Raphael

by D. B. Reynolds

  “Half sisters, actually. Same mother, different father. And we never lived together. My parents divorced when I was three and I lived with my father. My mother didn’t bother to stay in touch; I barely knew Holly before high school.”

  “I guess it’s good your dad cared,” Nick said with obvious awkwardness. They never discussed personal things. Theirs was strictly a relationship of mutual lust.

  “Yeah, well, don’t get sentimental. I was just too low on the list of possessions for anyone to fight over.” She stood back, giving her ragged dark hair a nervous fluff and tucking her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “Have a good flight, Nicky.”

  “Will do. I’ll give you a call when I’m in town.”

  “I’ll be around,” she agreed.

  He stood, gave her a hard, quick kiss, then slid into the car with a grin and was gone, taking all that energy with him and leaving an empty feeling behind.

  Cynthia watched the racy car as it accelerated up the small hill behind her condo and turned onto the highway, then she climbed back upstairs with a sigh.

  “I saw the car when I went to the store this morning,” Holly commented as Cyn returned to the kitchen. “I didn’t realize Nick had that kind of money. Like draws like, I suppose. Although he is awfully good looking. I wouldn’t mind having a go at him myself if you’re not interested.” She twisted a lock of blond hair between her fingers and gave Cynthia an appraising look.

  Cynthia tried to imagine Nick and her sister together. Maybe not. “Nick’s just . . . Nick,” she said instead. “He calls when he’s in town and we have a good time.” She shrugged. “It works for both of us. No complications.”

  “Complications,” her sister repeated sourly, dropping both perfectly manicured hands to the tile counter. “As in actually requiring you to take someone other than yourself into account once in awhile?”

  Cynthia swallowed the sharp retort that leapt to mind, opened the refrigerator door and stared blindly at Holly’s yogurt stash, counting first to ten, then to twenty, before turning to face her sister. “Nick’s a friend, Holly. We enjoy each other’s company and that’s it. Not everyone is looking for a husband, you know.”

  “Easy for you to say. Not everyone was gifted with a trust fund on her twenty-first birthday either. Some of us have to worry about our future.”

  Cyn sighed. Money. It always came down to money with Holly. And the fact that Cyn’s father had it and Holly’s didn’t. Like it was Cynthia’s fault, like she’d somehow stolen what should have been Holly’s. Of course, Holly never wanted to hear the other side of it. About what it was like to be raised by the best nannies money could buy, and about being the only child at school whose parents never came to visit. About holidays with a pile of presents and no one to watch her open them, about all those little milestones of life—graduations, first day on the job, the first dollar she’d earned on her own—all those moments she’d celebrated alone because no one else cared enough to be there. No, Holly didn’t want to know about that part. “Actually, I do worry about my future,” Cyn said finally. “Which is why I have no intention of getting married.”

  “Oh, get over yourself, Cyndi. See a therapist, for God’s sake.”

  Cyn sucked in a breath. It wouldn’t serve anyone’s purposes for her and Holly to argue yet again. Nick hadn’t been far from right; they might as well be from different planets. She and Holly were sisters, but genetics was the only thing they had in common and there wasn’t even much evidence of that.

  “I like my life the way it is,” she said quietly. “Speaking of which, I’ve got to run. Be sure to lock up if you go out.”

  Chapter Five

  RAPHAEL STOOD behind his desk, staring out through a wall of arched windows to the wide ocean beyond. A full moon rode the sky; the gently rolling waves shimmered silver in its light. It was a pale cousin to the glory of sunlight, but the only celestial light he would ever see again. The vampire paused, puzzled by his own musings. He rarely thought of such things and wondered why it came to mind now. The door opened behind him to admit Duncan.

  “Lonnie has arrived, my lord.”

  Raphael remained silent a moment longer, then turned to take the seat behind his desk. “Show him in.”

  “My lord.” Duncan bowed his head briefly, slipping out of the room to return a few moments later, Lonnie Mater in tow.

  Normally the picture of good cheer, tonight Lonnie was uncharacteristically silent, subdued, like a small animal remaining quiet beneath the gaze of a predator, hoping to escape notice. An apt comparison. He was an unremarkable man of medium height, pleasant looking, but nothing too dramatic. He’d been a movie producer when Raphael found him, a man with little success, but many contacts, the perfect vehicle for the vampire lord’s insertion into Hollywood society.

  The former producer bowed from the waist, a surprisingly elegant gesture from an American who’d never had to learn the skill. “Sire,” he said quietly. “I am yours to command.”

  In spite of the grim circumstances, Raphael regarded him with some amusement. For all the man’s extravagant ways, he was no fool. Lonnie might not know exactly what was going on, but he was smart enough to recognize something deadly serious was in the air and to maximize his chances of surviving whatever it was.

  “Have a seat, Lonnie.”

  Lonnie glanced up, a glimmer of his true personality lighting his expression for the first time. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Raphael studied him somberly. Hollywood was an ideal place for vampires. There were gatherings of one sort of another almost every night and the greater city of Los Angeles was enormous and still growing, with millions of people spread out over what would have been an unthinkable distance only a few decades ago. Lonnie managed a house for Raphael right on the beach in Malibu, hosting night after night of parties and providing a steady source of blood for Raphael’s staff, including Lonnie. Raphael himself rarely attended, and then only if his presence was required for some other purpose, like genuine business involving his Hollywood investments. Otherwise, a careful selection of donors was ferried here to the estate and returned before dawn to wake up back where they started. They were all perfectly willing participants, and none of them ever remembered a thing, except a great party, great sex, and a particularly bad hangover. One of Lonnie’s jobs was seeing that none of the other vampires . . . overindulged.

  Although they maintained a low profile, the existence of vampires was discreetly acknowledged by those in government and business, even courted by some with an ax to grind or a project to fund. And Hollywood loved nothing more than that little hint of danger, that slight whiff of daring vampires represented in human society. They were the ultimate bad boys—and girls—in a town that pretended to be rebels while driving their solid SUVs home to their safe neighborhoods behind sturdy gates.

  Lonnie crossed his legs nervously and Raphael gestured for Duncan to pour some wine.

  “You had dealings with a private investigator some time back, Lonnie. A woman.”

  Lonnie uncrossed his legs and sat up, startled at the unexpected subject. “I did, Sire. Cynthia Leighton. Former LAPD. Her father’s Harold Leighton. He’s got some real bucks, mostly financial investments. She, uh . . . she saved my life.”

  Raphael leaned forward. “And how was that?”

  “There was a bust at a club downtown. The owner was dealing drugs in the back room. Cops came in and swept up everybody. Cynthia was with the task force. They dragged all of us down to the station . . . mostly for appearances, I think. Sort of a “look at us, we’re arresting rich people” thing. Election year and all. The cops didn’t even book most of us. They released almost everyone except the owners and a couple of customers unlucky enough to be in on the deal when the cops broke in. Me, I had nothing to do with it. Don’t do drugs, never have. A nice scotch, a glass of wine, that’s something else,
but no drugs. Not for me. Uh, anyway . . .”

  He cleared his throat anxiously, hurrying on when Raphael gave him a bored look. “One of the cops was a son of a bitch. Took one look at me and decided he was going to earn his next star. Planted me in a holding cell right beneath a skylight, figured to leave me there for the sun.” Lonnie shook his head in disgust. “Cynthia saw what he was doing and hauled me outta there. Got in a real stand-up with the asshole. It wasn’t long after that she quit and went into business for herself. I’ve sent quite a few customers her way. Figure I owe her, plus she gives good value.”

  Raphael nodded silently. He glanced at Duncan, then spun his chair around and watched the silver waves dance in the darkness. He heard Lonnie take a sip of his wine and set the glass back down. Duncan didn’t move, but Raphael could picture his lieutenant watching him, wondering what he had planned.

  He stood in a sudden decisive motion, followed a split second later by Lonnie, who jumped from his chair almost reflexively.

  “I want you to call your Ms. Leighton, Lonnie. You’ll be paying her a visit tonight.” He waved his hand in dismissal.

  Duncan ushered Lonnie from the room, closing the door after him and turning back to Raphael.

  “I would not question your judgment, Sire, but . . . a human?”

  Raphael smiled slightly. “Albin did not act alone in this, Duncan. I know him very well. He thinks only of himself. Yes, he was restless with the task I assigned him, but he would not aspire so high as to attempt to seize power from me. His dreams are far meaner. And Alexandra, no one would take her but to torment me . . . or to lure me into a trap. We have a snake in our nest, Duncan, but it is not Albin, or not Albin alone. He is merely a tool, and most likely a tool to be discarded after serving his purpose. Someone is making a play to overthrow me, and they are shrewd enough to have made this first move without my agents picking up even a whisper such a thing was imminent. Albin is not so clever.”

  “But the humans, Sire—”

  “Their first mistake, Duncan, using humans. Humans are weak and will readily turn on one another, if properly persuaded. It takes only hope, such a fragile thing, hope that their own lives will be spared, to make them tell their secrets. They do cling to life; perhaps because they have so few years. After all this time, I have lost the ability to understand them. And that, Duncan, is why I will bring in this human woman. She understands her own kind and will track down these human pawns for me. If Alexandra is my weakness—and I’ve no doubt they think she is—then these humans are theirs. Give me just one human and I will learn all I need to know about who is behind this and where to find them. There is human connivance in this and it is human cunning that will untangle it.”

  Chapter Six

  THE HEADLIGHTS OF some passing car flashed through the slitted blinds and almost directly into Cynthia’s eyes. She winced, then walked over to snap the wooden slats closed. She was about ready to call it a night. She’d been here since early afternoon, doing the kind of work she normally would have done from her home office. A lot of her investigations involved researching old records and such, the kind of stuff the Internet had made easily accessible to those who knew where to look. But Holly seemed to be settling in for the long haul and had begun asking too many questions about Cyn’s work. She was especially curious about the vampires since so little was known about them. Many people considered their existence little more than rumor.

  Cyn had begun to wonder if there was anything wrong with her sister’s house at all, or if maybe Holly had a private reason for wanting to know exactly what Cynthia was working on.

  In any event, Cyn had decamped to her office to work. It was quiet here, only the occasional visitor next door and the steady hum of traffic on the avenue. Her office phone rang as she sat back down.

  “Leighton.”

  “Hey, Cyn! You’re there.” Speak of the devil and he’ll give you a call. Not that Lonnie was a bad guy. He wasn’t . . . for a vampire.

  “A little early for you, isn’t it, Lonnie?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He laughed nervously. “Listen, Cyn. I need to talk to you. Can I come by?”

  Cynthia frowned. “Sure, Lonnie, you know that. What’s the problem?”

  “Um, it’s complicated and I’d rather not discuss it on a cell phone. I’m about fifteen minutes from your office.”

  She didn’t like the sound of Lonnie’s voice. He was nervous, and a little too insistent for the normally laid back vampire. But it probably wouldn’t hurt to meet with him. Whatever he wanted, she could always tell him no. “Okay, come on over. But only because I trust you. If you’re bringing trouble with you, I’m gonna be pissed.”

  “Come on, Cyn. Think of all the business I send you. I’ll be there in fifteen . . . make that thirteen minutes.”

  Cyn hung up without saying good-bye, then saw how dark it was in her office and went around turning on lamps. She’d been working pretty much by the light of her monitor, with only a small desk lamp on. As she clicked switches, she brooded about the fact that Lonnie hadn’t denied he was in trouble. By the time she had gone back to her desk and started working again, the security buzzer was sounding and there was Lonnie, staring into the camera on her security screen and mouthing the words, “Hi Cyn.”

  She was smiling when she hit the intercom. “Come on in, Lonnie.”

  She turned away, pulling open a file drawer and stashing the folders, thinking how Lonnie frequently made her smile. He had an easygoing personality and a knack for making people feel comfortable and welcome, which Cyn figured was why he’d been put in charge of managing the vamps’ personal feedlot down at the beach house. She couldn’t figure out what any of that had to do with her, however.

  “So, what’s up?” she asked without looking as she pulled a notepad out of her desk drawer.

  “Cyn—” Lonnie said uneasily.

  She glanced up, then jumped to her feet, her Glock 17 out of her shoulder holster faster than thought and held before her in a standard two handed grip. Pushing her chair away without looking, she moved as far back as possible, trying to put some distance between herself and the strange vampires now standing in her office. Her finger dropped to the trigger, depressing it just enough to click off the safety.

  “Lonnie, you little shit, you’re dead,” she snarled.

  The first vampire in the doorway had moved slightly so he blocked her view of the guy behind him, but Cyn was more than happy to focus on the one in front; she could only shoot one of them at a time anyway. He was about Cyn’s own six foot height, but outweighed her by a good seventy pounds, most of it muscle. His broad chest and shoulders were encased in an elegant dark suit; his longish blond hair was combed straight back, and very human looking brown eyes watched her out of a handsome but unremarkable face. When he spoke, there was not even a hint of fang. “I’m afraid Lonnie’s already dead, Ms. Leighton,” he said.

  “Funny. I’m not laughing. Who the fuck are you?”

  Blondie didn’t like that. He gave her an unfriendly look, then glanced at Lonnie. “Lonnie,” he snapped.

  “Cyn, for fuck’s sake, put the gun down,” Lonnie rasped. “This is Lord Raphael.” He said the name in a breathless whisper that held as much fear as reverence.

  Cynthia shifted startled eyes to Lonnie, then quickly back to the blond vampire. She’d heard of Raphael. Hell, everybody had heard of Raphael. But she didn’t know anyone who’d ever seen him in person. Not that they admitted, anyway. Raphael was supposedly the big man of the western territories, head of all the vamps on this side of the country. And if that was true, then he was also very old and very powerful.

  “Why?” she croaked, her throat suddenly dry. She kept her eyes on the vampire in her doorway, but lowered the gun. She didn’t want him to see the fear making her hands tremble, and besides if this was Raphael, her little 9mm wouldn’t do shit to h
im anyway.

  The vampire raised his hands in a peaceful gesture. “Don’t blame Lonnie, Ms. Leighton. He had no choice in this, and we mean you no harm in any event. Please,” he gestured at her chair. “Sit down.”

  Cynthia studied him carefully, then with slow movements clicked the safety on and slid her gun back into the shoulder rig. She pushed her chair back to the desk and sat down, keeping her hands free and unencumbered.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” she said.

  He stepped out of the doorway and into her small office, making room for the vampire behind him to enter. Cynthia drew a sharp breath. This guy was even bigger, well over six feet, maybe six-three or four. He had short black hair and dark, dark eyes, with a soft-looking, sensuous mouth and the sharp lines and high cheekbones of a male model. His size made her think bodyguard, but his was more the hard strength of someone who worked for a living. He was studying her intently and she found herself reluctant to turn her attention away from him, some instinct warning her against letting this one out of her sight.

  It was an effort to ignore him and focus on the blond vampire now seating himself in front of her desk. “Ms. Leighton, thank you for seeing us,” he said.

  There was something about his voice, or was it his manner, that struck Cynthia as odd. She couldn’t pick out exactly what it was, but it chimed delicately against her rusty cop instincts.

  “It’s not like I had a choice,” she reminded him. “Lonnie was a nice touch, though.”

  He nodded an acknowledgment. “I’ve heard good things about you,” he commented. “From Lonnie, and from others.”

  Cynthia tilted her head, puzzled. The earlier chime was now ringing like a cowbell. She studied the blond vampire for the space of a few more seconds, then turned to the dark vampire instead. “If we’re to do business, Lord Raphael, perhaps you should speak to me directly.”