Familiar with most of the reported Sasquatch sightings and the evidence—generally tenuous—of the creature’s existence, Britt didn’t concentrate very hard on the discussion. Professor Greer played the role of tolerant skeptic and genial debunker in counterpoint to the more credulous stance of the other panel members. Someone in the audience brought up the case of a man who had claimed the entire Bigfoot phenomenon was a hoax based on evidence he and his friends had fabricated. That topic led to an acrimonious shouting match, until Eloise diverted the group to speculation about whether Bigfoot, if real, should be classified as human and what rights he would be entitled to. Somehow the conversation meandered onto the intelligence of dolphins and the ethics of rumored Navy experiments on them. Eloise, Britt was glad to note, abandoned her apathy and gleefully plunged into this impersonal argument.
At the end of the session, Britt wormed her way up to the table, as she and Eloise had planned. Meanwhile Eloise hovered next to Professor Greer to forestall any escape he might try. “Adam, I have a friend who wanted to meet you,” she said as soon as Britt came within speaking range. “She’s had some stuff in the Journal of Popular Culture, too. Dr. Britt Loren, Dr. Adam Greer.”
Shaking hands with the professor, Britt didn’t see any flicker of recognition in his eyes. He wore a tweed jacket with no tie, studiedly casual. She thought she noticed red streaks above the unbuttoned shirt collar. “I was intrigued by your article last year on UFO abductees,” she said.
“Yeah? Thanks, it’s always a thrill to hear somebody actually reads the stuff.”
Britt laughed. “I know exactly what you mean. The most we can usually hope for is to be cited in a footnote or two.”
Side by side they drifted toward the door. “Your name rings a bell,” said Greer. “I know—didn’t you publish a thing on archetypal patterns in Anne Rice’s books? Perceptive. You don’t get a fresh viewpoint on vampirism too often. All the same old Freudian oral-sadistic readings, until you could scream.”
Too bad this guy was a kidnapper; Britt felt that in different circumstances she could get to like him. “Do you have time to talk? I didn’t have anything planned for the next hour.”
“Sure, I’d like that.” He checked his watch. “I’m free for a while.” As they walked down the hall, Britt sneaked a closer look at her companion. Her first impression hadn’t been wrong—he did have scratches on the side of his neck. Fresh ones. Her incipient pleasure in his company went sour. “What are you a doctor of?” he asked.
“M.D. Psychiatrist. What about you?”
“Ph.D. Sociologist. College professor.” He paused to turn toward her with a nervous laugh. “Okay if we call each other Adam and Britt?”
Good, he’s attracted to me. I can use that. She felt Roger in the back of her mind bristling at the thought. She ordered him to calm down and quit distracting her. “Would you like to come up to my room, Adam? That way, we can hear ourselves think.”
Greer glanced at a swarm of Klingons who marched down the center of the hall singing ‘Banned from Argo.’ “Anything would have to be a major improvement over right here,” he said. Britt’s worry that he might perceive her as too forward was quickly dispelled. “Sounds fine, lead the way.”
In the elevator, Greer leaned against the back wall, hands in his pockets. Britt wondered how much his loose-jointed relaxation owed to chemical influence. When they’d shaken hands, she had caught a whiff of alcohol on his breath. “You know, Adam, I got the impression that you were exaggerating your skepticism about Bigfoot just a wee bit.” By discussing questions of belief, she hoped to nudge him toward the topic of vampires.
“Every panel needs a devil’s advocate, and listening to the rest of them, I figured I was elected. Off the record, I wouldn’t rule out a clan of gigantopithecines surviving in some relatively unexplored corner of the world.”
“People don’t realize just how much of our planet, even nowadays, has only been mapped from the air.” Britt led the way from the elevator to the room she and Roger had rented for the night.
“Yeah, there’s a lot of woods out there.” Inside the tweed jacket, no doubt chosen for professorial effect, his bony shoulders lifted in a shrug. “But what do I know? I don’t specialize in prehistoric man.” He smiled an apology behind the neatly-trimmed beard. “Excuse me, prehistoric hominids.”
“Drink?” said Britt. At her suggestion Roger had provided a bottle of sherry, which she held up for Greer’s inspection. When he nodded acceptance, she poured each of them a glass. She waved the professor to one of the twin chairs, glad neither of them had to sit on the bed. That might indeed give the wrong impression, and while she was certain she could handle a seduction ploy, she didn’t want to be sidetracked.
Lounging in his seat, Greer imbibed a large swallow of the sherry. Encouraged by this further evidence that his guard was down, Britt pulled her chair around the coffee table to sit a foot or two from him, at an angle where she could meet his eyes. She took a minimum sip of her drink. “So you suspend judgment on the paranormal?”
“Depends how paranormal you’re talking. All those UFO stories, for example, sound like science fiction written by people who’ve never read any.”
Britt leaned forward, chin resting on her hand. In her other hand she held the chain of her pendant, which she idly twirled. The teardrop emerald sparkled in the light from the overhead hanging lamp. She’d left it at the dimmest setting and turned off all the other lights in the room to create a circle of illumination in which to work. “And the other stuff? Ancient astronauts? Feral children? Poltergeists?”
“I’m more interested in how people react to the phenomena than in whether they’re real or not. People who read the tabloids and actually believe Noah’s Ark ran aground on Mount Shasta.” He stifled a yawn.
Did he stay awake all night with Gillian? I hope she wore him down good and proper! “But you must have some opinion yourself—off the record, as it were. Ever seen anything you thought qualified as supernatural?”
He paused for a second in lifting his glass. Drawing strength from Roger, who watched through her eyes, Britt brushed her fingertips over the back of Greer’s free hand. She felt the tension melt from him as he drained his sherry. When he set the glass down, she unobtrusively filled it. “Can’t say that I have,” he said. “Not unambiguously.”
“Drink up,” she said, modulating her voice nearly to a croon. “Relax, you must have had a hard week, driving up from Williamsburg in the snow. Time to take it easy.” She increased the rate of the emerald’s spin. While she couldn’t order him to watch its motion, a crude approach that would alert him to her attempted hypnosis, the sparkle of the gem automatically drew his eyes. His lids drooped. “That’s right, you feel better already. Have a nice drink.” He obeyed. When he’d half emptied the glass, she said, “Now put it down and let your hands go limp on your knees. I’ll bet they’re cramped from driving. Now breathe deeply, expel the tension left over from the panel. Good, isn’t that relaxing?” His slow, even respiration rewarded her efforts. She felt Roger’s silent applause. “Adam, in the last few days you came across something that looked supernatural, didn’t you?”
He answered with a drowsy nod, marred by tense creases in his forehead.
“That’s all right, stay calm, you can tell me about it. I’m a fellow professional. You can tell me anything.” Greer’s frown smoothed away. “Tell me, Adam, how long have you been interested in vampires?” She thought a “have you stopped beating your wife” question would stir less resistance than a yes-or-no query.
“I never was, before. The subject was too much of the same old thing over and over.”
“But now you are. What did you see?”
“A girl with wings.” He shifted his feet, and his fingers clenched on his thighs.
“Very interesting.” Britt stroked each of his hands in turn until they relaxed. “Don’t worry, I believe you. It’s perfectly safe for you to tell me this. What did you do about it?”<
br />
“I wanted to talk to her.”
“Why? To write an article?”
“Maybe a book. Incredible. She changed shape. And her eyes glowed red.” He gave Britt a misty stare. “Do you believe me?”
“Of course I do. What did you do with this girl?”
“Took pictures. They didn’t come out—mind control. How can I make people believe what I saw?” He breathed slowly through his mouth, his words becoming slurred. “Why’s she afraid? Won’t hurt her, just wanta talk. She hurt me—dangerous beast.”
“You have her hidden somewhere?”
“Right. In a cabin. She can’t escape—I’m careful.”
“Tell me about this cabin.” Britt softened her tone still more to counteract the urge to scream at and shake him.
“Campground, less’n an hour away. Nobody’s renting cabins week before Christmas. Perfectly safe.”
“Tell me where. How do you get there? What freeway exit?”
“It’s in Prince George’s County. Y’take ninety-five east from here—” With an occasional prod from Britt, he recited the route.
Britt thanked the Lord she was dealing with ordinary human senses. If Greer had been able to hear her heartbeat, its triumphant spiking would have penetrated even his alcohol- and hypnosis-induced fog. [Did you get all that, colleague?]
[Certainly. I’m not asleep down here.]
For a moment, Britt debated whether to give Greer a post-hypnotic suggestion to release his captive. She decided not to push her luck. Even a vampire’s power of compulsion, let alone her merely human skills, might fail against Greer’s obsessive drive to unearth Gillian’s secrets. “Adam, it’s getting late, and you’re tired. You’d better go rest now.”
He fumbled the cuff of his jacket up to reveal his watch. “Yeah, there’s somebody I’m supposed to meet.”
“Good, you do that.” She let go the pendant to dangle on her bosom. “You’ve enjoyed our little talk, and you feel relaxed and pleasantly drowsy. But you can’t quite remember what we talked about. It was nothing important. By the time you get out in the hall, you’ll forget everything we said. By the time you punch the elevator button, you won’t remember anything except that we drank sherry, and you had a pleasant time, but you don’t especially want to see me again. Got that?”
He nodded.
“Fine, you can leave now.”
Greer stood up. “Well, I’d better be going. Been a long day. Thanks for the drink. I had a pleasant time.”
Smiling at this parroting of her suggestion, Britt shook hands with him and walked him to the door. She lingered to watch him shamble to the elevator and push the Down button.
Roger, his mental voice vibrating with excitement, told her, [If you can do it without being noticed, follow him. I’d like to be sure he’s safely occupied before we go after Gillian.]
[We?]
[Claude insisted on coming with me, remember? I suppose he has the right, considering Greer almost killed him.]
Britt caught the next elevator down to the lobby. She emerged just in time to see Greer exiting through the main plate glass doors. Following him at a discreet distance, she hunched her shoulders against the cold night air. Why hadn’t she delayed an extra thirty seconds to snatch up her coat? For that matter, why was Adam Greer running around coatless on a sub-freezing night?
[At least this probably means he’s not taking off to check on Gillian,] Britt speculated to Roger. [He mentioned meeting somebody. Most likely he’ll intercept whoever it is in the parking lot and bring them inside.]
Shivering, Britt crept along the side of the building, both to minimize the chance of being seen and to get a slight shelter from the breeze. The parking lot lights showed Greer walking down the middle lane. A woman emerged from the driver’s side of a dark sedan and strode toward him. Britt caught a flash of crimson from the woman’s eyes. The average observer would have mentally edited that anomaly and dismissed it. Britt, with her specialized experience, noted and understood.
[Roger, he’s meeting a vampire.]
[So I see. I wish you had my night vision, colleague.] Since he was limited to seeing through Britt’s senses, he couldn’t gather the information he could if he’d been present in the flesh.
[Shall I get closer to them?]
[No, she might notice you. Certainly would, if you approached close enough for her to hear how fast your heart’s probably beating.]
For a couple of minutes Greer and the female vampire stood in the middle of the parking lot talking. Britt deduced that fact from their attentive posture and Greer’s arm-waving. At this distance, she couldn’t hear more than an undifferentiated murmur, almost submerged under the traffic noise from the adjacent highway. Folding her arms against the cold, Britt watched the woman take Greer’s arm. They strolled to another car, a pale-colored compact, and sat down. Since it happened to be parked under a light, Britt could see the silhouettes of the two occupants even after they closed the door. Greer’s head lolled against the window on the driver’s side, and the woman moved close to him, embracing.
[Somehow, I don’t think they’re just kissing,] Britt remarked.
[He is occupied,] said Roger, [which is the important thing from our viewpoint.]
Huddled against the wall under the eaves, Britt watched the car for about five increasingly cold minutes. The windows quickly fogged, depriving the scene of whatever limited interest it may have held. At the end of that time the compact’s engine roared to life, and the couple drove off the hotel grounds together.
Britt gratefully retreated into the lobby, where Roger met her. “Excellent job, colleague.” He rested a hand lightly between her shoulder blades, a rare liberty in public. “This is where I take over. I’ll collect Claude, and you get some rest, or join Eloise for—whatever one does at these affairs.” He waved vaguely in the direction of the ballroom.
Britt felt his relief that her part in the quest was finished. “Not fair, cutting me out of the rescue mission,” she teased.
“We already agreed on that. We wouldn’t want the slightest chance of his discovering that you tricked him, would we?”
“Agreed. Not that there is any. The lady in search of a liquor-flavored snack came along just in time, didn’t she?”
“A little too opportunely.” Roger steered Britt out of the main traffic pattern. “Too bad we couldn’t get a closer look at her. At any rate, she did get the man out of our way.”
Britt lowered herself into a damask-covered armchair beside a potted palm. “Right, why count your gift horses before they hatch?” After a pair of blue-haired angels passing nearby had moved out of earshot, she said, “At the risk of sounding like Miss Kitty, for heaven’s sake, be careful.”
“When am I not?”
“By yourself, sure. But you’re taking Claude along.” Britt’s stomach twisted at the memory of Claude’s gunshot wound. “He has a motive to act a bit more recklessly.”
Chapter Nine
HAVING PROMISED TO let Claude join him on any “rescue mission” for Gillian, Roger now regretted that promise. Teaming with his brother meant an annoying delay. He had to return to the ballroom, where Claude and Eloise were winding up their last set of the night in preparation for the main event, a band called Mock Turtle Soup. Lurking at the edge of the audience, Roger caught Claude’s eye. No words were necessary to telegraph the reason behind Roger’s impatience.
Claude made a hasty farewell to the audience, left Eloise to a more leisurely departure, and strode down the side aisle to Roger. “Britt got some answers out of him?” said Claude as they hurried through the hall, dodging streams of other pedestrians with preoccupied ease.
“He told her where Gillian is being held. Less than an hour’s drive.”
“We should take my rental car. Your gas-guzzler is too conspicuous.” When the elevator didn’t respond instantly to Claude’s emphatic jab of the button, he led the way to the stairs. “First I have to shed this outfit. I’d rather not have my dep
arture noticed. I never know when some idiot fan might decide to follow me for a lark.”
Roger paced while Claude flung off the cape and changed the ruffled white shirt for a more conventional plaid sport shirt. While waiting he told Claude about the woman Britt had seen with Greer.
“Could it have been Camille?” Claude tossed his car keys to Roger. “You may as well drive—your territory. You didn’t get a firsthand look at this woman?”
Roger shook his head. “Only what Britt was able to distinguish. Tall and dark, which aren’t much help.”
“Stretches coincidence to think another female vampire just happened on the scene tonight. But how did she know you’d be here, do you suppose?”
“Followed me from home, perhaps?” The idea gave Roger a chill. He thanked God he’d carefully avoided being seen with Britt in public. If Greer’s companion was Camille, she mustn’t learn of Britt’s importance to Roger.
Leaving Claude’s room, both men made themselves unnoticeable. Not quite a veil of invisibility, but a more tenuous psychic shield that would cause any observers to dismiss them as unimportant. Now that Claude had discarded his trademark costume, he could manage that deceit. “Tell me, Roger,” he said, “if it is Camille, do you seriously believe that she just happened to be cruising for dinner and picked your professorial acquaintance by sheer chance?”
“Not for a minute.”
Claude waited until they were in the car before he said, “Nor do I. fancy she was watching your house. How else could she know Greer has a connection with you?”
“If she saw him enter and leave,” Roger speculated, “maybe she thinks he has useful information about me, and she enticed him in order to question him.” And in that case , he thought, it could be Greer she followed to the hotel, not me. If she followed me, she’d have noticed Britt, too. He kept that thought to himself, as if speaking it aloud would invoke misfortune.
After they were well launched onto the beltway, Claude broke his gloomy silence. “If Greer turns up while we’re liberating Gillian, he’s mine.”
Child of Twilight Page 19
