The folks responsible for receiving the incoming packages were long gone by the time Tory arrived, and she’d be long gone by the time they showed up again. As with everything else in her life, she was alone in this. She’d have to solve the mystery another way.
Her mind whirling, she sat and turned to her computer. First things first. She e-mailed the entire staff asking for any information about the mysterious package. By the time she returned tomorrow, she might have an answer. Somebody had to know something, right?
The mass e-mail done, she returned her attention to the book. Not only was it a mystery how the book came to be here, so was its provenance. This was not a cheap volume. She knew her books well, and this one would fetch close to or even more than a hundred thousand dollars in a rare-book auction. She also knew all the collectors and who had what. That had been her job for a very long while. If this book had been in the hands of a serious collector any time during the last two hundred years, she would know. So, who’d sent it to her?
And why?
*
How he liked this city. It possessed a totally different flavor than New York or Paris or Rio. Oh, he liked those places a great deal too, but the good old District of Columbia, it was a completely distinct beast and loads of unbeatable fun. The trail that brought him here had been long and full of twists and turns. When he’d begun his journey he’d believed it would be a short one. The complications of it surprised him, but the sheer adventure of it was exciting. The end would be that much more thrilling.
Streetlights sent butter-yellow light to cut through black night, while clouds covered the stars, making it a perfect setting for tonight’s masquerade. No one paid too much attention to him as he sauntered the streets in his Goth ensemble. It was so intoxicating. Here he was a vampire pretending to be a Goth pretending to be a vampire, and everyone bought into the charade. The irony was simply delicious.
So were the people. He’d just left Ruben, a tall, well-muscled black man, back in the alley behind a brick apartment complex. Ruben was a real looker who turned out to be a bit of a fighter too. No doubt he could have been a great deal of fun if he’d been so inclined. Unfortunately he’d not had the time to indulge in foreplay, so to speak. First, he’d had to deal with dinner, and Ruben was handy.
But he was still hungry. He’d picked Ruben because of his size and thought he’d be a full-meal deal. Didn’t work, his hunger still gnawed at him, sending an edge of tension zinging along every nerve. Long trips had a way of doing that to him, and though Ruben was a fine first course, no meal was complete without dessert.
Leaning against a tree on the Mall, he wasn’t surprised when a man walked up and said, “Hi.” Confident. Assertive. Not someone making idle conversation.
Giving the guy a once-over, he licked his lips and all thoughts about big old Ruben disappeared. “Hi.” Dessert had just been delivered to the table.
“What’s your name?”
The lie rolled easily from his lips. “You can call me Vlad.” He smiled, but only a little. Didn’t want his fangs to frighten away his final course.
“As in Dracula?” The guy smiled back with perfect white teeth. Some dentist had made a load of money off him.
“Definitely.” The fictional character wasn’t where he’d drawn the name from. No, he liked the real guy, the Vlad Dracula who’d impaled his enemies on wooden stakes and dipped his bread in their blood. The man had possessed the kind of style he admired.
“I’m Warren.” He stuck out his hand. On his right pinkie he wore a sterling-silver ring with an intricate design. Good thing he wasn’t a werewolf. It was a nice bit of bling. He might have to keep it. Warren wouldn’t need it much longer.
Warren wasn’t quite as bulky as Ruben, though it was clear he did some work in the muscle department. He was maybe thirty, with dark hair long enough to curl over the collar of his charcoal-gray suit. Not a bad suit. Looked custom-cut and designed to flatter his physique. The shoes were none too shabby either. Made him wonder what he might have in his wallet. He wasn’t a thief, but it didn’t make much sense to leave perfectly good jewelry or cash lying around for just anyone to pick up. Waste not, want not.
“What’s up, Warren?” Vlad winked.
Warren’s smile widened, his teeth so straight and pearly they almost glowed in the dark. “My cock, how about you?”
Ah, how easy the humans made this game. It didn’t matter what century it was; they never really changed much. He’d met many Warrens in his time—guys who walked the straight and narrow when under public scrutiny, pretending they were so much better than everyone else. Yet, when the lights went out and they knew no one was watching, they were all about doing the nasty with another man. In crappy hotel rooms, in dark alleys, in the backseat of cars—it didn’t matter as long as they got off. He’d heard it. He’d seen it. He’d lived it.
Even a vampire had his dirty little secrets.
“Could be.” Vlad hedged, one eyebrow raised.
“So, Vlad, you want to go somewhere and grab a drink?”
“You have a place in mind?”
Warren held a hotel keycard out. The silver ring sparkled in the glow of a nearby streetlight. “I sure do.”
Vlad stood up and straightened his long black leather coat. “Lead the way.”
*
This time of the day, or rather the night, was always her favorite. Something about the shadows as they danced on the walls never failed to make her smile. Probably all the years of working while most slept blissfully unaware in their beds. Or maybe it was because she shared an affinity for the night with those born to it. Some people would say it was creepy. She thought it was inspiring.
Inside the huge church, tranquility reigned, and for Naomi Rand it provided a time to seek harmony with her God. She could kneel at the altar and allow her spirit to soar free in a way she couldn’t when others were around. Despite knowing it could never be, she continued to hope one day God would grant her forgiveness and take away the burden weighing heavy on her shoulders.
But the dream had no chance of being fulfilled. Even someone irrefutably damned could hold on to hope. It kept her going even when she knew better.
From the first night the church allowed her to begin midnight services, she’d been here for every one of them. At one time she’d flirted with the thought of becoming a full-fledged member of the clergy, though only for a little while. It didn’t take her long to realize she was more suited to a different calling in the church rather than as a bona fide ordained pastor.
The church was very open and encouraging to all, including those whose place was in darkness. In fact, it was those very souls to whom they were reaching out to now with the midnight services. Still, even as accepting as the church was, she couldn’t in good faith close the gap between her calling and the path of the clergy. She had cast her lot a long time ago, and trying to pretend otherwise couldn’t change who and what she was. She had to be content with where she was right now. It was—had to be—enough.
Twice a week, the cathedral was all hers for about an hour. Well, that wasn’t technically correct. True, she was the first one here each week to open up and prepare for the midnight service, but she wasn’t completely alone. Armed guards were on duty twenty-four seven, though for this service, they didn’t exactly provide protection. For most of the congregation during this very special hour of worship, the guards were little more than window dressing. The impressive sidearms the guards carried would stop few who came to pray with her. And while that might concern the guards, it didn’t worry her. She left her fate in God’s hands and would accept whatever came her way, good or bad.
Her footsteps echoed softly in the nave as she walked toward the altar. At one station, she stopped, said a quick prayer, and lit a candle in one of the red votive cups. The gesture didn’t change what she’d once done, but it made her feel better, which was the best she could ask for.
At the altar, she dropped to her knees and bowed her head. Her
sins were many and forgiveness elusive, not just for her actions but for the thing in her heart that led her to do all that she’d done. No single action had pushed her beyond redemption, though her final act was unforgivable. Nightmares continued to haunt her sleep, and she often awoke to the sound of her own screams.
From the direction of the huge entry doors, footsteps were soft, almost silent. Almost. She finished her prayer, rose, and turned to see who had arrived early. Most who attended this service were regulars and she knew them by face, if not by name. She also knew what they were because all understood their secret was safe with her. This was not a place for judgment or discrimination. All were welcome here regardless of who or what they were.
Now, instead of seeing a familiar face, she spotted a lone woman sitting far in the rear, her head down, her hands in her lap. An air of loneliness seemed to surround her like a dark aura. If she was looking for comfort, she’d come to the right place. Naomi did what she could to help those who had to find a way to exist in two very different worlds. Werewolves, witches, psychics, and so many others came because she offered a safe place. This one would find her secrets safe here too, though what she was wasn’t clear from this distance.
When Naomi reached her the woman looked up, the deep intensity of her gaze taking her aback. Lovely, with long auburn hair that fell to her waist, she had dark-brown eyes and full lips. No, lovely wasn’t right. Stunning was more accurate, even with the pale skin.
Vampire.
Briefly, Naomi paused, but not because the woman was a vampire. Very few still existed, as far as she knew, and that made her unique amongst those of Naomi’s congregation. No, the mysterious woman’s identity made her curious. Naomi knew everyone who came to the midnight services, yet she didn’t know this woman.
Logically, that didn’t really mean much. It wasn’t like every preternatural in the city attended the worship services. A great number did, probably an equal number did not. Far too many felt abandoned by God and couldn’t bring themselves to step inside. She just tried to be here for whoever, whenever, and liked to think she had a pretty good feel for the preternatural community. Once she’d sought to destroy them. Now she tried to save them.
“Welcome.” She reached out. “I’m Naomi Rand.”
For a long moment, the woman studied her outstretched hand almost as if she’d never seen one before. She finally looked up and said, “Good evening, Bishop Rand.” Her hands stayed in her lap.
Naomi wasn’t offended. People came to the church for a host of different reasons, most of which were intensely private. She never pushed to uncover those reasons. She wasn’t that big a hypocrite.
With a smile Naomi told her, “It’s simply Rand, no Bishop. But please, call me Naomi. Everyone does.” She didn’t stand on formalities and, more important, never wanted to misrepresent her place in the church. In a hundred years, she’d never be clean enough to approach the role of bishop. This quasi-role was enough.
A single eyebrow arched. “My apologies, Ms. Rand.”
Well, she knew a line drawn in the sand when she saw it…or rather, in this case, when she heard it. The stranger didn’t want to be friends. Everything about the woman screamed back off, bitch. So she did. It wasn’t wise to push humans when they weren’t ready for the offered solace of the church. Pushing a preternatural? That was just plain stupid.
“I hope you enjoy the service.” Maybe once the woman experienced the inclusiveness of the services she provided for her special congregation, she would understand that here they were all friends.
She wanted to ask about the book that lay in her lap beneath her small, folded hands, though she instinctively knew it wasn’t a topic for discussion. It was a very old Bible that looked suspiciously like a few in the exhibits here at the church. Valuable items like historical Bibles were housed in alarmed cases, and to date they’d had no issues. Even so, that didn’t mean someone wasn’t capable of bypassing security, particularly if that someone possessed preternatural abilities.
“I’m sure I will.”
Dismissed by both word and a turn of her head, Naomi left the woman sitting alone and continued her preparations for the evening’s worship service. As she walked back toward the pulpit, she heard the front doors open and footsteps on the stone floor. She didn’t have to turn around this time to know who’d come in; she recognized the heavy step of a regular. She didn’t think much more about the mysterious woman until the service was over, and by then, she was gone and so was the Bible.
Chapter Three
Her feet seemed to have a mind of their own. Only an hour after she’d arrived at the library, Tory had left her office and hopped on the Metro. The next thing she’d known, she was getting off at the Woodley Park station and, thirty minutes after that, climbing the steps of the National Cathedral, where she walked right on through the massive front doors. For the flash of a second, she’d wondered if she would burst into flames. After all, wasn’t she the devil’s child? She’d been called that and much, much worse through the years. But as she stood motionless at the threshold, no flames erupted and no bolts of lightning sliced down through the night sky to destroy her. Thank the Lord for small favors.
Roland had always insisted she was as much a child of God as anyone else, despite what she was. After some time and at his never-wavering insistence in her inherent goodness, she’d finally started to believe him. At least until that night when what she’d done proved him so very wrong. She hadn’t placed so much as a single toe inside a church since. Safer that way.
Why now was the big question roaring through her mind? Why was she compelled to be in a place God didn’t want her? Or anyone else, for that matter. In all truthfulness, she had no place on this planet. This world was for humans, not the likes of her. Sadly, she lacked the courage to end this miserable thing that passed for her life.
Before entering, she’d paused. The exterior doors with the intricate scenes carved in metal had seemed to beckon to her. Even the gargoyles high on the stone walls looked as though they winked and smiled as if to say come on in. Had to be hallucinations. Had to be. Nobody in their right mind would want her to walk through those doors.
Maybe. Even in the face of every instinct screaming at her to turn around and run as far away as possible, she wasn’t able to retreat. Instead, she’d reached out, opened the door, and stepped inside. The draw was as invisible as it was strong. Unbreakable. Sometimes, she just didn’t have the strength to fight.
Inside the cathedral, the soaring ceilings were aglow with light from the pendant fixtures. The air held the suffocating scent of jasmine, probably from the sprays of so many flowers just inside the doors. Candle flames flickered in the tiny red votive cups that lined the exterior walls, and the murmur of a voice floated disembodied through the chapel like a whisper from Hades.
Turning around and running back to the Metro stop would have been her best response. She had no more place in a church tonight than she’d had years ago when Roland had stood at the pulpit. He’d wanted her to feel at home in God’s house, believed she could. Except she simply didn’t belong. Not then, not now. What in the heck was she thinking? Vampires and religion didn’t mix. Period.
When Naomi Rand stopped to talk with her, she’d wanted to scream go away. To hiss and show her fangs. She’d come here hoping she wouldn’t be noticed. She’d wanted to sit in silence in a place that could bring her closer to the spirit of Roland and simply think. If she could capture him anywhere, it would be in a magnificent church like this one. Her grand plan lasted all of about thirty seconds. Certainly, Naomi had the best of intentions. Wasn’t that what the clergy was all about? She didn’t need it and sure as hell didn’t want it. Her not-so-subtle message got through, and Naomi left her to return to her church duties.
The doors opened and closed behind her as one after another trickled into the cathedral. No one spoke, just quietly found their places and sat. Tory’d sensed and smelled the presence of other preternaturals, not just v
ampires. An earthy scent just below the pervasive aroma of jasmine let her know at least one werewolf sat among the small crowd, along with several of a variety she couldn’t quite catch. It was a most unlikely and unexpected blend of worshipers.
Even amongst those of her own kind, she’d been unable to stop the feeling that at any moment God would see her sitting beneath the incredible stained-glass window and destroy her where she sat. Actually, that might not be such a bad thing. After a while, immortality became a burden capable of breaking even the strongest.
Thankfully, the service began, the sounds of music floating beautifully throughout the room. About halfway through, she was able to slip out without causing distraction or attracting notice.
Now, out on the church steps, she paused and gulped in the crisp night air. Her hands were shaking as she clutched the New Testament close to her chest. The smell of the old leather brought tears and a flood of memories. She didn’t want to remember and sure as hell didn’t want to feel emotions she’d managed to keep buried. The numbness she’d wrapped herself in for decades, even centuries, was her safety net. Letting in emotion only complicated her life, and that’s exactly what had gone wrong with Roland. Back in his time, she’d managed to delude herself into thinking it would all work out—a terrible mistake impossible to undo. She’d vowed not to let it happen a second time. With the back of her hand, she wiped away tears that she tried not to let fall. She didn’t need some kindly soul to see her crying like a baby and rush over to offer her comfort. Not only did she not deserve comfort, she didn’t want it.
Back under control, she glanced around to make sure she was alone, then hurried down the steps and took a left toward the gardens. Nobody in their right mind would be in the gardens alone at this time of night, which practically guaranteed peace and quiet.
Scarlet Revenge Page 2
