by Mary Hughes
“Nosferatu hated that I cast him out, and hated even more that I did so for the female he had discarded, a mere human. He was furious that I favored her over him.
“I believe he left the country for a time, fleeing to Europe. He met Dracula in London—this was before I had captured and interred the count permanently. Nosferatu became enamored of that one’s power—you may not know this, Dr. Byornsson, but Dracula is pure vampire. Nosferatu sought that purity himself, thinking it would give him power, and purged himself of all he could that made him human. By the time he returned, he was as you knew him, Mr. Holiday. Spindly and mean.”
“Smaller?” I said without thinking. “Like Nikos?”
“Not like Nikos. Nosferatu lost much of what made him human. Nikos lost much of what makes him vampire. Which reminds me. While Nikos will continue to need donations of human blood three times a month, more will not help him heal faster. Only vampire blood will restore his vampire nature. That, and time. Please tell Ms. Tafel that, would you, Dr. Byornsson?”
“Um…okay.”
“Good. Nosferatu settled in Chicago—near enough to me to test his new abilities, but far enough that he could hide if needed—and proved to himself he was the victor by seducing Eloise’s mother back to him. The rest is as you know.”
“So why didn’t you rip his head off when he returned?” Aiden spat. “Would have saved us a lot of grief.”
“Mr. Blackthorne. I gave my word to the mother.”
“Under duress,” Ric said. “That doesn’t count.”
“Perhaps not for you. Your mate might disagree.”
Ric jerked as if he’d been jabbed by a fat G needle. “I’m not mated.”
“Of course not,” the dark voice said smoothly. “Simply put, I do not break my word except in extremis.”
“Not even for a greater good?” Aiden asked.
“What is the greater good, Mr. Blackthorne? Tethering a scapegoat might save some, but it’s never good for the goat. Mr. Holiday. You have all the information you need to protect your humans, and I have talked long enough. Goodbye.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“Wait,” Ric said. “I—damn. The cocky bastard hung up.”
While he was still staring at the phone in his hand, I stuffed Twyla’s underwear into my cleavage to hide it. It was so fine it fit with room to spare. I set the tablet down.
“That was not helpful.” Ric ran an agitated hand through his hair. “I don’t have any other ideas. Do you?”
“Kill the whole lot of them?” Aiden said. “Starting with Elias?”
“I’m considering it.” Ric slid his phone into his pants pocket.
I put a palm up. “Killing later, guys. Explanations now. First tell me about this painting.”
They stared at me. Finally Ric blew air and nodded at Aiden. “Show her. She deserves to know, since she’s the one who got Elias to open up for us.”
As Aiden extracted his phone I mused. “Eloise, Elias. Hey, you don’t suppose Eloise’s mother named her after Elias?”
Aiden gave a startled laugh. “Wouldn’t that chap Nosferatu’s ass?” He thumbed up a picture on the phone. “This is double-whammy blackmail.”
A portrait filled the small screen of a man standing outside a wooden two-story house wearing a brown cutaway coat with high collar, elaborate cravat and waistcoat, tight tan trousers and high black boots.
Aiden pointed at the man’s hand. “Note the gun.”
The man held a typical first-Thanksgiving turkey blaster braced against his foot. “Nice,” I said. “Is it extremely valuable? Or is there a problem with it?”
“There’s a problem, but not with the gun,” Ric said. “That’s a blunderbuss. Identified by the flared barrel.”
“They’re short,” Aiden said. “Especially compared to muskets. The barrel of a blunderbuss is usually under two feet long, the whole thing three feet or less.”
I stared closer. “Wouldn’t a three-foot gun hit mid-hip or thigh on a man? This one is chest high.”
“That’s the point,” Aiden said. “It’s not a long gun. It’s a stunted vampire.”
“Okay. So he’s stunted, so what? He’s still nasty, isn’t he? A menace?”
“Yes. But you have to consider vampire psychology.”
I slewed a glance at him. “Vampires have shrinks?”
“I mean we play a lot of mind games—and dominance games. This picture is evidence that Nosferatu is spindly. He might as well have saplings for legs and twigs for arms.”
“Pinched,” Ric said. “His body, his face, his guts, hell, his whole personality.”
“And that’s bad, why?” I asked.
“You know other vampires,” Ric said. “Me, Bo, Nikos. What’s the first thing you notice about us?”
“Well, I hate to be shallow, but you’re all tall.”
“Exactly. I’m the youngest at a couple hundred years and I’m six two. The Viking is taller than me and eight hundred years older; and the Spartan, who’s several millenniums old, is a mountain.” Ric frowned. “Was a mountain.”
I reeled at Nikos’s age. “Several…thousand…?”
“The point is,” Aiden said, “size means age, and age means power. If Nosferatu’s followers saw this, his size would make them question his power. His right to rule.”
I shook away the implications of several thousand years to concentrate. “Doesn’t everyone already know that?”
“No. He compels them to remember him as bigger than he is. Which is why the picture’s so important. It’s evidence, and away from his mental influence.”
“But this is the Pinterest and instant video age. Aren’t there other pictures?”
“He’s scrawny but he’s not dumb,” Aiden said. “He’s careful to stand against false measures—a couple steps up or in diffuse lighting.”
“Okay. But didn’t Elias say the reason Nosferatu is scrawny is because he’s more like Dracula? Purer vampire, which is actually scarier.”
“Won’t make a difference to his followers,” Ric said. “Like the Nixon/Kennedy televised debate, we’ve got some pretty serious caveman biases toward the taller, more relaxed guy as the better leader. Besides, there’s a second, more important feature on this particular painting. Show her his face.”
Aiden clicked zoom. A small black mark marred Nosferatu’s cheek, a double wave, like a line drawing of a bird or bat. “All the vampires I’ve seen have flawless skin. Is that what I think it is?”
“A birthmark, yes. Tattoos and scars disappear when we turn. But some birthmarks survive the change.”
My brain clicked. The body’s original DNA encoding…
“Nosferatu sees it as a sign of his destiny,” Aiden said, and my thought disappeared. He pointed to a small window in the house behind Nosferatu. “She has it too.”
I took the phone from him and stared. “I see a smudge.”
“It’s a face at the window. The resolution isn’t good enough to capture what the artist’s eye—and brush—did on the original portrait.”
I handed the phone back. “Nosferatu’s daughter?”
“He never claimed Eloise as his daughter,” Ric said. “But even before Elias’s story, we suspected. She has the same birthmark.”
“Which, once we pointed it out to her, very suspiciously started getting covered with dirt and paint,” Aiden said.
I said, “And you all lived together—at Nosferatu’s. What’s that all about?”
Ric and Aiden exchanged a glance. Aiden’s tiny shake of his head said Don’t say anything. It’s secret. Ric’s eyes flicked to me and I could practically hear his Tell her. She’ll figure it out anyway.
I added my own Bet your sweet ass I will.
Aiden sighed. “Are all immune females this irritating?”
“There are two more in this cabin,” I said. “Want to find out?”
“Nope. In the early 1800s, Nosferatu built an army of assassins loyal only to him. He did it by turning boys who h
ad no parents, no homes, into vampires.”
“Us,” Ric said.
I filed that away. “So the wicked leader of bad-guy vamps raised a gang of assassins—and brought his sweet little daughter to live in their midst?”
“We weren’t assassins then,” Aiden said. “More like trainees.”
“He tried to keep her away from us,” Ric said. “But Aiden was sort of our resident adviser and he had special privileges and freedom of movement. We heard her sobs one day and followed them. We found her in a back room with a princess bed and silken clothes and royal food—and nothing else.”
“No toys?” I asked. “No teddy bears or books or anything for comfort?”
“Poor little kid,” Aiden said. “We broke in the first time but after that she welcomed us. We played with her when we could.”
“We tried to shield her,” Ric said. “But we weren’t that much older. And we tried to take her with us when we escaped. But we failed.”
“No. She refused to leave.” Aiden’s tone made it plain they’d been over this many times before. “She’d developed an attachment to him. She wanted to stay.”
“Stockholm Syndrome,” Ric snarled.
“Maybe. But I think he honestly loves her, in his own warped way.”
“Poor, sweet little thing, it’s impossible not to love her.”
Aiden shook his head. “She was a sweet child then, but we have no idea what she’s turned into by now.”
“Turned into now?” I asked.
“She’s still alive.” Aiden thumbed up another picture. “Or at least she was fifty years ago.”
A young woman, her ironed-straight hair flowing past her waist, marched amid a crowd outside the Chicago International Amphitheatre. The ‘68 Democratic Convention protest? She carried a poster decorated with flowers and peace signs. “How do you know that’s Eloise? Her cheeks are flawless—no birthmark.”
“I was there,” Aiden said flatly. “She covered the birthmark with makeup, but it was her.”
“So you talked with her?”
“No.” Aiden’s mouth thinned. “She was wearing pink.”
“Ah.” I nodded knowingly. “Such a fashion faux-pas. I wouldn’t be seen with her either.”
Ric said, “That was our signal to be left alone. Like a sock on the doorknob to roommates.”
I shook my head. “Even if it was Eloise, it was fifty years ago. You don’t know she’s alive now.”
“The fact that she was marching around a century and a half after she was born means she was turned. Chances are excellent she’s still alive.”
“Whatever alive means to a vampire,” I murmured. “What good does this do us? You have a picture that shows Nosy’s size, and his daughter. That doesn’t seem like enough to stop him if he’s really determined to hurt you.”
“He loves her,” Aiden said. “And my intel says that he still isn’t admitting she’s his daughter. That’s a secret he’s gone to a great deal of trouble to protect.”
“He’s kept her a secret because she’s helpless,” Ric said. “Innocent. Couldn’t save herself if you put an UZI in her hands. The only thing keeping her alive is that no one knows he has a daughter. Except us.”
“She was innocent,” Aiden repeated. “Either way, she’s his Achilles’ heel.”
“So your only protection is the sole extant picture of Nosferatu’s daughter proving she’s his daughter?”
“Since Elias turned us down,” Ric said. “Yes.”
“We used to have distance and secrecy going for us,” Aiden said. “But the world is shrinking. Secrets are a thing of the past.”
I took the phone from his hand and considered the picture. “You could probably get the photo enhanced. Wouldn’t that work as proof?”
Aiden shook his head. “Digital pics are too easy to photoshop. Even vampires know that.”
“Right,” I said. “But paintings are just as easy to alter.”
“Except we can get an expert to analyze a painting. Authenticate that it’s early nineteenth century, and hasn’t been altered.”
“Antique road show, huh?”
Aiden took the phone back with a twinkle in his eye.
“Bottom line,” Ric said. “We know the painting’s real and Nosferatu knows it’s real. That would have been enough of a threat to keep him at bay. The operative terms being ‘would have’.”
I nibbled my lip. “What about other allies? You’re a successful businessman. You have clout.”
“None who will stand against Nosferatu, especially when they hear I let one of my own trick me.”
Now I had another beef against Little. “Okay, what about you, Aiden? You’re…whatever you are. You taught Chuck Norris to be awesome.”
Aiden’s thin, sexy mouth quirked. “I have certain abilities. We both do. But we’re like Europe, sitting between the United States and the U.S.S.R.”
“Rich countries caught between superpowers,” Ric added.
“I had some history,” I said. “Even I get the cold war reference. Okay then. No other pry bars or coshes to use on Nosferatu, at least not any we can think of in the next six hours. That just means we’ll have to get the picture back.”
“Not we,” Ric said. “Me.”
“And me,” Aiden said.
I put hands on hips. “But not me. Because I’m a girl?”
“Because you’re human.”
“So is Little!”
“Little is in touch with Nosferatu, who has a vampire army behind him.”
“Fine. Then if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to dress for a day of doing absolutely nothing but creaming my complexion and eating bonbons. Whatever the hell they are.” Keeping my face turned because I couldn’t lie very well, I manufactured a stomp and went to my dresser to sneak out Twyla’s special Stealth Top, 80% spandex and 110% hot.
And then I went to plan my getaway with Twyla.
But when I knocked on Twyla’s door, she didn’t answer.
I knocked again, harder. Nothing. Worried, I knocked hard enough to make the door rattle.
From next door came a distinctly grouchy Bo-like growl. “Hold it down out there. Elena’s resting.”
That finally roused Twyla. “Go ‘way. I’m sleeping.”
“I need you. Open up or I’ll huff and puff and blow your door in!” Actually I’d probably huff and puff and turn blue in the face, but that wasn’t as dramatic.
Or effective. She opened the door, wearing a surly expression, which frankly was better than scared and lost like last night. “What the fuck do you want?”
“You, Grumpy.” I laughed. “Hey, we’re the dwarves.”
“What?”
“As in Snow White’s Seven. You’re Grumpy and I’m Doc. Heh.”
“There are only six of us, doofus.” Her face got long. “Five, without Nikos.”
“He’s recovering. He’ll be with us again in no time. Remember that; hold onto it. We’re definitely six.”
She shook her head. “Don’t lie to me. My guy poured out all his blood and I don’t know when I’ll see him again…if ever.”
“Dearest.” I took her hands. “Recovery is at least fifty percent incentive and Nikos has something to come back for. You.”
She blinked. “I hope you’re right.”
“I’m a doctor. Of course I’m right.”
“A doctor?” A ghost of a smile wavered on her lips. “I wondered if you’d call yourself that again. Okay, what do you want?”
“Where can we talk without the guys overhearing?”
“We’ll need to go outside. Give me five to get dressed.”
She emerged four minutes later. “This had better be good.” She preceded me through the lakeside front door.
From here I could see the water, sparkling blue between gaps in the trees, and relaxed in spite of everything. “We can talk?”
“We’ll still need to keep our voices down. What do you need?”
When I told her what was going on, and w
hat I wanted her to do, all grumbles dropped away. I searched her intelligent brown eyes. “You understand what I’m up against?”
“Not what you’re up against. It’s Ric’s battle, and I really think you ought to let him fight it.”
“I’m not going to stand by while he risks everything—”
“Got it.” She held up her hand. “But you should think about what Elias said. He’s got the lock on Annoyingly Enigmatic, but he’s usually not talking out his ass.”
“I have been thinking about it. I even have an idea or two. But there’s this little deadline to meet first. I’m the only one who can field that.”
“Since Little asked for you specifically, yes. But I don’t want to leave Nikos.”
“I understand. I’d hoped, but…no, you stay here. Help me escape?”
“Maybe. Who’ll watch out for your skinny ass in Minneapolis?”
“I don’t need anyone—”
“You’re kidding. Did some beer help you decide that?”
I snapped my fingers. “I’ll call Rosie. She and her boyfriend live in Ric’s quote-condo community-unquote. They’ll guard my back.”
“Huh.” Twyla considered me. “You’re actually not too stupid to live.”
“We’re the same gene pool, doughhead. You’re only insulting yourself.”
We planned my escape for right after lunch, including Twyla disabling Bo’s shielded car and the sedan Aiden had arrived in so the guys couldn’t follow. Then I clasped her hands briefly before heading off to shower and shave.
Yes, shave, and not my chinny chin chin. Remember Twyla’s black heart thong? After drying off, I slipped into it and her push-up bra, throwing on jeans and the tight sleeveless Stealth Top over them. Not only did the skinny knit make my bosom stand out like twin basketballs, the snaps down the front, while now closed to the neck, later…well, let’s just say we’d start showing off the bra’s pretty lace and work down from there.
While Twyla made chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches with fried onions, I went outside again to phone Rosie who agreed to gather Harry and meet me at three. At the smell of food, Elena woke. We took her a small portion of soup and some gelatin on a tray and ate with her in her room.
Bo was hovering. He kept touching his wife with feather-light strokes, caressing her hair, her face, her hand, syrupy if I hadn’t known what they’d been through. But I understood, only too well. He’d almost lost her.
