Hunting Daylight (9781101619032)

by Maitland, Piper

  “No,” Vivi said. “I wanted her to stop talking. I wanted her to drink her latte. I wanted it so bad. Then she started bleeding.”

  “You didn’t cause it,” Gillian said, pulling her closer.

  “But Mrs. MacLeod’s nose bled, too.”

  “Honey, that’s why God made noses.”

  Their voices seemed to come from the bottom of a glacier. Behind me, I heard Henrik’s boots crunching on the frozen gravel. I remembered how sick I’d felt in the café, and how much I hadn’t wanted to drink that latte. And yet, at the same time, I’d felt compelled to lift the mug. My mind and body had been disconnected.

  I took a step, and the sky tilted. The sun flipped upside-down. Before I hit the ground, Henrik took my elbows.

  “Takk,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said in English.

  Vivi broke away from us and ran inside the house. Gillian helped me into the dark foyer and pulled off my stained jacket.

  “Lord, it’s gloomy in here,” she said, groping for the coatrack.

  I could see more than I wanted. Dark splotches covered the front of my sweater, as if someone had flung a glass of burgundy at me. Vivi wasn’t in the room, but her coat hung on the rack. Probably she’d gone to her room.

  As I walked toward the stairs, I heard the jingle of Arrapato’s tags, and then Raphael got up from the sofa. His eyes widened when he saw my sweater. “What happened?”

  “Nosebleed,” Gillian said. “Somehow Vivi got it into her head that she caused it. But it’s just the cold air. And all that traveling Caro’s been doing. Airplanes are notorious for drying out the sinuses.”

  Raphael’s forehead wrinkled. “Would you mind if I talked to Caro alone?”

  “Yes, I do mind,” she said. “I’ve been shot at, chased by assassins, and brought to a wasteland. I’m freezing my butt off, and I broke a fingernail.”

  “I’m sorry you’re unhappy, Gillian. But I still need to talk to Caro.” He took my hand. “Let’s go to my room.”

  The kitchen door opened, and Fielding’s head popped out. “Come here, Gillian. I made you a little something.”

  Her gaze passed over him. “How little?”

  “It’s hard to explain.” He winked.

  “Just a second, shorty.” She turned to Raphael and wagged her finger in the air. “I’m not finished with you, mister. Lay one hand on Caro, and I’ll whip your ass.”

  After Gillian walked to the kitchen, Raphael’s mouth quirked up at the corner, and the other edge slanted down, his signature I’ve-got-a-secret look.

  I didn’t protest when he led me to his room. It was just like mine—white walls, window covered with blackout draperies, knotty pine furniture. Before he shut the door, Arrapato shot through and stared boldly up at his master.

  “Testa di merda,” Raphael told the dog, and then both of them walked to the bathroom. A moment later I heard water running.

  I stood next to the bed, trying to ignore the tightness in my chest. A coppery tang rose up from my hands and sweater. Red crescents were packed beneath my fingernails. I wanted to plunge into a soapy tub, but I felt sure that Raphael wanted to talk about last night.

  He came out of the bathroom holding a damp washcloth. He rubbed it gingerly over my upper lip. In seconds I was all caught up in his smell and the pressure of his fingertips beneath the rough, damp cloth. I gulped down a breath.

  “Hold still, mia cara. I won’t bite.”

  “A pity. One little nip, and you’d be flat on your back.” I snapped my fingers. “You’ll be gasping for air. It took Jude a long time to build resistence to my poisons.”

  “I’m not worried.”

  I put my hand on his cheek. His nostrils flared, and I knew he could smell my blood. “This is serious,” I said, but I wasn’t referring to my tainted antigens. “I’m sorry about last night. I wish I could blame alcohol, but I can’t.”

  “Mia cara—”

  I lowered my hand. “We can’t let that happen again, Raphael.”

  “I didn’t bring you to my room to seduce you, mia cara. I didn’t want Gillian to hear what I’m about to say.”

  “We could’ve talked telepathically.”

  “You’ve just had a nosebleed. Do you want a headache, too?” He put the washcloth in my hands. “Tell me what happened.”

  I started with the latte and ended with the ice pack. When I finished, he said, “It’s not the cold air. Vivi might have caused it.”

  I just stared. “How?”

  “Hemakinesis.”

  “What?”

  “A telekinetic ability. It’s linked with Induction.”

  “What’s that? I’m confused.” I sat down on the bed.

  “Your grandfather could bend thoughts—that’s Induction. And sometimes he made people bleed—hemakinesis. These talents are rare. Without them he wouldn’t have survived the Albigensian Crusade.”

  Raphael was referring to my father’s father, Etienne Grimaldi of Limoux, France. Their castle was one of the few that hadn’t been sacked during the crusade. Most of the clan, including my grandfather, had died later, during the Inquisition. They’d also had precognitive dreams.

  I rubbed the washcloth over my fingers. “You’re wrong. Vivi isn’t telepathic. She can’t read minds. Wouldn’t she need to hear a thought before she could bend it?”

  “This isn’t about telepathy. It’s another type of energy, and it’s about control. Her will becomes her victim’s will.”

  I quit scrubbing my hands and looked up. “Victim? You’re scaring me.”

  “You need to be scared.”

  “Of my own child?”

  His gaze dropped to the front of my sweater, then moved up to my face. “She would never hurt you intentionally. But Induction and hemakinesis are weapons.”

  “You’re saying she inherited this from me?”

  “You’re a Grimaldi.”

  “I can’t bend thoughts. I’ve never been able to read anyone’s thoughts but yours. And I can’t make people bleed.”

  “Vampire genetics isn’t my forte.”

  But Jude had understood it. I squeezed the washcloth. It felt just as cold as the air between me and Raphael. “Why would Vivi suddenly develop this…what’s it called?”

  “Induction.” He paused. “She’s almost fourteen. Her body is starting to produce hormones.”

  I frowned. He was talking about her cycle. I didn’t know about hormone production in humans, but I knew how it worked in hybrids.

  “Don’t look so worried, mia cara. I know a psychiatrist who can help her.”

  My stomach did a little flip. “Vivi needs a shrink?”

  “Dr. Sabine d’Aigreville is an expert in vampire telepathy and telekinesis. She lives in Paris. If Vivi is an Inducer, Sabine can help her develop and master these raw abilities.”

  “Is this why Keats was killed? Because someone thinks Vivi has a peculiar talent?”

  “You’re her mother and you didn’t know.” A muscle worked in his cheek, and he looked away.

  “You’re holding back,” I said.

  He sighed. “I don’t want to add to your worries. But I spoke with the detective who’s handling the murder investigation at Innisfair. Keats’s hands were mutilated, except for one finger. On that finger was a gold ring. The police assumed it was his wedding band.”

  “I never saw Mr. Keats wear a ring. He wouldn’t let Vivi wear jewelry when she went riding. He said it was just one more thing to get snagged in a bridle or reins.”

  “It wasn’t his ring, mia cara.” Raphael paused. “It was Jude’s.”

  Something fell inside my chest. I dropped to my knees, and the washcloth hit the floor. “It was on his finger when he went to Gabon. It was too tight. He never took it off.”

  “The inscription says To J love the Lass.”

  “You’re telling me the ring made it out of the rain forest, and he didn’t?”

  Raphael looked away.

  I clawed the nec
k of my sweater. It felt too tight. I couldn’t breathe. What were the odds that Jude’s wedding band would turn up ten years later on the hand of a murder victim? Was the killer taunting me, hoping I’d think Jude had suffered? Or had Jude lost the ring in the bush?

  Raphael turned back to me. “Are you sure he was wearing it, mia cara?”

  “Yes.” I swallowed. “I guess it’s possible that someone found his body and took the ring. Maybe they sold it.”

  “How would a random buyer make the connection that J stands for Jude? Or that you are the Lass?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe the ring was sold again and again. Someone figured it out. Someone who’d known Jude.”

  I looked up into Raphael’s eyes, trying to feel his thoughts. Pain sliced through the left side of my chest. “You believe that someone on the expedition team stole the ring? And that same person killed Keats?”

  Raphael was blocking me, but the sudden flash in his eyes told me that I’d guessed his thoughts. “Or maybe Jude is still alive,” he said.

  “Come on, Raphael. You don’t believe that. If Jude had survived, he would have found a way back to me and Vivi.”

  “We need to know if he was wearing his ring the day he disappeared.”

  “How?”

  Raphael hunkered beside me and took my hand. “The moment I found out about Keats, I called my friend in Interpol. He’s been researching the team members on Jude’s expedition.”

  “But all of them died.” I remembered how I’d badgered the Al-Dîn Corporation after Jude went missing. They’d insisted the team had perished in a fire. I hadn’t believed them, and I’d hired an American firm to look into it. Raphael had contacted Interpol. They’d all reached the same conclusion: No one on that expedition had survived.

  “A British virologist made it out of Gabon. Dr. Emmett Walpole.”

  “And it took Interpol ten years to figure this out?”

  “Apparently Walpole dropped off the grid. He’s been moving around. Now he’s living in Zermatt.”

  “I don’t see how Interpol found him.”

  “Two months ago he flew into Berlin. He acted paranoid. Bought a one-way ticket. A custom’s agent questioned the authenticity of the passport. The authorities let him go, but he ended up on an Interpol Red Notice. His passport cleared Zürich a few weeks ago. From there, he was simple to trace.”

  “Has he been traveling under his real name all this time?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.”

  I had to concentrate on what Raphael was really saying. Was he leaving Longyearbyen? Was he going to fly to Switzerland and talk to this virologist? Zermatt seemed like an unlikely place for a vampire. They didn’t like high altitudes.

  “I’m going tomorrow,” Raphael said.

  He’d heard my thoughts? I tugged my hand out of his grasp.

  “Can’t you phone this man? Or e-mail?”

  “He might run.”

  “Why? Because of the passport incident?”

  “Or maybe he saw something in Gabon that he wasn’t meant to see.”

  I exhaled. “Will you be safe?”

  “Zermatt is a good place to hide from vampires.”

  “And a bad place to be trapped,” I said. “They don’t allow cars. You can’t drive away if things get hairy. You’ll have to take the train.”

  “I’ve been to Zermatt many times.” He smiled. “You and Vivi need to come with me.”

  “But we’re safe in Longyearbyen.”

  “Inge takes Coumadin. She could hemorrhage if Vivi tried to Induce her.”

  “That’s a big leap, Raphael. We don’t know for sure if she has this…skill. Maybe my nose bled because I’ve been on too many airplanes.”

  “That’s not why.”

  “You don’t know. You’re not a doctor.”

  His hand grazed the side of my face. “I’m not taking chances.”

  I leaned back. “What happens when we leave this island? Whoever is chasing us will know the second your jet leaves.”

  “We’re not flying. I chartered a boat to Amsterdam.”

  “You’re speaking as if this is a fait accompli.”

  “Our new passports will arrive this afternoon,” he said.

  “That was fast. Hope they’re not flagged.”

  “Inge’s sons know the right people.”

  “And so do you.” I paused. “What happens after you talk to Dr. Walpole?”

  “We’ll go to Paris. Sabine can help Vivi.”

  “And you trust this doctor?”

  “Yes.”

  “What about Gillian? Is she coming, too?”

  He nodded. “We’ll need a decoy when we leave Zermatt. She can go to Villa Primaverina, and we’ll go to Paris.”

  “Why can’t we go to Paris first?”

  “Dr. Walpole moves around. I don’t want to lose this chance to see him.”

  “If Vivi’s going with us, she’ll need to tone down her hair.”

  A floorboard creaked in the hall. The bedroom door swung open, and Vivi glared at me. “Good luck with that, Momster.”

  Gillian walked to town and returned with hair dye and bland clothing. She lured Vivi into the kitchen, then made a big show of kicking me out. Gillian and I had planned the makeover ahead of time. I knew Vivi wouldn’t let me tamper with her style, but she might listen to Gillian.

  An hour later, I heard a scream. Vivi ran into the living room, tears beaded in her eyelashes. Her hair had been dyed auburn, and Gillian had given her a short, androgynous trim.

  “I could pass for a boy,” Vivi wailed. The razor-blade earrings had been replaced with discreet pearl studs, one in each lobe. She wore jeans and a gray flannel hoodie.

  “You look adorable,” I said. And she did, even if she seemed much younger than thirteen.

  Gillian came out of the kitchen. “Relax, your hair will grow.”

  Vivi wheeled around. “Give me the scissors. Let’s see how you like a crew cut.”

  “Lose the attitude,” Gillian said.

  “Attitude is all I’ve got.”

  As Gillian left the room, I put my hands on Vivi’s shoulders. “Will you please calm down? We need to pull together as a family. When this is over, you can dye your hair green, and I won’t say a word.”

  “You really think this trouble will end? Because I don’t.” Her face crumpled. “This is Raphael’s fault. He’s in some kind of mess. He’s put us in danger, and it’s not fair!”

  “It’s the other way around, Vivi. We’ve put him in danger.”

  Her chin trembled. “It’s because of me, isn’t it? Because I’ve got that thing inside me. That Induction thing.”

  A humming sound began in my ears. “Who told you about Induction?”

  “I heard you talking to the Prince of Darkness.” She wiped her eyes. “I know what I am. A freak.”

  “You are not. You’re smart and brave and beautiful.”

  “If you believe that, you’re whacked.”

  “Gillian’s right. You need an attitude adjustment.”

  “That won’t help. I’ve got a nest of vampires in my family tree.”

  “So do I.”

  “But you don’t give people hematomas.”

  “You can learn how to control it.”

  “What if I can’t?”

  “You will. And you know why? Because you’re like your father.” Tears pricked my eyes, but I kept going. “When Jude was a young man—a human—he was doing research that almost got him killed. Vampires cut the tendons in his heels and set his lab on fire.”

  She swallowed, then wiped her eyes.

  “Your dad lost everything,” I said. “He was forced to leave his home and his family. He taught himself to walk again. Then he met me. And we made you.”

  “Big mistake.” Her eyes filled again.

  I took her face in my hands. “You have the strength of the Barretts inside you. It’s greater than the messed-up genes you inherited from me. You will get thro
ugh this, because you are Jude’s daughter. He loved you. And he would have been so proud.”

  “Oh, Mom.” She pushed her face against my neck. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be a brat. I’m just scared.”

  “I know, Meep.” I pulled her close, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was moving away from me, and no force on this earth could make it stop.

  CHAPTER 16

  AL-DÎN COMPOUND

  SUTHERLAND, SOUTH AFRICA

  JULY 8

  Half a world away, in a windowless compound, a six-hundred-year-old vampire contemplated his mortality. Mustafa Al-Dîn leaned back in the leather infusion chair, taking care not to dislodge the intravenous tubing in his right arm. Stem cell leukemia had made him vulnerable to the faintest of light, and a red glow illuminated the treatment room, blurring the tiled walls.

  A sable ferret climbed onto the chair, its nails scratching over the leather, and it perched on Mustafa’s leg. The vampire laughed, then reached in his pocket, pulled out a plastic bag, and removed a glistening cube of raw meat.

  “Bram, come closer,” Mustafa said.

  The ferret’s long body seemed to glide over Mustafa’s silk pajamas, and then the animal tilted his head and bit into the meat.

  “I wasn’t always like this,” Mustafa told the ferret. “Once, I dined with Sultan Mehmed II. I commanded the sipahis. Do you know what an honor that was—to lead an entire cavalry division? To be a hero in the Ottoman army?”

  The ferret crept closer. Mustafa pulled another chunk from the bag. He smiled as Bram sank his fangs into the meat.

  “Oh, you should have been there the day I rode out on my white stallion,” Mustafa said. “I crossed the Danube to kill the infidels. I was feared by thousands. Now I am dying.”

  The door opened, and Tatiana Kaskov stepped into the treatment room, leaning on a cane. She wore camouflage shorts, and a bulky bandage covered part of her thigh. Her gaze went to the intravenous machine. “How are you feeling?”

  “Stronger. But you’re limping.” He fed another piece of meat to Bram, then cut his gaze back to Tatiana. “What happened to your leg?”

  She sank down in a chair. “A crazy Australian shot me a few days ago.”