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Vamparazzi

Page 22

by Laura Resnick


  “The Lithuanians thought it was our fault that this one had become such a catastrophe. They felt we should just stay out of their way in future. They asserted that our failures—my failures—had indirectly put them at risk, and they couldn’t allow that to happen again.”

  “That seems very unfair,” I said loyally, “given what you were dealing with.”

  “No, their viewpoint had merit, Esther,” Max said wearily. “Although I threw myself into my mission, I was not a particularly effective vampire hunter. I realized after seeing Lithuanians hunt and destroy the undead that it really was work best left to vampires.”

  “Was anyone else involved in the treaty?” I asked. “Were there other signatories?”

  “No. Given the nature of the subject matter, it was something of a secret treaty,” he said. “The Austrians and the Collegium both found it potentially embarrassing, albeit for different reasons.”

  “Ah.” After a moment, I said, “But the Habsburg monarchy doesn’t exist anymore. They fell from power and their empire crumbled at the end of World War One.”

  “True. The Magnum Collegium does still exist, however, as does the Council of Gediminas. And both parties continue to honor the treaty.”

  “Is this why you aren’t supposed to have anything to do with Lithuanians, Max?” I asked. “Because of the treaty?”

  “Yes. It’s prohibited for Lithuanians—well, Lithuanian vampires, to be specific—to get involved in my work.” He added a little anxiously, “Similarly, I cannot get directly involved in a vampire matter, Esther.”

  “Oh.” I was at a loss for words. This possibility had never occurred to me.

  “But I am very puzzled. Even alarmed,” Max said. “Given that there have been three—possibly four—local murder victims whose blood has been drained, there should be a Lithuanian involved in this situation by now.”

  “Maybe there is, and I just haven’t encountered him,” I suggested.

  “Perhaps,” he conceded.

  Nelli shoved her way between us, wriggling playfully as she sought some attention.

  As I patted her head, a thought occurred to me. “This may be irresponsibly inaccurate, too,” I said slowly, “but I’ve read that animals can detect vampires. Or are sensitive to their presence. Is that true?”

  “Certainly in the case of the undead, it’s true,” Max said. “But I never observed any such phenomenon in relation to living vampires. In fact, Radvila was very good with horses. However . . .” He retrieved Nelli’s leash from me as he gazed at her thoughtfully. “Nelli is only in the form of an animal. In reality, she is a mystical being. We have had previous experience—albeit, somewhat confusing at times—with her demonstrating sensitivity to other mystical entities. It may be that she could sense a living vampire if she encountered one.”

  Nelli noticed another dog approaching us, and she whined a little with friendly interest, her floppy ears perked alertly, and her long, bony tail whipped back and forth so furiously that it probably could have beheaded an unwary vampire.

  I checked my watch. “I have to go to work, Max. Instead of waiting until performance time, why don’t you come with me and bring Nelli? I don’t think the undead would pass unnoticed at the Hamburg, not even among the vamparazzi, but it sounds as if a loose cannon could. If it wouldn’t violate the Treaty of Gediminas, maybe you and Nelli could try to determine whether there’s a vampire lurking around the theater?”

  14

  I soon discovered that I had drastically underestimated the vampysteria that would be unleashed by the ghoulish tabloid stories and Internet chatter about Angeline being murdered while dressed as Miss Jane Aubrey, the exsanguination (which the police had indeed, as Lopez predicted, been unable to keep quiet), and Daemon’s involvement in the case.

  Max disliked all forms of motorized transport, and the theater was within a few blocks of the park, so we walked there. I felt anxious about encountering the vamparazzi on foot; but today I was accompanied by a dog the size of a minivan, as well as a talented mage who had survived fighting real vampires. So, hah!—let the Janes just try to attack me now! Apart from sleeping with men like Daemon, it would prove to be the biggest mistake of their scantily clad lives.

  However, though reckless, I wasn’t stupid. I put on a pair of dark glasses and borrowed Max’s fedora, hoping not to be recognized.

  When we got within a block of the theater, though, I was flabbergasted by the size of the crowd, as well as alarmed by how unruly they were today.

  The NYPD seemed to share my reaction. Even as Max and I approached the first barricade, a police van pulled up to the curb and additional patrolmen started pouring out of the back of the vehicle, obviously summoned to assist with crowd control. A cop who looked as if he was considering changing professions was speaking into a megaphone, warning people to stay behind the police barricades, to refrain from pushing and shoving, and to keep all their clothes on—adding to someone in the seething throng, “Yes, that does include you, miss.”

  “Good heavens!” Max said. “This is extraordinary!”

  “Yeah,” I said. “You would think it’s just too chilly for partial nudity.”

  Nelli was looking around with mingled interest and anxiety, panting a little with nervous excitement. Her long tail wagged in an uncertain rhythm, evincing her indecision about whether she found the noisy, swarming, strangely dressed crowds here friendly or menacing.

  “Ow !” A woman behind us yelped when Nelli’s lethal tail whipped against her. She wore the requisite black leather, goth makeup, elaborate hairstyle, and impractical heels.

  “I do apologize!” Max said to her, unfazed by her appearance. Well, he’d seen the bloodthirsty undead, after all. “Nelli, please be more cautious.”

  “Is that a dog?” The woman’s nasal voice and New Jersey accent rather spoiled the exotic effect of her outfit. “That’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen!”

  Forcing my way through the dense crowd, I pulled Max along behind me, who in turn pulled Nelli. I kept going until my stomach was pressing against a police barricade. With some difficulty, I waved down a police officer and convinced him to get close enough for me to speak to him. Then I showed him my ID.

  Pitching my voice for his hearing only, I said, “I’m in the cast. I need to get to the theater. I don’t want to attract any atten—”

  “Sergeant!” The cop lifted his head and shouted down the street, loudly enough for the nearest hundred vamparazzi to hear, “This is Esther Diamond! She’s in the cast! What do I do now?”

  I sighed, removed Max’s fedora (which was too big for my head, anyhow), and gave it back to him as people in the crowd started screaming, “Jane! It’s Jane! Jane!”

  “Thank you, officer,” I said wearily. “You’re very helpful.”

  “That’s what we’re here for, miss.”

  People in the crowd immediately started pressing in on me, pushing and shoving to get closer to me, grabbing at my clothes and arms. My sunglasses fell off, hit the ground, and were trampled. I cried out when I felt my hair being pulled. Nelli barked sharply, prancing around me in agitation as bodies smooshed up against both of us. She had obviously made up her mind about these people, now that they were shouting, shoving, and pawing at me. Whether or not Max’s mystical familiar could identify a living vampire remained to be seen, but she certainly knew an unruly mob when she saw one.

  I was clutching Max for balance now. He had a look of fierce concentration on his face and was muttering something in what sounded like Latin. A moment later, at least a dozen people around us suddenly flailed and flew backward, as if pushed by a large, unseen hand. Some of them staggered into the people behind them. Others fell on their butts. All of them looked utterly astonished.

  Max looked around, clearly pleased with the results of his effort to protect me. “Oh, that was rather good. I wasn’t sure it would work.”

  The stunned vamparazzi were jabbering in confusion, shrieking, or trying to catch their brea
th after being winded by that sudden fall. Cops nearby were rushing toward this area and blowing their whistles.

  A thin, sallow Jane who was lying on the ground pointed at me. “She assaulted me. She pushed me! I want to press charges!”

  “I never touched you,” I snapped. “And that dress doesn’t suit you at all.”

  Max was trying to soothe Nelli, who was still barking in alarm.

  “Miss Diamond?” One of the cops from the blockedoff portion of the street called, “If you’ll move to the end of the barricade, we can let you through.”

  I doubtfully eyed the horde of vamparazzi whom I would have to push past to get to the spot he had indicated.

  Then I heard another shrill whistle—made by an unaided human mouth this time—pierce through the sea of bodies that surrounded the people who were still picking themselves up off the sidewalk.

  A deep male voice bellowed, “Coming through! Please make way! Miss, do not make me move you. Thank you! Coming through!”

  Four tall men, moving together like a military unit, shoved their way through the crowd, then stepped over the people who were still sitting on the sidewalk with dazed expressions. The foursome stopped directly in front of me and Max.

  The one whose voice I’d heard said, “Miss Diamond, how do you do? I’m Flame.” He gestured to his three black-clad companions. “That’s Treat, he’s Casper, and this is Silent. We’re your vampire posse.”

  “My what?”

  “Your vampire posse, ma’am.” He was a tall, burly man with long blond hair, a beard, and tattooed forearms. He wore no makeup, but he was in the usual black leather clothing, and he had a profusion of silver jewelry—chains, pins, earrings, and rings, all in the shapes of skulls, dragons, and daggers. “We will escort you safely to the stage door.” He eyed Nelli, who was bristling at him. “And we’ll protect you from this dog.”

  “She’s with me. So is this gentleman.” I was clinging to Max’s arm. “Who sent you?”

  “No one,” said Flame. “We are strictly a voluntary force, ma’am.”

  “I see.” I suspected that four total strangers offering to take charge of my safety was implicitly included in the things Lopez had instructed me to avoid. “I’m not sure . . .”

  “The vampire community has decided we need to protect the cast members of this show from people who are conducting themselves in a way that reflects badly on vampires.”

  “Lithuanians, loose cannons, or the undead?”

  “Even the undead aren’t this unruly,” Max said seriously.

  Flame continued, “Your protection was deemed a matter of particular urgency, Miss Diamond, because you were assaulted last night.”

  “And also the night before,” I added.

  “Nothing like that will happen to you again. Not on my watch.” Flame looked over my shoulder and raised his hand in friendly salute to the cops on the other side of the barricade. “Thank you for your vigilance, officers. We’ve got this covered now.”

  “Miss Diamond?” a cop called behind me.

  I noticed that the vamparazzi were gradually backing off and calming down. Perhaps because Flame and his pals were their own kind, so to speak.

  “My vampire posse, huh?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Okay.” I made my decision. “Please get me and my companions to the stage door without further incident.”

  “Absolutely. Right this way, ma’am.”

  I waved to the cops and, still holding onto Max’s arm, proceeded through the crowd, surrounded by my bodyguards and followed so closely by Nelli that her paws kept scraping my heels. Her nails needed cutting.

  My vampire posse moved through the crowd like a hot knife through butter, maintaining a steady pace, keeping people away from me, and sternly advising the vamparazzi to show courtesy and respect.

  Several young women dressed like Jane were trying to get my autograph, which was certainly an improvement over punching and kicking me; but I was disinclined to risk stopping long enough to sign anything.

  My protectors (except for Silent, who said nothing) tersely warned the Janes away, uttering phrases like, “Move out of Miss Diamond’s perimeter immediately or you will be deemed a clear and present threat.”

  We also passed a long line of black-clad people carrying banners from Vampire Recovery (whose membership appeared to have tripled overnight). When they realized whom the posse was escorting, they all started screaming at me, “Run, Esther! Run! Don’t do the show! He’s too dangerous! Look what happened to Angeline! Don’t go anywhere near him!”

  “Well, that’s certainly helped settle my distracted nerves right before a performance,” I said. “Much appreciated, folks.”

  They were too busy shouting to notice that I had spoken.

  Max leaned close to me. “Attempting to identify a vampire in this milieu will be more challenging than I anticipated.”

  “Indeed.” Considering the insanity out here, as well as Nelli’s agitation, I said, “You’d both better come inside with me.”

  I also saw Dr. Hal from the Society for the Scientific Study of Vampires. He was hopping up and down on the edge of my, er, perimeter. Today his picket sign said: VAMPIRE—OR JUST MURDERER?

  I began to wonder how many people besides the cops thought Daemon was guilty.

  Dr. Hal caught my eye and shouted, “Esther! We need to talk! Help us prove he’s not a vampire!”

  “Who is that?” Max asked curiously as Hal waved at me.

  “Don’t encourage him,” I said.

  My vampire posse escorted us to our destination without anyone laying a finger on me. Then, at my insistence, the police allowed them to pass through the barricade and go right up to the stage door with me. As I pointed out to the cops, I had been attacked on this very spot two nights in a row, while police were on duty there; so now I chose to bring my own security. I gave instructions that my vampire posse, who had done a better job of protecting me today than any of the police had done to date, were to be allowed to wait for me right outside the stage door after the show.

  Once inside the theater, with the stage door closed firmly behind us, Max, Nelli, and I all let out identical sighs of relief.

  “The Council of Gediminas,” Max said, “will be more than a little vexed by how much negative attention this whole matter is attracting to vampirism.”

  I shrugged and led the way to my dressing room. “Who are they going to complain to?”

  “Complaining is not their way,” Max said ominously as he followed me. “Swift, decisive, comprehensive action—and, if they deem it necessary, ruthless action—is more in keeping with their methods.”

  “Oh. Good point.”

  “You fucking bastard, Eric!” Mad Rachel screeched. “Go to hell, you SHITTY FUCKFACE!”

  Nelli flinched.

  Max winced. “Good heavens! What is that?”

  “My roommate.” I sighed and pushed open the door to my dressing room.

  Already in costume and makeup (she was punctual, if nothing else), Rachel was pacing the room with her cell phone pressed to her ear. As we entered, she emitted another volley of vicious obscenities at full volume. Despite living through 350 eventful years of confronting Evil, Max seemed shocked by her language.

  Rachel looked annoyed by our intrusion. Then her gaze fixed on Nelli. An unfamiliar expression contorted her pretty face. It dawned on me that she might be afraid of dogs. Or allergic to them. Or just not like animals. And Nelli, in addition to her intimidating size, was neither the best behaved nor the most hygienic animal in the world—or, indeed, within any random two hundredyard radius.

  Perhaps it had been thoughtless of me to bring Nelli into this dressing room without asking.

  I certainly hoped so.

  “Rachel, this is my friend Max. And that’s his canine companion, Nelli.” Driven by a level of malice I would have said was beyond me, prior to sharing this space with Mad Rachel for the past six weeks, I added, “Max has come to see the
show. Nelli will stay here in our room.”

  The contortion of Rachel’s face grew more pronounced. She said into her phone, “I have to go now. Love you. Bye.” She disconnected the call. “Nelli?”

  Hearing her name, Nelli, whose nerves were recovering now, crossed the room to greet Rachel.

  Eagerly anticipating Rachel’s horrified reaction as Nelli approached her, I finally recognized the unfamiliar expression distorting her face. Pleasure.

  I had never seen Mad Rachel look pleased before.

  She reached out to pet and pat Nelli enthusiastically, then gave the canine familiar a big hug. “Ohhhh, who’s a pwiddy widdle dog? Who’s got the pwiddiest face in the whole wide world? Is it you, Nelli? Is it you? Oh, yes, who’s a good girl? Who’s a good gurrrrl?”

  Nelli, the traitorous baggage, lapped it up. She wagged her lethal tail furiously, whined with delight, bounced around playfully (knocking over a chair), licked Rachel’s face, and gently butted the actress in the stomach with her massive head.

  I looked at Max in bemusement.

  He beamed at me. “Nelli has such a way with people.”

  “Oh, there you are!” Leischneudel said from the doorway, still clean-faced and in his street clothes. He was pale and there were dark circles under his eyes. I recalled that he’d scarcely slept for the past two nights. “I was kind of worried. Those crowds out there . . .”

  Nelli sneezed violently. Right on Rachel’s dress.

  I tensed, expecting a sudden (and noisy) shift in the prevailing wind. Rachel was so fastidious that she threw a tantrum if I happened to leave a used tissue lying on my side of our makeup counter.

  But the actress just brushed casually at her gown and warbled, “Oh, somebody sneezed! Did Nelli sneeze? Was that you sneezing, Nelli?”

  As if sensing her cue, Nelli sneezed again. And yet again.

  “Oh, poor baby! Someone’s got a widdle cold!”

  Leischneudel was staring at Rachel as if she had grown a second head.

  I said to him, “I guess she likes dogs.”

  He continued gaping at Rachel for a long moment, then gave himself a little shake. “I suppose, sooner or later, she was bound to like something.”

 

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