Eternal Bondage

by Vita Anne Hoffman

  "That's only partially true. Locally you've got a twisted sort of reputation. And what about the Lantaglia Voodoo case? The tabloids ate that up. So, like it or not, you do have a bit of notoriety yourself."

  "Au contraire. Avna Soulsmith does, but Charity, the call girl, doesn't."

  Ginny rolled her eyes toward the ceiling. “Charity?"

  "What's wrong with it?” I prickled defensively then muttered, “Besides being unoriginal?"

  "Nothing.” She openly giggled. “Only I cannot picture uptight you as a charitable hooker, ready to give and give and give until it hurts."

  "Stranger things have happened.” And I could not restrain the erogenous memory of Constantine licking my wrist and palm and how much I had enjoyed the sensation. Or, even more vivid and unwanted, was my recall of Constantine, hot and firm, clasped in my fingers. I tried not to squirm in my chair and decided to excuse myself before Ginny could ferret out my discomfort. “I'm about ready to turn in for a nap. I'm pooped.” I yawned behind my hand. “Thanks for watching the place this afternoon. How'd we do by the way?"

  "Really good. I sold some crystals, a couple of wards against the evil eye, refused the sale of a love potion to a minor, took an order for an old style mortar and pestle, and,” Ginny made a bit of a face, “told a reporter you were unavailable for comment about the Donovan murder."

  "Someone from the Gazetteer?” I hated reporters, one in particular.

  "Yeah, Patrice Blanchard.” Ginny spoke her name like it tasted unpleasant. “She was totally obnoxious, wanting your reaction on the murder, particularly as Donovan was the victim of a vampire attack, would he rise again? Everybody knows better than that."

  "She may work for a legitimate paper but she's strictly into yellow journalism, Ginny.” Patrice Blanchard had, in fact, covered the Lantaglia Voodoo Murder case, always trying to sensationalize the facts, which did not need to be inflated. Not when they included Hetti Chambogo, a gorgeous deranged voodoo princess, and several corpses, including the chopped up remains of her lover, Salvatore Lantaglia, spread like so much fertilizer in his own apple orchard. “I'm permanently unavailable to that woman.” I yawned, this time massively, then got up and went to the circular stairs to my apartment. “I've absolutely gotta get some beauty sleep. I have an appointment with Mr. Hamilton for tonight. I plan on checking out whether or not he's Rasputin. If he's not, then maybe I'll ask him a few questions."

  "I don't like it, Avna. Not that I believe for one minute that you'll run in to any trouble. But there's always that possibility."

  "I'm not too keen on it either. But it's the only avenue open to me. I need to do something.” I began to climb upward, when I paused. I wanted to reassure us both. “Don't worry. I'll be fine."

  "Check in with me, okay?"

  "You got it.” And, moving on automatic pilot, I went upstairs where I stripped down to my bra and panties and flopped into bed. I instantly fell into a deep well of sleep, and I awoke with a start at the very instant of sundown. Nothing of Constantine had intruded into my dreams, or so I believed since I could not recall dreaming at all.

  I nuked a frozen dinner and ate without much appetite. Next I showered and dressed in a formfitting sleeveless tan bodysuit and a long denim skirt, after which I did considerably more grooming than I normally wasted any time on. Charity had a certain image to present. Cheap and Easy. I went heavy on a deep plum eye shadow, chose a matching shade of lipstick, and brushed on bronzer. Despite my best efforts, I did not look as slutty as this rendezvous required. My outfit was tight, but not out-right sleazy. My makeup was a tad dramatic, but not truly over-the-top. The only item that was sexy were my undies, and they were bikinis as opposed to thongs. Never let it be said that I don't have a wild streak.

  I grabbed up a fanny pack, a black vinyl job with an easy open flap, into which I tucked a small wooden cross (no more silver-plated heat-conducting ones for me), a small atomizer filled with holy water, and the ubiquitous flashlight. I also crammed in the computer printout with the name, time, and address of my Bete Noir Escort assignment, although the information seemed indelibly fixed in my memory: Mr. Calvin Hamilton, twelve o'clock midnight, or, more poetically, the witching hour, at the Tattoo Emporium, located on the East Side of Charleston.

  I had just over an hour and a half to get there. Plenty of time. I meant to arrive early in order to reconnoiter the place, to scope out whether or not it was safe. I flipped off the lights and, using the dim ever burning nightlight above the stairwell, quickly descended the gentle corkscrew of steps. Halfway down, the bell pull at the De Facto Self Defense entrance jangled. I stopped in mid-step, frowning, wondering at the identity of my visitor. My curiosity was immediately rewarded when a wary little shiver, accompanied by a low buzz in my back teeth, ran down my spine. Both were minute and faded away the second I realized that a vampire stood on my doorstep.

  I was absolutely certain that the presence was an immortal, a reanimate. I was equally as certain, with a hint of disappointment, that it was not Constantine.

  I crossed the familiar shop in the semi-darkness. Street lights filtered in through the huge window front, also shedding light onto the figure before the front door. My earlier disappointment at not receiving a visit from Constantine was replaced by pleasant surprise at seeing Josh Warner. In the shadowy evening, I could just make out a box negligently tucked under one arm.

  I unlocked the door, thinking that he, a vampire, was a sight for sore eyes! Gone was the formal tuxedo, his work uniform, replaced by a casual pair of faded blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt. He had even more muscles than I had realized, his biceps revealed to be large and solid and impressive. Ditto for the expanse of his chest, broad and well-defined underneath the t-shirt. His soft brown hair curled away from the nape of his neck.

  When he saw me, his mega-watt, dimpled smile flashed, as did something within the liquid brown of his irises. His attraction felt genuine. “Hello, Avna.” His voice came out rough and husky.

  "Josh."

  He noticed my outfit, the fanny pack, the fact that the lights were all turned off, and he frowned. “Were you on your way out?"

  "Actually ... yes.” I did not want to send him on his way, but I had a job to do. For Tanya's sake. She had been missing for over two weeks. Two hellish weeks.

  "Then I shouldn't keep you.” But he made no move from just inside the doorway. It seemed a very possessive pose, because his body filled the entire door frame. If not for my invitation of the other night, he would have had to stand outside the doorway. I had always made a conscious effort to live, feel, and make the downstairs business as much my home as the upstairs apartment. In fact, I had gone so far as to sleep downstairs on several occasions.

  I waited for the slight awkwardness between us to pass. It was never going to, so I asked him about the box nestled under his arm which he seemed to have forgotten about altogether. “Should I beware of Greeks bearing gifts?"

  The heart-winning smile wiped from Josh's face. Instead, his mouth set in a grim line. A taut jaw muscle twitched. He rather forcefully thrust the enormous red-foil heart-shaped, undeniably expensive box of candy at me. “This is from Constantine."

  I numbly accepted the huge red wrapped box and noted a small card taped to the top. Automatically, I flipped it open to read the finely penned note.

  A sweet treat until next we meet. To whet your appetite. For more.

  When I peeked under the lid, I discovered the contents weren't your basic fattening assortment of chocolates. “Cordial cherries, the pervert,” I growled, not missing the risqué allusion of sending a woman cherries. I now understood, actually shared, Josh's anger.

  "He made you his errand boy for his nasty candy gram. I could strangle the son-of-a-bitch.” I tossed the heavy box into the wastebasket next to my desk, the pretty red foil flashed at such an indignity.

  "I would be tempted to do so, as well, if I could.” His warm brown eyes stared deeply into mine, like a man looks at a woman, not
like a vampire looks at a meal. “But I don't mind.” He quirked a smile in my direction. “I get to be with you with his permission."

  "Yeah.” I gulped. “Too bad I have to go out.” I had an escape. And I needed one! Josh, his chemistry, his intensity, his appeal, was nearly as compelling as Constantine. Whereas, I had, so far, only just managed to keep Constantine at arm's length (or would that be at fingers length since I had held him, his oh-so large cock, in my hand?), I had shared a kiss, hot and suggestive, with Josh. I had, also, gone against my every principle and invited him inside my place to view my proverbial etchings.

  I repeated myself, nearly stuttering. “I ... I ... have to go out."

  Josh lifted an eyebrow. “You're off in quite a hurry?” He was fishing for my destination.

  "Just business.” That wasn't stretching the truth too far.

  "Maybe I can give you a lift?” Josh stubbornly held on.

  "I wouldn't want to take you out of your way."

  "No problem. I have all night. Afterwards, we can go for a drink ... or something."

  I tried to shake him loose. “I'll be tied up for most of the night. I couldn't ask you to wait."

  "Avna,” he said, sighing, “exactly where are you going?"

  Rather than answer (or blast him for!) his presumptuous question, I asked him one of my own. “Why do you need to know?"

  He guiltily glanced away. “Constantine has ordered me to guard you tonight. I'm to safeguard you from Rasputin.” Before I could protest, he added an ominous warning. “If you don't cooperate with me, Constantine will take more drastic action. He will, Avna. And you won't like the alternative."

  How did I get so entangled, so quickly, with Constantine? More importantly, how did I get untangled? There was only one way—find Tanya. Once that was accomplished, he would have no reason to intrude into my affairs, even if I had to resort to a restraining order. Stalking, especially by vampires, was nowadays taken very seriously by the law.

  "Tell me where you're headed, Avna."

  "On a so-called date with Calvin Hamilton. I'm to meet him at the Tattoo Emporium. He was Tanya's last appointment through the Escort Service. So, I thought I should do a little investigating. I don't intend to get too close. I'm just going to snoop."

  "I think it's a waste of time. Max and Gerard checked him out when Tanya first went missing. But let's go. I promise to stay out of the way. You won't know I'm anywhere around.” Sternly, he added, “I'll be silent backup."

  "All right.” In point of fact, I was glad to have someone trustworthy watching over my shoulder. That a vampire could feel trustworthy with my life, with my safety, was an idea I was not ready to examine. I locked up the shop and accompanied him down the street. He opened the passenger side door of his banana yellow sports car and gallantly handed me in. A breeze, presaging a storm, flipped the hem of my denim skirt before he shut the door. Josh surreptitiously, flatteringly, glanced at my exposed leg.

  He then went around the vehicle and got in behind the wheel. Before he turned the ignition, I asked him something that had been eating at me for awhile. “Did you follow me home the other night on Constantine's orders? The night you saved me from Snitch?"

  He half turned in his seat. His grin nearly blinded me. “Nope. That was all my own idea."

  "Good.” I spoke so softly that a mortal would not have heard me. Josh did. The car was now running. He put it in gear and then very casually he placed that same hand on the top of my thigh. Just as casually he ended the small intimacy, but not before sensing the shiver that ran throughout my body.

  "Give me the address."

  I told him, then sat back and tried to compose myself. After all, Charity had a date, but, alas, it wasn't with Josh. It was with some other vampire.

  * * * *

  The moon waxed full on this early summer night. It was beautiful, nearly golden, hovering above the treetops, casting a light sheen over the city. From here on it would wane. I dreaded the new moon, when it disappeared entirely from the sky. Vampires might not need it to see in the dark, but I did, and I needed every scrap of advantage I could get.

  Yet, as we drove along, a gathering of storm clouds threatened my precious moonlight. Black billows crowded closer to the moon's glorious face. Very soon a violent summer storm would erupt. With thunder. With lightening. With rain. Not exactly the weather I would have ordered for a nocturnal expedition.

  Josh drove slowly through the quiet city streets, into the mostly residential blocks, mindful of the 30 mph speed limits, and the many one way streets. The homes of Charleston's East Side were lovely, big Victorian structures of red brick, two-and-three storied, with wonderful covered porches, large enough to simultaneously hold enormous patio sets, masses of kids, and a family pet or two. Each house even had a decent yard, some with dogwoods or rhododendrons or elaborate gardens. Block after block of such marvelous old houses comprised this part of the city and well-maintained sidewalks lined these blocks, great for strolling or jogging or just chatting with neighbors. And, for the hardier power-walkers, the State Capital Complex, with the gorgeous gold-domed Cass Gilbert-designed State Capital Building, set amidst magnificent landscapes that included magnolias and oaks, historical statuary, heart-wrenching war memorials, wishing pools and fountains, was not more than a stone's throw away. Too bad that wasn't my destination.

  "It's beautiful here.” Josh echoed my own thoughts. “A great place to grow up."

  "Did you? Grow up around here?” My question slipped out.

  "No. I'm a good ol’ country boy. From Roane County.” He had to prompt me to be as forthcoming. “What about you, Avna? You seem part and parcel of the city."

  "Well, sort of. I was raised just outside of the city limits. It felt rural, yet you could be in town within fifteen minutes.” With those words, my lips shut tight on personal information. Not that my childhood was painful, just the opposite. But I disliked revisiting such a golden time: the people, places, and things of those days were gone. And I was all alone.

  By now, we had almost reached the address of my euphemistic ‘date'. I ordered Josh to park well away from the Tattoo Emporium. He slowed, pulled in to the curb, then shut off the engine to study the length of the now windswept street.

  The Tattoo Emporium, a converted Victorian house with a scraggly, neglected lawn and an overgrown ornamental hedge bordering—and concealing—its entire foundation, sat well back from the street and the houses to either side. It looked isolated. A more interesting fact was the numerous red and white for sale signs that dotted the yards of the neighboring houses, which were darkened, abandoned, silent. By contrast, a neon sign in aqua and orange blazed out Tattoo Emporium across the roof of Calvin Hamilton's home. Secured to the eaves of the wide wooden porch was a stark patio bulb, there to draw tattoo enthusiasts, but instead drawing a crazy swirl of moths.

  "Still think this is a waste of time?” I-told-you-so was written all over my face.

  "You were right.” Josh groused, peering into the dark. Rain had begun to pelt the car's roof. Rivulets streamed down the windshield. He swiveled to face me. “And there's no way I'm going to let you go into that place."

  "If I intended on going in there, I'd like to see you try to stop me."

  Josh smiled, a quick appreciative quirk of his lips. “I'm glad you're being reasonable."

  "Not reasonable, just realistic. That place is ... evil.” We were almost half a block away, just another car inconspicuously parked in a sparse row of neighborhood vehicles. The landscape about us was becoming increasingly obscured by the night and the rain, yet I could sense, if not see, that the house radiated bad vibes. Rasputin, while not there now, had left a pall upon the place. Somehow, someway, I was positively aware, absolutely assured, of his absence! Even given that fact, I was more than ready to leave. I had confirmed Rasputin's whereabouts, his lair. Let Constantine handle the dirty work. Let Constantine dispatch his nemesis.

  I slanted my head towards Josh. “I've seen enough. N
othing on god's green earth could get me in there.” A sudden bolt of lightening arced directly overhead, accompanied by an enormous rolling crack of thunder which punctuated my words. My teeth even jarred at the explosive sound. The world went bright as day, frozen in a strobe-like effect, revealing a pack of vampires surrounding the car.

  One was on the hood. “Wrongo, scrumptious, because I'm taking you inside.” The thunder still roared as the vampire punched his fist through the middle of the windshield. Thousands of glass shards flew inward. I barely had time to fling my arms over my face to protect my eyes. Josh tried to turn the ignition, but a second and third vampire had already bashed through the driver's side windows. One, mangy and black toothed, grappled Josh into a head lock while the other ripped the steering column sideways into an inoperable angle.

  Josh was still struggling against the two when the ringleader lurched nearer. “Come to me, you sweet little morsel.” He stooped low there upon the hood of the car.

  I pushed back against the seat. My hands fumbled with the seat belt, then managed to undo it. The next burst of lightening illuminated the crouched shape of the vampire framed within the gaping jagged windshield. Uncannily, I looked him full in the face, turned to stone by my own personal Medusa. His compelling eyes, dark, sparkling pools of India Ink, hypnotic, almost on a par with Constantine's mesmerism, snared me. In that brief instant, their sheen turned avid, curious, appraising as he studied the contours of my face, the heavy mussed weight of my blonde hair, the frantic rise and fall of my chest. Something wild and joyous shuddered through him.

  The lightening faded, but the shimmer of his eyes did not. He, unlike the others marauding around us, was alluring, attractive, that difference in and of itself enough to isolate him amongst them, but he even felt different, less vicious.

  He made a soft murmur that sought compliance, that hypnotized. “Don't resist. Don't fight. Don't struggle.” Unspoken within his compulsion seemed to be a real reluctance to hurt me.