Vamparazzi

by Laura Resnick

  “I didn’t need help tonight,” I reassured him. “Everything was—”

  “No, I don’t mean that. I mean . . .” He stopped, regrouped, and started over. “After what just happened . . .” His vague gesture indicated our brief bout of vampire sex. “I know I’m the one who started it, but you didn’t seem like you were ... just being polite.”

  I felt my face flush again. “No. I wasn’t being polite.” I couldn’t imagine the circumstances in which I would passionately bite a man’s neck, while he sucked my blood, in order to be polite to him. It occurred to me ask, “Are you okay? Did I hurt you when I, uh . . . ?” I gestured awkwardly to his neck.

  “I’m fine. But since we just got, um, pretty personal, and you seemed to be . . . into it . . .”

  “Go on.”

  “Am I being punished because I dumped you? Is that why you wouldn’t even talk to me after that night in Harlem?”

  “Dumped me?” I repeated, a little miffed. “I thought you gave me up.”

  “I did.” He shrugged. “But you felt dumped. You told me so. And then, later, when I wanted to talk . . .”

  “Oh. I see.” I shook my head. “No, you’re not being punished for dumping me.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes. I don’t play games, Lopez. Not like that.”

  “I know. I didn’t mean you were playing games. I meant . . ” He made a frustrated sound. “I don’t know. Women are hard to figure out. You, especially. So I had to ask. Because this feels like punishment.”

  “I’m not punishing you.” In an attempt to prove it to him, I asked, “What did you want to talk about? If you say it now, I’ll listen.”

  “I didn’t have a speech ready, Esther. I thought, you know, we’d both talk. And then . . .”

  “And then we’d try dating again, and everything would be different this time? Because things went so well between us when we saw each other in summer?”

  There was a long silence.

  I finally asked, “Was that the talk, then? Did we just have it?”

  “I think so.”

  “How did it go?”

  “Oh, it was a lot like talking to myself for the past couple of months.”

  Another silence.

  “So we’re okay now?” I asked.

  “Yeah, I guess we are.” He sounded perplexed.

  My heart and body were screaming about how much they had missed him, demanding to be heard. But I kept my head in command of things this time, and I reminded my unruly organs that the two very worst experiences of my entire life were the two times that this man was targeted with death because of me.

  And the second attempt had come so close.

  Much, much too close.

  Lopez saw the shiver I couldn’t control. “Are you cold?”

  “A little.” I pulled my jacket more tightly around me; but I was shivering because of my memories of a stormy night in August, not because of the November wind.

  “Come on.” He nodded in the direction of the people who were waiting for us. “The cops will take you home.”

  We walked back that way together, keeping a sensible distance between us now. As soon as I saw Thack, pacing impatiently with his hands in his pockets while he waited for me, it hit me.

  “The first victim,” I said suddenly to Lopez, stopping in my tracks. “I mean, the remains that were found underground which you think might be this killer’s first victim.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Male or female?”

  “Male,” he replied. “Why?”

  “Have you identified him?”

  “No.”

  “When was he killed?”

  Looking at me with mingled interest and suspicion now—a familiar combination in his attitude to me—he said, “Probably mid-August.”

  I went still. “A little less than three months ago.”

  He nodded, studying my expression. “Now tell me why you’re asking about this.”

  I took a steadying breath, my heart thudding. “I think the victim might be a Lithuanian named Benas Novicki.”

  “How do you know who the victim might be?” he demanded.

  “Benas Novicki was kind of an acquaintance of Thack’s distant—very distant—relatives in Vilnius.” I nodded toward my agent, who was making exasperated gestures at me, indicating that he was more than ready to blow this popsicle stand. “Benas disappeared about three months ago in New York.”

  Lopez was frowning. “That’s not a name I’ve seen in any missing persons reports that have been cross-referenced with the murder case.”

  “Nobody reported him missing.”

  “Why not?”

  “I guess they weren’t that close,” I tried.

  “Esther.”

  “Okay. Here it is.” I knew this wouldn’t go over well, but I might as well just tell him. “Benas was a vampire hunter. Before he disappeared, he was hot on the trail of a vampire he’d been pursuing for a while.”

  “Okay,” Lopez said wearily, “I obviously inhaled way too much methane gas in the tunnels earlier tonight. In fact, I think we can safely say that all of my behavior since I arrived here has been pointing to that conclusion. And now, I could swear I just heard you say that the first victim was a vampire hunter. Probably I should go seek treatment.”

  “There’s no need to be sarcastic,” I said. “Look at it this way—”

  “A vampire hunter? Esther.” His facial expression suggested that our very brief chat tonight about our relationship had been right on the money.

  “Look, he thought of himself as a vampire hunter,” I said patiently. “Which means that if he knew about a killer who exsanguinated his victims . . .”

  There was a pause.

  “Oh, Jesus. Point taken.” Lopez nodded, his expression turning somber. “He’d have gone after him, and that’s how he wound up dead.”

  “Now that you have a name, can you identify the remains?” I asked.

  “Maybe. If so, it’ll take time, though. There’s definitely not enough of him left for a visual ID.”

  I wondered if Lithuanian vampire hunters still used crossbows. “Were there any personal possessions found with the remains?”

  “No, nothing.” Lopez brushed his hair out of his eyes. “Benas told someone he was on the trail of a killer?”

  “Yes. Someone back in Lithuania.”

  “If he was right about that, it might mean he wasn’t the first victim,” Lopez mused. “He’s just the first one we know about.”

  “Oh! Of course.” After a moment, I asked, “You’ve been over the case file for Adele Olson by now. Was she killed by the same person as the other victims?”

  “In my opinion, yes. Branson is . . .” Lopez made a waggling gesture with his hand. “Starting to lean my way. His partner, though, is stuck on good old Danny Ravinsky for Angeline’s murder. And, by the way, just how stupid is that guy? He didn’t give the cops his real name in a murder investigation?”

  “Don’t even get me started,” I said.

  I assumed Branson’s partner was the woman detective who had questioned Daemon. Her theory of the case was wrong, but I found it easy to understand how several hours of interviewing Daemon made her desperate to see him behind bars.

  “Have I got the, uh, vampire hunter’s name right? Benas Novicki?” When I nodded, Lopez said, “Okay, I’m going to look into it.”

  “Good.” I waved to Thack to indicate I was ready to leave.

  He opened his arms to the heavens, as if to say, Finally!

  “Oh, wait, one more thing,” Lopez said as Thack headed this way. “I remember what I was going to ask you. Have you had that door sealed?”

  “What?” I said blankly.

  “The door I showed you, leading into the tunnel system.”

  “Oh! Damn.” I covered my eyes with my good hand.

  “I gather that means no?”

  “We’re going now, right?” Thack asked. “I’m so ready to leave.”

&nb
sp; “I forgot,” I said to Lopez.

  “How could you forget? I thought it was pretty memorable, Esther.”

  “A lot happened right after that!” I said defensively. “And a lot keeps happening.”

  Thack said, “Esther, please.”

  “Oh, who dragged me here in the first place?” I snapped at Thack.

  “Who got me involved in this?” he snapped back.

  “In what?” Lopez asked.

  “Nothing,” we said in unison.

  Looking as if maybe he had inhaled too much methane tonight, Lopez said to me, “Remember the door tomorrow. Okay?”

  “Okay.”

  My vampire posse joined us.

  Flame asked, “Are we leaving, Miss Diamond?”

  “Miss Diamond is being escorted home by the police, who will see her safely inside her apartment,” Lopez said. “You’re dismissed for the night.”

  Flame looked at me for confirmation, which I gave. He made arrangements to meet me near the theater tomorrow, “beyond the perimeter” of where trouble could be expected. Then he, Treat, Casper, and Silent left, roaring away on their two motorcycles.

  “Can we go now?” Thack asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Wait,” Lopez said. “One more thing.”

  “Now what?” Thack asked wearily.

  “It’s personal,” Lopez said to him.

  Thack said to me, “On the way home, you’re going to tell me who he is, right?”

  “No, she’s not,” Lopez said.

  “Get in the car,” I urged Thack. “I’ll be with you in a second.” Once he was out of earshot, I asked Lopez, “Who exactly are you tonight? I’m so confused!”

  “I’m pretty confused tonight, too,” he said. “So just don’t talk about me at all. All right?”

  “Sure,” I said. “Was that the ‘one more thing’?”

  “No.” He hesitated.

  “Well?”

  “This is a little awkward. I don’t want you to be offended.”

  “What is it?”

  “Well, um, considering what I did back there . . .” He made a gesture indicating the spot around the corner where we had played with fire. “You’d tell me if there was something I needed to know, right?”

  “Something you . . . Oh! Oh.” I realized what he meant. I wasn’t offended. It was a fair question, coming from someone who’d just drunk my blood. “There’s nothing to tell. Nothing,” I assured him.

  “Okay.” His gaze shifted to the squad car. “You’d better go. I see that Shackleton’s chomping at the bit to set off on this expedition.”

  19

  At my insistence, Leischneudel and I arrived at the theater unusually early the next evening. I was determined to be ready for the curtain tonight in plenty of time, without any of the panic-stricken rushing I’d wound up doing last night. I also wanted additional time to concentrate on my makeup, given that I was still black, blue, pink, and mottled.

  My injured hand was a little stiff and sore, but I thought I would get by without needing stitches, as long as I was careful with it. I’d gone shopping today and found a brand of sturdy adhesive bandages that matched my skin tone; and the cut was on my palm, after all. So, although the bandage was anachronistic for a Regency-era play, very few audience members would see it.

  Mindful of Daemon’s allergies, I had also purchased hypoallergenic antibiotic ointment and muscle balm. They were too expensive, but spending the money was certainly better than living through a repeat of yesterday’s performance.

  Leischneudel was a wreck by the time we got inside the theater, and I was very grateful for the protection of the Caped Crusaders and my vampire posse. They hadn’t been sufficient, though. We had also needed several policemen to help our cab get through the agitated crowds, as well as several more to deal with unruly vamparazzi while we made a mad dash from the taxi to the stage door, surrounded by our vampire bodyguards.

  Now, as planned, I was all made-up and dressed, well ahead of curtain time. This had a calming effect on my nerves, which was a blessing, all things considered. I was almost ready to go ask Leischneudel to lace me up when there was a knock at my door.

  “Come in.”

  Tarr entered the dressing room. I ground my teeth together and wished I had bothered going to the door, so I could have kept him out of the room. He waltzed in now and flung himself into a chair as if he were a regular and welcome visitor here.

  “I heard you got here early today,” he said. “You look great. I love that dress.”

  I tugged the neckline up, unsuccessfully trying to minimize the way it exposed my breasts to his gaze. “What do you want?”

  “Man, those crowds are crazy today, aren’t they? It’s insane out there! I really think they might start rioting when Daemon gets here.”

  I glared at him. “Gosh, and who do we think might be responsible for that, Al?”

  “What?” he asked innocently. “You think this is my fault?”

  “You’ve certainly stirred the pot.”

  “Hey, just doing my job,” he said cheerfully.

  I shook my head and continued putting the finishing touches on my hair, ignoring the reporter.

  I loathed Daemon, and even I was appalled by Tarr’s treatment of him in the “updated and expanded” account of the murder that was in today’s Exposé. Oozing with sleazy innuendo and unfounded speculation, it created the emphatic impression that Daemon had murdered Angeline, and it barely stopped short of calling on fans to commit vigilante justice before he killed again.

  I thought that Daemon ought to sue Tarr and the Exposé . Thack had also read the piece and agreed that they damn well deserved to be sued; but he said he suspected a lawsuit might be fruitless. He thought the article was so shrewdly written that the Exposé’s lawyers had probably approved it. Besides, the story was selling so many copies of the rag and getting so much exposure, the Exposé might even, Thack suggested cynically, have run a profit-and-loss calculation and decided that paying Daemon a settlement would be worth what they gained from smearing him like this.

  Thack hadn’t called me to gossip about the tabloids, though—all of which were spewing variations on the depiction of Daemon Ravel as a vampire gone bad. He had called to update me on the Lithuanian situation.

  The Council of Gediminas, convinced that Benas Novicki had fallen in battle against a rogue vampire, was sending a crack specialist from Vilnius to clean up the mess here.

  “I gather they rousted him out of bed for a briefing right after hearing from my uncle and then put him on the first available flight out of Vilnius. His name is Edvardas Froese,” Thack had said when we talked earlier today. “It sounds as if he’s a combination of Dirty Harry, D’Artagnan, and the Terminator, all rolled into one Lithuanian vampire hunter.”

  However, the Dirty D’Artagnanator, as I thought of him, had one slight handicap: He didn’t speak English. So Uncle Peter was flying in from Wisconsin and would meet him at JFK Airport, acting as his guide and interpreter in our fair city.

  “And then I guess we’ll get our next update,” Thack said.

  I had relayed the information to Max. That was several hours earlier, and we were still awaiting more news. Now that the Exposé was encouraging vigilante violence and the natives were restless, the Vilnius vampire hunter couldn’t arrive soon enough, as far as I was concerned.

  Although many things under heaven would have been a welcome distraction from my thoughts at the moment, Tarr’s speaking again was not one of them.

  Especially not when he said: “You smell really good.”

  “I’m not supposed to smell at all,” I said prosaically. “I’m wearing all hypoallergenic stuff today.”

  Tarr’s nostrils flared. “I think you smell good.”

  “Hmph. I’ll need to see Daemon as soon as he gets in. If he can smell this stuff, I might have to wash it all off.” That would be quite a setback to my whole “be ready early” strategy today.

  “If he gets
in.” Tarr grinned wolfishly. “Sure, I know, half the babes out there still want to sleep with him—even after everything that’s happened. What is it about that guy? Me, I just don’t see it. But by now, the other half of the loonies out there are ready to tear him apart.”

  Based on the volatile behavior of the crowd when Leischneudel and I had arrived, I thought Tarr was right—the vamparazzi might well go berserk when Daemon got here.

  I was repelled by the way the reporter was gloating about it; and even more revolted when I realized he was delighted that his “work” was playing a significant role in inciting the mob.

  I said, “I really don’t think this is what Thomas Jefferson envisioned when he argued in favor of a free press, Al.”

  “Spin is a beautiful thing.” Tarr ogled my back, where my gown flapped open. “And so are you, kiddo.”

  “Don’t call me—never mind. Why are you here, Al?” Realizing that gave him an opening to ask me out again, I hastily amended, “I mean, at the Hamburg? You shouldn’t be here when Daemon arrives. All things considered, the sight of you today might actually turn him into a murderer. Are you willing to be strangled just for the sake of another headline?”

  “I found out who Danny Ravinsky is.” Tarr’s toothy grin broadened. “I thought he might want to talk about it before I file my story.” When I didn’t rise to the bait, he prodded, “Aren’t you curious?”

  “No. And I’d like you to leave me alone now so I can—”

  There was another knock on the door, which Tarr had left open. My gaze flew eagerly to the doorway. Attila the Hun would be a welcome visitor now, if it meant I wouldn’t be alone with Tarr anymore.

  “Victor!” I said, seeing the bald, anxious assistant hovering there. “Come in. I’m glad you’re here.” Aware of Tarr’s eyes following me everywhere, I said, “Could you lace me up?”

  “Pardon?”

  Tarr said, “Hey, I’ll do that.”