Last Vampire Standing

by Nancy Haddock

  Saber teased me about Kevin as we walked home hand in hand.

  “I think you’re starting to take the wounded under your wing like Neil says Maggie does.”

  “Kevin’s a little weird, but he’s not wounded.”

  “And Jo-Jo was wounded and a lot weird, but he grew on you.” Saber grinned. “And then there’s Snowball.”

  “Oh, no, bud. I’m not taking the fall for Snowball. I felt sorry for her, but you’re the one who named her.”

  “Okay, you’ve got me there.”

  I grinned. “I’ve had you a lot of places.”

  “Yeah, you have,” he said, drawling out his words. “Want to go for a new one?”

  Saber said he had to check on Neil’s place, but what he did was seduce me into Neil’s solar hot tub for a romp. Even with his arm still in the cast, the hot tub was another reason to love Saber’s soon to be new house.

  Later, while Saber slept back at my place, I killed time before picking Jo-Jo up at the regional airport by first working on my design classes, then playing with Snowball. She spooked me a few times when she stopped batting a toy to stare at the door, arch her back, and hiss, but I sent out feelers and didn’t sense anyone there.

  Except for the third time when I heard Pandora chuff on the patio. If Snowball had been a dog, she’d have gone on point. I scooped her in my arms and cracked the door. Pandora in her full panther size sat smack on the threshold.

  “Where have you been?” I spoke softly enough not to disturb Saber. “I thought you were supposed to stay nearby.”

  Old Wizard had need of me, but you have been safe.

  “Old Wizard?” Then I remembered. “Oh, the guy who’s at the big meeting. The guy you, um, live with. Right.”

  The time of the first resolution is near. Be prepared to claim your power, Princess Vampire.

  Pandora rose and turned.

  “Come on, Pandora, give me a straight answer. What the hell is the first resolution?”

  I will be there when you need me.

  She padded toward the gate.

  “When I need you for what?”

  Silence.

  “Pandora, it really ticks me off when you do this.”

  More silence. Snowball relaxed and batted the feather toy I forgot I held.

  At three forty-five by the light of the full moon, I drove to the airport. Jo-Jo bounded into the all but deserted terminal toting a fancy piece of carry-on luggage.

  “Highness! Good to see you!” he gushed, then gave me air kisses.

  Air kisses? This from the vamp who’d been prostrate at my feet two weeks ago?

  Jo-Jo dropped more surprises on me en route to his hotel.

  “Vince is negotiating a deal to star me in a remake of The Court Jester. You know, that movie? The original starred Danny Kaye. Anyway, the shooting schedule could be tricky, what with me only up at night, but Vince says if this company wants to do it bad enough, they’ll work it out with the unions. They might even shoot part of it here.”

  “The tourism bureau will love it.” And they would, but Gorman wouldn’t. Might have to call my new Covenant contacts with a heads up.

  “I hope I don’t have to sing,” Jo-Jo went on. “That could be trickier than night shooting. Now, guess who I looked up?”

  “In Vegas or L.A.?”

  “Daytona. I called Donita and offered her a job as my personal assistant. She took it, and she’s coming up to meet me tomorrow night before the gig. Isn’t that a stroke of genius?”

  “It’s perfect for both of you,” I said, grinning to myself, “but I didn’t think she had her car back.”

  “She doesn’t. She’s catching a ride with someone who’s coming up for the show at the Riot.”

  “You said there were other acts, Jo-Jo. What time does the whole show start?”

  “At eight, but I go on at nine and ten thirty. You will be there, right, Highness? For at least one show?”

  For all the air kissing, that little bit of insecurity reassured me Jo-Jo hadn’t gone completely Hollywood.

  “We’ll be there.”

  I felt jumpy all afternoon on Saturday but figured the cause was either the full moon or simply anticipating Jo-Jo’s performance. When it was time to get ready, I paired black jeans with a lime green top and sandals, and put my hair in a ponytail. Saber wore black jeans, too, but with a blue shirt that made his cobalt eyes look like a stormy ocean.

  We were headed out the door at eight fifteen when Candy called. Saber took the call with the speaker feature on as we hustled to the car.

  “Vlad’s dead,” she said tersely. “He was startin’ to look ill, so we decided to move him while he slept. Son of a bitch woke up, broke out of the building, and ran into the sun. He fried before we could put out the fire.”

  I shuddered and blocked the scene my imagination conjured.

  “So much for getting his cooperation.”

  “We lost the offshore account, too. It was closed at the last minute yesterday.”

  “Did the investigators get enough to trace it?”

  “I’m not sure yet, but the whole thing with Vlad is buggin’ me. He seemed to weaken and age while we had him in custody.”

  I immediately thought of Rico, the black fog Void sucking his life force.

  “You two have any idea why that would happen?”

  “He was being energy drained,” I told her as we reached Saber’s car.

  “How is that possible? We didn’t let anyone near him.”

  “You didn’t have to,” I said. “Something is getting to vamps wherever they are.”

  “What?”

  I looked at Saber, waited for him to tell her, but he shook his head.

  “Candy, our intel on this isn’t confirmed. We’ll do some checking and call you later.”

  “All right, but keep me in the loop.”

  Saber disconnected and faced me. “You okay about Vlad going up in flames?”

  “It’s gross, but the real question is how he awoke in the first place.”

  “The Void gave him a super shot of energy?”

  “I don’t want to think about it.”

  But I couldn’t help it, and my jumpy feelings shifted into overdrive as we sped through traffic to the island.

  My nerves frayed to shreds when we found the parking lot near full but strangely quiet. No smokers stood outside as they had last time. And then we spotted Pandora in her house-cat form waiting at the club door.

  The vampires you seek are inside. Go quickly. Help is waiting.

  Stark fear ripped though me, and Pandora sprinted around the building before I finished relaying her message to Saber.

  “Do you think Laurel and Marco have killed everyone?” I whispered.

  “No, but they’re holding a hundred or more hostages we have to keep alive.”

  “Please let them be in thrall.”

  “Amen.” He drew his Glock, held it by his thigh, and reached for the huge half-moon door handle.

  I gripped his cast to stop him. “Wait. Do we have a plan?”

  “We take whatever help is waiting, and we end it.”

  “That’s the whole plan?”

  “Honey, vamps don’t do hostage negotiation. We know the basic layout of the building. I’ll take the first clear shots I have, and you wing it for all you’re worth.”

  Wing it, right.

  He pulled the heavy door open, and we stepped from the lights of the street into the dim club foyer. The smell hit me first. Not death. A sweet orange tang that clogged my throat.

  I glanced at Saber. Mouth clamped tight, he jerked his chin. Move, I heard him say in my head.

  I stutter-stepped, then stopped, eyes on Saber’s face. I hadn’t really heard him, had I? I’d read him. Had to. I didn’t have time for another shock now.

  I eased into the club proper, Saber at my back, dread fisting tighter in my chest with each shallow breath. I scanned the humans frozen in place, figures in a wax museum. Grateful the thrall
left them senseless, I edged deeper into the bodies suspended in time.

  Sudden movement on the stage drew my attention, and a man stepped into the glare of two spotlights.

  No, not a man.

  The monster from my past. The vampire I’d convinced myself was dead.

  Marco Sánchez.

  Everything stilled in me. Blood. Breath. Life.

  However he had disguised himself in Atlanta, tonight he’d stripped his mask. Midnight black hair the color of his soul. Dark, cruel eyes with the same glint of evil glee I remembered.

  He stood on the stage dressed entirely in black, brandishing a short sword that flashed silver in the spotlights. As I watched, he paused, shielded his eyes, and made a pretense of seeing me.

  “Ah, Francesca, Princess of the House of Normand,” he said with a mocking bow. “Welcome to my little reunion soiree.”

  His voice made every drop of blood in my body go icy, but I controlled a shudder and looked at the others on the stage. Just out of the glare of the spotlights. Jo-Jo slumped in a chair, his hands bound behind him, Donita kneeling at his feet. She didn’t seem to be harmed, but neither did she seem completely in thrall. Shock waves of terror quivered from her.

  Another female hunched across the stage floor from Donita. Laurel. Half-clothed, a grotesque tattoo of burn marks on her bare arms, and an oozing slash on her upper chest. She still wore Saber’s silver handcuffs and cowered beside Marco, yet her eyes flashed with rage.

  “Now, now, Francesca,” Marco chided. “Is this any way to greet an old friend? Come closer.”

  I turned to Saber, but he was frozen, too. My heart seized.

  “Do not look to your tame mortal for help, Francesca,” Marco said silkily. “He will do as I tell him. Shall I demonstrate? You, throw down your weapon.”

  Saber complied, but I saw the spark in his eyes and remembered. He was immune to enthrallment. Playing along.

  “Wing it. I’ll move in when you distract him.”

  A rush of relief made tears prickle my eyes. Then Marco ruined the moment.

  “Francesca, my love. I will let them all live if you will come to me.”

  Manipulative hell spawn. He gave me no choice.

  Raw nerves scraped against each other as I moved toward the stage, picking my way through standing waiters and seated patrons, all in suspended animation. Thankfully, the thrall over everyone in the club save Donita and Saber seemed total.

  “Don’t pull anything funny,” Laurel warned.

  Marco laughed. “What can she do, you stupid bitch? My Francesca was ever a pathetic excuse for a vampire. She missed being human, but was too much the good girl to end her life.”

  I winced at the truth.

  “See how she cringes at my barb? She is still the same, oblivious to her powers, or she would have known I had a spy watching her.”

  I cut my gaze to Jo-Jo, and Marco laughed again.

  “Laurel was the spy, not Jo-Jo.”

  “Focus, honey,” Saber said in my head. “Play him.”

  I fought to wet my dry mouth and scrambled for something to say as I neared the base of the stage.

  “If Laurel is your little fanged friend, why have you tortured her? And what is with that orange smell?”

  He gave me a venomous grin. “You insulted me in the old days when you said my scent offended you.”

  Everything about Marco offended me, but I flashed to the last time I’d seen him. He’d been a vampire for more than three years, yet his body held the odor of cumin and datil peppers, the spices his mother had used to cook, the smell that permeated his home. Marco sweated the smell before he was turned, and it lingered after.

  “Ah, I see you recall. Sadly, I am still afflicted with my own signature scent. I had to disguise that from you, Francesca, or ruin my surprise. You are surprised to see me, are you not?”

  “Brutally so,” I snapped. “Did you wear contacts as part of your disguise, Marco? To change the color of your eyes?”

  “Ah, then Jo-Jo did describe me to you. Indeed, I went to much trouble to hide my identity until the time was right.”

  “What’s the deal with Laurel?” I pressed as I neared the foot of the stage and a yawning hole beneath it.

  Marco waved a dismissive hand. “Possessive ingrate, she tried to shoot you. Against my direct orders.”

  Anger burned into my fear. “Laurel was the sniper?”

  “With deplorable aim. I killed Ike for her and for Vlad, and even left my favorite short sword behind. Yet this cow whines that I have not killed Ray.” Marco spat on the floor. “Laurel is an encumbrance who would get in the way of my plans for you.”

  “Plans?” I strove to keep my voice steady, to keep him talking, to stay calm.

  But I nearly flew to the catwalk when a shadow startled me from the space under the stage. Triton, in-the-flesh Triton, rose from the shadows just enough to tug at my jeans pocket. He slipped something heavy inside the pocket, patted my butt, and melted into the darkness again.

  “Who is there, Francesca?” Marco demanded, taking two swift steps toward me.

  “A cat under the stage,” I blurted, winging it. “The thing startled me. That’s all.”

  “You lie,” Marco snarled, sword raised.

  Pandora meowed, loud and long. I smiled.

  “Actually, I don’t.”

  Pandora brushed past me and trotted up the stage steps.

  With my heart slamming in my chest, I don’t know where I got a spurt of courage at that point, but whatever Triton had put in my back pocket pulsed and grew warmer. I followed Pandora up the five steps, intent on my mission to distract Marco. Did he know I could suck energy? Not unless Laurel had told him. She’d warned me not to try anything, but maybe that had been a hint, not a warning.

  “You mentioned plans, Marco?” I stopped on the stage, subtly began drawing his energy, and prayed he didn’t notice. “If you had such big plans for me, why didn’t you come for me right after the villager uprising? I at least expected you to come after Normand’s treasure.”

  “Ah, yes, you know me well,” he said, strutting to where Laurel cringed from him. “Come closer, or I will behead Laurel as I did Ike. Or shall it be Jo-Jo and his little friend?”

  I gritted my teeth and took the smallest baby steps I could, still sipping his energy, the thing in my butt pocket pulsing with even more heat.

  “Your story, Marco?”

  “Sadly, the villagers turned on me, as you must have known they would. I was gravely injured by the fire, but my father—you remember my father, Francesca?”

  “I remember.” I inched nearer, steadily sucking from Marco, even though each orange-flavored sip made my stomach churn. “Your dad was a Spanish soldier rumored to be a silversmith.”

  “The rumor was true. He was a silversmith, and a very fine one in spite of the scandal in España.” Marco had drawn himself up straight, ready to take umbrage for any insult, but suddenly laughed. “Ah, yes, mi padre. A tender but stupid man. He took pity on me, hid me in his workshop. I begged him not to leave me where the silver would harm me. Do you know what he said, Francesca?”

  I shook my head. I was less than ten feet from Marco, and the right side of my butt felt like a vibrating live coal, sending shock waves into bones, my skull. Hell, into my DNA.

  “He said perhaps the silver would purify my soul and bring me back to him. Instead, the exposure made me immune. Or perhaps it was the exposure of being in his shop all those years before I was turned, but no matter. My flesh did not heal properly after the fire, but I gained strength enough to kill mi padre and feast on his blood.”

  I gagged and snapped my psychic shield in place to keep from seeing more of the scene in Marco’s vivid memory.

  “So you really are immune to silver?”

  Marco shrugged almost humbly. “I did, of course, continue exposing myself to the metal over the centuries to ensure and build my immunity.”

  I pulled a little more of his energy, my bo
dy throbbing now, a tuning fork on speed.

  “Why have you shown up after all this time, Marco? You still haven’t told me your big plan.”

  “It is the same as it ever was. I take you, Princess of the House of Normand, and together we rule. It is just as well that the magic symbols stopped me from reaching you before. We will have more influence now.”

  “What magic symbols?”

  He stared, his eyes unfocused, as if he’d lost his train of thought, then shook himself.

  “You might be a pathetic excuse for a vampire now, but day-walkers are rare and have legendary powers. I have been chosen to teach you”—he paused—“to fulfill your destiny as King Normand’s daughter.”

  Gads, Marco was slurring his words. Had he noticed? Whether it was me energy-sucking him or the thing in my pocket affecting him, I had to keep him talking.

  “Marco,” I scoffed, “Normand wasn’t real royalty.”

  “Normand,” Marco said slowly, “was a bastard son of the French royal house.” A pause. He was weakening. “It is the reason I gave myself to the vampires.” Another pause. “I could achieve power I would never have as the son of a soldier.”

  Marco weaved on his feet. I took two steps closer to his side, almost within touching distance but out of Saber’s line of fire. I thought we had him, thought Saber would open fire. Instead, Marco whipped the short sword to my throat. His hand trembled, and I felt the blade slice into the side of my neck.

  Rage flooded my vision, my being.

  I jumped, pulling hard and fast on his energy. At some point I realized I was hovering eight feet in the air, but I held my focus. I drained Marco.

  He dropped his sword and fell to his knees, but I didn’t stop sucking his aura. I couldn’t. Not even when the air between us turned black. My soul seemed to quake with the force of whatever Triton had put in my pocket. I had to hang on until Saber came.

  Then Marco began to wither like a raisin, and I faltered.

  Laurel crawled toward Marco’s sword, and Saber shouted, “Stop her.”

  I swooped to the stage and kicked the sword away.

  “Kill him. Behead the bastard,” Laurel screamed.