Eternal Bondage

by Vita Anne Hoffman

  And Ginny, my best friend, was nowhere to be found. But blood, permanent rusty-brown patches on fabric or flaking off of tiles on the bathroom and kitchen floors, stained nearly every room. When my circuit was complete—and no body had turned up—I ran outside and heaved dryly upon the high grass of Ginny's patch of front yard.

  There was only one sure way to find out what had happened to Ginny. I had to first locate Gerard Lamphere.... And hope that he had not broken his fast, imposed by Constantine, with her.

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  Chapter Sixteen

  Not In This, Or Any, Lifetime, Buster

  I couldn't bring myself to go back inside, so I explained the situation—and my concerns—to a polite but skeptical Mrs. Graves and then called the police. I stayed at her place until the officers, Hayter and Prince, arrived on scene. Hayter, with squinty black unfriendly eyes beneath his policeman's cap, questioned me. Unfortunately, his questions put me on the defensive. I answered succinctly, honestly (for the most part), unemotionally. When had I last seen Miss Bahr? Last Wednesday, at my place of business, De Facto Self Defense. Why had we argued? Over her current boyfriend, Gerard Lamphere, vampire extraordinaire. What had prompted me to enter her home? I had had no communication with Ginny in over four days. I was concerned. Wasn't Miss Bahr, as Mrs. Graves, the next-door-neighbor, had stated, simply out-of-town? Maybe. I hesitated on this answer. Ginny could have gone on a spur of the moment trip, but I thought it unlikely. And, finally, why did I suspect that the stains in her home were blood? Because, whether politically correct or not, she happened to be dating a vampire! ‘Nuff said?

  In the end, the cops were unable to take any action, because there was no sign of forced entry, and, because they felt Ginny could not be classified a missing person. Not at the present, at any rate. After a second go-round of the premises, at my insistence, they left, assuring me they would file a report that could be, if sufficient time elapsed or more information warranted, reopened and investigated. Soon after, I left, as well.

  I went straight to Pater Traeger's office, arriving much later than I had expected. It was after nine. His door was closed. I knocked.

  "Come,” he barked. Traeger sat hunched at his desk. Folders spilled across his work space like a snowdrift, nearly burying the gilt framed eight by ten family photo—a wife, four sons, and one daughter—that occupied a tiny oasis on his desk, one miraculously uncluttered corner. Traeger's shirt sleeves were rolled up over his elbows. His military flat top looked even shorter than normal, bristling silvery-red. Empty Styrofoam coffee cups and a couple of candy bar wrappers littered the edge of his desk ready to join a pile of such debris already in his wastebasket. I suspected that he had spent the past forty-eight hours, or MORE, chained there. To serve and protect described the man to a T.

  I poised half in and half out of the doorway. “Let me guess. You haven't been home once since Friday night's debacle at the Constantinople. Am I right, or what?"

  Traeger's sharp gray eyes went from me to the ten-year-old family portrait. “It comes with the territory, Soulsmith.” He scuffed a big hand over his face, then added with a growl, “They understand.” Yet his gruff assertion proved that this was a contentious issue. His attention swiveled back to me. “Soon as we clear up business, I'm on my way out. You're a primary concern, too, Avna."

  And not just because of the case, Pater Traeger's unspoken thought came to me loud and clear. His paternal worry meant a great deal to me.

  "Yeah,” I began a sheepish apology, “I meant to be here earlier. Sorry I'm so late,” I paused, still leaning on the door handle, “But I ran into a bit of a snafu. Maybe you already heard about what I found at Ginny's place?"

  "Anything with your name attached to it gets funneled by me. Pronto.” He gave a rueful smile that revealed the lines of fatigue about his eyes and mouth, but, then, awkwardness softened his voice. “Avna, I think there's something you are not aware of regarding Miss Bahr."

  My stomach knotted. “What?"

  "A marriage license was filed last Wednesday at the Kanawha County Courthouse for Gerard Lamphere and Ginny Bahr. It's been a big item around here, what with Lamphere being an ex DA and all. That possibly explains what you found."

  I was stunned. Ginny and Gerard might already have been married. Traeger was intimating that the stains I found, if, indeed, blood, might be a sign of a wild honeymoon. Ginny might now be one of THEM. And I hadn't even been asked to be maid-of-honor! Not that I would have accepted. I stood there trying to digest the indigestible.

  For a second time, Traeger rubbed a hand across his bleary eyes. “It's been rough around here, Avna. Everybody's wanting action, demanding that order of execution against Rasputin enforced. The Mayor, the Governor, the Press, and the Feds.” He stretched back in his chair and tried to relax the muscles in his back and shoulders. Then he gave me a full-on stare, penetrating, measuring, assessing. “I'm glad to see you came through the thick of things unscathed. I checked with the Constantinople last night. They said you were fine but indisposed and refused to make further comment on the status of a guest. If I hadn't heard from you by today, Avna, I was prepared to get a warrant and bring you out. Particularly after an anonymous tip turned up a half dozen DISPATCHED vampires across the street in the city's urban garden. Care to comment?"

  "About your anonymous tipster?” I casually pretended that the shit hadn't just hit the fan. “There's nothing I can possibly tell you. I don't know who placed the call.” After having smudged the truth, I managed a smidgeon of a grin. At least, in view of Ginny's apparent defection from the ranks of humanity, I still had one dyed-in-the-wool friend, if a rather inquisitive one. “But thanks for worrying about me, Traeger. I got out in one piece.” Tattered and frayed, but nevertheless intact.

  "That's more than can be said for Zellden,” Traeger muttered.

  I automatically dropped into the slat-backed chair across from him. “The paper said he's been suspended? Rightly so, in my opinion. He didn't arm his people, Traeger. Not with information or ammunition. He led them into a bloodbath."

  Traeger buffed a hand across his silver-red short-buzzed hair, as if waking his tired brain. He glanced off into space then refocused on me. “There's been an even bigger development."

  I scooted to the edge of my chair.

  Traeger let drop another bombshell. “Zellden, on the power of his reputation and credentials—and before word of his suspension broke—went to the FBIC lab in Virginia where all vampire DNA, hair, blood, and tissue samples, are stored. He stole a lot of it. Primarily that which was used to legally ascertain, verify, and confer progenitor status."

  My mind tried to sift through the implications. Why steal progenitor DNA? All I could think of was that Zellden was nuts! Then a stray thought escaped me. “That means he has Constantine's samples."

  "More importantly to us, Avna, he has Rasputin's. And that was the concrete physical evidence, the BEST evidence, we had to link Rasputin to this killing spree, to the brutal murder of a policeman. The DNA evidence collected from Officer Donovan allowed for the FBIC order of execution. The only good news is that Zellden, the arrogant bastard, kept a small sample here in the city morgue. You know how he kept lobbying for an FBIC lab and repository here in Charleston, citing the NCIC fingerprinting database in Clarksburg. Still, that sample might not hold up in Court. We aren't, yet, a regulated licensed facility."

  Traeger's strange emphasis on the word BEST had caught my attention. I think I suspected his answer before I asked my next question. “Then what's the second best evidence?"

  "You."

  My blood pressure plummeted. “I was there ... at Donovan's murder. Although I didn't actually witness it. But I'll never forget the psychic aura of the killer. I would know him, could identify him, anywhere.” Fortunately in this enlightened age, psychic evidence, when presented by a verifiable telepath or an accredited layperson, such as my recent U.S. Court certification as a ‘sensitive', could be used in a c
ourt of law. Semantically speaking, I had not actually seen the crime. But I knew, I recognized, I could paranormally identify Rasputin as the killer. His evil essence, which had so overwhelmed me in the side alley of the Constantinople, was the same exact one which had committed Donovan's murder. If that wasn't enough, Rasputin had also confessed the killing to me. I did not need DNA proof of that fact. In this case, given the grisly nature and escalating number of murders, the FBIC apparently did not, either. Hooray for trampling a vampire's right-to-due process! An order of execution was very seldom enacted. It was even more rarely rescinded. The killer, be he called Rasputin or Rumplestiltskin or Rosemarie, could legally be terminated, on-sight, no questions asked. Just as long as the deaths stopped.

  Traeger seemed to read my mind. “The Bureau won't rescind the order. So long as you confirm the progenitor's identity."

  "Absolutely.” I suddenly had an idea of how to locate Rasputin's new lair, which I offered to Traeger. “We have one of Rasputin's people in custody, Key. I'm positive, given time and access, I can get the location from him."

  "Zellden very effectively closed that avenue.” Traeger's whole face tightened with distaste. “He put in paperwork transferring Key, classified as an at-risk youth detainee, to a drug rehab program. The EMT's had no reason to believe that he was other than sedated and took him out by gurney. Bright and early Saturday morning. Key combusted instantly, severely burning one of the paramedics. So, no, we don't have a reliable informant. The episode highlights how dangerous this case has become.” Traeger concluded with one final statement. “Of course, you will be in protective custody until Rasputin is located and executed."

  "Wait a minute. I didn't agree to that. Otherwise, you have my full cooperation."

  "It's for your safety."

  I was already on my feet and backing towards the door. “I can take care of myself.” Now why did those overly confident words ring so familiar? Oh, yea, I had said some variation of the same thing to Constantine when he had wanted to ‘protect’ me from Rasputin. Only Constantine had had ulterior motives. Traeger just wanted to keep me alive.

  "Avna.” His tone was a warning.

  "I'll keep in touch, Traeger. Don't sweat it. My place is fully warded. I'm one of the so-called experts, remember?"

  "Check in regularly...."

  "Sure, sure, sure.” I backpedaled all the way out his door, not stopping until I had cleared the building. Outside dusk had settled. Another hour or so and true dark would have fallen. Part of me wanted to go home and hide. The other part ordered me to go to the Constantinople, a place—and a progenitor—to which all roads seemed to lead of late. How, I dismally wondered, had life gotten so very complicated, so very fast?

  * * * *

  I finally nixed the urge to go and confront Constantine. It was too late to undo the damage. In my heart-of-hearts, I had already lost my best friend. Ginny was a vampire. And I wanted to entirely lay the blame at Constantine's door. Gerard was his puppet. Gerard did his bidding. Thus Gerard had turned my best fiend into a reanimate, because it was another way to draw me closer to him, to Constantine, using my affection for Ginny.

  I hated him, yet I could not keep my mind off of him. For the next few days, I kept busy at the shop, trying to take care of the paperwork that was Ginny's bailiwick, repeatedly refusing requests from the Kanawha Gazetteer for interviews on the case, ordering Traeger's plain clothes men to stop their surveillance, phoning Ginny's parents in California to fish, unsuccessfully, for her whereabouts, inventing strategies to thwart Rasputin. Which always brought me full circle to Constantine, the only one who could offer any real, if small, defense from the evil progenitor. And thoughts of Constantine always seemed to turn into fantasies ... especially of the elevator. I shoved that memory aside countless times. It was my own frustrations and cravings that precipitated it, not any wayward thoughts from him. At night, the dream catchers kept him totally locked out. The erotic dreams I had were of my own devising. Not that he didn't try to get through. Several times. I would sense a pressure, like a tentative testing of the power around me, but that tentativeness had eventually given way to a final angry but ineffective push. As if in retaliation for being kept away at night, Constantine purposely blocked himself from me during the day. Why that realization was disturbing, I hadn't a clue.

  And while Constantine, himself, never made an appearance near my apartment, his people did. Or so I believed, since I did not catch sight of any of them. Nor could I identify which presence sometimes lurked, watchful and alert, from a relatively close position. I only knew that whoever it was ‘felt’ familiar, and, more importantly, ‘felt’ safe. Still, I had to rule out Josh Warner, because Constantine was too jealous of him. And the presence felt far too intense and focused to be Marc, although Max, moody and broody, could possibly be that single-minded. I only knew that this infrequent watch dog radiated protectiveness, else I would have made a greater effort to rid myself of him.

  So the week went, full of struggles—with accounts for De Facto Self Defense, with sexual tension for one vampire, and with fear for another. I had only come up with one semi-brilliant idea to stymie Rasputin. After all, everybody had convinced me how ‘helpless’ I was against him, from Traeger to Constantine ... to myself. Hadn't I fallen to whimpering pieces in Rasputin's presence? I needed to work on a real plan to protect myself when next he struck. And prepare to kill him when he did. Time was running out. I could feel it. Even so, after close on a week hiding out in the shop, I decided on an outing.

  Dressed casually in kelly-green cotton slacks and a lighter-green tank top, with a Celtic cross on a chain in my back pocket along with a change purse and my shop keys, I made a quick trip to the mall. I hit a few boutiques, the bookstore, and the vitamin place. After an hour of browsing, I went to the third floor food court and wolfed down an order of lasagna, plus a handful of my just purchased diet supplements, then took my goodies home.

  Once there, I halted in the door, feeling a little bit like Goldilocks ... Because someone had been sitting in my office chair. And that someone was still there. I could not make out the hidden silhouette, which faced away from me. I flung open the shop's door, setting the bell cord to swinging with my hasty entrance. My fear of confronting a prowler was tempered by the fact that it was daylight. Therefore they had to be of the live-and-kicking, rather than the undead, variety.

  Immediately, I recognized the copper hair. My shopping bags went flying as I swung my arms wide for a bear hug. “Ginny!” I nearly bowled her and the chair over in my excitement. She was out in the daytime! Gerard had not transformed her!

  "Glad to see you, too.” She laughed. “You act like you just got your best friend back."

  "I did."

  She sobered. “You don't lose a friend over one argument."

  "It was a major argument, Ginny."

  "I wasn't being fair to you, expecting you to run interference between Gerard and Constantine. Their world shouldn't concern you."

  I began to gather up my purchases. Almost everything had spilled out of the two large mall shopping bags. Ginny came around the front of the desk to help me pick up things. She gathered up and handed me several paperback romances, raising her eyebrows at the racy covers, teasing about the suggestive titles. While she was distracted, I hurriedly stuffed the pill bottles from the vitamin store back into one of the large mall bags. Ginny would assume the worst if she saw me, the perpetually malnourished, taking supplements. I did not want to explain my sudden health kick. She would worry.

  Both of us were still on hands and knees and all the items had been rounded up. I took a deep breath and poked at the sore subject which lay between us. “I went to your place on Sunday evening and saw traces of dried blood. When I went to Detective Traeger with the information, he told me about the marriage license, and how he had heard about it from the city hall grapevine. Why didn't you tell me?” I eased back onto my haunches and waited for her answer.

  "Oh, Avna, you must have t
hought Gerard tore me to pieces.” Tears filled her eyes. “No wonder you practically tackled me. You thought I had crossed over!"

  "Actually, I thought much worse. That Gerard had gone berserk from hunger and eaten his fiancée alive."

  A strange, guilty look crossed her face. “Well, after Constantine's deadline had passed, he did lose control. But it wasn't me that he pounced on.” She couldn't bring herself to meet my gaze.

  "Ginny, whose blood was that?” My heart constricted on a slow, painful beat.

  "Mrs. Graves’ poodles. You know how they made a habit of attacking me in my own front yard. So, this time, Gerard kind of lost it. He didn't mean to hurt them. He feels terrible. Normally, he would never, ever harm a pet. After it happened, we went away, to put things in perspective."

  "Mrs. Graves doesn't know, does she?"

  "No. She thinks somebody stole them. We got her a pair of registered apricot cocker spaniels. They're beautiful.” Her expression begged me to be understanding. “If it helps, Gerard thinks they were possessed by the poltergeist you expelled from the house. The poor dogs were suffering."

  "Yea, that was a particularly nasty spirit. And I wasn't absolutely positive that I had destroyed it. Especially since it came back a second time. It does seem likely it migrated into the dogs.” That accounted for the bad behavior. The dogs’ own native affection for their owner had kept them from plaguing Mrs. Graves, while the rest of the world, including Ginny, the postman, and myself, had been fair game.

  I thought back to the time six years ago when Ginny had been desperate to rid her dream house of a devilish poltergeist. My first novice attempts at removing the spirit had seemingly worked, until it had returned three years later. Now, after another three year interval, it had apparently come back again. This time it had been residing in the poodles. One way or another, they most likely would have had to be destroyed. Carrying such a malignant spirit would have permanently warped them. Suddenly, I experienced a cold chill, like something walking on my grave. Just because the dogs had been destroyed did not insure that the spirit had also been destroyed since it had returned from banishment twice already to the same general location. If it was not truly dispersed, where had it gone? I would have to be vigilant against a reoccurrence.