Books 1–4

by Nancy A. Collins

  “You can come with us to the Yucatan,” Sonja said gently. “You can raise your child in peace there.”

  “How can I possibly be a fit father?” he exclaimed. “I’m not even human!”

  “Neither is your child,” she reminded him. “Fell, you don’t have to go through this alone. I’ve been where you are now, and know what you’re feeling. I can teach you how to master your powers and gain control over the darkness inside you. That’s a luxury I never truly had. Although I had some guidance early on, most of what I know I learned the hard way, and I have the autopsy scars to prove it. And I’ll the first to admit that there are still plenty of things about the Real World I don’t know. But I can tell you that the next stage of your development as a dhampire will be dangerous, and if you’re not careful, it will cost you your soul.”

  “You mean I still have one?” he asked in surprise.

  “Like I said at Ghost Trap—you and I are brother and sister. You’re like me—you never died long enough for your soul to leave. The only difference between the two of us was that I was a fluke, while you were deliberately created. I’m not sure how, but Morgan succeeded in altering your genetic structure into that of a vampire’s without killing you. Right now you’re still more human than vampire—that’s how you and Anise were capable of conceiving. But it won’t be long before the vampiric side of your personality will start to emerge. And, believe me; you’re going to need help learning how to control it. There’s no going back to what you were, Fell. Adapt or die. Those are your only choices.”

  “But what about Morgan?” Fell replied. “He’s not going to simply let us waltz away free.”

  “I promised Anise I’d protect her baby from Morgan. There’s only one way I can do that: kill him.”

  There was still enough of the old programming clinging to Fell’s synapses that the very suggestion seemed to shock him. “Is that even possible?” he gasped.

  “As long as Morgan continues to exist, we’ll be constantly looking over our shoulders, waiting for his next move. We won’t be safe and, more importantly, neither will Lethe. It’s got to be done.”

  “When?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  Palmer jumped up, making ‘time-out’ gestures with his hands. “Whoa! Wait a minute! What happens if you end up getting killed instead of Morgan? What happens then?”

  “If I’m not back by dawn, take Fell and Lethe to the airport. You’ll find passports in the bottom of my overnight bag. There are one way tickets to Mérida waiting at the Taca International desk. Once you arrive in Mérida, check into the Smoking Gods Hotel. The manager there is holding an envelope that, essentially, transfers a company called Indigo Imports—and all its assets—over to you. It’s the best I could do on such short notice.”

  “You had this planned all along, didn’t you?” Palmer frowned.

  “I told you I’d take care of things, didn’t I? You were planning on retiring from the detective racket, anyway. Now you can relax and sell stuffed toads dressed like mariachi bands and Day of the Dead tableaux to trendy Manhattan boutiques, just like you always wanted,” she said with a crooked smile.

  “I’m going with you,” Fell announced suddenly.

  “Are you sure about that?” Sonja frowned.

  “The bastard used me! He preyed on my weaknesses and exploited me! If I don’t have the right to kill him, who does? I’ll fight you all over again, if I have to.”

  “Very well,” Sonja sighed in resignation. “He won’t expect us to move against him so quickly. In fact, it’s highly likely he believes I’ve killed you.”

  “What about me?” asked Palmer.

  “Someone has to look after Lethe. Like I said, if you don’t hear from us come dawn, take a cab to the airport and do exactly what I described.” Sonja stepped forward and took Palmer’s hands into her own and gave them a gentle squeeze. “I have to do this, Palmer. You know you can’t stop me from going. But please try to understand why.”

  “I do understand,” he said quietly. “Just try your damndest to come back.”

  “You’re going to do just fine, whether I’m with you or not,” she said reassuringly.

  “I don’t want to do fine without you,” he replied. “I just want you.”

  She smiled then, and it was as if she were sixteen and human again.

  Palmer turned to retrieve Lethe from her father. “I’ll take good care of your little girl,” he said. “Don’t worry; I used to have a kid, myself, a long time ago.”

  Palmer didn’t like the idea of Fell accompanying Sonja to Ghost Trap to attack Morgan. Although he didn’t envy Sonja and Fell their task, part of him wished he could be with them. After all, he’d been in on the case since the beginning, and it was only natural for him to want to be there when it ended—no matter what the outcome. But he had to admit that when it came down to battling powerful six-hundred-year-old vampire lords, his twenty-five years of street-smarts as a P.I. weren’t much use.

  He carefully returned Lethe to her makeshift bassinette and began packing his suitcase. He was astonished by how easily the golden-eyed infant seemed to override his usual ambivalence toward small children. Sonja was right, though. Lethe was their biggest concern. Since she was unable to protect herself, it was up to him, should the others fail, to make sure she didn’t fall into Morgan’s hands.

  Suddenly there came a knock on the door, interrupting his train of thought. Palmer frowned; it couldn’t possibly be Maid service, not at this hour. There was second knock, this one heavy enough to rattle the doorjamb. Palmer took his backup gun, a Luger, out of its case and quickly checked the breech.

  “Who is it?” he barked.

  The hinges on the door bulged inward in answer, followed by the sound of metal and wood splintering. The hotel room door flew open, hanging from its hinges like a broken wing.

  The ogre had to duck his head in order to enter the room. Dressed in a trench coat over a black turtleneck sweater and corduroy jeans, Kief could almost pass for linebacker out on the town, save for his jutting tusks.

  “Pangloss say you come now,” the ogre rumbled, emitting a rank odor of bull-ape aggression that made Palmer’s testes crawl.

  “But he promised to leave me alone!” Palmer explained. “I’m Sonja’s Renfield now!”

  The ogre chuckled, exposing a mouthful of yellow, serrated teeth. “She leave. Gone to play with Morgan. She not coming back. Pangloss say he got dibs.”

  “Back off, Kong! I don’t care if the Pope himself wants an audience!” Palmer said as he pointed the Luger at the ogre. “I’m not going anywhere with you!”

  Kief growled his indifference and continued to advance. Palmer fired the Luger, only to have the bullet struck the thick ridge of the ogre’s brow and slide across his bald pate like a pad of butter on a hot skillet. Except for a thin red line bisecting his skull, Kief showed no ill effect from being shot in the head at what amounted to point-blank range.

  “That sting,” the ogre grunted, cuffing Palmer with the back of his hand.

  It was like meeting the business end of a weighted Louisville Slugger. Palmer sailed across the room, landing on a small table in the corner that collapsed under his weight. Palmer struggled to sit up, his vision swimming from the blow. He cringed at the sight of the ogre lumbering towards him, displaying a fearsome shark’s grin. Then, to his amazement, the giant came to an abrupt halt.

  Kief tilted his head and sniffed the air with wide, gorilla-like nostrils. He beamed an idiotic smile, a rope of thick saliva dangling from his lower jaw. “I smell baby.” A gray, forked tongue snapped out of the ogre’s gaping mouth, licking his cracked lips. His eyes narrowed as he regarded Palmer. “You got baby around here?”

  “No! I mean, of course not!” Palmer replied anxiously. “What would I be doing with a baby? You must be smelling the Joneses down the hall. They’ve got plenty of babies—at least three or four! Nice big, fat juicy babies. But there are no babies in here though!”

&nb
sp; The ogre narrowed his eyes further, unconvinced. “Baby smell strong.” He snuffled again, casting for scent like a bloodhound. “Real strong!”

  And then Lethe began to cry.

  The ogre grinned in triumph. “You do got baby!”

  “Leave her alone, damn you!” Palmer shouted.

  But it was too late. Kief was already turning towards the dresser, attracted by the infant’s thin, kitten-like wail. Palmer pulled himself to his feet and launched himself after the ogre, trying to ignore the pain in his head. To his horror, he saw the ogre pick up the crying baby, dangling her by her ankles like a live chicken.

  “I’ll go peacefully if you just leave her alone!” he promised, but the ogre didn’t seem to hear him.

  “Yum-yum! Babies good eatin’!” Kief intoned as he tilted back his head and dropped his jaw, lowering the frightened infant into his gaping maw.

  Suddenly Palmer smells copal burning and he is back in the jungle. He is walking along the narrow path that runs from his people’s village to the natural spring that provides them with their drinking and cooking water. His young son, Tohil, is several lengths ahead of him. Tohil laughs and tosses rocks and sticks at the monkeys and birds in the nearby trees. He turns to wave at Palmer with his small six-fingered hand. Palmer envies the boy his spirit and energy. He has no doubt that Tohil will grow up to be a fine ballplayer some day. Before he finishes the thought, the green parts and jaguar leaps from its hiding place and grabs the boy. Palmer sees the big cat’s sharp fangs sink into his son’s shoulder, the blood leap from his son’s skin. Palmer hurls his spear at the great cat, but it is deflected by a branch. Tohil screams his father’s name as he is pulled from the path into the jungle. Palmer runs to where the jaguar ambushed his only son, but all he finds are bloodstains, bright as rubies, splashed across the broad leaves. The men from the village search for Tohil the rest of the day, but the boy is never seen again.

  “No!” Palmer screamed as he seized the grief and rage pulsing through his psyche and channeled it outward. It was as if he’d suddenly discovered a third arm, invisible to him until that moment, that allowed him to reach out and squeeze the ogre’s skull moments before he dropped Lethe, headfirst, into his razor-toothed mouth.

  Kief grunted as if stricken by a bad attack of gas, and then staggered drunkenly, thick black blood trickling from its nostrils and ears. The ogre gave a bullfrog-like croak and let go of the squalling baby, dropping it onto the nearby bed. Kief pointed a trembling, accusatory finger at Palmer and took an unsteady step in the detective’s direction.

  “You...”

  Palmer squeezed again, and this time pink fluid seeped from around the ogre’s eyes and a froth of blood and mucus began to drip from his mouth. Palmer took a step away from the advancing child-eater.

  “Did... this...”

  Jesus, what does it take to kill one of these bastards, he grimaced to himself, a direct nuclear strike?

  Just then Kief finally collapsed onto the floor, his brains, reduced to a jellied consommé, seeping from his eyes and ears.

  Palmer stepped over the fallen giant and scooped up the crying child. The minute he picked her up, her wails died down to whimpers.

  “There, there, bad monster’s gone now,” he said soothingly.

  However, he knew better than to believe his own reassurances. If Pangloss was still looking to claim him for his own, the old vampire was sure to send other operatives once Kief didn’t return with the goods. They couldn’t remain at the motel, that much was certain. Even if the management was willing to overlook the baby they returned with after their trip to wine country, he doubted they were willing to ignore gunshots and undeniably dead giant motherfucker.

  Palmer reclaimed his Luger, wrapped Lethe as warmly as he could and put on his coat. He had no other choice now but to take a cab out to the airport, sans baggage, and wait things out there.

  With Lethe tucked hidden from sight inside is raincoat, Palmer hurried to the stairwell just as the elevator down the hall pinged open. He didn’t look to see who—or what—got out. Four flights later, he strolled through the lobby, trying his best to look nonchalant while gasping for breath like a landed trout. The aged clerk manning the registration desk glanced up from a Cantonese newspaper, shrugged, and resumed his reading.

  Once outside, the panic Palmer hurried through the shadowy streets in search of a taxi, only to find them deserted. Without realizing it, he turned a corner and found himself standing in a narrow alley papered with peeling movie posters. His heart was beating way too fast and his breathing sounded ragged. He wanted a smoke real bad, but he’d left his cigarettes back at the hotel room. Behind him, a bottle skittered across pavement and broke.

  He turned to find several figures blocking the entrance to the alley, huddled together like mounds of ambulatory garbage. Palmer’s fear drained as he realized he was simply looking at street people and not Pangloss’s hirelings. Lethe stirred against him and gave out a kittenish mew.

  A man dressed in filthy castoffs with newspapers swaddling his feet shuffled forward. To Palmer’s surprise, the vagrant responded to Lethe’s call with a slightly deeper mewl of his own. The others grouped behind him grew excited and muttered amongst themselves. Palmer took a tentative step forward.

  “Uh, look, I know this sounds weird, but can anyone here tell me where I am?”

  An old woman, her hair the color and consistency of a dirty string mop, sidled towards him. She wore several layers of sweaters over a dingy, printed housedress. She smiled, displaying bare gums and golden pupil-less eyes that glowed in the dark.

  Palmer jumped back in alarm from the old woman, his skin tingling as if he’d just received a mild electric shock. Although he’d never really seen them, he knew these creatures were what Sonja had called seraphim.

  The seraph with its feet wrapped in newspapers made a reassuring hand gesture, then spoke in a rushed mixture of crystal chimes, bird song, silver bells and crashing surf. The beauty of its language brought tears to Palmer’s eyes. And even though he could not make out a single word, he understood perfectly.

  Nodding his assent, he held Lethe so the assembled seraphim could see her. They once again grew excited and crowded in closer so that they could touch her tender baby flesh with their callused, dirty hands. Lethe did not seem to mind and responded to their strange, ethereal language with her own, babyish version.

  The sweater woman made a sound like a dolphin and began spinning in place, like a bedraggled whirling dervish. Within seconds the others joined in her dance. Palmer watched in dumb fascination as blue-white sparks leapt from the twirling seraphim, streaming from their outstretched hands and hair. Within seconds the ragged street people had been transformed into luminous dust devils. Palmer was so dazzled by the beauty of what was happening he was unprepared when one of the light-beings danced forward and plucked Lethe from his hands.

  “Hey! Give me back my baby!” he shouted.

  Lethe giggled joyously as she was lifted high into the air on a pillow of colored lights, surrounded by a cadre of rainbow-colored whirlwinds. One of the seraphim paused long enough to twine itself about his shoulders, whispering to Palmer in its strange non-language. He need not fear for the child. She would be returned to him when it was safe to do so. Palmer tried to snare the bright intelligence with his own mind, but it was like trying to trap quicksilver in his bare hands. The seraph eeled its way free of his grasp, more amused than insulted by such a clumsy attempt at interrogation.

  Lethe bobbed in the night air, smiling down at Palmer like an infant saint taken up by angels. Within moments she had drifted away from view, like a balloon caught in a jet stream. Palmer knew he had nothing to fear from the seraphim. If anything, Lethe was far safer with them than she ever could be with him.

  Now he was free to follow Sonja. Provided he could find ready transportation. As he exited the alley he scooped up a loose brick, hefting it experimentally. He hadn’t boosted a car without his tools since Nirvana�
��s final tour.

  The Tiger’s Cage

  Thou who, abruptly as a knife,

  Didst come into my heart; thou who

  A demon horde into my life

  Didst enter, wildly dancing, through

  The doorways of my sense unlatched

  To make my spirit thy domain.

  —Baudelaire, The Vampire

  Chapter Nineteen

  Fell sat in the passenger seat, staring out the window at the countryside racing by as they sped back towards the Sonoma Valley. In his tattered denims and loose-fitting shirt, he could almost pass for a college boy, provided you ignored the dried blood and his missing ear.

  “I’m sorry I had to fuck you up like that, kid,” Sonja said.

  Fell blinked, started from wherever his thoughts had taken him. “Don’t worry about it. I understand what you were trying to do.” His hand strayed to where his ear had been. “Besides, it’ll all grow back, won’t it?”

  “In time,” she replied. “Your regenerative powers at this stage are still fairly weak, though. Give it a couple of days, maybe a week, and you’ll be good as new.”

  Fell grunted and glanced at his warped reflection in the windshield. “What about my eyes? When will my eyes end up like yours?”

  Sonja shrugged, trying to pretend it didn’t matter. “Hard to say. It took several years for mine to mutate. Perhaps yours never will. Maybe it’s different with different people. Who knows?” Sonja cleared her throat. “Both Anise and one of the Renfields mentioned someone called Dr. Howell. Who is he? Another vampire?”

  Fell balled his fists. “No, he’s human.”

  “Is he a Renfield?”

  “Hell, no! Howell openly loathes the Renfields,” he said with a snort. “I guess you could call him a ‘normal’ human. He’s Morgan’s pet mad scientist, although they don’t seem to get along too well. I think I remember him saying something about having been kidnapped.”