The man named Dave caught her shoulder. “There you go,” he said.
Their voices moved above her head, slow and sticky as sugar water, reminding her of how Gillian talked. The Southern way.
“Where am I?” she asked.
“In a van,” the driver said.
“Yes, but where?”
“South Africa.”
“Africa?” She blinked. “How’d I get here?”
“On a broom. How d’ya think?” The driver chuckled.
“Hang in there,” Dave said. “We’re almost to the compound.”
“What compound?” she asked.
“No more questions, kid.” The driver mashed his lips together.
I’ve got to Induce these men and run. She inhaled, swallowed, and tightened her belly. Then she shoved a thought toward the driver. Stop the van. Let me out!
The driver swatted at the side of his face, as if shooing a mosquito. He lifted his arm and wiped his ear on his sleeve. “My ears are popping like the dickens,” he said.
“Mine ain’t,” Dave said. “Chew you some gum. That’ll help.”
“Nah. I’ll be fine.”
Something’s wrong, Vivi thought. I hit him hard, and he’s still driving.
Her cheekbone throbbed, and one of her eyes felt smaller, like it was swollen, but she couldn’t remember how she’d gotten hurt. She forced her eyes to stay open and looked out the windshield. The headlights poured two bowls of light onto a gravel road, but she couldn’t see anything beyond that because it was too dark.
The van stopped in front of a tall wire gate. Barbed wire was coiled around the top, and floodlights spilled down, brightening dead weeds and more barbed wire. Two men in berets ran out of a little house and pulled open the gate. The van rumbled through, the headlights bouncing over the rutted gravel road.
“Goddamn vampires,” the driver muttered.
“Copy that,” Dave said. “Soon as I’m finished here, I’m headed back to Afghanistan.”
“Anyplace beats this shithole,” the driver said.
Lights fanned around a one-story, tan concrete building. A tall fence circled it, and men with guns stood outside. The van stopped, and the driver shut off the engine. Dave lifted Vivi off the seat and carried her on his shoulder, as if she were no heavier than a winter jacket.
“Catch you later,” he told the driver. Then Dave put her onto a wide veranda, through double doors, into a lobby. It was poorly lit, filled with cold, red air. He set her down, and her knees collapsed.
“I got you, honey,” Dave said, lifting her up. She craned her neck, looking for exit signs, trying to remember the layout.
Two men in uniforms waited at the end of a long hall. One man was short and wiry, and a thin mustache was sketched over his mouth. The older man had bushy salt-and-pepper hair. A hospital gurney stood behind them.
Soldiers, Vivi thought. Was she in a military hospital?
The driver put her on the cot. Her hands and feet were still bound, so she rolled onto her stomach, slid off the gurney, and scooted under it. The soldiers dropped to their knees and reached for her. A hand clamped over her face, and she sank her teeth into his palm.
The man howled and jerked back, shouting in a strange language, one that sounded like exotic music.
The gray-haired man laughed and said something musical, too, then put a strip of tape over Vivi’s mouth. His hazel eyes circled her face, and then he looked up at Dave. Vivi had forgotten that he was still there.
The gray-haired man looked angry. “She is bruised,” he said in lilting English. “Mustafa will be angry.”
Dave stepped backward, his boots clicking on the tile floor. “I didn’t do nothing. Her face was like that when she got to the airport.”
“Let me go, damn you!” Vivi screamed into the tape, arching her back. The men put her on the gurney and hooked straps around her chest and legs. Vivi shrieked as loud as she could, thrashing against the restraints.
The men bent over her and spoke more music. Then they got on either side of the gurney. Air waffled over her as they wheeled her around a corner, past a water fountain, into an elevator. The man she’d bitten sucked his palm. She tried to remember every detail. His hair was cut so short, it resembled a brown swimming cap. His mustache was the same color. A diamond stud winked in his left ear.
The gray-haired man stared straight ahead. Both of them gave off a fruity stink.
I’m in an elevator with two vampires, she thought. If she kept screeching, they might bite her. She pressed her lips together. The elevator lurched downward.
How can we be going down? Vivi wondered. This was a one-story building. Were they going to a dungeon? Oh, jeez. Maybe they had a torture chamber. Maybe these were the prophecy freaks. She’d always thought those guys were stupid. Or something her mom had made up to make Vivi march in step. If only she’d listened. At the thought of her mom, pain sliced through Vivi’s chest.
They can’t keep me, she thought. I’ll Induce their bloodsucking asses and turn them into shark chum. Except…she hadn’t Induced Dave. And she’d only made the driver’s ears pop. Maybe something was broken inside her. No, she was a Barrett. And Barretts didn’t break or give up. She focused on the mustached vampire and punched a thought toward his head.
Unstrap me.
He kept sucking his palm. Vivi looked at the gray-haired vampire and slung out another thought.
Pull the tape off my mouth.
He stared straight ahead. Why can’t I Induce him? Vivi thought. Shit, shit, shit.
The elevator door glided open, and the vampires steered the cot into another hallway where the air seemed colder and redder. They passed by a glassed-in room where a man in a blue scrub suit sat in front of computer screens. Each screen showed a flickering image. Of what, Vivi couldn’t tell.
At the end of the hall, a door hissed open. The vampires pushed Vivi’s gurney into a tiled room that smelled like pine disinfectant. A man in surgical attire came out of nowhere and leaned over her. His brows were dark and tiny, as if dabs of icing had been smeared on his forehead. A paper shower cap covered his hair, except for two dark, grizzled clumps that jutted out of the elastic rim, fizzing over the tops of his ears. He peeled the tape off her mouth.
“Hello, Vivienne,” he said. “I am Dr. Hazan.”
His voice was more musical than the soldiers, floating above him in the crimson air, but his breath was gross, stinking of ketones.
Another freaking vampire, she thought. And he knew her name. At least he’d taken off the tape, but she wasn’t beholden to his ass. She tried to wrench herself loose, but the straps were too tight.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
“Super. Couldn’t be better.” She swallowed, and her throat clicked. She saw a door behind him, but a security camera sat above it. Was there another exit? Her mind was just starting to get clear again. Maybe if she kept the doctor talking, she could get more info.
“Is this a hospital?” she asked.
“No.” He lifted a syringe, and the sleeve of his lab coat pulled back, showing an infinity tattoo on his wrist. It was similar to Raphael’s, except a green snake looped inside the figure-eight.
She shrank back, tugging at the bonds. “I don’t want a shot.”
“You will feel a stick. Then you will sleep, yes?” He pronounced then like din.
Vivi looked away as pain stabbed through her arm. Ow, dammit. That hurt. She felt tears seep from the corners of her eyes, slide down her temple, and catch in her hairline.
Dr. Hazan moved around the gurney, looked down at her face, and scrutinized her with unblinking eyes. He touched her swollen cheek and made a tsking sound.
“Hey, Doc?” She lifted her head. “Why is everything so red? Is it for germs? Or is this a red-light district?”
A smile broke over Dr. Hazan’s mouth.
Her teeth began to chatter. “I’m so c-cold. Can you turn up the heat?”
Dr. Hazan left. A moment later h
e returned with a blanket and spread it over her.
“Thanks,” she said. A swirly feeling moved behind her eyes. “Am I on a submarine? Is that why the light is red?”
“No, this isn’t an ocean,” Dr. Hazan said.
“Oh, that’s right,” Vivi said, or thought she said. She knew exactly where she was: in the ground with a bunch of fruitcake vampires.
PART SIX
TEAR IN MY HAND
CHAPTER 41
Raphael
VILLA PRIMAVERINA, ISLA CARBONARA
VENICE, ITALY
The helicopter touched down on the landing pad, the blades flattening the terraced gardens around the villa. Dr. Nazzareno climbed out with a nurse. Beppe escorted them to Raphael’s dark, windowless master bedroom.
“No, I don’t want a tranquilizer,” Caro said. Her upper eyelids were puffy, and her nose was running.
Dr. Nazzareno sat on the bed and spoke to her in Italian. Caro began to hiccup, her body jolting with each spasm. Finally she let him sedate her. After he and the nurse went upstairs to check on Sabine and Lena, Raphael climbed onto the bed. He held Caro’s shaking body, smoothing her damp hair, telling her he would find Vivi. But his words had sounded feeble.
After Caro fell asleep, Raphael kept holding her. Oh, he loved her so. Beppe opened the door and said another visitor had arrived. Raphael pushed back Caro’s hair and kissed her cheek, then he eased off the bed and went upstairs. Signore Dolfini was waiting outside the drawing room. “The Venice police pulled Gillian Delacroix’s body from the Grand Canal this morning.”
As Dolfini described the injuries, Raphael walked to the terrace window and spread his hands against the dark pane. Behind the glass, the lights of Venice burned under the dark sky. Raphael felt pressure building behind his eyes, but he could not break down.
On the other side of the room, Sabine was arguing with Dr. Nazzareno.
“I’m fine,” she kept saying. “I’m a physician, too. I’d know if I needed an X-ray. I broke my nose, not my skull.”
“You should be in the hospital,” Dr. Nazzareno said, then straightened his wire-framed glasses. He was a portly man with dark eyes and a full beard.
“I’m not going.” Sabine sat on a plush white sofa, her legs jutting out like a child’s, her face swollen and bandaged. “Check on Lena. Her skin has a purple cast. Something is wrong.”
As Dr. Nazzareno turned away, Sabine slid off the sofa and walked over to Raphael.
“I just remembered something,” she said. “Tatiana Kaskov had an infinity tattoo. A green snake was coiled around the figure eight. Salucard forbids any cabal to alter their tattoo. Why would a cabal deliberately modify this symbol?”
“I don’t know.” Raphael pushed back his sleeve and pressed his finger against his tattoo. “I will find Tatiana and deal with her. I will bring Vivi home.”
“How is Caro holding up?” Sabine said.
“Not well.” Raphael glanced away, wiped his eyes, then turned back to Sabine. Her whole face was scratched and bruised. “Dr. Nazzareno is right. You should be in a hospital.”
“I’m more worried about Lena.”
“She’s lucky to be alive,” Dr. Nazzareno called, bending close to Lena. “The bullet passed through her cheek.”
Lena moaned. The right side of her face was puffed out like a chipmunk’s.
“I’m surprised the gunman didn’t finish you off,” Dr. Nazzareno’s nurse said.
“I ain’t no fool,” Lena said. “I played possum.”
Dr. Nazzareno’s nurse held up a mirror.
“Lord have mercy,” Lena said. “Put that damn thing down. If I want to see ugly, I’ll watch Night of the Living Dead.”
She sat up suddenly and clutched her left arm. “Doctor, I don’t feel too good,” she said. “My heart is jumping out of rhythm. And it feels like a hog is sitting on my chest.”
Five minutes later, Sabine and Lena had been tucked into the helicopter with Dr. Nazzareno, headed for the hospital. Raphael walked down to his bedroom. His heart sped up when he saw the empty bed. The bathroom door was closed, and he heard the blunt, repetitive sound of water pounding against tile. He opened the door, and steam blew into his face.
Caro sat in the corner of the shower, her chin pressed to her knees, her nightgown wet and transparent, her skin showing through the thin cotton fabric. Her hair hung in wet, ropy curls. She didn’t seem to notice when Raphael sat down beside her.
His shirt and trousers were drenched in seconds. He sat absolutely still, water pouring off his shoulders, spilling into the space between him and Caro. He shifted his leg, and she jerked.
“It’s just me,” he whispered. “Do you want me to turn off the water?”
“Not yet.”
“You’ll get sick.”
She shook her head. “You don’t have to stay.”
“I’m not leaving.” I love this woman. As long as it takes, I will be here for her. I will never leave her alone. Never.
“I can’t get through this,” she said. “I can’t lose her.”
“You won’t. I will bring her back.”
She leaned against him, her fist clenched. He opened her hand. A clear bead of water rested on her palm, as if she’d caught a teardrop. Then it broke loose and ran across her half-moon scar.
It took him a few moments to regain his composure. Now he knew why Caro was in the shower. She’d gone behind a waterfall the night Philippe and Vivienne had died. How much more loss would the gods cast down? Had the gods never loved? “Caro, I will find Vivi.”
She pressed her lips together and didn’t answer.
“Do not give up,” he said. “I will find her. I’ll hire an army, I’ll buy every gun in the world, all the grenades, all the firepower. If it means my own death, I will find Vivi. I promise you, I will bring her home.”
He drew her closer, until their cheeks were touching. Pressure was still forming behind his eyes, the weight of grief and defeat. His stomach muscles tightened as he tried to hold in the last bit of self-control. No, he couldn’t break down. He had to be strong, or Caro would think it was hopeless.
But I can’t hold back, he thought. Because when you love a woman, everything you feel becomes a river, one that flows between you and her, and its power is beyond a man’s control. He held her, water rushing around them, his tears running into hers.
CHAPTER 42
Vivi
PATIENT CONTAINMENT AREA—LEVEL 2
AL-DÎN COMPOUND
SUTHERLAND, SOUTH AFRICA
Vivi awoke in a place that was glazed with cold, crimson light, and for a moment, she thought she’d fallen into a maraschino cherry jar. But she was in a narrow bed. Someone had untied her hands and feet and dressed her in a blue scrub suit. She sat up. The room was square and windowless, bigger than a doctor’s exam cubicle, with a steel door at one end. No furniture to speak of. No pictures on the walls. A security camera with a blinking red light hung from the ceiling.
A shiver ran through her, and she lay back down. Her teeth began to click, as if the coldness of the room had somehow moved inside her. She felt harder and meaner and also numb.
She’d been kidnapped by men in Hawaiian shirts. A badass blond lady had slugged her. Lena had gotten shot, and Sabine was missing. Then soldiers had taken Vivi to South Africa, into an underground building where vampires were in charge.
I want my mom.
Vivi’s lip quivered. What was Dr. Hazan going to do to her? Give her another injection or drink her blood? Could she escape? She rolled into a ball and pressed her mouth against her knee. A warm, wet patch spread over her skin. Now she understood why her mom had been afraid, why she’d kept moving from place to place. Some part of Vivi had always known the truth.
It’s all my fault, she thought.
The metal door buzzed open. Vivi pretended to sleep, but she watched the door through a crack in her eyelashes. Dr. Hazan walked in, his lab coat giving off the smells of disinfectant and fruit.
<
br /> “Vivienne, time to wake up,” he said, tugging at her arms. “It’s morning. Mr. Al-Dîn is coming to see you.”
She pretended to snore. Whoever Al-Dîn was, he could wait. The shithead.
“Up, up, up,” Dr. Hazan said, forcing her into a sitting position. She held her breath, squeezed her tummy, and wrinkled her forehead. Oh, she wanted to make Dr. Hazan go away.
Dr. Hazan, let me out of this place!
He kept gripping her shoulders. She glanced furtively at him. No blood. Not even a broken blood vessel in his eye.
“The diazepam should have worn off by now,” he said. “If you don’t cooperate, I will give you another injection.”
“No more shots. Jeez, I’m awake. Barely.” Vivi rustled up a fake yawn.
Dr. Hazan melted against the wall when the door buzzed open again. An old, baldheaded man shuffled into the room, gripping a metal walker, his leg wobbling violently. He wore a long purple robe, and his right-hand pocket hung low, the fabric bulging and twitching, like a cat was trapped inside. On his feet were leather slippers, the toes curled up like a jester’s hat. An IV tube snaked from his arm up to a clear plastic bag, and the bag hung from a tall pole. The mustached man she’d bitten stood beside the pole. He moved it forward each time the old geezer took a step.
“Fadime?” the geezer said. “Help me sit in that chair.” He spoke in heavily accented English, adding a d to “that.”
“Yes, sir,” Fadime said. He let go of the pole and took the geezer’s arm. Dr. Hazan moved away from the wall, pulled the chair close to Vivi’s bed, then hurried out of the room.
It took an eternity for the old man to get settled. His eyes were reddish gold, and his lashes were so dark and thick that for a second Vivi thought he was wearing makeup, but he wasn’t. That was a relief.
As he got nearer, Vivi saw that he wasn’t old. No wrinkles. No jowls. No liver spots. But he’d been in a bad fight. Bruises and purple splotches covered the backs of his hands, and more ugly marks ran under the sleeve of his robe.
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