As I sauntered to the bar, I felt their eyes follow me. Is this the way my mother acquired her victims? Did she lure them with sex and beauty? I ran my tongue over my teeth, wondering how it would feel to be her, to choose anyone I wanted, to drain them of their lifeblood and leave them for dead. Who would I pick for the night?
I found myself a small table in a shadowy corner of the bar area, sat with my back to the wall to better observe the people. The waiter came over and I ordered more of the red wine we'd been drinking at dinner. He disappeared for a second, then returned with a full glass. "This is all taken care of, Miss," he said as he set it in front of me.
"Thanks." After he left, I continued the game of choosing a victim for the night. So many people, so much blood to be had.
No, not that one, I thought, avoiding the stare of a man at the end of the bar, he's too obviously influential. He'd be missed and that would not be good for me. But he was handsome, older than me, physically at least. I'd have said he was distinguished, but that conjured up images of gray-haired, cigar-smoking old gentlemen in waistcoats. He certainly wasn't one of those. And there'd been something about his eyes. I glanced back to the end of the bar and he was gone.
Well, I thought, we didn't want him anyway. Pick someone else.
The trick was, I supposed, to find someone healthy and robust, but not too beautiful. How would I do it? Call them over to my table and share a drink or two with them? "Hi," I would say, "my name is Deirdre and you look like you need a friend. Join me?" I would turn the full force of my power on them and they wouldn't refuse. And we would talk and laugh and become friendly. Then I would take them home and drain them dry.
I shook my head. "This is really lame, Lily," I said to myself. "And it isn't getting you anywhere.'' I drank my glass of wine in one gulp and got up from the table, bending over to pick up my purse and my shawl from the other chair.
"Leaving so soon, Miss Williams?"
I jumped, I hadn't heard anyone come up on me. Turning around, I came face-to-face again with my benefactor from the Westwood Hotel. "Hi. It's Mr. Adams, isn't it?"
He smiled. "Yes, how nice of you to remember. And don't you look lovely, all dressed up? Surely you can stay for a little while longer and brighten up an old man's evening."
I blushed. "Well, I guess I could stay. I was just leaving because I was bored."
"We can't have that, now, can we? Come join me at my table. And call me Claude, there's no need to be formal." He took the shawl from my hand, wrapped it around my shoulders and tucked my hand into his arm. "That's a lovely perfume, by the way. Where did you get it?"
"A friend of mine in New Orleans gave it to me."
"Ah. And what does this friend of yours in New Orleans do for a living?"
"Why, he's…" I hesitated. What did Angelo do? "He's a bokor."
"Indeed. I could have guessed that And based on the results, a fairly good one. So, did he tell you what this particular scent could do?"
I blushed again. "There's a label, but to be honest, I didn't read it. I picked this one because I thought it smelled different."
"Different. Yes. You have a discerning nose. I suspect you have good instincts. Still, you should give your friend a little advice my mother once gave me."
"And what's that?"
He put his head back and laughed. " 'Voodoo don't pay the bills.' So I took her advice, came to this city and made my fortune. Now come with me, my dear. There's someone at my table who wishes to meet you."
We crossed the room, my hand still tucked into his arm. I felt the eyes of most of the people there follow us; I suppose we looked a fascinating couple. Claude was so very large, so very powerful, and I was so small next to him. And yet, I was not without power. Gone was the girl from New Orleans; she was a woman now, and one who could choose to be anyone she wished. And tonight I chose to be Deirdre Griffin.
The man who sat at the table did not glance up at our approach. He was, I judged, in his mid-forties, with dark hair only just faintly salted with gray. A full glass of red wine sat in front of him, untouched and unnoticed. Except for the fact that he was tracing circles on the surface of the table with his forefinger, I'd have taken him for a statue, a wax figure: elegant and cleverly designed, but completely without life. My companion touched him gently on the shoulder.
"Victor"—it seemed to me Claude said the name with more deference than affection—"this is the lovely Lily Williams, a fair flower traveled here from my former hometown. Miss Williams, this is Victor Lange, a very old and dear friend."
Victor Lange's gaze lifted from the table where he had been watching the tracing of his finger. He was the man I had seen at the end of the bar. But his eyes were empty now, with no spark of life or thought, barely focusing on my face. Then they widened ever so slightly, studying me in great detail. I remembered something Betsy had said in the cab on the drive here—about my mother's eyes and how one could fall into them. Victor had eyes like that. When he smiled at me, I took in a small gasp of air. And I knew what he was.
He stood up gracefully and pulled out the chair next to him. "Sit here, Miss Lily Williams, and let us get better acquainted. My dear friend Mr. Adams will go to the bar and get us some of the good wine, won't he? None of this slop they brought me earlier." Victor picked up the untouched glass and handed it to him. Their eyes met, and for a moment or two there was silence.
Claude cleared his throat, looking nervous for the first time since I'd met him. He seemed to shrink in on himself, and gave a small nod. "Well, I suppose I could. I wouldn't be away for too long."
Victor waved his hand. "Stay away as long as you need to, friend." Sarcasm dripped heavily from that last word. "And Miss"—he looked at me and winked—"ah, Williams and I will be here when you get back."
"I don't know," Claude hesitated. "I'm not supposed to…"
"Go."
It was just one word, one very little word, but uttered with such command that Claude turned instantly and walked away.
"Sit," Victor said to me, in much the same tone of voice, and I sat. "Now"—he seated himself next to me—"now we can talk for a little while without supervision. They keep me under a very tight watch, did you know? They think I'm not right."
"Not right?"
"Not right as in damaged in the head. And I suppose it is true. I have times when I am not myself. But just the sight of you brings me back." He reached over and touched my hand. "Deirdre."
I jumped, almost as much from the coldness of his skin as from the name. He didn't seem to notice. "Why are you here, Deirdre? Under a different name? Are you in trouble?"
I wanted to laugh out loud. He thought I was my mother. What an amazing bit of luck. And what couldn't I learn from this man.
I played along. "Yes, Victor, I'm in trouble."
He smiled again, not a pleasant smile. "And you have come to me for help. How ironic. Where is Mitch?"
"Mitch is not here."
"Ah, I see. I never liked him much anyway. For what it's worth, I always thought you were better off with Max." His eyes glazed over a bit, losing some of the life and depth they'd had. "Max," he said in a whisper, "then Ron. So many others. All dead. You have caused me much grief, Deirdre. But, for Max's sake and the love he bore you, I will help you. Stay until Claude leaves again." His eyes spotted the large form crossing the bar with a bottle and glasses. "We will go someplace private and you can tell me your story."
* * *
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
« ^ »
I was in over my head, I knew. Way over my head. Although Victor might not have had all his faculties, he certainly had enough to be a real threat to me. If I'd been smart, I'd have turned and run back to New Orleans. But I'd become obsessed with learning as much about my mother as possible, and Victor Lange certainly had more information than Betsy McCain. Even if he'd been the devil himself, I'd still have gone with him.
A plan began to form in my mind. It was vague and shadowy, an outline only, with no
ne of the substance filled in, but it was a plan. If I could convince her friends that I was her, then I could take her life away from her. And leave her with nothing, the way she'd left me.
Claude returned with the bottle of wine and showed it to Victor. "Perfect," he exclaimed. "You'll like this, my dear. It's the best wine the cellar of The Imperial has to offer." He held the bottle out to me so that I could read the label. As Lily, I knew only that it wasn't Mad Dog 20/20. As Deirdre, though, I had to concur with Victor's pronouncement and nodded. "Very nice indeed. Thank you, Claude."
He poured three glasses and handed one to Victor, one to me, and picked up his own. "To friends, old and new," he said, but the power of his voice was dimmed. Claude drank, giving Victor and me a few uneasy glances, noticing that, in his very short absence, the dynamics of our threesome had switched. He was now the outsider and the visitor. I smiled at him and sipped at my wine.
He took my smile as encouragement. "So, Lily, tell us about New Orleans. It's been some time since I've been there."
I shrugged. "It's New Orleans. And probably hasn't changed one single bit since you've left. It's still sinking into the swamp, it's still dirty and it still stinks of death."
Claude laughed. "Ah, I know it well. Home sweet home. I miss it still."
Victor had gone silent. His glass was empty and he was back to tracing on the tabletop again. "Victor?" I placed a hand on top of his and he brushed it away.
Claude leaned over and whispered to me. "Don't worry about it, Lily, he does this sometimes. He is, well, different. You mustn't mind him."
At this statement, Victor's mouth seemed to stiffen into a grimace, and I caught a glimmer of anger in his eyes as they quickly darted to me, then back to the table, but he said nothing.
Claude didn't seem to realize that Victor was not quite as unaware as he seemed. His actions were like taunting a tiger at the zoo. But in this case, the bars were made of paper and only the tiger knew. If Victor ever gained full control of his mind and situation, I had a feeling that Claude would be quite dead in a matter of seconds. I should have been frightened. Instead I felt a rush of excitement. And with that rush, I also felt Victor's knee very purposely brush up against mine. He was not as out of it as they all thought. Whoever they were.
Claude kept talking about his boyhood days and nights in New Orleans; I made an effort to listen and respond appropriately. We talked of Mardi Gras and blues and the bars of the Quarter. The bottle of wine was emptied, and Victor woke from his trance enough to ask Claude to get another.
When he had gone, Victor looked up at me. "Ten minutes after I leave, excuse yourself for the ladies' room. Next to that door is a door marked 'Employees Only.' " I craned my head a bit to see where it was. "No." He touched my hand and I looked back at him. "You can't see it from here, but it is there." He pressed something into my hand, a key. "This will open it. Take the stairs to the very bottom and follow the hall to the very end. This key will open that door also. I will wait for you there. You'll recognize the place when you get there." I nodded.
"I needn't tell you that you must be unobserved."
"No, you needn't tell me. But I'll be there."
"Good." He smiled at me one more time, gave my knee a quick squeeze and then turned back to his study of the tabletop just as Claude came back. More wine?" asked Claude.
He started to pour, but Victor looked at him and shook his head slowly. "Not for me, Claude. I think I shall retire now."
He stood up, and Claude motioned to the bartender. I watched as Victor crossed the room; when he reached the doorway, another man approached him and walked him out. A very tight watch.
"What's wrong with him?"
"Victor?" Claude's nervousness fell from him as soon as Victor was out of sight. He was once again self-assured and powerful. "He lost some very dear friends a few years ago, in a nasty series of even nastier murders. It was as if his mind became unhinged. I didn't know him then. But I understand he was dynamite. Ran things with an iron fist and forget the velvet glove." He laughed and filled my wineglass. "A real tiger. He owns this place, did you know that?"
"No, I didn't. Still, it's sad."
"Mmm. So how do you like the wine?"
I held my glass up and admired it in the light. "It's good. I'd hate to have to tell you the brand of the last wine I drank. But this stuff, it makes that other seem like swill." I gave a little giggle. "Okay, it really was swill. But then as my friend Hyde would say, 'Drunk is drunk no matter how much you spend.' " I checked the clock over the door. Time to go. "Speaking of which, I really must make a visit to the little girls' room. Where is it?"
He pointed it out to me and I collected my purse, holding it to cover the key in my hand. "Be back in a bit," I said, and walked off, deliberately staggering just a little.
I did stop in the ladies' room first, to check on my appearance. I ran a hand through my hair, and marveled again at how amazing it was that they could do such a thing. Then I opened my purse and pulled out the little vial of scent. This time I did read the label. "Disguise," it said. "Wear this to confuse the eyes of others. Will mold your appearance to your thoughts."
I didn't really believe in it. But I dabbed some more onto my neck and my wrists, just in case. My heart was pounding; I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, attempting to calm myself. "I am Deirdre Griffin," I whispered, opening my eyes and focusing on my reflection. "I am Deirdre Griffin."
Then I exhaled the breath and stepped outside. The key fit the lock and I went in quickly, shutting the door behind me quietly. It clicked solidly, regardless of my care, and I turned the knob, suspecting and then realizing that it was locked from this side also. With no way to open it again.
"Great" My voice echoed loud in the landing. I looked down at the staircase. It seemed to go on forever. I sighed, took off my shoes, hooked the straps over my fingers and started down. No sounds filtered in from the restaurant, and the only light came from the fixture at the exit. Step after step, I plunged deeper into darkness and silence. After two full flights, my legs started to shake. After three, though, I could see what seemed to be the end of the stairs. Only one more flight now, I told myself. When I reached the bottom, I leaned up against one of the walls; it was cold and damp. There were no lights in this hallway, just the slight glow from above and the tiny crack of light under the door at the corridor's end.
It occurred to me as I started down the hall that this was perhaps one of the stupidest things I'd ever done—masquerading as a woman I'd never known to meet in secret with a vampire who, by his own admission, was not quite himself.
"No," I whispered to myself, "stupid doesn't even come close to describing this."
But I had no choice now. There was no way out of this place, except with Victor's help. And so I would continue the game. Still, when I inserted the key into the lock, I saw that my hands were shaking.
I paused, took a deep breath and opened the door.
Victor was sitting calmly in what appeared to be a waiting room. It was a room one would expect to find in an institution or a hospital; the difference between these surroundings and the lush interiors of The Imperial was shocking. But Victor seemed quite unaware of where he was; he still exuded elegance and power. Smiling, he rose and gave me a small bow. "Right on time, Deirdre." He crossed the room, took my hand and kissed it. "You were always so socially responsible, so dependable. True to your word. I do apologize for the surroundings, but this is my home now. Or rather, the next room is my home." He beckoned to me and opened a door. "We can be a bit more comfortable in here, at least."
I preceded him; this room was even more bizarre than the first, containing a few chairs and two large glass tanks. One of these tanks was completely empty, the other was filled with antique furniture: two large wing chairs upholstered in burgundy velvet, a mahogany end table between the chairs, a large armoire and a single bed with mahogany posts. "They so very graciously allow me something a little less institutional in my chamber. I'd b
e more thankful, except that this entire organization only exists because of me. The blood-sucking Cadre should be thanking me."
I nodded, suppressing a shiver. What was this place?
"The Cadre's holding pens, of course. As you should remember." He gave me a shrewd look and I smiled knowingly. He had picked that thought right out of my mind. I would need to be much more careful.
"Of course I remember, Victor. How could I forget?"
"How indeed. So let us sit and be comfortable."
I walked into the glass tank and chose one of the burgundy chairs. He followed closely behind me and opened the armoire, pulling out a bottle of wine and two glasses. "They even allow me a few vices now and then. What harm can it do? My dear concerned friends in the Cadre do not know that I can get out, you see." He laughed and sat in the chair next to me. "I won't tell them how I do it, of course, even if they find out. I must keep a few secrets for myself. And I trust you will keep this one as well."
"Of course, Victor."
"So"—he handed me a glass of wine—"what is happening, Deirdre? What were you doing in New Orleans? I thought you and Mitch had settled into that little love nest in Maine. And how do you come to be without him? The man who swore to protect you for all eternity let you out alone?"
I laughed, hoping it didn't sound too nervous.
"There are all sorts of jails, Victor." This, at least, I could talk about with authority. "Maybe I got tired of being held and protected."
"Understandable." He drank his wine and studied me. "And so you came here to me. Why?"
I didn't know how to answer him; this was not going well. "I don't know. Maybe I should just leave." I got up from my chair and started for the door, but he was quicker than I and blocked the exit.
Putting his hands on my shoulders, Victor looked down at me. "No need to explain, Deirdre, my love. You came to me because you couldn't stay away for too long. We have always been such good friends." He said the words caressingly, lovingly. "Yes, such good friends, you and I. For what it is worth, I have missed you, too."
Vampire Legacy 04 - Blood of My Blood Page 11
