Books 1–4

by Nancy A. Collins

  “If he’s not a Renfield, and he’s working under duress, what kind of hold does Morgan have over him to make him do his bidding? Is he holding his family hostage?”

  “Doc’s a stone junkie,” Fell smirked, holding up an arm and pantomiming sinking a hypodermic needle into his bent elbow. “He gets all the heroin he can handle. And then some.”

  “And this guy’s a scientist?”

  “That’s what he keeps saying. He claims he’s some kind of hotshot geneticist. Occasionally he would get hopped up and start ranting about how he was our true father. I always thought it was just crazy talk, like we got from the Renfields.”

  “How many Renfields does Morgan have at Ghost Trap?”

  “There were six, plus Nasakenai,” Fell replied. “They avoided us as much as possible.”

  “Is that the Japanese guy I saw at the club?”

  “Yeah, that’s him; he’s Morgan’s top Renfield—the only one he ever called by name.”

  “Well, I took out one at Ghost Trap this afternoon and one at the bar,” Sonja mused, ticking off the kills on the fingers of her right hand. “Anise said she was forced to dispose of one while escaping. That depletes his stables by half. Does he have any mercs on staff?”

  “What?”

  “Mercenaries,” she explained. “You know, muscle for hire. A lot of different Pretender species make their way nowadays by hiring themselves out to vampires like Morgan. I already know he’s got a pyrotic on the payroll. Did you see any ogres? Vargr?”

  “Whozits?” Fell frowned in bafflement.

  “Boy, he really did keep you isolated,” Sonja said, shaking her head,

  Fell’s cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “Anise and I were restricted to a suite of rooms on the ground floor for most of what you would call our ‘lives’. The first month or two we were kept in a sterile environment, with only Morgan and Doc Howell allowed around us. After that, we stayed in our suite, save for when the Renfields escorted us to and from Doc’s laboratory on the second floor.

  “We were only allowed outside once—it was during the day, and we were under heavy supervision by the Renfields. Dr. Howell was there, too—taking notes and doing things like measuring our core body temperature. I guess he was trying to find out if we’d die when exposed to the sun.”

  “Weren’t you even a little bit curious as to what was really going on?”

  Fell’s face reddened even further. “Not really. That’s a horrible thing to admit to, but it’s the truth. Anise was a little more inquisitive than I was, and that didn’t become part of her behavior until after she became pregnant. Until yesterday afternoon, it had never occurred to me that the life I was living was in anyway...unusual. After all, I didn’t have anything to compare it to, did I?” Fell shook his head, amazed at his own naiveté. “But what really makes me sick is that a part of me, deep down, liked not having to think. I was never any good at sports back when I was Tim Sorrell, Super-Geek. I never did real well with the girls. I was a gold-plated wimp if ever there was one. Even though I couldn’t consciously access those memories, I realize now it was still buried deep inside me.

  “There’s a fully outfitted gymnasium on the second floor we were expected to use. I can bench-press eight hundred pounds. Me! Scrawny little ‘Dracula Weirdo’ Sorrell!” He flexed his biceps, parodying a Charles Atlas-style bodybuilder. For a fleeting moment, he was what he had once been—a bright, sensitive nineteen- year-old boy, standing on the threshold of manhood. Then the smile disappeared and he was staring back out the window again. “Morgan used to talk about ‘the cattle’ and how easy it is to control them. Once he brought in some humans from outside... I don’t know who they were. And he let me...” He closed his eyes, trying to blot the image from his memory. “I played with them.” His voice shook, the words burning his tongue. “There was sex—man, woman—it didn’t matter. And then after that...”

  “Fell, you don’t have to tell me this.”

  “But I have to! I have to tell someone!” His voice was high and tight, like a frightened girl’s. “My god, Sonja, if I can’t tell you, who can I tell?”

  She pursed her mouth into a thin line and nodded. “Go on.”

  Fell took a shuddering breath, anxiously knotting and unknotting his fingers in his lap. “After the sex, I kissed them on their arms, legs, groin—everywhere the blood was close to the surface, calling to me—but instead of moaning in pleasure they screamed. It was like my nightmares, only I wasn’t frightened by the things I was doing anymore. I drank, even though I wasn’t hungry. I did it because... because it felt good! Better than sex or drugs or anything else I could compare it to. “Father’ stayed in the room the whole time and watched me do these things, and praised me as his son. I pray to God he was controlling me, compelling me do those horrible things. Because if he wasn’t, I did them of my own free will.”

  “What happened in the past stays there,” Sonja said firmly. “Whatever you did while under Morgan’s influence is over and done with now. You have regained your memories of your human self and with them your autonomy. It’s good that you hate Morgan, but be careful with that. Nobles feed on powerful negative emotions like hate and rage. It makes them stronger. You’ve got to shield yourself from Morgan, as it will be your will against his. You have to be strong in here.” She thumped her chest with her fist. “Stronger than the one who Made you, Timothy.”

  “Don’t call me that,” he said with a shake of his head. “I’m not Tim anymore, not where it really counts. I don’t know who—or what—I am now, but it’s not Timothy Sorrell. But when I think of the things I did before I regained my sense of self, it makes me want to puke. So I guess I’m not what Morgan tried to turn me into, either. I guess that makes me Fell more than I am anyone-or anything-else. Just like you’re more Sonja Blue than Denise Thorne.”

  “How did you know about that—?” she asked in surprise.

  “When you were working me over at the Shadow Box, I kept getting, I dunno, flashes, I guess. I saw you and Morgan. I saw what he did to make you... what you are.”

  A muscle twitched in Sonja’s cheek as she tightened her grip on the steering wheel. “You’re right. I don’t really think of myself as Denise anymore. She’s more someone I used to know.”

  “Did you like her?” he asked.

  Sonja reflected on the question for a moment. “Yeah,” she said with a laugh, “I guess I do.”

  “Good. I like Tim, too,” Fell replied with a smile, “now that it’s too late to do him any good.”

  “What do you mean you can’t find him?” Morgan bellowed, hurling an ivory music box at the cowering Renfield, who dodged at the last moment, leaving the antique to smash against the teak paneling.

  “The doctor is not in his laboratory, nor is he in his assigned room.”

  “Are you saying he’s managed to escape?”

  “No, of course not,” the nervous Renfield, a balding older man with thick glasses, assured his master. He’s definitely somewhere in the house.”

  “If that is the case, why haven’t you located him and brought him before me?”

  “He’s not in the nucleus, milord. He’s... somewhere in the in the Ghost Trap itself.” Having delivered this news, the Renfield pulled his neck in between his shoulders like a turtle in anticipation of his master’s wrath.

  “Damn his junkie soul to a thousand drug-free hells!” Morgan shrieked, knocking books and rare antiques from a nearby shelf with an angry sweep of his arm. “He did this to me! He deliberately set out to ruin my plans!” The vampire spun back around to face the trembling Renfield, pointing a trembling finger at the whey-faced psychic. “I want the Ghost Trap searched, is that clear? Take the others with you!”

  “But-but, milord!” the Renfield sputtered.

  “Do it!” Morgan thundered, his voice shaking the very walls.

  The Renfield fled the library, leaving Morgan to fume in silence. The scientist had always been unstable. He should never have trusted
Howell. Never. But Howell’s erratic behavior was what had brought him under Morgan’s influence to begin with. As much as it galled the vampire lord to admit it, the mistake was his own. He’d been intimidated by the scientist’s technology and allowed him far more autonomy than was prudent. And now he was paying the price for not keeping the bio-geneticist on a tight leash.

  If news of his humiliation at the hands of a mere human ever reached the ears of other Nobles, he’d be the laughingstock of the Ruling Class! Worse, he would be perceived as weak, thereby endangering his alliances with the more powerful vampires like Baron Luxor and exposing him to another round of brood wars. He might even be forced to surrender his title of Lord! No doubt it would please snapping jackals like Pangloss and Verité to see him brought low.

  This was what his reliance on humankind’s peculiar brand of sorcery, technology and science, had brought him. He should never have relied so heavily on something of human manufacture, yet its inherent power had been too great for him to ignore.

  While Howell might be a necromancer of unparalleled power in his wizard’s workshop, it would do him little good once Morgan got his hands on him. Yes, he had all kinds of interesting things planned for the good doctor. Depriving him of his precious white powder was only the first of many cruelties to be inflicted on the thankless swine, followed by a few judiciously applied medical probes. Of course, Howell would be forced to conduct his own flaying and subsequent vivisection, as Morgan had long since evolved beyond the need to soil his own hands with the blood of his victims.

  But first the conniving jackal had to be caught, and that was not going to be easy. While Brainerd Howell might be devious, vainglorious and ungrateful, one thing he most definitely was not was stupid. The bastard knew that the labyrinth surrounding Ghost Trap’s nucleus was dangerous, especially to those with psychic abilities. What had originally been advantage in Morgan’s favor now was being turned against him, as there were things roaming the halls of Ghost Trap that did not like outsiders, and Morgan was in no hurry to meet them face-to-face.

  “Milord?”

  Morgan glanced up from his reverie to glower at Nasakenai. The psychic stood in the doorway to the library, the right side of his head wrapped in sterile gauze.

  “Is she dead?”

  “Milord, there were— difficulties,” Nasakenai replied nervously. “The rogue called Sonja uncovered our presence and fired upon us with a weapon. My companion was killed outright and I was momentarily... incapacitated.” He gingerly touched the bandage shrouding his right eye.

  “What of Fell? Did she kill him?”

  “I don’t know, milord. The rogue had the upper hand the last I saw.”

  “Is it true that she was a dhampire like the breeders?”

  Nasakenai nodded his bandaged head. “I am sure of it, milord. Her aural configuration was identical to those of Anise and Fell, although much stronger. More importantly, she was absorbing and metabolizing the negative energy generated by her opponent.”

  Morgan frowned. “Are you sure she was tapping him?”

  “I’m positive, milord.”

  Morgan contemplated the information Nasakenai had given him for a long moment. Perhaps it was better that his breeding program had collapsed, after all. His plans had revolved around a race of vampires that lived on blood alone. Tapping into negative emotions was something only the older, more evolved Nobles, such as himself, were capable of, and was the source of their power. It would not do to have such ability amongst the rank and file of his human-vampire army, for fear it might rise up and turn against him.

  “Milord—?”

  “What is it, Nasakenai?”

  The ninja cleared his throat before bowing to his master. “Milord, I have failed you. I offer my life to you, for you to destroy as you see fit.”

  “I can do that any time I want already, Nasakenai,” Morgan said with a smile. “But I appreciate the offer. No, you are too valuable to me, my friend. The eye—is it gone?”

  “Yes, milord.”

  “Then that is payment enough for your failure.”

  “As you wish, milord.”

  As Morgan watched his maimed lieutenant leave the room, he reflected on the frailty and treachery of mortal flesh. The mere thought that he had once been held hostage by the fear of disease and pestilence, was enough to fill him with disgust.

  “I never realized how huge the house was before,” Fell whispered in awe as he counted the ninety-nine lightning rods that decorated the spires and turrets of Ghost Trap. “I mean, I knew it was big, but I never truly comprehended its scale.”

  “Look, once we’re in there I want you to stick close to me, understand?” Sonja said earnestly. “This place was designed to confuse and trap the dead, and it also does a good job scrambling the synapses of anything more complicated than a worm. If regular humans have a hard time dealing with it, you can imagine what it’ll do to us. I still have the protective charm I used earlier, but I can’t guarantee it’ll extend itself to include you. Have I made myself clear?”

  Fell swallowed hard and nodded. Sonja surprised herself by giving the boy a brief hug. Then she turned around and put her fist through one of the downstairs windows, reaching inside to open the lock.

  “No wonder Morgan wouldn’t let us wander around,” Fell said in a low, reverential whisper as they entered Ghost Trap’s rambling confines. “You could get lost and never find your way out again!”

  “That’s not the only thing you have to worry about,” Sonja warned him. “There are things that walk these halls. Most people would call them ghosts.”

  “But ghosts can’t hurt you, can they?” he asked hopefully.

  “Normally, no,” she replied. “But Ghost Trap is hardly what I’d call ‘normal’. Just keep a look-out for anything that looks like a little girl or a woman dressed in old-timey clothes.”

  “Are they ghosts?”

  “No, they’re fuckin’ tour hostesses!” she sighed in exasperation. “Of course they’re ghosts! But I’m pretty sure I can find my way back to the fire room without them—”

  “The what?”

  “Never mind. Just keep your mouth shut and your eyes open for ghosts, okay?” She suddenly halted and tilted her head. “You hear that?”

  “Hear what? I don’t—” Fell’s jaw dropped open as the faint, but unmistakable sound of someone whimpering grew louder. Is that a ghost?”

  Sonja shook her head. “The dead tend to be mute.” She motioned for him to follow her, moving stealthily through the shadows and dust of the empty rooms, following the source of the whimpering to a room down the hall.

  A dropped flashlight lay in the middle of the room, throwing its beam against the nearest wall, which sparkled faintly in the dwindling light. Sonja reached out and touched the sandpaper-like wall covering, made of flecks of gold and crushed crystal. She then picked up the flashlight and turned its feeble beam on the person who had dropped it.

  A balding, middle-aged man dressed in a dark, rumpled suit and wearing thick, blocky glasses was huddled in the far corner of the room, his face pressed against the wall. One side of his face was bloody from where he’d been rubbing it against the crystal-flecked wallpaper. He’d recently wet himself and twitched and whimpered like a kicked puppy.

  “I recognize him,” Fell whispered. “He’s one of the Renfields. But what’s he doing in the outer house? Do you think he was looking for us?”

  “I doubt it,” Sonja muttered. As she took another step towards the Renfield, he stopped shivering and bared his teeth, foam flecking the corners of his mouth. “Renfields aren’t terribly stable to begin with, so I’m not surprised this one’s completely lost it. Still, he might be of some use to us...”

  Suddenly the Renfield shrieked and launched himself at Sonja, his fingers clawing at her glasses. She cursed and smashed the butt of the flashlight against his skull, dropping him like a pole axed steer. Sonja tossed aside the shattered flashlight and bent down, lifting the freshly-killed
Renfield by his suit lapels.

  “Waste not, want not,” she growled, sinking her canines into his still-warm throat. Once she was finished, she motioned for Fell to take her place: “Here. Drink.”

  Fell’s eyes widened in horror. “No. I can’t.”

  “You’re no virgin,” she reminded him. “You said so yourself. Drink—you’re going to need the energy.”

  Fell meant to protest further, but he’d already caught the scent of blood. His mouth began to water. He quickly battened onto the dead man. Although the blood was already dropping below body temperature, it was enough to sustain him. By the time he had finished, the bruises covering his face had faded away to nothing.

  “I know this sounds horrible,” he said as he let the drained corpse drop, “but I feel like I’ve got my second wind.”

  “Good boy!” She grinned, clapping him on the shoulder. “Now, all we have to do is—”

  A loud scream broke the silence, bouncing through the rooms like a rubber ball before being cut off in mid-note. Sonja and Fell exchanged looks and headed in the direction of the noise. They found a second Renfield in the hall Sonja recognized as the Fire Room. The gas jets were still blazing as they entered. The Renfield lay sprawled in the middle of the room, his skull smashed like an overripe pumpkin.

  “This little girl and lady you mentioned—are they, uh, good ghosts or bad ghosts?”Fell asked nervously as Sonja tried to locate the secret panel.

  “They’re ambivalent, like most dead,” she replied. “But if you’re asking if they killed our friend here, no, I don’t believe they’re responsible for this.”

  “Then who—?”

  “Found it!” Sonja crowed in triumph as the secret door pivoted open. “C’mon!”

  Fell gave the mutilated remains a final glance over his shoulder before following Sonja into the secret passage.

  The car Sonja and Fell had taken was parked on the south side of the house, its hood still warm. His own transport, a BMW he’d ‘borrowed’ back in San Francisco, was in no shape for a return journey. Steam seeped from under its hood, while something dark dripped from its undercarriage. Despite its claim to four wheel drive, it clearly had not been designed to navigate Sonoma County back roads at high speeds.