“You ran my image as a control?”
“You were a logical choice. Your picture’s been in newspapers, on television, and online, so it made sense to use you. I ran Hamilton, too, and all our employees, since we have good photos of them. I’m happy to report that with a quality facial image for comparison, the program’s recognition rate is 99%. Of course, I didn’t expect some of the returns I got for your image.” He closed the first picture, pulled up another. One I had never seen. “What’s your rank here? Captain, right?”
World War II again. A year after the first picture. This time, flying for the British Air Corps. The black-and-white photo showed a close-up of a dead, downed pilot, unnamed, my face easily recognizable, the remains of my burned plane scattered around my body. The picture sent a shaft through my guts. My body had been discovered immediately after crashing, so it had been necessary to remain deceased throughout my funeral. They had buried me on a small hill in Cheresbourg, France. Thirteen days. That’s how long it took me to claw my way out of my coffin and through the dirt of my grave. When I think of the experience at all, I remember a black period of utter loneliness that seemed to last a lifetime.
I gave up, knowing further dissimulation was useless.
“The safest thing for me to do is kill you,” I said. “Of course, LAPD would assign Hamilton to the case, and then I would have to kill him, or craft a new identity, and your murder would have been for nothing.”
“What about Hamilton? Has he figured it out yet?”
“Yes. He’s seen things you haven’t.”
He gave a giddy laugh. “Ah, Sebastian, you don’t know how lucky I feel! You are some extraordinary dream come true.”
“You won’t feel so lucky if I decide you’re a threat.”
He waved a deprecating hand at me. “You know I’m not that stupid. You could have no better agent on earth. Which brings me to the question. How long has it been for you?”
In for a drachma, in for a shekel. “I was born in 1274. July. I don’t know the exact day.”
“Seven centuries? It’s incredible.” He clapped his hands. “You will tell me some of your stories, won’t you?”
“Yes, I would be delighted,” I said, meaning it. Another burden seemed to drop from my mind. Within a weekend, Hamilton and Preston had both discovered my immortal nature. I would not have to lie them anymore.
“Some other time, though,” he said, glancing at his computer. “It’s getting late.”
“Sure. I have to pick up Hamilton now anyway.”
11:59 p.m.
I bade Preston goodnight, took the elevator to the lobby and walked out the front door, nearly colliding with Tasha Watanabe.
“Oh!” she said. The Deputy Medical Examiner ran her hand through her beautifully coifed hair. Sheened with frosted makeup, she wore a snug little black dress and black suede spiked heels.
“Tasha,” I said, surprised.
“Hi Sebastian.” Sparkling white teeth behind glistening lips. “I’m just dropping off another core sample of the medallion,” she said, her face shading toward beet. She slipped past me, her dusky high heels clicking on the foyer floor as she strode toward the elevator. Flipping a hand at me without turning around, she said, “See you.”
“’Night.”
The mirrored door, when it fell shut, reflected a dark-haired man sporting a bewildered smile. We do it three times a week at midnight, Preston had told Hamilton and me. Had the man spilled the truth, knowing we’d never believe him?
Chapter 68
Sunday, February 15, 12:06 a.m.
Hamilton waited for me outside his apartment building, and as soon as he climbed in, I headed to the address Marcus had given me.
“Does anything about this case bother you?” Hamilton asked.
“Yes.”
“And you stop there? Go on.”
“I thought you’d tell me what you’re thinking,” I said.
“Can’t you go first?”
“I’m not the one who brought it up.”
“Ah, the hell with it,” he said. “How did Morgan know where 49 was last night?”
“Someone told her.”
“Yeah, but who? We know Cha was Morgan’s inside spy. But since Cha was dead before the location of 49 was sent to everyone’s phone, who tipped Morgan that time?”
“I believe I know,” I said, thinking about the Russian women.
Hamilton twisted in his seat. “And?”
We had driven through a desolated neighborhood in West Hollywood, and now I pulled into the parking lot of an abandoned building, brought the car to a smooth stop.
“Since we’re here, let me tell everyone at the same time.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Rachella stood at the entrance of the darkened grade-school administration facility, the traditional glowing 49 sign hanging above her head. Hamilton and I walked over to her.
She embraced Hamilton and gave him a kiss.
“You look lovely,” I said, surprised.
The russet-haired vampire was dressed as if she had come straight from Berkley Square. Knee length gray skirt. Sleeveless cream blouse. Modest pearl necklace. Medium heels. Tasteful. Restrained.
“You and Marcus,” she said. “You always notice.”
“You look quite different in those clothes,” I teased. “That hemline is much lower than usual.”
“You mean I look sophisticated. Upper class.”
“Yes.”
“Definitely high class,” Hamilton said.
“And that’s more attractive?”
“On you, yes,” I told her, “because you don’t usually dress that way.”
“Do you like my regular clothes, too?”
Hamilton said, “Rachella, you could make a potato sack an object of hot fashion.”
She laughed, then frowned, looking at my face. “Your eyebrow hasn’t healed.”
“Neither has your arm.” I turned to Hamilton. “Will you give us a moment?”
“Of course. I’ll see you two inside.” He passed under the blinking 49.
I pulled Rachella to me, hugged her, and kissed her softly on the lips.
“What’s all this?” She languidly encircled my neck with her arms.
“That’s a thank you.”
“For what?”
I leaned over and kissed the scar on her bicep. “For risking yourself,” I said. “For helping me save Aliena.”
She gave me a look. “Don’t ever thank me for that again,” she said. She gazed into my eyes, a half-smile curving her lips. Then she began singing.
The tune caused me to shiver, darkly erotic images of she and I together flowing over my consciousness. She poured out her voice as if it were warm, glistening honey—the kind of sweet and sticky stuff you spread on a woman’s body. I felt myself surrendering.
“Please don’t do that,” I begged.
She stopped. “Where did you learn that?”
“Learn what?”
“Oh, no,” she said. “You got lucky with the magic word?”
It took me a moment to get it. “Please is really a magic word?”
“As magic as a smile.”
The longing of her serenade lingered like warm fingertips on my skin. “What was that you were singing? I’ve never heard anything like it.”
She giggled. “We’re not supposed to use the Siren on you because of Aliena’s claim—and because we’re not sure it would work on you the way it does on mortals.”
“I don’t know if I should tell you this, but it worked.”
“Yes, I could see that. But it also causes mortals to forget their encounter with us. And that would be necessary in your case.”
I almost said, “Not if I wanted to keep it a secret.” I didn’t. She was already tempted by my immortal blood enough. If she saw me weakening, she would become even more aggressive. And I was no longer sure I could resist her.
“Aren’t you planning to keep a close eye on Detective Hamilton?” I
asked.
“That doesn’t mean I don’t want you, too.”
“And if he also wants other women?”
“I’m hardly the possessive type with mortals,” she smiled. “Besides, he’s been marked by many of us. The story of his performance at 49 has made him quite a celebrity with the girls. I’ll let Mr. Hamilton have his fun.” She straightened my tie. “I’ll only be able to think about you tonight, anyway.”
Her frank admission embarrassed me and made me realize Rachella might actually be falling in love with me.
“I wish . . .”
“Do you?” she asked.
“Yes.”
She made a small groan. “I’m definitely leaving Steve to the others tonight.”
We stared into each other’s eyes for a long while. With a sigh, I blinked, determined to remain true to Aliena.
“You really think Steve will be seduced tonight?” I asked.
“Definitely. The younger women are celebrity-crazed. He’s more sought-after now than superstars like Mario,” she said, naming Aliena’s favorite “boxer,” a world-famous vampire heartthrob.
“Wow.”
“Who knows? Perhaps Steve will forget all about me.”
“My dear Rachella,” I told her, “no one could forget you. You are gorgeous beyond compare, with a sophisticated style no other woman can touch. Steve knows he’s one of the luckiest men on earth.”
This earned me a kiss so warm, I can still feel it on chilly nights.
***
Only about seventy vampires waited for Rachella and me when we walked inside. There was no boxing ring tonight. The head priest of the Apollo Ring stood with Marcus, along with Hamilton and Emilio. The killing coffin leaned against one wall.
Rachella and I joined the group, and the others closed around us. Most of the vampires who had been at Carmen’s execution were present. For the first time, no fangs were bared in my direction. Many nodded and gave me friendly smiles.
Marcus and Emilio shook Hamilton’s hand, then mine.
“Can you tell us what happened?” Emilio asked. The scar he received from the ghost remained an incongruous mark on his cheek. “We didn’t get all the details.”
I gave a near-complete account of events leading to the destruction of Atlantis. I did not reveal my baby-making session with Morgan, or that I had used a star card from the Tarot of the Archons to escape the fabled island.
“I don’t understand,” Hamilton said. “Why would Darius tell us the program would only destroy the ID tunnel when he knew it would destroy the entire device?”
“There’s no way to tell if the whole machine blew up,” I said. “This may have been localized to the area near the control facilities.”
“That’s true.”
“The question now is how did Morgan know the ring was here in the first place? And how did she know it was at 49 last night?”
“She had someone on the inside,” Rachella said.
“Yes.”
“How can you be sure?” one of the men asked.
“Because her approach was too perfect from the beginning,” I answered. “She immediately went after two of the acolytes.”
“But she didn’t get the location of the ring from them.”
“That’s right,” I said. “So she targeted Darius next. He anticipated that.”
“That still doesn’t explain how she knew the ring was here at all,” Hamilton said.
“That may have been pure luck. If Morgan seduced a vampire for a lover, that person may have unknowingly provided her with the information. Once Morgan determined through questioning that Darius was also here, that confirmed the ring’s location.”
“Why would this vampire help her?” Marcus asked.
“Because she loved Morgan. And Morgan also loved her deeply. I believe this vampire allowed Morgan to implant a ghost inside her to determine if a vampire body could withstand the inhabitation.”
As I continued to pour out my theory, not a sound did I hear.
“That was important, because Morgan knew she needed a body durable enough to withstand two or three days of hosting the flux creature in our universe. She also needed someone to get close to Darius and try to determine where the ring was being kept.”
“Kristina Cha and Darius were meeting regularly,” Rachella mused.
“So you told me.”
“And you think Cha was the lover?” Hamilton asked.
“Yes.”
“But Cha was dead shortly after sunset,” he said. “She wouldn’t have known the location of 49 last night.”
“I know.”
“Someone else helped Morgan, too?” Emilio asked.
“In a manner of speaking.”
I turned to Ingrid and Lara, the Russian twins. I thought their expressions grew wary under my gaze. Perfectly understandable considering the situation.
“How are the two of you tonight?” I asked.
“Are you still mad we tried to drink you, Sebastian?” Ingrid asked, causing many of the vampires to snicker.
“Not at all,” I told her. “You and Lara are identical twins?”
“Oh, no, Ingrid,” Lara said in a mournful voice. She and her sister tittered. “We thought nobody noticed, when all along they knew we were twins.”
More laughter, with me included this time. The two women wore the same skin-tight tan leather pants, blouse, and had the exact same haircut. It was like looking at one woman standing next to a mirror.
“The two of you were raised together,” I asked them, “lived with the same family in childhood?”
“Yes, in Vyatka.” Lara reached for her sister and they clasped hands.
“You appear to be in your mid-twenties,” I observed.
“Twenty-seven,” Lara said. She spoke as if in a confessional. I felt terrible for doing this to the sisters, but I had to know one thing from them
“You were both turned at the same time?”
“Yes, two hundred years ago,” Ingrid answered.
“Please.” Lara’s voice vibrated with fear. She stared fixedly at the Apollo Ring’s killing box. “My sister and I didn’t have anything to do with Kristina’s death.” She looked at the assemblage. “You must believe me.”
“I do,” I said. “In fact, I know you weren’t even involved.”
The twins visibly relaxed at my words. “Then why . . . ?”
“How well do you know Natasha?”
They blinked, not expecting the question. “We met her in Dakari on our way here.”
“Has she spent any time with you since the night of the execution?”
“No. We never expected her to.”
“That’s what I thought,” I said.
Attention shifted to the other side of the room where Natasha stood, her pink hair hanging down her back.
“You think Natasha was another informer on the inside?” Rachella asked.
“No. She didn’t even know who Morgan was. But her presence explained Kristina’s death.”
I glanced at Natasha. A heavy ring glinted on her hand.
“Sebastian,” Rachella said. “This makes no sense. If Morgan loved Kristina, why would she kill her?”
“She didn’t.”
“Then how did she die?” Marcus asked.
“Several possibilities occurred to me. For instance, Kristina’s death could have been accidental. That is the explanation Morgan gave: that Kristina had unexpectedly stood near the flux door when Morgan came through with Aliena, and the ghost attacked Cha on its own.”
“Hm,” Emilio said.
“Her explanation didn’t sound quite right to me, either. It suggested two highly intelligent women could make such a disastrous mistake. I also didn’t consider an intentional attack, because I could not fathom a reason for Morgan to want Kristina dead.”
Rachella’s eyes burned red, her canines sharpened to deadly points. “Tell us why Morgan killed Kristina right now, or I will forget myself.”
I answered q
uickly to forestall an attack. “Morgan didn’t kill her.”
“What?” Emilio sounded astonished. He had been picking his teeth—yes, those teeth—and now looked at me. “Then who killed her?”
“Nobody killed her.”
Muttering broke out at this statement.
“Are you saying she was killed by one of the Ghosts of Atlantis?” Marcus asked.
“No.”
The air thickened, rife with vampiric impatience. I filled the void quickly.
“The one aspect of this case that bothered me from the very beginning was the manner of death. The problem with a pile of ashes is that they all look the same. And because such thoroughly burned remains are also devoid of DNA, there was no way for us to identify the “body.” We assume Cha was a victim because the remains were found in her house, and she had disappeared. We assumed the first victim was Darius because of his clothes and the fact that he had disappeared.”
“You think those remains were other people?” the head priest asked from inside his cowl.
“Not both of them. As a guardian of the Apollo Ring, Darius could tell Morgan where it was, even lead her to it. Therefore, she had an excellent motive to kill him, and I believe he is indeed dead.”
“Then your theory is that Kristina is not dead?” Rachella asked.
“That’s correct. In fact, she’s here now.”
The vampires looked around.
“I don’t see her,” Marcus said.
“She’s right there,” I said, pointing at Natasha.
“Natasha? How?”
“Because that is not Natasha. Natasha is a pile of ashes at the LAPD crime lab. This girl is Kristina Cha.”
Chapter 69
Sunday, February 15, 1:22 a.m.
If Natasha/Kristina had twitched an eyebrow, the crowd would have fallen on her. She remained perfectly still, not even blinking after my accusation. Vampires cherish their privacy, and were slow to interfere with another’s life. Unless Kristina confessed, or tried to run, no one would touch her, not even for the purpose of seeing up close if she really were Kristina.
Ghosts of Atlantis (Immortal Montero Book 3) Page 34
