Terrific. And how much was I willing to bet that out of that entire conversation, he'd only heard the very last thing I'd said. I was such an asshole.
"I hope it's okay that I let myself in, Amy," he said.
She was frozen over by the closet with a sparkly red dress held up in front of her as if for protection against the forces of evil. "Sure. Uh-huh."
"That one." I pointed at the dress. "It's perfect. Can I borrow it?"
She nodded stiffly and flung the hanger in the general direction of my lap.
"Are you ready to go?" Thierry asked me. "Your overnight bag is in my trunk. We can be in Abottsville in three hours."
I nodded and began to get up from the bed, but since I was still nursing the healing wound it took some effort. He came over to my side and assisted me to my feet.
"Bye, Thierry." Amy stayed over by the closet. She was looking at her chosen object of disdain, Thierry. But as I focused on her expression I realized that there wasn't much disdain to be seen in her wide eyes.
She looked like a teenager at a rock concert.
I frowned.
And then I had the sudden and profound realization that, despite all of her harsh and nasty words, my pink-haired best friend had a crush on my boyfriend.
Her gaze flicked to mine and I think she saw it in my eyes—that I knew her dirty little secret. She looked away and actually started to whistle innocently.
Great. Just what I needed.
Thierry helped me out to his black Audi without saying another word. He pulled out of the driveway in front of Barry and Amy's apartment complex.
"About what I said in there," I began.
"What did you say?"
I didn't even remember, actually. But I knew it had something to do with me wishing that he was more courageous, like the Red Devil. I didn't mean that. I'd been joking around. I knew Thierry was courageous. I'd seen it with my own eyes. I felt horrible that he might have overheard me say something I didn't even believe.
"Nothing." I shook my head and forced a smile. "You know I love you, right?"
He smiled as he eased the car onto the highway. "I know. You love me despite my many flaws. But just so you know, this Red Devil person is not perfect either."
Shit. He had heard.
"I never said he was."
"In fact, I think he may be dangerous, whoever he truly is under that disguise. If he approaches you again I want you to tell me immediately."
I nodded. "Okay. But let's forget all about him just for today."
He turned to me and met my eyes briefly before focusing on the road again. "Agreed."
And even though I wondered who he was, what he wanted, and where he came from, I forced myself to forget all about the Red Devil.
Or, at least, I tried damned hard to.
Interlude
Paris, France, A.D. 1547
"Thierry, I'd like you to meet Marcellus."
He came to Veronique's side and raised his eyes to meet those of the man he'd heard about for two hundred years. The man his wife had never stopped caring for, even though he had left her to fend for herself during the darkest days of the Black Death plague.
It was very difficult to be married to someone who was hopelessly in love with another.
Difficult, but not impossible.
Thierry nodded at the vampire and forced a semblance of a smile to appear on his face. His collar felt stiff at his throat, as if he was being choked by it. Veronique constantly accused him of being unfriendly to others they met in their travels through Europe, of being a miserable man filled with a festering darkness.
He had to admit, the woman was an excellent judge of character—except when it came to Marcellus, that is.
Marcellus was a handsome man. Tall and imposing, with fair hair and skin, but with a charming smile—the ease of which Thierry admired—and an obvious taste for fashion. His clothing was perfectly tailored and expensive enough that the cost of it could have fed Thierry's entire family for years.
His family. They'd all died during the plague. Four sisters, two brothers, and his mother. Gone. His father had died years earlier, and as the eldest by five years, Thierry had taken on a parental role with his siblings. Yet, only he had survived.
Survived, he thought with bitterness. Yes. After two hundred years of life, survival was all that mattered anymore.
Veronique, he had to admit, was a beautiful woman. Hair as dark as night that she wore in the latest styles. She dressed in the latest fashions. Her wrists and neck and ears dripped with jewels—all of which Veronique had acquired for herself. Thierry didn't know how she had paid for such luxuries, but there was always money to spend. He had long since stopped questioning their resources.
Marcellus had invited them to a performance of the commedia dell'arte and then to dine in the vaulted cellar of a tavern near the river.
The tavern was filled with vampires—something that stunned Thierry. He'd never seen so many of his kind in one place before. He'd been a vampire for two centuries but he was still amazed that such a thing existed. Veronique had sired him into this life after the point he'd wanted to continue living. He had already made his peace before he'd been saved from the death and disease of the plague years.
Now he was to live forever. Much like the beings that surrounded him. They laughed and drank and danced and listened to the music in the tavern as if they were normal.
But they weren't normal. They were creatures who looked human but needed blood to survive. He ran his tongue along the sharp tips of his fangs. Veronique indulged her thirst frequently but he did not. He didn't care for the feeling of intoxication when he drank blood—the feeling of being out of control. He valued his control above all things.
"Don't be silly," Veronique always told him. "You should relish this second chance at life I've given you."
"I do," he assured her.
He wondered if she regretted siring him. Or marrying him. He did care for the dark-haired beauty in his own way. After all, despite her self-involved actions and behavior, Veronique was not evil. She did what she could with the life she'd been given. As did he. She made for a fine companion and had taught him many things about being a vampire.
But he didn't love her.
He had loved his family, but they had been destroyed by the plague. One of his sisters had still been healthy when the villagers had taken her late one night and burned her body among the dead to prevent the spread of the disease. There had been nothing he could have done to prevent it. That was the night that Thierry ran as far away from his village as he could, only to end up in the same situation as his sister.
Veronique had saved him. She'd been hungry and he'd apparently looked appetizing enough for her to pull his half-dead body from the pile of burning corpses.
The plague had long since left Europe, leaving behind a path of death and destruction. Thierry was still alive. Still breathing. His heart still beat, but now he had to drink the blood of others to keep it that way.
It was a monstrous life.
The only thing he had was Veronique. Yes, the woman who was now seated upon her sire and old lover's lap with his tongue down her throat. Thierry watched them from the shadows. Veronique hadn't even noticed his departure from the table.
She would be unfaithful to him. Thierry was surprised that the thought didn't bother him as much as it should have.
He watched as a man approached Marcellus to touch his shoulder and then whispered something in his ear. Marcellus nodded and disengaged from Veronique's embrace long enough to stand up, smiling as he left the table to venture outside. Thierry followed, keeping to the shadows, watching as Marcellus's easy smile faded to a tense but determined expression.
"And the man who told you this?" he asked the man next to him sharply after he'd taken the stairs to street level.
"A solid source. It is good, reliable information. They are almost upon us."
Marcellus's expression shadowed. "I only wish I had more tim
e. There are arrangements to be made." His serious gaze then moved to where Thierry stood silently. "You there. Perhaps you can be of help to me tonight."
"I didn't mean to overhear anything," Thierry said, feeling exposed and ashamed to be caught lurking in the shadows.
Marcellus's lips curled. "Of course you did. And I can't say that I blame you. After all, I have been preoccupying Veronique all evening."
"Are you apologizing for that?"
"No." His gaze was steady and unflinching and Thierry felt uncomfortable for a moment.
"What do you want from me, then?"
"Leave us," he told the other vampire, who bowed and with a glance at Thierry left them in privacy.
Marcellus pulled a chain out from under his collar. There was a key on the end of it. "If I ask you to do something for me, will you do it?"
"It depends what it is you ask."
The smile returned as he slipped the chain over his head and glanced down at the gold key. "This is the key to my home near the city wall." He told Thierry the precise address. "I want you to take this key and let yourself into the house. Destroy the papers you will find there."
"Why?"
"Because tonight I shall die, and if those papers get into the wrong hands, many others shall die as well."
"I don't understand."
"No." He shook his head. "I don't suppose you do. I am a very good judge of people. I know those I can trust by looking into their eyes. Do you know what I see when I look into yours?"
Thierry didn't reply.
"I see a man who has suffered, and even though that which has caused your suffering has left, you still hold on to that pain. However, I sense that you are honest and honorable. I don't know how you came to marry Veronique, nor does it matter anymore."
"You left her."
"Only because I had to. For her own safety. You see, I am a hunted man. There are those who wish to do me great harm, and they have finally found me. I cannot escape. They will end my life tonight and I must embrace it. My death must be on public record so my secrets shall die with me."
"The papers."
"Yes, the papers must also be destroyed. There is no other choice."
"Why can't you simply leave?"
He walked off to the side and gazed out at the dark, empty street outside the tavern. "Have you ever heard of the Diable Rouge … the Red Devil, Thierry?"
"Yes." The Red Devil was a vampire rumored to save other vampires from the threat of hunters. His identity was not known, but his deeds were legendary.
Marcellus turned to him. "The Red Devil dies tonight. The hunters believe that they know his true identity and they want to end him."
Thierry frowned deeply. "I don't understand."
Marcellus smiled. "It is best that Veronique never learn the truth. I want her to believe that I left her years back for selfish reasons. She must never know how deeply I loved her, how much I still love her and have missed her for all of these many years. I felt great jealousy when I first met you, Thierry, for you have what I cannot: Veronique.'"
"You are the Red Devil?"
"It is a silly name, but yes. I am. Until tonight."
Thierry shook his head. "Then it's too important for you to continue. You must escape."
He smiled, but it was a sad smile. "Do you know what it feels like to be betrayed by those you consider your friends? All is lost. The papers have names, locations, details that in wrong hands would do too much damage… if the Red Devil is gone, then that information must follow."
"How can you accept something like this? So easily? After all that you've done to help others?"
"I am almost five hundred years old and am weary with life. To be a vampire is to live forever, but it is finally time for me to rest. Seeing Veronique again has given me a last happiness."
The other man stepped back outside. "Marcellus, they approach."
Marcellus nodded to him and then handed Thierry the key. "Take this."
Thierry took it and looked down at it with a frown. "But, Marcellus… you cannot—"
"I must."
"What about Veronique? She is still downstairs."
"I will ensure her safety if it is the last thing I do. I swear it." Marcellus smiled, and Thierry could see the strain of such a long life in his expression. "Now go… hide yourself. They must not find that key." He paused and grasped Thierry's shoulder. "Take care of Veronique for me. Farewell, mon ami."
Thierry watched his wife's sire and ex-lover descend the stairs to the secret tavern and knew there was nothing he could do or say to stop what was to come.
His mind buzzed with the information he'd received.
The Red Devil. Marcellus was the Red Devil and he was about to die. Thierry's throat felt thick at the thought.
Then he clenched the key in his fist and turned away from the tavern to disappear into the shadows.
That night, Thierry traveled to Marcellus's home near the city wall. He found the papers. Lists of the names of vampires pretending to be human. Lists of names of humans who now hunted vampirekind. Lists of the names of informants, both vampire and human, and how much money these informants expected to be paid for their information. There was a bank of weapons hidden in the home. And money. A great deal of gold and other coinage spilled forth at his touch.
He also found Marcellus's detailed journals of the Diable Rouge. What he had done. Where. When. Why. Thierry sat in Marcellus's home and read the many journals twice through, amazed at what he discovered. The Red Devil's identity was a closely guarded secret and had been for nearly five hundred years. Through Thierry's investigation, he could not find one living person who knew what Marcellus had done during the dark hours of night. Even Marcellus's assistant the other night, the man who warned of the approaching hunters, might not have known the whole truth.
The truth was that Marcellus was saving his kind from slaughter at the hands of the hunters.
The thought that it was now over, that the Red Devil was dead, disturbed Thierry greatly. Even though his past relationship with Veronique soured him in Thierry's eyes, Marcellus had done such good with his long life, had saved so many people, that it couldn't be over.
There was a letter tucked into the journal at the last entry made. It had not yet been opened. It was from an informant and told of a planned massacre later that week.
A closely knit clan of vampires with loose ties to French royalty had been targeted to be an example to others. Three men and four women. And now that the Red Devil was dead, there was no one to save them from certain death.
Thierry's knuckles were white from clutching the journal so tightly. He had watched his family die and had been able to do nothing to prevent it. The Black Death had not been selective. It had eaten through the surrounding lands with an insatiable hunger, destroying those left behind with grief, despair, and poverty. But a disease couldn't be stopped.
However, a few hunters with sharp weapons could be stopped.
Thierry thought of his sister, the one who had not died from the plague, but instead at the hands of crazed villagers who, so afraid of death, killed anything they saw as a potential threat. He'd been too late to save her. It was his fault she was dead. The guilt ate at him even after so many years.
There was a wooden box, ornately carved with the symbol of a sun, on a side table near him. He opened it expecting to see more jewels or money, but it contained only two things, which he removed: a miniature painting of Veronique and a red mask. He gazed down at the portrait of his wife, at her perfect beauty, flawless complexion, and haughty expression. There was no denying that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.
He placed the painting back into the box and closed the lid. He held the mask up to his face. It felt right against his skin.
The decision was made in that instant. He would continue Marcellus's secret work. He would take on the Red Devil's persona. In the memory of his family, he would help those who couldn't help themselves.
He took the mask, some weapons, the journal, and as much gold as he could carry. And he left the small house the following day to return to his wife in Paris.
Her expression was beautiful but annoyed when he found her.
"Where have you been?" she asked.
He had already decided to tell her nothing. It would be safer that way for her. Marcellus had wanted his secret to die with him. It would.
"I had to leave. I'm sorry if you were worried."
She laughed lightly. "Worried? No, Thierry, I wasn't worried. I was disappointed."
He eyed her warily. "Why?"
"After you disappeared the other night there was a raid of hunters. I barely escaped with my life. Marcellus…" She brought a handkerchief to her mouth. "Marcellus was murdered. I watched him die."
He frowned deeply and felt a surge of anger at that. Marcellus had told him that Veronique's safety was assured. "You shouldn't have stayed. You should have left and hidden yourself at the first sign of danger."
"As you did?" Her eyes flashed. "No, I would not leave him in such a way. Marcellus was brave. He fought against those who meant to kill me. You ran away like a scared child. So yes, I am disappointed that I am married to such a coward. In fact, I'm surprised that you returned at all. I thought perhaps that you would be too ashamed to face me again."
He fought to keep his expression emotionless. "And yet, here I am."
She sniffed and dabbed the handkerchief to her eyes. "I miss him, Thierry. I don't know if he knew how deeply I loved him."
"Had he lived, would you have left me for him?" he asked.
She looked at him with surprise, concentration creasing her forehead. "I guess we shall never know the answer to that question." She sighed. "Now, please get my bags. Let us leave this horrible place once and for all. I wish to go somewhere else. Anywhere else."
"No, not yet. There's some business I must attend to later this week."
Her eyebrows raised. "Some business? You?"
"Yes."
"Very well. Perhaps you have returned from your hiding place with more motivation than you've had in the past. It will be a good thing if you have found some goal to achieve other than looking sullen."
Stakes & Stilettos Page 5
