bart,” the first Trader crowed.

  Damn them both. Cold fear shot down her spine as she got a vision of them having fun with her, throwing her to the ground and tearing off her clothes. Well, they were going to have to catch her first.

  Pivoting, she took off the way she’d come, her boots eating up the dirt. Behind her, the Traders shouted, horses leaped. She’d always been a runner and was damn good at distance. If she could just get back to the alley she’d just come out of, she might be able to dodge . . .

  One of them grabbed her, hauling her face-first across his lap with startling strength.

  “Troublesome bitch.” A second later, something crashed against the back of her skull.

  The lights went out.

  Chapter Six

  Quinn woke to the sound of chaos.

  Screams rent the air, crying, yelling. Someone fell on top of her, twisting Quinn’s right leg at a painful, awkward angle. As she opened her eyes to the firelit night, she caught an elbow on the cheekbone.

  Eyes stinging with pain, she struggled to sit up, to free herself from the tangle of limp bodies and flailing limbs, trying to make sense of her surroundings, trying to remember . . .

  The Traders.

  Her heart fell to her stomach. She’d gotten herself caught. Again. Dammit.

  She looked around and saw what appeared to be a roped-off corner of some kind of open building, the once whitewashed walls dirty and liberally stained with . . . blood? Lamplight flickered on the walls as men and women dressed in a weird mix of nineteenth- and twenty-first-century garb stood in a wide circle around them, their heads tipped back, their eyes half-closed as if in a rapture of prayer, or the throes of orgasm.

  She knew that look. She’d seen it on Arturo’s face often enough. They were feeding on the fear of their captives.

  An elbow caught Quinn in the back as the others struggled to sit up around her, their faces reflecting a terror Quinn understood all too well. Unlike them, she knew where she was this time.

  Something pulled at her ankle, yanking her foot hard and fast, making her fall into the person beside her. The loud clank of chains clued her to the problem a moment before she caught sight of the shackle around her ankle, a shackle chained, apparently, to someone else. Two someone elses. No wonder they were so badly tangled.

  Pushing herself up, she managed to turn onto her knees. She glanced down, glad to see that she was still fully dressed, boots and all. No backpack, of course. God only knew where that had gone.

  She looked around, studying her companions in this dark game of Twister. The best she could
figure, there were about twenty of them chained together by one ankle, men and women alike. All looked to be relatively young—late teens to midthirties, though that was where the similarity ended. They were from all walks of life. Black, white, Asian, Middle Eastern, wearing everything from business suits to fraternity T-shirts, fanny packs to saris. Though a couple remained unconscious, most were fighting to get free, shouting, crying, screaming.

  A dull haze of smoke filled the air, along with the smell of burning lamp oil and rank, acrid fear.

  “He’s killing her.” The woman on Quinn’s left, crouched like a terrified animal, stared at a spot over Quinn’s head.

  Turning awkwardly, her leg caught under the person next to her, Quinn followed the woman’s gaze. Ah, hell. One of the people standing around the room . . . were they all vampires? . . . had a young woman caught tight in his arms as he fed from her neck. The victim, dressed in a pair of skimpy shorts and a running bra, whimpered as the vampire lifted his head and handed her to the man beside him as if she were an oversized rag doll. The vamp met Quinn’s stare and grinned at her, his fangs gleaming with blood.

  Her face paled, and she looked away quickly, not wanting him to think she wanted to be next. Sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She might have come here voluntarily this time, but that didn’t mean she intended to die here. And she was going to have to watch her step very carefully, or that was exactly what would happen.

  One by one, the circling vamps drank their pint of blood from the young runner, passing her along to the next in line. After the third feeding, she’d fallen unconscious. By the time the seventh vamp sunk his teeth into her neck, he pulled up a moment later, his fangs clean of blood. The young woman was dead.

  The disgusted vamp tossed her back into the tangle of humans, raising another round of screams as the body landed on them. The girl’s head came to rest near Quinn’s knee, her bloodless face a mask of calm repose, before one of the panicked men kicked her away.